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taizi · 2 years

Note

For the dialogue prompts to break a reader's heart, might I request 6,7, and 8 (either combined or not- with your writing, it'll be good no matter what) for Natsuyuu (bonus points for NishiNatsu and/or Natori being best bro)?

If you're up for it, of course- if not, that's cool too.👌

HEARTBREAKING PROMPTS

6. "Am I going to die?"

ao3 // ko-fi

Shuuichi is on set when the news breaks.

A panicked college-aged intern is turning the volume up on the TV in the lounge, and Shuuichi looks up from his lines in time to watch a local station air some amateur drone footage of what looks like the apocalypse.

It’s a busy intersection downtown, which at this time of morning should be in full swing as people commute to work or classes. Instead, traffic has ground to a standstill, vehicles left abandoned as hundreds of people run from a frenzied mob.

The room is quiet, everyone slow to react to what they’re seeing. It’s like something from a horror film—found-footage is trendy, when it’s produced well, so for a moment Shuuichi thinks he’s looking at an upcoming Netflix original. He finds himself thinking the Foley effects could use some work.

Then it cuts back to two pale, shaken newscasters sitting stiffly behind their desk. The anchorwoman is turned in her chair, a hand covering the mic clipped to her shirt as she speaks rapidly to someone off-screen. The anchorman’s eyes dart as he reads silently from the teleprompter, and then he clears his throat.

“We’ve received word from our correspondents in Tokyo that the recent widespread reports of violent and erratic behavior are not a local event. The National Institute of Infectious Diseases has not yet confirmed if this is the work of a virus, but eye-witnesses on social media have made the comparison to—to rabies. Again, there is no official statement yet, but it is strongly recommended that you stay in your homes, and avoid all contact with individuals showing any of the following symptoms—”

“What the fuck,” Hana blurts. She’s still sitting at the table across from Shuuichi, where she’d been running lines with him, but her script lay abandoned now. “Is this a joke?”

“I’m checking Yahoo,” the intern says. Her nose is already buried in her phone. “I don’t understand, the streets were clear when we got here.”

“The streets were empty when we got here, because it was like three o’clock in the morning,” someone from the AD department retorts. “What I want to know is how something like this could have happened in a matter of hours.”

There’s a bit of a flurry then, of people checking their phones and computers, or getting up to stand closer to the television. Two men leave the room at a brisk clip to collect the cast and crew still milling about the set, and a woman Shuuichi vaguely recognizes as Hana’s agent uses the landline to call the security office in the front of the building.

Shuuichi’s heart is racing. He’s staring at the news broadcast, at the worried reporter standing outside a hospital, where flashing ambulances are lined up and paramedics are rushing up to the building pushing gurneys.

A digital banner stretches across the bottom of the screen, the scrolling text reading China has declared a state of emergency. All inbound flights have been diverted. The United States has declared a state of emergency. All inbound flights have been diverted. Great Britain has declared a state of emergency. All inbound flights have been…

“Urihime,” he says under his breath, “check in with Hiiragi now.”

Hana gives him an odd look but Urihime nods and disappears without a word. Sasago, hovering faithfully at his opposite shoulder, drifts closer to make up for her absence. Shuuichi forces his eyes away from the TV and digs his phone from his pocket.

There are thirty-some email notifications, a handful of texts—but most concerningly, a missed call.

Shoving away from the table, Shuuichi taps to redial, and holds the phone to his ear. He paces to the far side of the room, and can’t force himself to breathe until the moment the line finally connects and Natsume’s quiet voice says, “Natori-san?”

Oh my god, Shuuichi thinks, pressing his forehead against the wall, oh, thank god.

“Are you alright?” he demands. “Is everyone there alright?”

“We’re fine,” Natsume says quickly. “Um, everyone’s still asleep but me and Kitamoto. There’s been a lot of noises in the hallway, but Hii—I mean. I figured I shouldn’t open the door.” Shuuichi makes a mental note to kiss Hiiragi right on the face for strong-arming the most stubborn teenager alive into staying in the relative safety of the hotel room. “I, um, I tried to call you—”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t see it,” Shuuichi says. He rubs a hand over his face, struggling between the crippling relief that the kids are safe, and the visceral, terrifying reality that something could potentially still happen to them. “I’m on my way back now, okay? Stay put. Listen to Hiiragi. Don’t let the chaos twins do anything stupid.”

He means Taki and Nishimura, and he knows Natsume knows exactly who he means. He hears the kid murmur something, ostensibly to Kitamoto, and then the sound of movement, and then a door closing softly.

“I’m in the bathroom now. Natori-san, are you sure?” He sounds frightened. His voice is still quiet, but his words are coming faster now, all but running together as his anxiety rears its head. “I mean—we looked out the window a few minutes ago, and it’s—”

“Hey,” Shuuichi says firmly. “I know what it looks like outside. I don’t care. Keep away from the windows, and keep quiet, and wait for me. Tell your monster he has my full permission to sit on you if that’s what it takes.”

Natsume laughs a little. “He’s listening. He says he doesn’t need your permission.”

“For once, cat, I almost respect you,” Natori says with a light-heartedness he doesn’t feel. “Alright, Natsume. Wake your friends up, eat something. I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up, digs the heel of his hand into his eyes, and allows himself five seconds of silent panic. Then he turns around and strides for the door.

“Um, Natori-san, I don’t think you should leave,” Hana says, alarmed, as he grabs his coat from the hook and pats the pockets to find his keys. “The governor said—and the police—Natori-san, we’re supposed to stay inside!”

That gets some attention. There’s a sudden swell of well-meaning colleagues rounding on him, urging him to stay calm, sit back down, let Ha-ri make you some tea. Ordinarily, Shuuichi might have been touched by their concern, but now he just doesn’t have time for it. He glances at Sasago and then looks pointedly at the door. She inclines her head and sweeps out in front of him, causing the people in his way to stumble aside and neatly clearing his path.

Everyone is staring at him, staggered. Even the ones who weren’t pushed by an invisible force seem staggered. Natori spares a moment to bow his head and says, “Thank you for taking care of me. Good luck.”

He pushes out the door into the empty hallway. His steps on the polished tile floor echo, and another pair of footsteps follows him out.

It’s the intern, Ha-ri. She lifts her chin and says, “My little brother’s cat-sitting at my apartment. He’s only in Osaka in the first place because of me.”

“I’m headed for Tennoji ward. If you’re going in the same direction, you’re welcome to tag along,” Shuuichi replies, and holds the door to the parking garage open for her.

As soon as they’re outside, it’s clear they’ve left safety behind. There’s an overturned car on the street, burning steadily, and another parked on the sidewalk with a shattered windshield. It’s ominously still—the busy morning foot-traffic is conspicuously absent.

Sasago leaps to the roof of the garage and casts her blindfolded eyes up and down the street. Urihime joins her there, glancing down at Shuuichi.

“The kids are safe,” she says shortly. “Let me guide you, Natori-dono. The streets are a mess, but I remember which ones are mostly deserted. Sasago and I will clear the way. Count on us.”

They move quickly. Ha-ri keeps close and says nothing, hands white-knuckled on the strap of her crossbody bag, canvas sneakers treading silently on the asphalt. If she thinks it odd that Shuuichi turns down streets and alleyways seemingly at random with total confidence, she keeps it to herself.

The set in Chuo is only a few miles away from the hotel the kids picked in Tennoji. They were so looking forward to this trip, a whole week in the city with a movie-star chauffeur at their beck and call. Shuuichi left them to sleep in this morning, with plans to get some work done at the studio and be back in time to bring them lunch, but he wishes he hadn’t. He shouldn’t have left.

Sasago throws herself bodily in front of him before he can round the next corner, and Ha-ri stumbles into his back at his sudden stop. Urihime hisses through her teeth for them to get down! Shuuichi grabs Ha-ri by the strap of her bag and drags her down with him, their backs pressed against the side of a large vending machine.

Something shambles by.

Ha-ri gasps, and then muffles herself with both hands before she can give them away, her knees tucked in tight against her chest. Urihime and Sasago are crouched warily in front of them, a guard that only Shuuichi is aware of. And on the street, moving in odd, awkward clusters, there are…

People.

People with torn clothes and tossed hair, looking as though they just tumbled out of a car accident. A lot of them have blood on their necks, or their hands, or their mouths. All of them have milky-white eyes and a vacant expression, as though they’re sleepwalking through this nightmare.

The last thing Shuuichi expects is for the nearest one to turn its face toward the shiki. Shuuichi’s heart shoots up into his throat as the—the sleepwalker teeters drunkenly, staring straight at Urihime, who is visibly bracing herself for a fight. Thankfully, though, it seems like the sleepwalker is aware of yokai in the same way that animals are—a passing interest only, the spheres of their existence just overlapping in the fringes.

Shuuichi and Ha-ri stay absolutely still until the street has emptied. Even when Sasago quietly gives the all-clear. They just sit there, not speaking, breathing like they’ve run a marathon.

Then Ha-ri says, “Rabies.”

“What?” Shuuichi asks stupidly.

“The man on the news said it,” the girl replies. Her voice is wooden and grim. “He said that it was like rabies. And they—some of them looked like they’d been—”

She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t have to. Shuuichi closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the machine behind him. Acclimating to this brand new genre of shit-show he has no choice but to deal with.

“Natori-dono,” Sasago says with some urgency.

“Right,” he mutters, and pushes himself to his feet. He stretches a hand down to Ha-ri, pulls her up beside him, and they go.

They bump into a few other people, panic-stricken and running for whatever safe place is waiting for them. None of them linger long enough to exchange words. Most stores and kiosks they pass are closed and locked tight, security shutters lowered. Outside a little fast food restaurant is a row of delivery scooters parked on a rack; one of the scooters is missing, and there’s a broken lock lying on the ground next to an abandoned sledgehammer. Without pause, Ha-ri stoops and picks up the hammer.

The shiki save them two more times within fifteen minutes; the third time, Shuuichi doesn’t need the warning, and neither does his young companion. They fling themselves silently into a sidestreet, and Shuuichi shoves Ha-ri back even farther, into the shadow of a stoop, just in time to miss a handful of the sleepwalkers who seem to be chasing the taillights of a passing car.

“I think it’s safe now,” Shuuichi says, and starts to step back onto the sidewalk, but Ha-ri grips his sleeve.

“I have to go the other way,” she tells him, barely more than a whisper. Her eyes are wide, and with the huge glasses and full bangs she looks absurdly young. She’s only a few years older than the kids Shuuichi is responsible for. But there’s iron in her spine, and she lifts her chin the way she did back at the studio when she refused to stay behind. She ducks forward in a bow, and says, “Thank you for taking care of me until now.”

Fuck, Shuuichi thinks. Out loud he says, “Give me your phone.”

Bewildered, Ha-ri tucks the hammer under her arm to slide her iPhone out of her back pocket.

Shuuichi opens the messages app and texts himself. Handing the phone back, he grits out, “I know that kids seem to have a medical condition that makes them choose to be stupidly self-reliant at the absolute worst of times, but you have my number. Contact me if you need help. For your brother and your cat, if not for yourself.”

Ha-ri blinks rapidly a few times, taken-aback. Then she smiles for the first time all morning. She slips her phone back into her pocket, bows again, and says, “Be careful, Natori-senpai. Don’t let them bite you.”

Then she spins around and runs the opposite way down the winding alley toward the chained fence blocking the next street. She tosses her bag and the hammer over first, then plants one sneaker on the fence, heaves herself to the top, and disappears on the other side without a sound.

She’ll probably be fine.

“Urihime,” Shuuichi orders quietly.

With a displeased sigh, the shiki takes off after her. Sasago tilts her head toward the street, and Shuuichi follows.

He’s running on nothing but anxiety and adrenaline by the time he reaches the hotel. It’s tucked away at the end of a busy street, near a huge train station, because of course it is. There are dozens of sleepwalkers in the way, and Shuuichi’s stomach sinks like a stone.

But Hiiragi appears in front of the building, and points with her sword toward the small service road that leads around to the back, presumably for the unloading of delivery trucks. Then she disappears again, and Shuuichi realizes why a moment later. The window of a restaurant a few blocks away explodes into a loud shower of glass, and all the shambling bodies on the street react like wild animals, clawing over one another to rush toward the sound.

It’s potentially the most horrifying thing Shuuichi has ever seen. He very carefully compartmentalizes his reaction, because frankly there’s no time for it right now.

Once they’re in the building, weaving through eerie stockrooms and a gleaming, completely abandoned commercial kitchen, Sasago leads him past the elevator to the stairwell, and then herds him up four flights of stairs, glaring coldly when he dares gasp for air too loudly.

“Well, excuse me,” Shuuichi wheezes. “Not all of us can float.”

There are some alarming sounds on the second floor, and absolute silence on the third and fourth. Shuuichi doesn’t trust it for a second, but he shoves open the stairwell door when Sasago gives him the go-ahead, and beelines straight for his suite.

Ridiculously, he starts searching his pockets for his keycard. The door is ripped open a second later, and Hiiragi says, with just barely passable deference, “Natori-dono. Get inside now.”

The moment he does, he feels himself cross a barrier. It’s like stepping into a physical net of safety. It feels as though whatever is happening outside can’t reach him here, even though he knows that can’t really be true. He can hear quiet chatter from the next room, all those dear voices present and correct and secure.

He leans against the wall and closes his eyes. He just needs a minute.

When he opens them, he has company. On the step above the neat row of shoes lined up in the entryway, Madara is tucked into a fat little loaf, unnatural green eyes glinting. The symbol on his forehead is glowing faintly. Shuuichi doesn’t think he’s ever seen it sustained for longer than a few seconds at a time.

“Is this your work, cat?” Shuuichi asks, waving a hand to indicate that barrier he’s only peripherally aware of. His voice is hoarse and exhausted. The cat deigns not to comment on the state of him, which is a kindness he didn’t expect.

“If you don’t like it, you can leave,” Madara says plainly.

“I paid for this room, freeloader,” Shuuichi mutters, and braces a hand against the wall as he follows the quiet sound of conversation into the sitting room of the extravagant suite. It’s dimly lit even at half past ten in the morning, with the heavy curtains pulled across the windows, and the TV is on so low he can barely hear it over the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.

He barely catches a glimpse of Natsume’s wide-eyed expression before the boy is crossing the room at a run and colliding with him hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs.

It’s the absolute last thing on the list of things Shuuichi has to complain about. It doesn’t even make the list. He plants his chin on the top of Natsume’s head, wraps an arm around his shoulders, and takes a full breath for the first time since he saw that news broadcast.

Natsume is joined in short order by a tearful Taki, then Nishimura, then Ogata. Kitamoto slumps where he’s sitting, like whatever has been propping him up this whole time just collapsed underneath him. Shibata glares at Shuuichi with vitriol, because he tends to get his feelings mixed up when he’s thrown into high-pressure situations, but he buries his face in Tanuma’s shoulder before his mouth can run away from him. Tanuma, for his part, looks like he’s just barely keeping a panic attack at bay by nothing but sheer willpower and the need to be present for his friends. He pats Shibata on the back gently.

They’re all ruffled and pale, still in their pajamas, wrapped in the extra throw blankets from the closet and the duvets from the beds. It’s like a slumber party gone catastrophically wrong.

“It’s okay,” Shuuichi tells the room at large. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“What’s happening outside?” Ogata asks, voice warbling. “I called my friend Junko, but she lost signal. She told me that a bunch of people broke into her dad’s store. She said they were acting really strange.”

“We found a bunch of different news stations on TV,” Tanuma whispers. “It’s happening all over the country.”

“I can’t get ahold of my parents,” Kitamoto blurts. “Or my sister. Or Tsuji or Sasada. Or anyone from Hitoyoshi.”

“Are you okay?” Natsume says, pulling out of Shuuichi’s arms just enough to look up at him with stricken brown eyes. His voice cuts through the room easily, because no one is willing to talk over him. “Did you run the whole way here? Come sit down. Shibata, move. Satchan, can you get him something to drink?”

Shuuichi smiles as they scurry like little worker ants, and gratefully accepts the expensive bottled water from the minibar that Nishimura presses into his hands. He can see the kids visibly sitting on their questions, trying to be respectful, and he thinks they’re so good. They’re much better than he was when he was their age.

They don’t deserve whatever fresh hell is happening outside.

“Here’s what I know,” Shuuichi says, and lays everything out.

“You don’t know much,” Shibata says judgmentally. Nishimura digs an elbow into his stomach.

“What are we going to do?” Taki asks. "Are we going to die?"

"No, Tooru," Shuuichi says sternly, shutting that down as fast as he can. "None of you are going to die."

She’s frightened and clearly trying to be brave. She has a marker clenched in her fist, and it reminds Shuuichi of the way Ha-ri had hefted that sledgehammer.

All of their worried faces are turned up toward his. He’s the oldest person in the room, ancient at almost twenty-four years old. He’s responsible for them, agreed to be when their parents gave permission for this big trip to the city. It’s his job to make things right. Somehow, he has to make this right.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and opens the new texts, with an audience of at least four teenagers peering over his shoulders.

They’re both from Ha-ri. The first one is a selfie. She’s sitting on the carpeted floor of what looks like a bedroom, with her arm around the shoulders of a boy who looks exactly like her. There’s a huge orange cat draped across their laps and the twins are grinning wearily at the camera.

Made it, the text beneath it reads. And you?

Shuuichi finds himself smiling. He glances around the room and says, “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

The kids seem thrown off by the question, but only for a moment. They trade glances, communicating in that silent language that people only develop after spending way too much time together, and then Shibata speaks up.

“My parents are overseas.”

“So are mine,” Taki says.

“My mom is a doctor,” Kitamoto pipes up. He’s near tears, frightened that he hasn’t heard from his family yet. “She’ll be able to help.”

Nishimura slips away to shove himself into the armchair with Kitamoto, which is probably equal parts annoying and comforting. He takes Kitamoto’s hand and squeezes hard, and that tips the scales in favor of comfort, after all. Kitamoto leans against him and looks a little less frantic.

“My brother’s pre-med,” Nishimura adds. “And supposedly he’s back from university for the weekend. He wouldn’t be completely useless to have around, I guess.”

“Junko’s on our way,” Ogata says quickly. “She could meet us and come along.”

“There’s room at the temple for everyone,” Tanuma offers in his careful, thoughtful way. He sounds like he's half-afraid his friends might shoot him down, even now, in this worst-case scenario. He's ridiculous and Shuuichi would do anything to protect him.

Natsume lifts his ugly cat into his arms and hugs it tightly. His eyes are moonlike, round and hopeful. It’s obvious who he’s thinking of—Touko and Shigeru and their big, welcoming smiles, and their big, welcoming house, and how they always leave a light on for him.

No one has outright said it yet; none of them are eager to sound childish in the face of what is shaping up to be a global disaster. They’re trying to be very grown-up about it.

But the wanting is plain on their faces. It’s clear where they would all feel safest.

Shuuichi is thinking about Madara’s barrier, and the deft way the shiki handled the sleepwalkers every step of the way between Chuo ward and Tennoji. He’s thinking about all of Natsume’s questionable friends among the ghosts of Yatsuhara, and their unwavering loyalty to him, and how eager they are to prove their worth. He thinks that Hitoyoshi might just be the best place to go, if only they can make it there.

“Okay,” Shuuichi says. “Let’s go home.”

#📢ZOMBIE AU📢#im so predictable. its fine #natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #natori shuuichi #natsume takashi #my writing #prompt #natsumiyasblog #natsume zombie au #will i add more to this ?? potentially #ive been watching z movies all weekend ok let me live #thinking of dawn of the dead (2004) and how the nurse got home from a normal shift and woke up the next morning to a total shit show #those vibes #i didnt edit this at all pls forgive me

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leqclerc · 11 months

Text

Am I the only one who can’t see Lewis to Ferrari happening, like, at all? Hear me out...

It’s not just about the money, or the duration of the contract. Mostly, I think they clash too heavily in their respective philosophies. Lewis is a seasoned, established figure at Mercedes, and as such, he enjoys a lot of freedom regarding his commercial and personal image. He plays a role in the creative decision-making in the team. He says what he wants, he wears what he wants, he’s involved in several ventures and he generally has Mercedes’s support to do all those things. And then you have Ferrari, where The Brand always takes precedence, where maintaining a very specific kind of image is of paramount importance. Even now, when they’ve crossed the threshold and embraced 21st century internet culture and are seemingly actively committed to appealing to a younger social media audience, some things just don’t change. It’s undesirable and inconvenient for Ferrari to have a driver whose star power overshadows The Brand itself (a problem they’re arguably close to facing with Charles and his ever-growing popularity.) I mean, hell, they apparently had the power to pump the breaks on his fledgling leisurewear fashion company after he’d registered it as a business and started making and test-wearing prototype ‘fits. Allegedly because of the Ferrari x Puma sponsor deal that’s in place (I guess they let him design, or at least contribute to the design of the Monaco GP 2023 special merch line as a consolation prize but still.)

Second of all... it’s Ferrari. Contemporary Ferrari, who has endured a whole slew of disappointments and bizarre decisions and mishaps that have turned them into a meme. They seem to be unable to maintain consistency throughout a season (never mind a regulation cycle). There’s a lot of turnover at the team. There’s a lot of internal politicking, different factions pushing and pulling in different directions, often to the detriment of the racing team (something Seb himself has spoken about.) When Mercedes produces the third fastest car, they act like it’s a disaster. We’ve had Toto outright apologizing to Lewis for “what he has to drive.” You don’t get that at Ferrari: you drive the car available to you and you do so with minimal complaining. Sometimes, depending on who is in charge on the pitwall at the time (hello, Binotto 🙄) you might even get told that the car is fine, the strategy is fine, and you are probably the problem.

Ultimately it takes a lot of patience and a fair amount of brainrot to willingly subject yourself to that by getting on the Ferrari struggle bus. Charles and Seb for example always talked about how it was a childhood dream to one day make it to Ferrari. It was always a goal, the main goal, and not just a random career stepping stone. And even they often got chewed up and spit out and endured heartbreak and disappointment and betrayal. For drivers who don’t have a team bucket list... contemporary Ferrari probably isn’t worth the trouble tbh.

The latest batch of rumours that has been swirling in the midst of a slow news week suggests that Lewis would be signed to work alongside Charles, and not, as previously assumed, replace him (in what perhaps could be a direct Mercedes-Ferrari driver swap.) Even so... we’ve seen how they mismanaged Charles and Seb, and then proceeded to let Seb go arguably too early, so now we’ve got a lineup where technically nobody is an outright number one, nobody is an outright number two, and we lost a massive source of motivation, internal competition, and knowledge for Charles. Having to go through yet another cycle of “who gets to be number one” or, alternatively, boxing Lewis into a support role from day one (seeing as the latest Gazzetta article suggests Elkann still plans to build the team primarily around Charles as the lead driver), is hardly going to go down well imo.

We’ll see how this situation develops in the coming weeks/months of course, but I wouldn’t put much stock into the rumours. At best it would be a lateral step for Lewis—at worst, a downright downgrade.

#formula 1 #ferrari #discussions and predictions #i've kind of taken a step back amidst the imola non-race situation but now im back with a bang skdkkgkg #100% here for all the discussions and chats and things ahead of the monaco weekend!!#will the charles enjoyers be suffering again? tune in to find out 😭#the bottom line is i think these rumours and speculation abt high profile driver-team swaps always generate a lot of excitement/engagement #but oftentimes they ultimately don't go anywhere #i mean hell i lived through basically everyone being linked to the merc seat in the nico/lewis war era and then post-nico's retirement #hulk... pascal wehrlein... even seb for those who wanted a potentially explosive seb/lewis lineup

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