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myownpersonaldemons · 5 years

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Selftober Prompt 20

Accidental Kiss

UF!Sans/Reader

The end gets a little mature just fyi.

It was a complete and utter accident.

Honestly!

It wasn’t even a good kiss, more of a clash of teeth than a real kiss. You’d been laughing at a joke he made, and turned to look at him just as he leaned past you to grab the bottle of mustard that Grillby had placed in front of you.

It had kind of hurt in fact, your lip felt pinched a bit.

That was all it was.

An accident.

A freak of an accident that would never occur again.

So then…why did you keep thinking about it? Even as accidental it was, the feeling of teeth against your lips still ghosted across your flesh. The blush on your cheeks kept returning over and over again whenever you thought about it, and your fingers kept brushing lightly over your lips as if that would bring the sensation back full force.

It had happened over a week ago, as well. Any lingering sensation should’ve faded and you should’ve been able to return back to the bar without feeling anxious about it. Yet, every time you thought about perhaps going there for dinner before the crowds flooded in…your chest would pound and you talked yourself out of it.

It wasn’t as if you went there that often anyways, Sans totally wouldn’t notice that you hadn’t shown up in a while. He wasn’t even that close of a friend, so he wouldn’t care either.

All lies you told yourself to make it easier for you to not go back to Grillby’s.

Then came the text from Sans.

Sans 9:38 PM: what’re ya up to? haven’t seen ya ‘round lately.

Your heart beat in your throat, and a blush darkened your cheeks as you instantly thought back to the accidental kiss. Shaking your head you insisted that he didn’t care nor would he even remember the tiny mishap. It was Sans you were talking about. You didn’t know how he did it, but every night you were at Grillby’s he’d always pick out a woman in the bar and as you were leaving he’d always switch over and practically have the woman swooning into his arms before you’d even gotten to the door.

Accidentally smooching you in the most awkward kiss of his lifetime probably didn’t even register in his mind anymore.

You exhaled and typed back. Joking it off so that he wouldn’t realize that you weren’t in the habit of forgetting stupid little smooches.

----

It was…not as much of an accident as you had thought.

Sans had purposefully indicated to Grillby to put the mustard in front of you, but he had originally wanted to just whisper in your ear some saucy words that would make you blush. He adored your blush, and the shy, flustered smile that always came with it as you struggled to find a way to respond before you’d laugh it off and change the subject.

However, when you started to turn your head? Maybe Sans had shifted his head as well, not exactly to go for a kiss, but maybe to get close enough that he could say a cheeky one-liner and get you to blush again. Something stupid, cus he wasn’t the kind of guy that wanted to make the women he was attracted to feel uncomfortable. You liked the low-hanging fruit jokes, and he had plenty of them to make you smile and laugh.

The feeling of your soft lips against his teeth, though? Damn. It was like a drug that he craved. You’d gotten all flustered and apologized profusely which…isn’t what he wanted you to do at all. He felt bad about it, and apologized as well, cus you seemed actually upset by it.

So…fuck maybe you didn’t want to kiss him or do anything like that with him.

Was it because he was a monster? Was it because of his appearance? Cus he thought he was hot shit…but you didn’t seem the kinda gal that let her gaze linger on anyone long. Hell! He didn’t even know if you were into guys, let alone monsters! He could be barking up the wrong tree for all he knew. That anxiety started to creep in as he preened himself in front of the mirror for longer before going to Grillby’s.

Each day you weren’t there made his non-existant gut twist.

Sure, you weren’t the typical type of chick who would show up daily, hell he hardly saw you once a week, and that was if he was lucky. Still, after a week of not seeing your cute little blushing face, Sans pulled out his phone, placed it on the bar top, all while grumbling.

An hour passed before he finally texted you. When you didn’t respond back right away, Sans was grumbling to himself when Grillby lounged against the bar in front of him.

“Sad that your little kitten hasn’t come around to play, Sans?” Grillby taunted him, swirling some amber liquid in his cup and looking over at his long term friend patron over his glasses. Sans huffed.

“tch, ya sure yer not projecting there, pal? she’s normally the one between the two of us who pays,” Sans pointed out, pointing his mustard toward Grillby with a smirk. Grillby’s own smirk didn’t fade, he shifted so he was leaning closer to Sans.

“Take some advice, Red, monster up. We both know you’re a coward when it comes to anything besides fighting or fucking,” Grillby tapped the bar and gave Sans a bigger smirk, “or I might try my hand at…’wooing’ your little friend.”

Sans’ smirk turned into a scowl, “fuck off. since when do you give a shit?”

Grillby straightened and shrugged his shoulders, “it’s not like it fucking matters in the long run. Either way you’re not a paying customer, get rejected or not and you’ll still come crawling in here day after day after day.”

“You really know how to boost a guys spirits,” Sans tapped his mustard bottle against the glass Grillby had left sitting on the bar top. Grillby gave a lopsided smirk before picking up the drink and saluting it towards Sans before downing it. His fire gave a whoosh as it brightened momentarily from the alcohol, before he pivoted and walked away to attend to other matters.

Sans sighed and rubbed at his temple before picking his phone back up.

You: 9:43 PM: eh nothing much

You: 9:43 PM: Why? Miss me that much already :P

If his SOUL lurched at seeing your text, he would never admit that. Instead, he gave the tiniest of smirks and responded.

----

Sans 9:59 PM: grillbz doesn’t appreciate my jokes like you do

Sans 10:00 PM: and what if I fuckin do?

You 10:03 PM: You have the lowest form of humor of course I find you hilarious

You 10:03 PM: Awww you misssssssssssssssssssssss me

You 10:04 PM: Are you drunk?

Sans 10:06 PM: nah, grillbz doesn’t let me hit the hard stuff till 10:30

You 10:06 PM: that’s what she said

Sans 10:10 PM: and you say my form of humor is the lowest

You 10:11 PM: I learn from the best

Sans 10:15 PM: you should come to grillbz

You 10:16 PM: Nah, gotta draw out our meetings so you miss me more

You 10:17 PM: Uh…plus it’s late and the club aspect is probably in full swing

Sans 10:43 PM: can I come over to yours then?

You 11:00 PM: Sure, I’ll send you my address.

----

You didn’t know what made you say yes, but a few minutes of waiting later and there was a knock on your door. Thankfully, Sans wasn’t drunk when you opened the door. If he was, you probably would’ve a) gotten his brother to come pick him up, b) closed the door on his face, or more likely c) gotten him onto your couch and made him drink a full glass of water and then went into your room for the night.

Instead, you shyly let him in. You had put your bra back on, but honestly? You hadn’t put too much thought into your clothing. You were wearing your pajama’s and had been playing your favourite video game when he had asked and you hadn’t really wanted to stop playing. So, a bra was all the effort you gave him.

His eye lights quickly checked you out before snorting, “ya dressed up for me, sweetcheeks?”

You blushed, but proudly grabbed the hem of your tank top and stretched it a bit so the nerdy reference could be viewed in it’s full glory. “I chose my favourite pajama tank just for you, you should be in awe.”

A chuckle, “yer a fucking nerd.”

“Takes one to know one, mister. Grillby told me one day that you watched Mew Mew Kissy Cutie with Papyrus before, so don’t you tell me that you’re not a nerd either,” you shot back and stuck your tongue out at him.

It was…so strange. Having him in your apartment. Yet, you weren’t tense and uncomfortable as you were when anyone else visited for the first time. You didn’t feel the need to apologize for the slight clutter, nor did you feel like he would judge you for anything in your apartment. He’d confessed that his room had a trash tornado in the corner, and you were not nearly that messy.

You invited him further into the apartment and got him some water, but also pulled out your mustard bottle. You didn’t know how much was in it but you held it out to him, and he accepted it with a thanks before squirting an unhealthy swig straight into his slightly parted teeth in which it disappeared into the void behind.

Without hesitation the two of you began to catch each other up on the last week, throw jokes, and overall just converse without feeling the pressure of needing to do anything a certain way. You ended up sitting on the couch with your feet on his lap, a blanket strewn over both of your legs, and watching him play a game on your console. It was getting close to twelve and your eyes were starting to droop.

You found yourself tearing your gaze away from the game to watch his face. The way his golden tooth shone even though the only light now was coming from the television. His eyes were fully focused on the game and there was a slight furrow to his face in concentration. He’d grumble swears when he wasn’t doing so hot, and then swear louder when he finally beat whatever he was working on getting through.

Why had you ever thought that a simple kiss would make things weird between the two of you?

His eye lights flickered over to you, and then he glanced at his phone sitting on the arm of the couch. “shit, sorry, dollface, didn’t mean ta keep ya up so late,” he said, patting your leg and placing the controller down. “i’ll get out of yer hair.”

You hummed sleepily, “you’re not bothering me, you can stay if you want.”

Sans hesitated, staring at you for a long time before slowly easing himself back into the couch. For a moment it looked like he wanted to say something, but then he simply grinned, patted your leg again and returned to his game. A while later, you yawned again and shifted trying to get even more comfortable on the couch. His eye lights shifted over to you.

“why dontcha cuddle up ta me? might be better than the arm rest thing,” he said gruffily, and looked back over to the television. You debated before shaking your head.

“Don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you murmured, “already got my legs on you.”

A pause and then he smirked, “y’know, i’d like it if all of ya was on me, but i’ll take what i can get.”

A wink.

You snorted, “you big flirt. Bet you say that to all the ladies. Speaking of, why are you here with me instead of…you know, a real lady?”

Sans gave you a bemused look, “’real lady’?”

“You know, someone not wearing the same pajama’s she wore last night because she forgot to do laundry,” you gestured lazily at your shirt. “Those girls at Grillby’s you normally flirt it up with when I leave.”

“dollface, i’d prefer you in two day old pajama’s over a random lady at the bar anyday,” he said with an eye roll.

Your heart gave a little skip which you instantly shushed. All internally of course. Outwardly you just huffed out a laugh, “thanks for the pity-“

“ain’t pity, sweetheart,” Sans cut you off, giving you a very serious look. “i’m dead serious. do ya even realize how hot you look right now?”

Your face blushed, chuckled and looked away. “My hair is damp from a shower, and I’m wearing gross pajama’s. This isn’t ‘hot’, but thanks?”

Sans snorted, “yknow what i see? my fav girl relaxed as all hell, not giving a damn about how she looks with chips on her tits.”

You glanced down, and blushed more as you brushed off your chest from chip crumbs. Then you paused, “Fav girl?”

“fuckin’ duh,” he grumbled placing the controller to the side. “yer hot as fuck, got the cutest fucking blush, yer funny, smart, and when ya talk ‘boutcha favourite shit? ya get this cute ass smile on your face and you get so animated.”

You laughed lightly and sat up, bringing your legs from his lap. “Thanks, Sans.”

“and, yer lips have been on my mind for the past week,” he added, and you blushed even worse.

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, covering your face, “It was an accident.”

Sans shifted closer and place a hand on your knee, you cracked your fingers slightly to look over at him. His eye lights were a bit bigger which surprised you. He looked like a cat that just got excited at seeing it’s favourite thing.

“if yer uncomfortable, lemme know, dollface and i’ll either leave or just back off,” he said, voice softer than normal but no less deep. You slowly lowered your hands and swallowed thickly.

“I’m…not uncomfortable, flustered yeah…but, not uncomfortable,” you mumbled, rubbing your hands up and down your calves quickly as if to disperse the nervous energy flowing through you. Was he going to kiss you? Or where was this going? Oh, you hadn’t been in a relationship in forever, you hadn’t been flirted with by anyone besides Sans in the longest time either.

“wanna redo on that kiss?” Sans asked, and your heart launched into your throat.

Holy shit.

Holy shit!

You nodded eagerly, and he chuckled. A deep rich sound that made you swoon a bit. He shifted his hand from your knee to the back of the couch as he shifted closer to you. His other hand reached over to carress your cheek for a moment before curling around to the base of your skull. You could hardly breathe as he leaned closer and pressed his teeth against your lips.

Your eyes fluttered closed and for a moment the two of you just…stayed like that.

Then your hands moved up to grip his jacket and pull him closer. It was like a dam broke. You felt the brush of his magical tongue against your lips, and then it was expertly exploring your mouth. A sense of desperation from both of you, like you both had been starved for years, exploded forth.

You quickly found yourself on your back, out of breath, with a jacketless Sans hovering over you. One of your legs was hooked around his hips, his hand was up your shirt and under your bra, and you both were panting heavily.

“Well,” you squeaked out, “That was…a hell of a second kiss.”

He chuckled awkwardly and withdrew his hand, “sorry for coping a feel.”

You shook your head, “s’okay…I didn’t mind.”

A pause.

Then your lips were back on his teeth, and his hands were back exploring your body.

Thank god for accidentally kisses.

#uf!sans #uf!sans/reader #fanfiction #fanfic #myfanfics #my fanfics #undertale fanfiction #selftober #self insert #reader insert

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thekitchensnk · 5 years

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and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 9)

Rating: T Warnings: Violent imagery, trauma, allusions to potential past sexual violence Pairing: Gin/Ran Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9 “They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

They carried out her plan to sell their fruit in town. They had so much that summer that it was close to spoiling on the tree, filling the garden with a sweet, pungent smell.

They filled a bag each to the brim, and set out, once again, for town. It was a sign of how many times they had done this that her legs no longer shook on the walk and she could make the journey both ways now without the need for an impromptu piggyback.

Nevertheless, the bags were heavy, and she complained vociferously the whole way.

"-and it's bad for our backs!" she rambled fiercely, getting into her stride. He shook his head fondly.

"This wasn't my idea," he said reproachfully. "What should we do with the extra money?" he asked in a bid to stop her rant early, before it could really get going.

That caught her out.

"I... Don't actually know." she paused. "We could do anything." A gleam entered her eye. "We could buy a servant."

He sniggered. "We won't have enough for a servant," he said. "And anyways, what do ya' want with a servant? Ya've got me."

"You're not my servant," she laughed.

"I dunno," he said. "I look after the garden, I sweep, and I sew up ya' clothin'." He swept into a low bow, and the fruit in his bag almost spilled over the top in his silliness.

"Hey!" she objected heatedly. "I cook! And I clean! And you stabbed me when you patched up my yukata, so you'd be a useless servant anyway." She pouted.

"I catch us fish," he insisted with a grin.

"Be serious," she giggled.

"I could carry ya' everywhere in one of those fancy boxes," he said, caught up in making mischief, "wash ya' feet and say 'Yes ma'am' and 'No ma'am' and 'three bags full ma'am."

She gave up. "And you'd do up my beautiful kimono every day and cook me dinners- at least thirty eight courses, otherwise I'd have your head chopped off. And you’d bring me sweets from town. And I'd make you sing songs without any dirty bits."

He feigned horror. "Choppin' a man's head off is one thing, Ran-chan, but makin' him take the dirty bits out of songs? Ya' cruel."

She gave him a smug smile and poked him in the arm. "See? You can’t call your mistress cruel. You'd be a useless servant. Too much backchat. You can't keep your mouth shut."

It could not be disputed, but he tried anyway.

"Me?" he said innocently. "I'm the picture of a quiet, obedient servant. Look me up in one of those books, and there I’ll be. Barely even hear a peep from me." It was a bare-faced lie, and even he was impressed that he managed to keep a straight face saying it.

She just snorted at him and bashed his leg with her bag.

"And ya' a perfect, polite lady," he finished, grinning widely.

"Watch your mouth, you!" she protested, but there was a smile on her face too.

“What would ya’ do if ya’ were rich?” he asked, swinging his bag.

“Hire servants who don’t make all their songs rude and who can sew up a sleeve without stabbing me.”

He gave her a wounded look. “Very funny.”

She pondered a moment.

“I’d spend all my money. I’d buy fancy kimono, and sweets, and sake, and I’d have parties, and a giant mansion, with a garden and one of those wooden things the rich people have- y’know, the ones that go ‘bonk’.” She waved her hands around as she talked, and then paused. “I’d give money to poor children here too.” She sighed. “That would be the life, wouldn’t it? Comfort. Riches. Servants.”

As they walked, their feet picked up the dust of the road. She paused to try and rub some of the dirt from her feet. “What would you do?”

The question threw him.

There was nothing much in life that he really wanted- or at least, not much in the way of material things that money could buy. There were people he would like to see dead, and certain injustices put to rights, and money could potentially buy assassins to do it for him. But it would take the satisfaction of achieving them by his own hand out of the equation. How could he tell her that he revelled in the fear in men’s faces and felt a sick excitement at their pain- that his wants were simple- to have her, their garden, and to watch the theatre of misery and play out his part in it?

“I dunno either. Probably I’d buy ya’ that mansion and that feather bed and those kimono,” he said vaguely, scratching at his head. He’d like that at the very least, he thought, to be able to look after her and buy her what she wanted- to make her happy.

“And the sweets?”

“And the sweets.”

“You could buy a whole forest of persimmon trees,” she suggested.

The thought was a nice one.

“A bigger garden, maybe,” he said.

“Is that all?” She sounded disappointed.

He looked at her in confusion. “Got everythin’ I want right here. What else do I need?”

They both fell silent.

He paused and looked around. The streets were curiously busy, and he found it deeply suspicious. “Is it just me, or does town seem noisier today?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He grabbed her hand suddenly, and started running in the direction of the bar. She had no choice but to follow. It caught her off-balance, and she almost fell.

"Hey! Hey!" she shouted in protest, but he only grinned in response. He ran like the silvery wind, dragging her along in his wake, and he leapt and bounded over all the rubbish in the street, and she staggered after. He was so quick and moved so effortlessly that it was almost unfair. He was not even out of breath when they arrived at their destination, and he grinned as she panted.

The square that the bar fronted was filled with people and the air was thick with chatter and laughter. People looked on curiously and occasionally craned their necks, as if they were waiting for something to happen.

Alcohol flowed freely, and for once, people only seldomly remembered to check their possessions out of fear of pickpockets. A few in the crowd were better dressed than usual. The whores who had makeup had used some, despite its rarity, and they mingled freely in the crowd, giggling and hanging on; the gangsters strutted about with puffed out chests and polished knives.

"What's going on?" Rangiku asked in fascination.

Gin could only shake his head suspiciously. "No idea. World's gone mad. Have ya’ seen this lot?"

She spotted a familiar youthful face at the bar with its greying hair. “One moment,” she told him. It was her turn to drag him around, persimmons still heavy in her bag.

"Hey!" she called out loudly, marching towards the bar in determination. "Hey!"

It was the whore who had accosted her the first time she had walked with him into town.

Kanae's head whipped around, and she froze initially when she saw who it was. Her lip curled into her ever-present expression of irritated disgust, and her eyes rolled in annoyance, but she beckoned them forward anyway.

"So polite," Gin remarked cheerfully, though who it was aimed at- Rangiku, who thought “Hey!” was an acceptable greeting, or the ever scowling Kanae- no one could tell.

Kanae eyed him warily. "Watch it, brat," she spat. She turned to Rangiku and spoke abruptly. "What?"

Gin could not contain himself. "I've always admired ya' way with people."

Kanae glared daggers at him, and turned towards the bar again in an exaggerated, slow fashion, conspicuously ignoring the two children. Rangiku shot him a disgruntled look.

"Wait! He's sorry- he didn't mean it. He's just messing around.

Gin rarely meant half of what he said, but he never let that stop him. He enjoyed prodding at people, seeing whether he could get a rise out of them. It was a game to him, to play with other people's feelings. He rarely dwelt on the impact of his actions.

"What do you want?" she said icily.

"We wanted to know-" Rangiku said eagerly, "what's happening? What's going on? Why are people here?"

Kanae laughed nastily. "On the last one, I couldn't possibly tell ya'. They’re idiots, milling around. Who knows why they’re here? I, on the other hand, am here because it'll be a good business day. People are boozin' and laughin' and partyin'. For once, I might have enough money to pay my rent and my bar tab."

"Why are they partying? What's happening?"

"Why is ya' hair going grey if ya' don't have wrinkles?" Gin interjected. Rangiku glared at him and gave him a wallop.

“Shush you!” she hissed.

Kanae sneered at him. "It's the stress of havin' ta' live in a world with brats like ya’. Given how sick ya’ all make me, it's a miracle I have any hair left."

Rangiku felt the conversation rapidly sliding out of her grasp, and so she made one last bid to find out what was going on.

"Why are people here?" she asked again loudly and slowly, ignoring the animosity between the other two.

Kanae gave her a sideways look. "Are you always so obnoxious?" Gin's expression darkened, and his hands curled into fists, but Rangiku stepped between them. Kanae sighed in resignation, giving in. "There's a weddin'."

Rangiku gave Gin a look of confusion, and he paused and gave her a half-shrug in reply. "We don’t know what that is,” she informed the whore. “What's a wedding?"

"Obnoxious and ignorant. Wonderful." Kanae slammed her bottle on the counter. She drew in a deep breath. "A weddin', brats, is an empty sham where people put on clothes they can't afford and make promises they can't keep before gods that don't exist, givin' everyone an excuse to get drunk off their faces before fallin' into bed with perfect strangers and- hopefully- whores. Are we done yet? Anythin’ more? Will ya' leave me alone now?"

Rangiku paused, digesting the new information. "What kind of promises?"

Kanae's knuckles went white. "To share joy and sorrow together. To live peacefully together. To make a home together. To provide for each other. To honor the gods. Bullshit,” she sneered.

Beside her, Gin had fallen silent in thought.

"Okay," Rangiku said. "One last question, then I promise we'll leave you alone, Kanae-san. Whose wedding is this?"

"Nakamura and his whore," Kanae said with an ugly smile. Gin's face suddenly perked up in interest, and a slow, gleeful smile crossed his face too, which Rangiku did not miss. She elbowed him and gave him a look.

"Thanks for explaining everything to us, Kanae-san," Rangiku said. "We're very grateful." An idea suddenly occurred to her, and she began to rummage through her bag. "Here- you should have some of these. We have plenty."

Kanae gave her a searching look, and then her hand shot out to grab the persimmons Rangiku had offered. Rangiku looked at her pensively before turning to leave. Kanae paid them no more attention, tearing into the first persimmon, and did not look at them at all as they left.

"Why did ya' do that?" Gin asked curiously. “We could have sold that.”

"Did you see her?" Rangiku said pityingly. "Food is so expensive here. I think that might have been the first time she's had food in years."

He looked at her blankly. "So what?"

She turned to him sharply. "You gave me food. I remember what it was like to go without."

"That was different though," he said. "Ya'd have starved to death without it."

"They still crave it, even if they won't starve. It hurts to be denied what you want over and over again. She’ll get more pleasure out of it than I ever would have. And anyways," she looked at him curiously, "there are plenty of people about who have a small amount of power. They starve. Did you ever give any of them food?"

He hadn't, and he had a sneaking suspicion that she knew that, given how she was looking at him.

(How could he even begin to explain how she differed from everyone else? How his initial curiosity had transformed and evolved into something deeper, something so alien and so strange but so tender? He couldn’t. He couldn’t even explain it to himself.)

"We should set up shop on the corner," he decided, avoiding the question. "Too close to the bar, and people will ignore us in favour of buying booze. Too far and no one will bother."

She gave him a knowing look, but if she had something to say, she wasn't saying it.

The sun was beginning to set, filling the square with a hazy golden light, and paper lanterns were beginning to be lit when he hum of voices in the square suddenly escalated into a dull roar, and all of a sudden, people were whooping and cheering and stamping their feet.

Rangiku looked up in alarm, and he snorted at her reaction. "It's just the weddin'," he told her. "Nakamura-san and Mr Shop Keep's old girl are at the other end of the square. Guess she's just Nakamura-san's girl now, though." He paused. "How do you think he's keepin'? Should we pay him a visit?"

He sounded hopeful.

"Don't be mean," she chided. She arched her neck in a bid to get a look at the newlywed. "I can't see them." She sounded disappointed.

He sighed theatrically. "Guess it can't be helped," he said. He crouched and patted his shoulders. "Up ya' get."

She looked at him with wide eyes.

"I'll squash you!" she objected. "I'm too heavy for that now."

He grinned. "Then I'll be the most brilliant pancake that ever lived. Hop on.”

"You weren't supposed to agree, you!" She pouted at him, but a hidden smile played about her lips.

"Mou, how was I supposed to read ya' mind?" he complained. "Okay, alright- 'You'll never be too heavy for me to carry, Ran-chan!'” he said in a saccharine voice. “There, ya' happy now? Climb on."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

She got on to his back, and sat clumsily on his shoulders. His knees wobbled and they swayed ominously, and she clung to his head in panic, pulling at his hair. He grasped at her legs.

"Hang on, hang on," he gritted his teeth, and soon enough they were steady again.

She looked out, and her eyes were bright.

The district was too poverty stricken for even the bride and groom to wear new clothes, but they had done their best. The bride's hood had been sewn neatly together from whatever white fabric she could find, but from a distance, no one would ever be able to tell; her lips were a dusty red, and her hair had been pinned up. The groom laughed and smiled and bantered with his friends, but every so often he would look back at his wife, and his gaze was soft.

"They're beautiful," she breathed quietly.

He could not see her face, but he knew exactly the sort of expression she'd be wearing, and because he could not see it, he imagined it- lips parted in gentle wonder, eyes bright and sparkling, avid fascination written on her face.

He had no impulse towards empathy, but he could not help but feel the reflection of it. Nakamura and Mr Shop Keep's former girl meant nothing to him. He could quite easily run them through with a knife today, bury the bodies tomorrow, and eat his rice with no qualms the day after that with a clear and untroubled conscience.

But this, this warmth, this reflected wonder which she gave to him so freely, which played in his ribcage and which somehow sparked a warmth of his own, this meant the world. He would do anything to keep it safe.

But his legs were beginning to ache.

"Time to come down, Ran-chan," he said regretfully, and he crouched down to let her off. She slid down his back, and her yukata hitched up inelegantly as she did so, baring her legs. She quickly rearranged her clothes.

They hawked and shouted and bartered and their supply of persimmons began to dwindle quickly. Kanae had been right- weddings were good for business, and food was a rarity in this district. People were keen to celebrate, and when word of cheap, fresh fruit spread, demand quickly outstripped supply, and they had to beat back thieves.

The men, deep in their cups, cat-called and made lewd suggestions and undressed her with their eyes, and he glared and showed his knife. But she was in high spirits regardless, and paid little attention. In truth, the wedding had done a great deal of good for everyone; for once, the mood across town was light and festive, and its inhabitants, usually driven to rob and cheat each other from desperation, embraced each other and laughter rang in the air like bells.

To share joy and sorrow together, he thought absent-mindedly. To live peacefully together. To make a home together. To provide for each other. That was what Kanae had told them.

He did all of that for her already. It wasn’t much- if that was all it was, then they were practically wedded already, he decided.

When she smiled, he smiled; when she woke with nightmares, he got rid of them. They sat together in the evening in front of the fire, and did not even need to share a word, because they knew what the other was thinking. He tended the garden where they grew their food, and she cooked their lunch and their dinner. What was home without her? There was no such thing; in the simplest sense, wherever she was would be home, always and forever.

"Ne, Rangiku?" he asked curiously. "Would you like a weddin’?”

She laughed at him, as if what he had suggested was absurd. “What a weird question!”

“It isn’t,” he insisted.

“Yes it is!”

“It isn’t.”

“Yes it is!”

They squabbled back and forth for a few moments childishly.

“I don’t know!” she said in exasperation, throwing her hands up in the air. “Maybe! One day! I’d need to find someone who would want to marry me though.” She crossed her arms and leant against the wall in a huff.

His eyes narrowed. He had not considered even for an instant that someone else might marry her, and now that the thought had occurred to him, he did not like it one bit. He seethed quietly for a moment, and kicked a stone down the road.

“I don’t think it’s any different from how things are already,” he announced arrogantly.

She did a strange thing then, and gave him a scathing look. “What?” she growled.

He gave her an odd sideways glance. “It’s just what we do already, but they’ve put on fancy clothes and thrown a party.”

“It is different,” she insisted loudly.

“How?”

“It just is!”

There was a strange tension brewing in the air between them.

“How?”

“It just is!”

“How?” he pressed insistently, unaware that he was poking at a tender spot.

“Because he’s never going to leave!” she shouted, rounding on him. Her voice had cracked half way through the sentence, to her shame, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

It was like he had been punched in the stomach.

If he loved basking in the reflected glow of her happiness, then this was its terrible shadow, the painful ache that he felt in his chest whenever tears came to her eyes, and the dreadful, clumsy knowledge that he would do anything to make it stop. It was the price he paid for happiness. No matter how he had looked at it and analysed it, he could not extricate the one from the other. If he was to feel her happiness, then he would also feel her pain and he would have to let himself suffer it.

It made him writhe inside with a horrible discomfort and a muted horror. She and her feelings and the feelings she provoked- they were a weakness and he could not afford weaknesses, not here, not in this cruel and brutal place, and maybe nowhere else besides. He had spent long enough here to have that lesson carved into his bones. Her existence made him so-

(vulnerable.)

No signs of softness, no signs of weakness; never let them know where your heart lies, he had been told as a child.

He had never thought it a problem, because he had always been sure that he didn’t have a heart.

Her eyes were furious.

The pain was tinged with the shame of knowing that he was the cause of those tears, that he had been their instigator.

(And he would be again. And again, and again.)

He had to leave. No matter how much it would hurt her.

(No matter how much it would hurt him).

“Yeah,” he said blankly. “Guess ya’ right, Rangiku. Sorry.”

She fell silent.

They did not speak the entire way home.

The sun set, and the golden haze of the day retreated leaving behind a black and starless sky. They had no moon by which to light the way, and he walked on ahead, leaving her to stumble after him.

In the darkness, she could barely make out his shoulders.

He was gone when she woke up.

#bleach #gin ichimaru #rangiku matsumoto #ginran #ichimaru gin #spider lilies #gin you dumbass #there comes a point when you're writing GinRan #where you forget how it all ends #and you can convince yourself that it's all going to turn out okay #if he just scrapes his act together

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rmjagonshi · 6 years

Text

The Prince and the Streetrat

For the writing prompt from @princeasimdiya12 with her suggestion of Mullet Stan Alladdin Au set in Agrabah. I may have gone a bit over my initial word count estimate. Hence why it took longer than expected. So....sorry?

Gen (no ships), family friendly and all that.

The Market was unusually busy today. It was off season for much of the local harvests and the trade caravans were coming in by the dozens. Some were even from places he didn’t recognize; their garb and wares colorful and exotic. The number of horses in the public stables was now rivalling the number of camels. The street cleaners and stable hands were running to keep up with the increased workload. The guards were out in full force, but even they were having trouble keeping up with the petty crime occurring sometimes right in front of them.

With all the tradesman distracted and the large crowds, it was the perfect time to gather stock for the week. It had been so long since he was able to get enough food for more than a day. In fact, the last time the market was this busy, the kingdom celebrated the prince’s coming of age ceremony; the day the son of the emperor became a man and could now take his position as ruler of Agrabah. Furtive movement to his left caught his eye; a fisherman was tossing out some rejected pieces of the fish he was butchering. If he was quick or charming enough, he could probably get the fish heads, tails and spines. Not the best, but still meat, and meat was rare for a streetrat.

The kids and he were going to have themselves a proper feast. With the crowds, he might even be able to pickpocket a few of the richer folk, might be able to get Mable a new dress, or at least the fabric to make one. He was good with a needle and thread, but he had never actually made clothes before. The boy was getting taller, too. He would need to conserve fabric to accommodate the two growing children in his care.

Silently, he swung down from the awning he was perch atop, shuffling across the decorative eves and dropping down to the dusty ground in a narrow alley. He checked to make sure the handholds he had carved into the wooden supports were spaced closed enough to make for a quick climb; he’d left his bag up top, it did no good to have all his ill-gotten gains with him if he was ever caught. He’d grab a few things here and there and make a trip back to deposit it. If anything happened, Mason knew where the drop bag was and knew when to collect it. Smart kid, not quite strong enough to make it on his own, but the boy was young still, he had time.

On the ground he had to be careful. Being a streetrat had more than its fair share of disadvantages. Wearing the same clothes everyday made him easy to spot by the local tradesman; he was hoping there were enough newcomers to allow him to lose himself in the throng. He glanced briefly down at his worn clothes. The color of his leggings reminded him of sour milk, the patches doing nothing to remedy the terrible dye choice, and his open vest was a royal blue, almost purple. He loved it, but it was an unusual color and drew too much attention. He would have to be quick.

Three hours passed before he chose to call it a day. He had gotten those fish heads and tails by flirting with the fishmonger’s daughter and trading away a kiss. The poor girl was a bit slow and had one perpetually lazy eye, but she wasn't too bad looking. He might just visit her again. He was able to swipe a bag of millet to make into flat bread, a full basket of dates (that he topped with rejected ones), a full watermelon, couple of eggplants, a pouch of mystery spice he pocketed without thinking, and a full goat leg, already drained. He’d even been able to lift a leather band to pull his horridly long hair back. Mable told him it made him look dashing; he thought she was crazy, but he never cut it knowing he would disappoint her.

He had a few close calls with the guards; they tailed him for a street or two before he ducked into an alley and shimmied up the side of a residential building and onto the roof. The stall owners gave him no trouble. The newcomers were duped by his dazzling smile and charming personality and he delighted in swiping things out from under them. Local tradesmen were more warry, but waiting for the moment they were distracted by other customers made easy work. He heard from gossip that the prince was being officially crowned heir in a week’s time, and that the celebration would end in a grand ball where he would choose a bride from the neighboring kingdoms. Heck, if it meant he and his family could eat this well, the prince could marry a new girl every week.

He was tempted to head back down and try picking a few pockets. He had been eyeing the stall, run by a scary old woman he was sure was a witch, all day. She had fabric in all types and colors. Finely woven silk as thin as a flower petal, thick canvas rolls perfect for sleeping mats, and wool spun so fine and clean that he didn’t recognize it as wool. He’s sure the old woman noticed him, he got lost staring at the pale pink wool spool he wanted to get for Mable. The witch had eyed him crossly, her angular face and long nose adding to her menacing appearance.

He was tempted, he was, but the risk was almost not worth it. Stealing food was one thing, you spent a day or two in the dungeons. Stealing money meant losing a hand. But he couldn’t get the fabric any other way. He could just try stealing something from some hanging laundry, but he’d done that last time and poor Mabel was forced to tie it in place until she grew into it.

Alright. Just once. He’d have to really pick his target. Someone who obviously had a lot and wouldn’t miss a small amount. It didn’t take long. A foreigner with large white hair, pale skin and strange pale blue garb strutted through the crowd below, a large coin purse dangling from his waist. He smirked and tracked the foreigner from the rooftops, He dropped down to the street and made his way into the throng of people, maneuvering his way to the snooty foreigner. He found his chance when the man stopped to chide a stall owner over their quality of fruit, claiming that his homeland had much better produce. It was hardy a challenge to lift the bag and disappear in the crowd and up another wooden scaffolding. He could hear the man screaming that someone had stolen his money, but he was already a street over and making his way down to the fabric stall.

He tucked the bag in his vest and lowly approached the old woman, trying his best to act casual. “Back again, I see. Come to try and rob me like you’ve robbed the others?” Her eyes bore into his sole. Her voice was high and screechy and wrapped around him like a miasma. He stood, transfixed, and fought the urge to run. Had she seen him? Did she know him? He had never seen her before. Maybe she was a witch.

He cleared his throat and stepped forward, “I don’t understand what you mean. I am simply interested in the pick fabric you have. It seems of low quality, seems scratchy, but it’s the right color. How much ya chargin’ for it?” He fingered the fabric and tried to look as disdainful as the man he had pickpocketed. But the woman saw through his ruse. She grabbed his wrist and yanked him forwards over the small wooden counter.

“Far more than you can afford, Streetrat!” Her breath stank worse than his, and he couldn’t bathe regularly. He tried pulling back but she held firm. He fumbled with the purse and the coins spilled out onto the counter. “I can pay, witch! Let go!” He struggled against her iron grip, feeling the blood pulse in his veins, faster and faster.

“Stolen coins are worthless to me Stan! You shall get what you deserve! Guards! Thief!”

He pulled harder, he didn’t care about the stupid fabric anymore! This witch knew his name! Knew he had stolen the money! He needed to leave, get his family’s food and get home. NOW!

A six-fingered hand materialized in the space between him and the woman. A gentle voice filled his ear as a second warm hand settled on his shoulder. “Now, now. That won’t be necessary.”

The witch released his wrist at once, attention now focused on the newcomer. Stan pulled his wrist to his chest and rubbed at the skin. It felt like a she had burned him; the skin was red and tight and looked swollen. He turned to the newcomer and was faced with something uncanny. It was like looking into a reflection. The man’s face was his own, maybe a bit slimmer. Same square jaw, same overly large nose, same high forehead.

“His man was simply trying to purchase something from you. No need for accusations. Now, what was it that you wanted to buy?” The man’s face was soft and open as he turned to face Stan. Stan was disconcerted with the familiarities between them. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. But the stranger had saved him, so he owed the man some courtesy.

“Just some of the pink wool. A yard or so. Probably two ta be safe.” Stan’s voice was strained. He was having trouble bringing out his classic charm. He was unnerved and he just wanted to get out of here.

“Perfect. How much for two yards of the pink fabric, miss?” The stranger smiled at the witch, nose only slightly wrinkling at the woman’s breath. It was like this stranger had drawn all the charm from Stan for himself. Stan decided he didn’t like him. He was dressed well, too well. A businessman, or even a council member. The sand colored robe the stranger wore was made of fine thread, tightly woven together. This man was exceedingly wealthy, despite his deformity. Though, if Stan was being honest, the extra finger was kind of fascinating, in a weird and morbid sort of way.

“Sixty coins. It’s the finest I have save for the silk.” The woman’s screech was painful to the ears and made Stan flinch. Sixty Coins! That was insane! No trader worth their salt would charge sixty coins for wool. He didn’t even know if the white-haired man he had stolen from had that much. He hastily began counting the coins, making small piles of five to keep track. Even though he had more money at his fingertips than he had ever had before, he was still woefully short of the price necessary to get Mabel a new dress. She was grossly overcharging. He swore under his breath.

Stan’s posture slumped. He didn’t even have enough to buy one yard. His eyes skirted the dusty street in hopes that he might have dropped a coin or ten. Nothing. He heard a clink of coins on the counter and watched in stunned silence as the stranger counted out sixty coins with ease and tucked away the purse that still held far more.

“That should cover the cost, yes?” The man pushed the pile of coins to the woman. She scooped them up and let them fall into a pocket sewn into the front of her robe before pulling out a pair of shears and a leather strip to measure with.

“You don’t…have to…” Stan stuttered. He really didn’t want to take charity from this man. He didn’t like owing favors to people, especially people he didn’t know yet. Bu the man was insistent.

“Nonsense. It’s quite alright.” There was that gleaming smile again. Teeth clean and face smooth, this man was very wealthy indeed. It might be in Stan’s best interest to befriend this stranger. It might prove lucrative.

The witch pressed two yards of cloth wrapped in burlap into the stranger’s hands and he accepted it graciously. The stranger nodded to him and started to hand the bundle to Stan when the sounds of the guards carried over the crowd. The stranger glanced over his shoulder, flipped his hood up quickly and tugged Stan by the hand and into the masses.

This stranger was on the run from the law, huh? Ok, maybe he was starting to like him. He left the stolen purse on the witch’s counter.

Stan took over leading and made his way back to the alley he started from. The stranger was still hanging onto the burlap bag and seemed to have no intent to hand it over.

“By the way, I never got your name.”

“Stan. Yours?”

My name is S… is Ford. You can call me Ford.”

Stan raised his eye at the obvious cover, but instead took Ford’s hand, gave it a quick shake and let go. “Well, nice meeting you. Thanks for helping. It’s yours now, so I’ll be goin’.” He didn’t wait for Ford to leave before starting his way up the building to the roof where his drop bag was.

“You going to hurry up? You’re slow.” Stan heard a chuckle below him and nearly lost his grip whirling his head around to see that Ford as climbing up after him. He heard guard voices close by and understood. Once he reached the top, he turned back around and helped Ford climb onto the roof. He made no mention of the extra finger.

Stan flashed Ford a knowing grin when the man peered over the edge of the roof to check on the guards. Anyone on the run from the law was a friend of his. Well, not everyone, but heck, he couldn’t exactly judge. They waited a few minutes, watching the busy street below as the evening encroached upon the desert kingdom. The wind swept over the two men, catching at Stan’s long hair that had come loose from the leather band and pulling Ford’s hood down around his collar. They hadn’t said much to one another, but Stan was surprisingly comfortable with the company. But it was getting late, and the kids would be getting worried if he didn’t make it back soon.

The man pulled a crooked face when Stan pulled out the bag of goods and threw it over his shoulder. “I aided a lowly criminal? I should have let that woman call the guards.” However, Ford’s actions belied his actions when he tied the burlap wrap around his torso and made to follow Stan.

Stan snorted. “Hey, man’s gotta eat. I’d work if I could, but no one’ll give me a job.” It wasn't exactly a lie; he had never been offered a job, but he also had never tried to get one. He had lived his life on the streets, most of it alone. He mother had left one night to gather food just as he was doing, and never came back. It was another reason he wanted to make sure he made it back tonight; the kids didn’t deserve that.

“That much food for one person? I’m not letting you out of my sight. What did you need this fabric for, anyway? Reselling? Smuggling? I think that purse was stolen. You know, you people are the reason why the economy is failing.”

Stan rolled his eyes. The guy kept talking, but be he was still not making any moved to call the guards or arrest him. He placed a plank of wood over the gap between buildings; he wasn't going to play acrobat carrying this much food. And he didn’t think that the smart guy could make the same leaps of faith he made on a daily basis.

“You commin’?” He didn’t wait for an answer and made his way across the alley. He heard Ford follow hi snot long after.

They weaved in and out of rooftops and shimmied down the sides of buildings, over rubble and into the oldest part of town. They walked and climbed for nearly an hour; they passed by street urchins and beggars trying to carve out a living in the collapsing streets the populace had abandoned. Ford felt disquiet following this criminal. He was greeted by many people, beggars and children alike. Stan paused a few times and handed out food from his sack to those who looked sick. They watched Ford closely, but gave him wide berth. As much as he was uncomfortable, Stanford realized that he was in no danger walking through these streets as long as he was with this…with Stan.

They snaked through a maze of ramshackle alleys until they reached an open square of what used to be an academy. Stan lead him through a collapsed stairwell, dodging fallen wooden support beams and brushing aside cloth hung to give privacy. Stan held his hand and guided him over a few weak areas that shifted under his weight.

He heard voices ahead, two distinct ones. They sounded young. The whispers rang out and bounced off the stone walls. Stanford heard a sound that he might have attributed to a chicken being strangled. He heard Stan sight ahead of him and mutter something under his breath.

“It’s fine, kid, it’s just me. We’ve got a guest. He’s safe. I brought dinner.” They mounted the last few steps and came to a landing that may have been a central gathering area for students once upon a time. The walls were decorated with tattered fabric and ancient parchment covered in paint and drawings likely created by a child. There were mats on the floor mad of palm fibers and a few toys made of broken pieces of wood, metal, and bits of string. Pieces of wood and stone were pushed together into some semblance of furniture, a stack of chipped bowls, flat pieces of pottery used as plates and wooden utensils sat on the sill of a window that had been boarded up. Piles of cloth sat in a corner beside a wash bucket beside a hole in the floor. A curtain was tacked onto the wall to act as a privacy barrier.

When Stanford saw the two children run up to the streetrat Stan, all the anger at seeing this man take so much from hard working men and women dissipated. This man was just trying to feed his family the only way he could. He felt shame at putting so much value on such a small thing as a yard of wool. The children were frantic over Stan, asking him if he was alright, if he had gotten caught, what took so long, who Ford was, and what was in the bag, was it all food? Ford could tell these children were hungry; they weren’t starving, least not the way the children they passed on the street earlier were starving, but they were still likely going without meals more times than not. They were thin and gangly, and likely older than they looked. Stanford placed their ages somewhere between twelve or fourteen. He placed Stan at around twenty, closer to Stanford’s own age. If this was the criminal classes in the city, then his father was being purposefully blind to the social problems in his kingdom.

“For the girl?” Stanford asked, pulling the burlap sling off his shoulder and lifting out the pink fabric. The little girl, nearly a woman, squealed in delight and rushed over to him; stranger or no, the prospect of something pretty was too alluring. She carefully fingered the cloth slowly, like she couldn’t believe it was real.

“Stan, did you steal this?” She asked quietly, eyes flicking up to Stanford, unsure of what she could say in front of him.

“You know that can get you into more trouble, right? Food is one thing, but anything that really has value will get the guards on your tail faster than you could blink.” The boy was more warry of Stanford and hung back to help Stan unpack the assortment of food he had swindled and stolen.

“Thank this guy, Ford, right?” Stanford nodded once. “He was the one who paid for it. Wasn’t cheap either. That woman was inflating the price ‘cause the prince is throwing some kinda party.” Ford felt himself freeze at Stan’s mention of the celebrations in his honor. He had been trying to escape the city and do some investigating in the desert when he came across Stan and the saleswoman. He had no interest in the feasts or the parading around and showing off for the foreign officials.

Warm brown eyes looked up at him with glee and adoration, with maybe a hint of shyness. Her eyes catching just a hint of the light peeking through the gap in the ragged tapestry covering the giant hole in the wall. He couldn’t help but smile at her, something about her just filled his chest with warmth and affection. He knelt down and set the fabric in her hands like a prized treasure.

“Here you are, m’lady.” A faint blush rose to her cheeks, but she took the compliment in stride.

“Why thank you good sir. And my, what charming manners you have.” He smiled at her with ease and she smiled back with equal intensity. They shared a quiet giggle between them and exchanged names. He complimented her on such a pretty name and told her that the name Mabel meant someone who is kind and lovable. She blushed and giggled again.

Ford caught Stan and the boy rolling their eyes and putting together a fire to cook the goat leg and make a decent stew with the vegetables. Ford stood to help, but Stan waved him off. A tug on his robe brought his attention back to Mabel.

“Do you want to see some of the designs I came up with for this?” She held up the pink fabric and looked into Ford’s eyes with hope. He could tell she didn’t have much chance for company other than Stan and the boy, and she was having a hard time saying no to her. Her enthusiasm and cheerfulness was infections.

“Sure. What did you have in mind? Something modest or more flashy?” Her eyes sparkled at his answer. She took him by the hand and lead him over to her little corner. “I had a few designs in mind, actually. You look like you might know a thing or two about fashion what with the jewelry and the quality of your clothes. You can tell me what might be in style.” Ford let out a nervous laugh, he had forgotten about the earrings and gold pendant he wore. He was surprised no one had tried to mug him. But if all the thieves were like this tiny family, well, jewels were the least of their concern.

Stanford did not expect to find himself in the company of the lowest class of people in his kingdom when he left home. He did not expect to help a poor man purchase a gift for his daughter and find him a criminal by necessity. He did not expect to share in their ill-gotten feast and spend the evening telling stories of wild escapades surviving on the streets and hair-raising adventures overheard from tavern goers. Stanford had few stories he could tell that wouldn’t give away his identity, but he could at least tell them about learning how to ride a camel when he was younger and how he now lived in perpetual fear of them even though he was required to ride them for ‘work’. He also told them of all the strange and mystical things that existed in the desert and even pulled out a leather-bound journal he was working on to catalogue all that he found. They boy, Mason, was fascinated by the pictures, but was ashamed to admit that he, nor his sister, could read all that well. Books were nigh on impossible to come by without money, even in a defunct academy.

“Hey, by the way, I noticed that you and Stan kinda look alike.” Mason had said, trying to hide his face behind Ford’s journal; he was looking at the sketches Ford had done of the spiraling pits of quicksand Ford had come across in his explorations.

“Yeah, now that you mention it, you two kinda do look alike. What if you’re long lost brothers?” Mable said in delight, rushing over to Ford and mapping out his features with her fingertips.

“Mable, stop, you’re embarrassing yourself.” Mason sounded more like he was the one embarrassed, and Mable stuck her tongue out in response, but did stop and return to her seat. “She is right, though. You two could be brothers.” Stan waved them off and dug out the watermelon for dessert.

The large hole in the wall was really just a missing wall covered with a variety of cloth tacked to the wall on either side. It provided a beautiful ambient light and an amazing view of the sun setting behind the palace. Stanford tried to show enthusiasm, but the reminder of his future only seemed to suck the joy out of him.

When the children had gone to sleep, bellies full and heads equally full of stories and prospects for food tomorrow, Stanford found himself sitting in comfortable silence with the strange man he never expected to meet. He was reluctant to leave, and only did so long after the sun had set and Stan sat dozing against the frame the wall-sized window made. He stuck to the rooftops instead of the streets to find his way back, climbing over the palace wall with the aid of a perfectly concealed rope he had hidden earlier that day. He gathered some old things in a pile before he fell asleep that night, dreaming of pink dresses, narrow streets, and goat stew.

Stanford made it a habit to venture back to that abandoned landing on the old part of town everyday leading up to the crowning ceremony and subsequent bridal choosing. He fully admitted he was avoiding it; not because he disliked women, far from, but he was in no hurry to marry a stranger just to satisfy his father’s need to be a grandfather. Besides, the mysteries of the desert still eluded his grasp and he had so much yet to learn before he settled down. His liaisons to the abandoned part of town was eating into the time he could be spending searching out answers. But he found he didn’t mind.

He brought food, and books, and old toys for the children and brought companionship for his new friend. He and Stan would sit for hours and just talk about anything that happened to catch their interest. Stan was uneducated, but he was wicked smart about how to read people, how to avoid trouble and how to de-escalate conflict. The few times Stanford thought to bring up politics and law, Stan was quick to comment on what laws seemed to work and which ones only provided loopholes for the corrupt to exploit the lower masses.

While neither one ever discussed it since the first night, Mason’s comment that they looked alike still resonated in the prince’s mind. He often found himself staring at his reflection and analyzing his features, comparing them to his companion’s, and to his father’s. One night, he finally built up the courage to ask his father about the possibility of illegitimate heirs. He found his opportunity when his father began discussing his new duties as crowned heir. This was his chance.

“Father, I’ve been going over the old laws, and, while I know that I don’t have any siblings, I wonder what would happen if I did? How would that change the crown order? I read something that if the siblings were close in age, a high council vote would choose the heir, is that true?”

His father paused, letting his fort drop to his plate before looking his son in the eye. Or, maybe, the emperor always had a thin black cloth tied around his eyes for reasons unknown to Stanford. He had learned as a young boy to never ask. Filbrick was a hard man, and an even harder emperor. He desired physical wealth above all else and felt that any man could earn his way to wealth through hard and honest work. He cared little for knowledge unless it brought him more wealth and status with the neighboring kingdoms. Stan, and the children, was just the type of person his father wanted to drive out from the city. Stanford could feel the seconds pass like hours waiting for his father to speak.

“Yeah, it’s true. And I don’t know if you have any siblings. I never kept track of the number of of servants I bedded. Come to think of it, there was one girl that came forward about twenty years ago. Claimed she had borne a son from me. I recognized her, but she was a liar and a thief, so she was ejected from the palace. I never found out if her claims were true.” Filbrick resumed his meal, indicating the conversation was over.

“I…I have a brother?” Stanford refused to let it go. The possibility, the chance that he had a sibling, that he may very well have met his sibling, was too much of a pull to back down.

“I don’t know, nor care. If he’s as much of a liar and a thief as that woman, then he’s likely one of the surge draining the lifeblood from this city.” Filbrick was angry and bristled at Stanford’s insistence to continue the topic. His face smoothed a bit as he remembered the mystery woman. “Shame too, I liked her, she was feisty and didn’t kowtow to my every command.”

But Stanford had stopped listening. He had all the information he needed. Stan had told him of his mother, how she had found the academy building and kept him there as a child, of how she never came back. He told Ford about the stories she used to tell him of working in the palace, of how the halls were painted with gold and flowers and the kitchen was always stocked. She told him about the gardens and fountains and how kind and just the emperor was, if a bit misguided. Stan had told Ford he had seen firsthand what the laws of the kingdom did to people, what people turned to to protect themselves. He didn’t hate the emperor, but Stan felt that their ruler did not understand the plight of the underclass, did not know that hardship of going without and being forced to steal.

Stanford left that night after his last meal. He was supposed to be preparing for the ceremony tomorrow, but this was far too important. He dressed hurriedly and made sure to inform his room attendant that he would not need anything else that night. When the young girl (she was extraordinarily pretty, and unusually intelligent, he may have to bend the laws a bit when it came to marriage) had left, he escaped through the servant’s passage and over the palace wall.

After a week of traveling the rooftops and allies, he was familiar with the route to the old academy and the residents along the way knew him enough to leave him be. He wanted to help them, but he could do only one thing at a time, and after his crowning ceremony, he could intact proper change. But, for now, he just needed to find Stan and the kids. He dropped down from the roof to the deserted square and entered the academy. He could hear voices above and the crackling of a fire. He was just in time for dinner. Shame he had already eaten. He had grown to love the simple stew Stan made – he always made sure to bring gifts or ingredients to cover his portion, he wasn't completely devoid of logic.

He heard the voices stop as he mounted the stairs. A poor imitation of a chicken echoed off the walls and he returned his own, more recognizable call. “’Bout time! Was wondering when you’d come. Thought maybe you’d finally gotten lost.” Stanford chuckled at Stan’s thinly disguised worry. He saw Mason pick up the book Ford had given him, eager to impress the man with how quickly he was learning to read. But they all froze when he mounted the last stair into their tiny home.

He stepped out of the shadows and removed his robe, letting the light catch his regal garb and reflect back a prism of colors in the tiny room he thought of as ore a home than his own. Stan’s eyes were blown wide, hair loose and piece of moldy bread left forgotten on the pottery piece he used as a plate. Stan recognized him now, or his clothes, at least. He worn this to all his public appearances, which is why he chose it for tonight. The children recognized him too, he was sure of it when Mason stopped in his tracks to greet Stanford. Mable clutched the doll he had given her and stared.

Stanford dropped the robe and crossed the room in a few quick paces. He stopped in front of the man he had come to think of as his best friend, one he hoped would now become his family.

“Stan,” He felt tears well up in his eyes as his took Stan by the shoulders and felt a smile split his face in two. “I have something wonderous to tell you.” Stan blinked and swallowed once, uncomprehending the sight before him.

He could hear the children whispering frantically back and forth. He caught only a few words. He embraced the man before him. The man that looked so much like him, the man that he had come to care so much for. The children he had come to love dearly in such a short period of time. He felt Stan slowly return the embrace, still stunned and visibly shaken. The words escaped Stanford’s mouth before he could stop them.

“My brother.”

#gravity falls #writing prompts #stanley pines #Stanford pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #alladdin au #mullet stan #streetrat #I made it really sappy

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ellynefics · 7 years

Text

‘Round Midnight

genre;; realistic, college!AU

pairing;; Im Changkyun x fem!reader, mentions of Showhyuk and Kiheon

plot;;

@astroisk said to @floofsta-x: things you said when you were drunk !!

Send me a prompt and a ship! (✻Ask Box)

You always act like Changkyun’s drunk appearances at your dorm room door bother you, but really you don’t mind. You’d rather he be sleeping in your bed than in a stranger’s.

warnings;; angst!! slight platonic fluff!!

words;; 1929 (1.9k)

Why did time have to pass so slowly? Straightening up, you sighed and rubbed your forehead. The muscles in your back ached in complaint, not wanting to leave their hunched position. Homework was consuming your evening; you had spent the majority leaning over your notes and laptop keyboard. All your concentration went to the task at hand, and you were deep in the throes of writing an English paper. Sure, the topic wasn't overly interesting (some bull about Shakespeare’s works compared to Voltaire’s), but a paper was a paper. At least it wasn’t a rush job; the due date was a little more than a week away, so you weren’t half-assing everything.

You told yourself that when the clock said quarter to midnight, you would wrap it up. Snuggling under warm blankets sounded amazing, as well as closing your tired eyes and catching a few winks of sleep.

But there was another motivation, besides bed: the treat that awaited you in your mini fridge. This was the thing that truly made it worthwhile. About an hour and a half before, you had pulled a can of peach slices from your drawer of food. Dumping the contents into a soup mug, you proceeded to stick that in the freezer. If you left it long enough, the juice would become slushy, and the fruit itself delightfully frosted over. Then it was a delicious treat, and the perfect end to a long day of hard work and toil in the name of higher education.

One more sentence, you told yourself. Just a few more words, and you’ll probably look up and it’ll be five minutes past.

You were right. After typing in a little more of what you had in mind for your research paper, you glanced up to find eleven forty five was come and gone. In a flash, you had packed everything up into your backpack. Then you hopped out of your chair and grabbed your pajamas from your bed. It took only seconds to change. Excitement filled you to have that cold mug in your hands, and be popping peachy goodness into your mouth. Shutting the light off in the bathroom, and then the main light, you went to your small fluorescent lamp. Soft, white luminescence permeated the room when you pressed the button on its top. Then, grabbing a fork from your silverware cup, you practically ran to the fridge and pulled open the door.

The mug was so cold, at a perfect temperature. Poking the top of the fruit, you found that it was right at that most delicious stage, too. If it wasn’t so late, you would have been singing and dancing. Peeling back the covers of your bed, you hopped underneath them and pulled a cute cat video up on your phone. You were now warm, cozy, eating a cold, sweet treat, and watching kittens. Again, truly the perfect end to the day–and also the week, you realized. It was Friday. Oh, how easy it was to forget in the swing of things. Classes overwhelmed your days, activities your evenings--the days often blurred together.

You had barely gotten through half the mug and three compilations of cats when you heard the outside door open. That was, the one to the common room, that divided your suite from the one across the way. Unsteady, stumbling footsteps approached your side. Then there was a knock, and you immediately knew who it was. They almost didn’t even have to call through to you. “(Y/N)? Ya in?”

“Coming, Changkyun.” With a sigh, you set aside your snack. Sliding off the bed, you made your way over to the door, flipping the light on before unlocking it. Your eyes had to adjust to the sudden brightness; so, for a moment, he was a hazy figure as you pulled it open. You, as well, were probably out of focus for him, considering his state.

Usually, Im Changkyun was a clean-pressed, organized young man with a proud posture and great fashion sense. However tonight he was clearly messy and disheveled. The effects of copious amounts of Soju dulled his normally-sparkling eyes. It was so unlike him, that to anyone less of friends with him than you, the difference would be shocking. At least he still had a wide, white, blinding smile and his signature swagger.

Yeah, Really, this wasn’t much of a surprise. It was part of the normal routine. See, sometimes, after a night out at the bar, he would appear here, wanting to hang out. You’d let him in, and banter back and forth for a while before he’d inevitably fall asleep in your bed. Good thing you had a comfortable futon. Why he sought you out in particular was a mystery, but you trusted him. At least, enough to let him be alone with you, even in an inebriated state. Everyone knew you as the motherly friend, even from the beginning. For some reason, Changkyun was often the recipient of this strange affection. You worried about him when he wasn’t taking care of himself.

“Changkyunie, please don’t tell me that you walked here. Or, worse–drove.”

“Nah,” he answered sloppily and traipsed in. You stepped aside to let him past, and of course he headed straight for your bed. “Jooheon dropped m'off. Had t'go get t'others.”

“Okay. If you insist, I suppose I’ll believe that.” As much as you loved to tease and act annoyed at his sudden visits, you never were genuinely angry. Besides, you would much rather have him be here than somewhere unfamiliar. The absolute last thing you wanted to hear was a story out of his mouth about waking up scared and confused, in a strange bed or on a couch in an apartment he’d never seen.

He plopped down on the mattress, grinning as he bounced up and down a couple times. Then he toed his shoes off onto the floor and slid his legs under the covers. He always acted this way, like an unashamed little kid. It was aggravating sometimes but also endearing. You grabbed your mug of peaches (which was still fairly cold, thank goodness) and settled down on the other end of the bed, facing him.

“So, good night tonight?”

“Yeh,” Changkyun smiled and leaned back. In seconds, you were trying to pick words out of his drunken babble. He was so unashamed in telling you what had gone down earlier with him and his six good friends. A bottle of Soju had made the rounds, (“we all had, like, a loooot,”) they had nearly injured someone while trying to play darts, pool hadn’t been much better, and eventually they had just decided to stick to hanging out. Hyungwon met a lady, and they had gone home together. Quite unsurprisingly, Minhyuk and Hyunwoo had abruptly left side by side, too. (“Whennare those guys gonna date? C’mon, we ge'it, we know they sleep t’gether.”) Then Changkyun told you he had asked Jooheon to bring him here, to be with you. Still, nothing too surprising. That was also something in the normal routine. (“Jooheonie din’ have anything ta drink,” the boy in your bed reassured you, eyes wide. His hands waved sloppily in front of his chest. “Someone had ta take us’all home. It was his turn.”) Then his dimpled friend had gone back to pick up Kihyun and Hoseok. (“Jooheonie 'n Kihyun hyung looked like they were ‘bout to eat each other up,” Changkyun chuckled with perhaps too much glee.)

You couldn't help noticing that the whole time, he had his gaze fixed firmly on your hand, and bites of your succulent yellow fruit. Curiosity must have overwhelmed him because he stopped his story telling to ask. “So, whaddya eatin’?”

“Peach slices,” you answered, grinning back and spearing some on your fork. “Want one?” you held it out to him, cold fruit glistening enticingly on the prongs.

He didn't answer, but really he didn’t need to. All he had to do was lean forward and open his mouth. You stuck the bite in, and was almost instantly met by, “Hm, 's cold. Yum.” As he chewed thoughtfully and swallowed, he shot you one of his winks. Ah, Changkyun’s winks were disarming and oh-so-cute. Despite yourself, you chuckled and felt your cheeks heat up. There was a playful grin on his face, too, and that didn’t make things any better.

It must have been when you dropped your gaze; you could swear that someone else replaced him. Though his voice was still his low, rich own, all a sudden it was clear as a bell. “(Y/N)...d--do you know how beautiful you look right now?”

You dared to glance up and saw that his wet eyes were clear. You stopped, mind blanking for a moment. Obviously he wasn’t sober, he couldn’t be just like that, but...did he just confess to you? Eventually, you were able to croak some words in reply. “C--Changkyun, you know I have someone…”

To say that you hadn’t thought about yourself with him would be a lie. Changkyun was handsome, kind, considerate, romantic, and as far as you knew, single. His lips were probably sweet and soft (not that you thought about that more than once a blue moon). A girl could fall for him so easily, and without a doubt, you would have. That was, if you hadn’t already found the love of your life.

The two of you met in high school and were inseparable from the very beginning. It hurt at first that considering your different majors, you each selected different colleges, too. Being so far apart from each other had been a change, but nothing could kill your love for him. If you had concurrent free hours, he Skype called you, without fail. When you pulled up the screen to the sight of the man you wanted to spend your life with, your heart fluttered like it was the first time he kissed you. Before you had moved away to your respective schools, you had pledged to be faithful to one another. Even now, you wore his promise ring. When you twisted it on your finger, you could almost feel the warm touch of his lips on yours and his gentle hands as he cupped your cheeks. The trinket was a tangible reminder of his adoration, and that his heart was always with you.

Not to say there weren’t temptations, though, and Changkyunie was definitely one of them. Especially at times like this, when he looked so vulnerable, sitting just feet from you. He trembled a little, like he wanted to reach out, but he wasn’t going to let himself.

“I know.” He sighed at last. “Sometimes I like to imagine that you’re mine, though. I hope that’s ok. If it’s weird, I’ll stop. I understand how much you love your boyfriend...”

“No, it’s fine. Ah--honestly, I think about it, too.”

A sad smile spread across his face at your words, and he gave a little sigh, burying himself under your covers. It wasn’t long before he was asleep, snoring softly, peacefully.

As you watched him for a little longer, you knew that he’d probably not remember this in the morning. It meant so much to you, though. The love you felt in your heart for your handsome friend felt more stable, more justified.

You were glad he came to you. You were glad you let him in.

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ryuuppai · 7 years

Text

[i7] Nanase Riku Birthday Photobook Part 5: Thanks Conveyed by Everyone

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

Iori: It's midnight.

Tamaki: Rikkun happy bdaaaaaay

Mitsuki: Riku–! Have a great birthday!!!!

Yamato: Congrats. Today's policy is to spoil our center.

Nagi: congratulation Riku!!! (1) Having taken relay from the magnificent me, you are able to have a HAPPY birthday, is that right.

Sogo: Happy birthday, Riku-kun. I hope you'll have a great day.

Riku: Wah––––!!! Thanks, everyone!! I'm so happy!!

Tsumugi: Riku-san, once again, happy birthday! I hope that this day will be a great one...!

Riku: Hear this, manager! Everyone is cosplaying Tenn-nii! Lol

Tsumugi: Cosplaying Kujo-san!?

Iori: We were wondering what to do, but if we're talking about Nanase-san's favourite thing, that would probably be Kujo-san......

Mitsuki: We are doing this with last minute low quality cosplays.

Tamaki: Tenten doesn't wear glasses, Yama-san.

Yamato: Are you negating my identity.

Sogo: We absolute cannot let TRIGGER see us like this......

Nagi: I've made sure to take some good pictures. Should I sent them to Kujo-shi?

Sogo: Absolutely not!!!

Riku: I think that it would make Tenn-nii laugh, Sogo-san!

Sogo: I think that it would look like we're making fun of him......

Mitsuki: Actually, I think you look quite like him, Sogo.

Yamato: Why are you looking in my direction while Rabbit Chatting, Mitsu?

Iori: Wasn't there anything more you could've done about the low quality of your cosplay, Nikaido-san?

Yamato: Our face type is just too different to begin with.

Riku: That's right! Since you're specially dressed up as Tenn-nii, please do impersonations of him!

Nagi: What!?

Iori: Aah...... It's the advent of the great devil of unreasonable requests.

Tsumugi: I want to see everyone's impersonations! Lol

Tamaki: Ask this kind of stuff to Ban-chan. Isn't he good at it.

Riku: Everyone, please listen to my requests! Lol

Sogo: That's right, since it's Riku-kun's birthday...... We should at least be doing this much. If that would make you happy, I'll do my best.

Yamato: As always, Sou's resolve is as blurry as the pictures that Tsunashi-san takes.

Riku: Well then, first, try saying "Want to try falling from the heavens with me?" one after the other please!

Mitsuki: What is that lolololololol

Nagi: This is edginess (2) at full throttle.

Riku: Quickly quickly!

Iori: Aah jeez, let's just get this over with!

Tsumugi: My heart is pounding, , , !

Riku: Presenting, ,

Riku: Mhm mhm

Riku: I am now deliberating, ,

Riku: The winner is, ,

Tsumugi: The winner is!?

Riku: Sogo-san––––!! Congratulations, Sogo-san!

Tamaki: Huh––– Why So-chan?

Riku: Because he looks the most like Tenn-nii!!!

Mitsuki: lolololololololololololol What was the point of the impersonations lololololol

Iori: As expected of the great devil.

Riku: What's with that, Iori! I'll come up with another request just for you!

Iori: Ugh......

Yamato: What are you doing, Sou?

Sogo: It seems that Nagi-kun has recorded a video of our impersonations earlier, and was planning to send them to Kujo-san, so I was deleting it.

Nagi: NOOOOOOO!! My precious data!!

Tamaki: World peace according to So-chan has been preserved

Mitsuki: By the way, for about three hours before this, Iori was looking at the clock every five minutes lol

Tamaki: Why? Pretending to be a stopwatch?

Nagi: I'm sure it's because he was waiting anxiously for Riku's birthday.

Riku: Really!? Iori: Aren't you imagining it. I was just counting the tiles on the wall.

Yamato: Isn't that excuse a stretch (lol)

Iori: Nikaido-san, didn't you keep checking your Kujo-san wig all the same!

Mitsuki: Old man lololol

Yamato: Hold on, weren't Mitsu and Sou the ones who kept asking us if we wanted more tea because they were fidgety (lol)

Tamaki: Mikki and So-chan lmao (3) Was I the only one who was as calm as usual?

Sogo: But Tamaki-kun, you slept in Riku-kun's room last night, didn't you?

Riku: I thought he was feeling lonely because he had a nightmare, but he actually came over because my birthday was coming!?

Nagi: That's cute, Tamaki. Looking at Riku and Tamaki, I am reminded of an educational program on TV.

Tamaki: Nagicchi you were the one who came to Rikkun's room after that to sleep together too!!!

Nagi: (dark smile)

Tsumugi: Everyone, you were all excited for Riku-san's birthday so there was no helping it, right!

Riku: I'm super duper happy, everyone......!

Iori: I'm more than glad that Nanase-san is happy, but talking like this while in Kujo-san cosplay is unsettling, so shall we change yet......

Mitsuki: That's true lolol We have a lot of things prepared for Riku, after all!

Nagi: Shall we show him the real extent of our abilities.

Riku: You had something prepared!? I'm satisfied with the Tenn-nii cosplay! Lol

Yamato: Was that a punch line in itself (4) or what (lol)

Sogo: We even prepared some presents for Riku-kun.

Riku: Could it be, Tabasco!?

Sogo: Huh!? No, we properly chose something that would make Riku-kun happy.

Tamaki: So you were aware that Tabasco wouldn't make Rikkun happy after all.

Tsumugi: Well then Riku-san, shall we get ready!

Riku: Ah, the usual thing!!

[Tsumugi: It's an outfit that will surely suit you, Riku-san!]

Riku: Will it suit me!? I'm suddenly nervous!

[Tsumugi: Riku-san, are you ready?]

Riku: To tell the truth, my heart has been pounding the whole time, but I'm okay! Lol

[Tsumugi: It's time to change!]

Riku: I've been excited to see what kind of glasses I'd get!

Tsumugi: Everyone, are the preparations ready?

Mitsuki: Yup–! It looks like Riku's gonna be putting his glasses on top of his head!

Riku: Let me act cool today–!

Yamato: Putting your glasses on top of your head is cool and Riku-like though?

Riku: I was wondering if that'd make me become like Yaotome-san......!

Iori: Do you look up to Yaotome-san?

Riku: His coolness is that of an adult man so!

Sogo: I agree, Riku-kun. There aren't many men that sunglasses or champagne suit so well, in my opinion.

Mitsuki: I also have stuff I could add, but this is becoming a conversation about Yaotome, so I'll bring the cake–!

Tamaki: I'll help–

Nagi: Please enjoy the cake that Mitsuki, Tamaki, and I have baked.

Yamato: Weren't you just tasting.

Nagi: It's an important job X-P

Iori: Yotsuba-san was also just putting on the candles.

Sogo: Plus, he was putting them on in quite an artistic way.

Iori: Artistic.........?

Mitsuki: Ta-dah! My specialty cake!

Riku: Wah––! It's so big! There are so many fruits!

Riku: Let's all eat it together!

Nagi: We're blessed to be doing everything "together," no matter what it is.

Riku: We'll be doing everything together from now on, Nagi!

Nagi: Yes.

Tsumugi: It looks wonderful......!

Riku: Ehehe!

Riku: Alright, I'll take this opportunity to ask my request!

Riku: Tell me you love me!

Iori: I thought you had forgotten about that......

Riku: There's no way I would've forgotten! Especially you Iori, you have to properly say it with aaall your heart!

Yamato: You really become confident when you're the lead role, huh (lol)

Mitsuki: Iori, show us you're a man!

Tamaki: Fight–.

Iori: You'll be saying it too though!?

Tsumugi: Everyone, please let Riku-san hear "I love you"!

Riku: Let me hear it–!

Mitsuki: Alright, let's all show him that we're men!

Nagi: YES!

Sogo: Ready, set,

Riku: !!!!!!!

Riku: I also love you all so much!!!!!

Riku: Iori is the only one whose face is all red though!! He looks like a boiled octopus lol

Tsumugi: So they told you, Riku-san!

Riku: Yeah!

Riku: Iori also properly told me, so I'm satisfied! Lol

Iori: I won't do it a second time.

Tsumugi: I'm really glad that you can be this happy on your birthday, Riku-san! Please let me celebrate you again next year!

Yamato: Right now, Riku is trying to feed Ichi some strawberries (lol)

Tsumugi: Huuh!? lol

Sogo: Iori-kun and Riku-kun really get along well, don't they.

Nagi: I think that it's also true for MEZZO'' though?

Sogo: I, is that so......?

Riku: I was able to see Iori make a lot of embarassed faces so I'm satisfied! Lol

Mitsuki: People really become bolder on their birthday, huh......

Tsumugi: Well then, everyone please send your messages to Riku-san!

Nagi: Alright, I will start. I'm glad that we were able to celebrate the day on which you were born with all the members, this year again. Please allow us to keep seeing the smile that can bring people happiness, from right by your side.

Mitsuki: Happy birthday, Riku! It's thanks to you pulling us forward from the center that we're able to act just the way we are! From now on, please keep showing us the coolest Nanase Riku!

Yamato: Congratulations, Riku. I often end up spoiling you, but I get surprised when you suddenly show your adult-like self. Riku's become really cool, lately.

Tamaki: Rikkun, hbd! Let's keep playing games and hanging out lots together. Sometimes, you're like my little brother, but sometimes you also properly seem older than me. Keep being healthy, okay.

Sogo: Riku-kun, happy birthday. Having had the chance to read the Riku Photobook, I felt once again that you're really a man full of charm. The kind and strong Riku-kun is our pride. Please keep having me in your care.

Iori: Nanase-san, happy birthday. You've been acting awfully confident today, so I was wondering whether I should say it or not, but I'll just say it.

Iori: Thanks to you standing in front of us and opening up the way, we were able to witness so many sights. You're usually good at being spoiled, but when you're on stage, you shine brighter, you're stronger, and you're more dignified than anyone else. From now on, please keep showing us the strongest Nanase-san.

Yamato: Ah, Riku is about to cry

Tamaki: Iorin made him cry this year again––

Iori: Why is it my fault!?

Sogo: Does Riku-kun have a handkerchief?

Nagi: He's saying "I d, I dooon't."

Tsumugi: Riku-san, are you alright...?! ><

Riku: I'm okay

Riku: There were tiring times

Riku: There were times when I thought that I couldn't go on anymore

Riku: But you were all behind me, supporting me. You gave me strength with your singing. Thanks to you, I was able to think that it was okay for me to be here.

Riku: I'm glad that I could become an idol.

Iori: It would be a problem if you weren't here.

Yamato: It's like you were born to be an idol, isn't it, Riku.

Mitsuki: Whoo–! That's pretty flashy old man.

Nagi: That's pretty flashy old man.

Yamato: Sh, shut up......

Sogo: Yamato-san became about as red as Iori-kun was, earlier.

Tamaki: Boiled octopus Glasses Ver.

Tsumugi: Riku-san, everyone is sending you wishes through social media...! Would now be a good time to ask you for a few words ><

Riku: Yes!!

Riku: It's the second time that everyone has celebrated my birthday for me like this. Thanks to the members with whom I've fought a lot, cried a lot, and laughed a lot, celebrating this day together with me, I'm really happy!

Riku: Before this, I thought that I was the happiest in the whole world, but my heart is so fulfilled right now that perhaps I'm the happiest in the whole universe.

Riku: Usually, I get embarassed being told that I'm loved, but I can say it right now! I also love all of you, and you're all precious to me!! I'm truly glad that I met you!

T/N

(1) "congratulation" was originally in English so I left it like that. If Nagi says any weird stuff in English please just assume it was there already LOL

(2) Can we ever get a chat with Nagi there without footnotes? He originally says that it's chuuni, which is short for chuunibyou (中二病), literally "middle school 2nd year syndrome." It refers to people who think they have super powers, that they're demonds, etc. In English, people would usually refer to that period of their lives as their "edgy phase." You can read more about it here.

(3) Tamaki says ukeru (ウケる）which is something you say when something particularly funny happens, like "that's a good one." Since it's a slang and it sounds more natural than making him say "that's hilarious," I just translated it like this.

(4) Yamato asks if it's a deochi (出オチ). In a joke or situation, ochi is the punch line. The "de" in deochi comes from deru (出る) which means "to come out." So a deochi, in opposition to a joke which needs a build up, is a thing that's funny in itself, for example one-panel comics with a funny situation. In other words, as soon as it appears, it's funny. In this context, he’s asking whether just seeing the Tenn cosplays was funny enough that he doesn’t need anything more.

Next is Gaku’s Trigger Academy chats!

#idolish7 #nanase riku #birthday photobook #rabbit chat

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carterthornton · 7 years

Text

The Third Wave | Chapter Seven: A Cajun Gent at a Grocery Store

Aiko and Yuko went to grab groceries that afternoon, and they took a transit. It had been almost three years since she had taken the bus around Victoria, and she couldn't help but sightsee. The city had grown quite a lot since she had been gone; it was a far cry from what it once was. Though, Victoria still somehow retained its Victorian English lustre- a quality most cherished about the city. Victoria had been named and built in honour of the Queen of England during the 1800's, Queen Victoria, and the citizens would shake and tingle with excitement whenever the Queen made her yearly visit. For a time, only the downtown area had the English aesthetic, however, recent building projects rejuvenated the style, and the diameter of the movement stretched all the way to Saanich with the influx of new residents from Asia, who adored the designs. Aiko was not a fan of the posh elegance of the wood and brick houses; they were too snotty, too arrogant. Arrogance was something Aiko had little tolerance for ever since she was a child.

Eventually, Aiko and Yuko landed at the nearest grocer- Mike's Organic Market. They hopped off the transit, relieving it of the stress brought on by Yuko's hefty body. To Yuko's dismay, the passengers gave her a subtle stink eye as the bus took off down the road, and she hid behind Aiko again, which was a fruitless effort considering her massive size compared to Aiko.

"Oh, c'mon, Yuko," Aiko coaxed her. "You're okay. You shouldn't give a damn about what those people think. They don't know you."

"Okay..." Yuko nodded, standing up straight beside the bus stop sign; she was a few inches taller than it. "What are we doing here again?"

"We're getting some groceries for the next few weeks or so. I figured it'd be good to see the city again too." Aiko replied as she began down the sidewalk with Yuko next to her- toward a set of cement stairs leading into the parking lot. "I haven't been here since I was fifteen."

Well-trimmed shrubs lined the edge of the sidewalk like a fence as Aiko strolled by, opening up like a gateway as she hopped up onto the first step of the set of stairs. Yuko waited for Aiko to reach the top- as she could skip a step with her long legs -and she cautiously made her way up, ducking her head under the welcoming steel archway that led into the paved lot. The parkade was barren, and only a few carts were docked in the small pavilions that housed them inside the lot. Only about a dozen vehicles filled the spaces closest to the entrance; the store didn't see much business in the afternoon.

"It's quiet," Yuko stated; half to herself, half to Aiko.

"It always is around now- I figured this would be the best time to go." Aiko said as she reached into her pocket for a dollar coin. "Let's see if I..." With a grin, she withdrew a bronze loonie from her pocket, raising it in the air triumphantly as if it were Excalibur. "Here we are!"

"What's that for?" Yuko wondered, marveling at the engravings on the round metal coin as the grocer doors flung open for them automatically.

"It's a Canadian coin- a loonie. It's a dollar in our currency." Aiko answered, turning towards the various carts on her left. Methodically, she slid a coin into a slot along the handle of the nearest cart. With a click, the chain attached to the cart ahead of it broke away, and the loonie locked in place.

"Why pay for such a mundane convenience?" Yuko asked, flummoxed by the new information.

"Oh, Yuko, you don't pay for it. The loonie is just encouragement to put the cart back once you're done with it to get the-..." Aiko trailed off, stewing on the whole idea of the cart. "Actually, I think we can manage without the cart." She pushed her cart back into the one ahead of it, attaching the chain to collect her loonie. "I'll just get a basket. Besides, I've got you to do the heavy-lifting as well."

"Okay..." Yuko twiddled her thumbs as they passed the checkout section into the produce area, minding the occasional shopper that came by. "What are you getting?"

"Not sure yet. Something-..." Aiko cut herself off as her eyes danced about the arrangements of fruits and vegetables. After a few seconds, she sprung to life, hurrying over to the next aisle over to grab a bag of green apples. "I think I'll stick with some simple stuff- nothing too intricate." She said as she placed the bag in her basket. "Now, where are those granola bars?"

"What are those?" Yuko inquired.

"Basically cereal without milk clumped together in a rectangle that acts like it's healthy, but isn't in most cases." Aiko joked as she made her way through the produce section and into the snack food aisle, her eyes wandering about the store for anything interesting. Truth be told, she got interesting. "Uh..."

Aiko's eyes glared over at a man near the end of the aisle wearing a ridiculous getup, even for her decade of crazed fashion standards. The man was quite tall and in his early thirties; thin, yet athletic looking at the same time, and he wore the oddest leather jacket Aiko had ever seen. Its leather was a dark purple, its sleeves had been torn off, and it was buttoned up about halfway. The jacket was lined with tan fur that appeared silky and smooth, and the collar wasn't a true collar, but a sewed-on boa made of the same tan fur. Beneath his jacket was a red dress shirt, and he wore navy blue jeans held in place by an expensive-looking belt with a large silver buckle akin to the kind cowboys would wear. To top the whole getup off, he wore dark red cowboy boots identical in hue to his undershirt. The boots were adorned with wave designs and silver spurs that clicked against the ground with each step.

The features of his pale face were distinct; a chiselled jaw and chin, full lips, and a long but still proportionate nose. He wore silver, heart-shaped earrings, and concealing his eyes were a pair of red-tinted sunglasses with heart-shaped lenses. His medium-length, indigo hair was slicked to the front, a lock dangling just in front of his sunglasses that he'd sometimes brush away with his hand. He looked like a man who took good care of himself, as his face was completely devoid of any imperfections or blemishes, and his hair appeared as soft and as perfect as a rose petal. After a minute of staring, the man turned to face Aiko, noticing her glare. With the elegance of a swan, he stood up straight with a basket in his grasp, using his free hand to slide his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. With a mischievous grin, he gave Aiko a wink with his piercing, silver eyes.

"Who's that?" Yuko asked Aiko, who was clearly rattled by the man's gesture.

"No clue," Aiko scoffed, brushing off the creepy vibes she got from the odd man. "But he's definitely a weirdo." Aiko shivered at the thought of his twisted smile as she returned to browsing. "Anyways... let's get back to the task at hand. What was I getting?"

"Granola bars." Yuko reminded her.

"Right, granola bars." Aiko nodded, rummaging through a shelf full of granola bars to find the right brand. "Ah, here we go," Aiko tossed a box into her basket. "Now I feel ten times healthier."

"What else did we have to get?" Yuko asked, taking the basket from Aiko.

"Hmm, let's see..." Aiko thought about it for moment. "Ah, mini-carrots! I love those things. Let's get back to the produce section."

Aiko and Yuko approached the open-air vegetable crisper along the wall of the store, perusing for the bagged snacks. Sadly, Aiko saw no sign of any bag free for the taking. Although, upon even closer inspection, Aiko saw one last bag of mini-carrots near the edge of the crisper. She reached out to grab it, but as her right hand touched the bag, she felt another paw try to snatch the carrots. Aiko hadn't noticed the odd man from before in her peripheral vision. He pulled his slender, manicured hand back, recoiling in shock.

"Oh, my goodness! I didn't see you dare, dawlin'. I got some tunnel vision dare foe a moment." The man had a thick, Cajun accent, and a voice as smooth as silk. "My apologies." Aiko couldn't help but notice his eyes, which became fixated on her right hand, specifically her Mark. "Take da bag, sweethawt. I got some left back at home."

"Thanks..." Aiko said slowly, placing the bag in the basket locked in Yuko's elbow. "C'mon, Yuko, let's get going."

"So long, gals!" The man waved, strutting over towards the dairy aisle; his walking cycle was very much like a cowboy- strutting with his pelvis forward and a hand on his belt buckle.

"Geez, he's a creep. What the hell does he want?" Aiko whispered to Yuko as they came to the checkout section. Yuko shrugged her shoulders in response, unsure of how to react. "Well, let's just get the last crap on our list and out of here, okay?" Yuko nodded, following Aiko down a path that differed the odd cowboy. "We're not running into him again."

****

Luckily for them, they didn't run into the strange man for the rest of their shopping excursion, and after passing through the checkout, they almost forgot about him. Aiko and Yuko eventually passed through the sliding doors of the exit, walking out into the parking lot. A low hanging fog had rolled in during their time in the grocery store, and the whole lot gave off an eerie vibe. Aiko kept her wits about her as she and Yuko walked past what few cars there were, blowing away the fog around their legs with each step. Suddenly, Aiko stopped, then checked her bag. The apples were missing, and a path had been cut in the fog jus ahead. In front of them stood the same man from before, holding the bag of apples in his right hand.

"Hey, what the hell?! That's mine!" Aiko snarled at the man, who simply grinned, humming to himself blissfully as he inspected the apples.

"Aw, dawlin', you weren't protectin' deese heye apples... I had ta teach you a lesson!" The sly man smirked as he swung the bag around in his hand.

"Those are my apples, pal. Give them back or I'll take them from you!" Aiko threatened the man as she tapped on the door of the car nearest to her, transmuting Yuko's wooden body to a metal.

"Den come on! Quit lollygaggin'." The man purred, taunting them both.

"Take em' from me!"

"Oh, I'll take em' from you..." Aiko scowled as Yuko sprung into action, reaching for the apples with all her enormous might.

"Commendable, kiddo. But you gotta try hawda den dat if ya want dis here bag..." The man chuckled as he strafed to the right of Yuko, kicking at her shin.

In those first few seconds, Aiko believed the man was crazy. And while he was indeed insane, she soon realized that this man was not an idiot. And worst of all, this man was a Mark-user. His foot went right through Yuko's leg as if it were made of butter, and Yuko fell forward onto her face. The man had turned Yuko's leg into a molten metal soup that sizzled as it touched the ground.

"What the hell-?!" Aiko was cut off by the man as he rammed his heel into her gut, launching her backward with tremendous force, something Aiko did not expect from a slender man like him. "Who the hell is this guy?" Coughing, she tapped on the pavement, restoring Yuko's molten limb through the new substance. With the bag of apples still in hand, the man rushed at Yuko with an outstretched leg. "Yuko!"

Yuko threw a right cross at the man's face, but he dodged with inhuman reflexes; it was clear to Aiko that he was no ordinary man if he were able to evade a punch from Yuko so deftly. As the right cross passed by the man's head, he glided his finger across Yuko's arm, melting it into sizzling magma.

"This guy isn't just some thug who got his Mark yesterday! And he's too fast to not have a Cellularum Mark. Who is he?" Aiko cringed as she got to her feet, still feeling the sharp pain where the man's foot impacted. "I got to think. Yuko can't attack this guy. Judging by the way he tapped his finger against Yuko's arm, this dude must have a contact-activated Alteratio Mark! That much is certain!" Aiko got back up on her feet, bracing herself against a nearby car.

"Watch out, Aiko! I can't stop him!" Yuko cried out to Aiko; the asphalt woman had her body liquefied from the waist down.

"What is that?" Aiko gasped as the man rushed her, coating his hand in an odd water like substance that began to let off vapour as he scraped the air. "Shit!" Aiko ducked, blocking with fists made of pavement as she tapped the ground. The fists shot upward, shielding Aiko from the palm strike. However, the poorly-made defence soon shattered like glass from whatever substance was in the man's hand. "A freezing ability?! What is this Mark?!"

The man rushed at Aiko again, clenching his fist tightly, ready to land a punch. However, he stopped just a few metres short of Aiko; Yuko had sprouted out of the ground in front of him to defend her master.

"Hmm... interestin' Mark," He laughed, stepping through Yuko's body whilst simultaneously liquefying her like it was nothing. "But ain't nottin' I can't handle." He outstretched his arm to grab Aiko.

"Damn, I was careless!" Aiko closed her eyes, waiting for the killing blow. However, she felt nothing, and after a few seconds, she cracked one eye open. "Huh?" Aiko was flabbergasted to see her body in one piece and the bag of apples sitting next to her lap. "What the-?"

"Hmm... yoe a cutie, sweethawt. Dare's no way I'd harm a belle like yoeself." The man snickered as he assisted Aiko back on her feet, dusting off her clothes before turning away. "Tata!"

"Wait! You mean you're just... giving me these back?! And you're... not going to kill me?" Aiko shook her head, unsure how to grasp the situation.

"Yeah. I just used dem' apples as an excuse so youz could fight me is all. And I wouldn't kill ya, doll. That'd be a waste of potential." He sneered with a hand on his hip and an apple in his free hand. "Of course, I'll be takin' dis heeya apple as a trophy."

"W-wait! Are you an IMOP agent?" Aiko stopped him again with another question.

"Naw, girl. I'm just a home-grown Bayou gent lookin' ta find some entatainment" The man looked back at her with a playful mug on. "Name's Azaire, dawlin'. Come back ta me when ya wanna fight some moe, m'kay? Now get goin', yoe bus is almost heeya. Layta, 'Aiko'." And with that, the man named Azaire walked off without another word.

"Who is he...?" Yuko got back on her feet as the effects of Azaire's Mark began to wear off.

"I have no idea..." Aiko was stunned for quite a while before she could make any real movement. However, she was soon snapped back into reality when she heard the whirring noise in the distance. "Ah, shit! The bus! There won't be another for thirty minutes if we don't hurry!"

"O-okay!" Yuko nodded, racing after Aiko toward the bus stop.

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