#man no wonder eight just pretends he doesn't have any family

[eorzeashan]

still thinking about how Eight doesn't want to run into other Echani in the wild because he's afraid they'll see right through him and know the kind of man he is at first glance (an honorless killer) and the knowledge that he no longer fits even in his own culture's society would be too harsh a blow to bear, but unbeknownst to him it'd probably just make him more attractive in their eyes lolol

[satorusugurugurl]

My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 3,682

Warning: Mentions of depression, anxiety, language

A/N: And so part one is complete!! Please let me know what you think! I plan on posting a new part every Saturday! In the mean time I will work on my brain worm fics/requests!!

Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Gold calligraphy mocked you as you stared at the wedding invitation on your table. Any normal person would have been elated over their best friend getting married. The dresses, cake, looking at venues! It should have been a happy, wonderful time.

And it would have been amazing if your best friend had met her fiance through anyone other than Toji Zenin. Your ex-fiance, the man who broke your heart, who was also the groomsman at the wedding! The same wedding you were a bridesmaid in.

Life fucking hated you.

Your break up was a year and a half ago. It was tucking painful, watching the life and future you had imagined slip away. You were inconsolable for the first few months, but any other person would feel the same if their fiance broke up with them the way Toji had done to you. Part of you liked to think you were getting better; you knew you weren't healed completely.

The closer the wedding came, the more nervous and sick you got. In a month, you would have to face Toji for the first time in over a year. He was doing much better off than you. He got married! He was now Toji Fushiguro and he and his wife had a son!

Fate was a cruel bitch. He was living his dreams: a house, a pretty wife, a sweet, beautiful son. Toji got everything he wanted while you sunk into the darkness of despair. Toji had ruined you, marked you in ways you weren't sure you'd ever heal from. You never wanted to be hurt like that again. That's why you were single.

Single and traumatized. Perfect intro on your dating profile. So yeah, dating wasn't your thing right now.

Which puts you in a messy fucking predicament. You would be at a wedding with your Ex, who was living the life you had always wanted. Why was he given happily ever after while you were left to pick up the pieces of your broken heart? You could already see the pitiful expressions that your loved ones would be wearing, and that made your skin crawl with anxiety.

You could not show up to the wedding alone.

Which is why you were sitting in your kitchen, drowning in anxiety. You stared at your laptop, bouncing your leg nervously as you scrolled on Escorts4y0u.com. Damn, Yu Haibara, for suggesting this to you. You were shopping for a fuckin’ escort!?

You shot his insane suggestion down as soon as he said it. You had begun ranting about how even more embarrassing it would be if your family found out. First, your fiance leaves you a month before your wedding. Then you go and pay for someone to pretend to be your boyfriend all because you couldn’t bear yourself to start dating again?

Amid your nervous rant, Haibara just put his hand on yours. He assured you that no one would know that they were an escort. If they were good at their job, all your family would see was a happy couple. They would be someone to go to the wedding with, and once you paid them, you would never see them again! No one would be the wiser.

“It's their job to make you feel good and help you have a good time. And you deserve to be happy.” Haibara had said with pity in his eyes. Just thinking about his face, that expression, made you cringe to think of the faces of everyone at the wedding.

“Fuck it.” You cursed, clicking on the escort you liked the most.

Gojo Satoru, twenty-eight years old. His profile listed that he was well-educated and came from a prestigious clan. He was charismatic, confident, and kind. You read dozens of reviews. His previous clients gushed over him. All five stars, every single person he’d helped was grateful for him. Plus, Gojo was very attractive. He had pure white hair, was over six feet tall, and had the most stunning blue eyes you'd ever seen. He was the ideal partner anyone would want to take home to meet the family.

Which would explain why he was the most expensive escort on the website.

“¥120,000 for a day!?” You screeched as you bounced your leg faster, doing the mental math in your head. “That’s ¥900,000.00 for a week.” The mere amount of money you were about to spend almost had you slamming your laptop shut. But Haibara’s face crossed your mind; Toji’s face began to form before you shook your head.

Hiring Gojo was your only option. You had to do this to avoid getting hurt again. Plus, you had to use the deposit from your honeymoon eventually. It would be like burying the past!

“Okay, okay, you got this; just book it Y/N!” Getting up, you jumped up and down to hype yourself up before you hit the green phone icon and dialed the number. The phone rang once and twice.

“This is Gojo!” A gruff but cheery voice answered.

You’re sure your soul left your body as you squealed in shock. He answered!? The man you were going not only to pay but also beg to pretend to be your boyfriend?!

“Hello?” A faint hint of humor and curiosity laced the voice in your ear.

You groaned, rubbing your hand down your face with a whine. “S-Sorry, I was expecting a receptionist for something.” You put the phone on speaker before hitting your head against your table.

“Oh! My bad, sorry!” His chuckle was a deep noise through the receiver. “We put our business numbers on the site. It’s just easier for us to schedule our clients like this.” He hummed. “I assume you’re on the escort website?”

“Yes, I—I was wondering if you might be free next month for a wedding? It’s my best friend.”

“Give me a sec.” Shuffling papers filled your anxiety. “A month from today?”

“Yes.”

Gojo hummed happily, “I am free that whole week! So will it be the wedding and reception?” A pen could be heard writing down notes.

”So it’s uhm, it’s a destination wedding. It’s in Kyoto, and I need you for the whole week. If that’s not an issue or problem.”

”Okay, that shouldn’t be an issue. It’s far enough out that I can block my schedule.” He whistled happily, jotting down more notes. “So the whole week, wedding, reception—“

For some odd reason, it sounded like he was hesitating or weighing his options, questioning if he wanted to even take you on as a client. The growing fear of rejection spreads like wildfire through your stomach. You never used to feel like this; you were so happy and confident before. But after everything Toji did, what he said to you after you had—well, it left some really deep scars that still hadn’t healed. When your mind picked at those still healing wounds, making them bleed, you acted before thinking.

”I have the money!” Gripping the table's edge, you stared at Gojo’s headshot on the website. “Please, I need this!”

“Hey, hey! I’m not worried about the money, sweetheart.” His voice was thick like honey; the pet name sounded so sweet. “I’m just making sure I got everything down.” On the other line, Gojo looked down at his calendar. There was something in your voice, desperation, that was genuine.

He’d had tons of clients, and many of them needed help. But in his two years of working in this field, he had never heard such a raw plea for help. Gojo’s interest peaked. Just who were you? What made you so anxious and desperate for his help?

”Let me confirm the details so I can put you in my books, Ms.?” He waited for your name, hearing you sigh in relief as you calmed yourself down

”Y/N, my name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

”Y/N,” Gojo repeated, “Okay, I have you down for next month, the whole week, for a destination wedding in Kyoto.”

You were sighing happily as you relaxed into your chair. “Thank you. It’s 900,000.00. For the whole week?” Gojo cocked an eyebrow, grinning at your straightforward attitude.

”Depends, will food and hotel be included?”

“Yes, we’ll be staying at my parents' inn; they offered to host my friend's wedding. So food, money, and accommodations will be included. Plus, I’ll take care of your travel expenses.”

Gojo turned in his desk chair, biting his lip as he listened to your stern voice. “Okay, so it’s going to be ¥600,000. A lot of the cost goes to food and hotels. Since you’re taking care of it, you get a lovely discount, sweetheart.” A scoff sounded from his phone, making him smile even wider.

”Great, lucky me.”

Gojo bit his lip, chuckling. “Did you want any other additions?”

“If you’re asking if I want to include your other services, no. I don’t need sex.”

“Don’t need sex?” He perked up as Suguru, his roommate, peeked in, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”

You gave the phone a confused look as if you were looking at Gojo yourself. “Yes, I’m dead serious.” The line went utterly silent before rich, stunned laughter filled your kitchen.

”Well shit, that’s a first!”

”Glad I could keep you on your toes, Gojo.”

”Nope.”

You blinked. “No, what?” Gojo snickered as you picked up your phone heading into your room.

”I’m going to be your boyfriend. You have a month, one month, to get used to saying my first name.” The seriousness of his tone made you stop in your tracks. “So it’s Satoru to you, Y/N.”

With a blush dusting your cheeks, you giggled, shaking your head. “Alright, that makes sense. Thank you, Satoru.”

”You’re welcome, Y/N. I’ll see you in a month.”

In one month, you were ¥600,000 poorer, and your nerves were shot as you searched for your fake boyfriend at the train station coffee shop. In the last month, you had spoken to Goj—Satoru twice over the. Once to book his services and yesterday to discuss where you were meeting. His company took care of everything else.

It was still surreal that you hired an escort to be your date, and you were waiting for a stranger at a coffee shop. This wasn't like you; it was so unbelievable. You sipped your coffee, looking around anxiously.

It was like a Greek God walked in. He was tall, like his profile said, over six-three. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes as his white fluffy hair bounced with every step. Straightening, you hesitated before lifting your hand and waving at your fake boyfriend. Seeing your arm raised, Gojo grinned, bounding forward as he pulled his sunglasses off.

“Hi! Are you Y/N?” You stood, swallowing as he still towered over you. God, he was dressed nice, all designer brand clothes. Which wasn't surprising with the amount of money you dropped to spend a week with him.

“Yes, I'm Y/L/N Y/N.” You handed him a cup of coffee that he took before sitting at the table. “Thank you again for doing this.”

Gojo grabbed six sugar packets, ripped them open, and poured all of them into his coffee. “Oh, you're welcome! I love seeing people happy.” Your eyes followed his hands as he poured cream into the coffee. “So, what's our story? That way, we're on the same page.” You couldn't help but smile as he sipped the sugary coffee with a grin.

“You have a sweet tooth?” Gojo hummed, taking another drink. “Maybe I'll make you something at the inn; I'm a pastry chef.” Gojo’s eyes went wide as you ran your fingers over the lid of your cup. “That’s a good story, we met at the bakery I wor—”

“You're a pastry chef?!” Gojo’s eyes sparkled. “Seriously?! What shop?!”

“Uhm, I work at Ichigo Cafe? It's in downtown Tokyo.”

“I love that place! The mochi there is the best!” His words had your cheeks burning your cheeks. “The cakes, the ice cream! Hell, the coffee is good too.”

You twirl your thumbs together. “Thank you, as the head chef, that makes me happy.” Satoru sat back, smiling sweetly. “So I uhm, yeah, that's a good story.”

“Yeah, it does. How long have we been together?”

The two of you settled on five months. That way, it was still pretty new. The whole time, Satoru nodded and added to your cover story. Thank god he was easy to talk to, putting your nerves at ear by the time your coffee was finished. Together, you were optimistic that you and Satoru could get through this week without a hiccup.

You both settled in on the train, getting to know each other more like favorite colors, foods, likes, and dislikes. Satoru didn't drink, had a major sweet tooth, and did his escorting gig full-time. He lived with his roommate and best friend, Geto Suguru, and he had a lot of free time.

You told him everything about yourself: likes, dislikes, favorite color, hell, even your blood type. But as the conversation began to dwindle, Satoru tilted his head. Sure, all that stuff was good now for the coming week, but he wanted to know more. Like why you hired him and why you ‘don’t do sex.’ That question had plagued his mind for the last month.

“Can I ask why you hired me?” His question had your head snapping up. “I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but you've been tense since we got on the train. There's more to this than just wanting a date to a wedding.”

“Uhh, is that obvious? I'm sorry. It's just my ex-fiance is at the wedding party with me.” Satoru paid close attention to how your eyes darkened as you looked out the window. “Our breakup was a shock since it happened a month before our wedding. So, I have all these trust issues, and I don't want to date anyone. Because it's easier not to get hurt if you don't put yourself out there.”

“Why did he break up with you?”

“Why didn't he?” The tone of your voice and words had Satoru peeking up. Not in curiosity but surprisingly in anger. Satoru had seen a lot of women and men in his days as an escort. Many are desperate, lonely, and want to have a good time. But whoever had broken your heart had hurt. You in more ways than one. “There were a lot of things that he uhm—listed off.”

You quickly changed the subject, much too fast for Satoru’s liking. But he wasn’t the type to pry, especially when it came to the feelings and comfort of his clients. So he let you change the subject. And the rest of the train ride to Kyoto, even up to your family's inn, the subject stayed clear of your ex. It was bad enough you’d be seeing him soon; you would much rather not talk about him before you saw his face.

You stood in front of the door to your family's inn. Satoru grabbed your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours as you took a deep breath. “Hey, we got this.” God, you hoped Satoru was right; this had to go perfectly.

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you stepped inside. The laughter and distant conversations echoed off the halls as wedding guests conversed and chatted while wandering around. You spotted your mother carrying a tray. She took one glance at you before looking away.

”Oh, Y/N darling, good you’re here. Whenever you get a chance, could you help me make some treats for afternoon tea? Everyone is instant with trying those matcha cookies you made last year.” After years of helping out, in the end, your body began to move on muscle memory, but Satoru stopped you, pulling you into his side with a grin.

“Hey, don’t just up and leave me. At least introduce me to your family first, sweetheart.” The bustling, noisy chatter around you stopped as your family and friends just seemed to notice the giant man standing beside you. His arm wrapped around your waist as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “My poor sweet girl is already in work mode. I thought this was supposed to be a vacation.”

”Right, of course, I’m sorry, Satoru. Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Gojo Satoru.”

”Eh!?”

Those sad, pitful reactions you had been so familiar with over the last year and a half were nowhere to be found on the faces of your loved ones. They were faces of shock, curiosity, and joy. A much better reaction, one that had you letting out a shaky breath you had no idea you were holding in. As you basked in relief, dark eyes watched the two of you, reading you.

The afternoon went off without a hitch. Satoru fit in with any conversation thrown his way. From what he did for a living to how the two of you met, he never stuttered or looked to you for help. He was exactly what you needed. With Gojo by your side, you knew you could get through this wedding without losing yourself in the darkness again.

You owed Haibara big time for this.

After the two of you answered several rounds of twenty questions and an early dinner, you and Satoru stepped into your room. You shut the door, sliding back against it as you shut your eyes. “Oh my gosh, that went much better than anticipated.” Satoru chuckled, setting both of your luggage off in the corner of the room.

“You did great.” His praise had you smiling more. “Seriously, this will be a walk in the park!”

You wanted to agree with him, but your mouth remained shut. That was just your family you met with. Things might be a different story when you face Toji. Because despite you not wanting him to, you knew he could read you like a book. He always could tell when you weren’t feeling the best or something was wrong. But maybe, if you keep playing your card right, you might be able to fool him, too.

”Yeah, a walk in the park.” You looked around the room, relieved to find the futon already laid out for you both. But it was missing the extra pillows you had asked for. The pillows that were going to be used to separate you and Satoru. “Huh, I thought my dad said the pillows would be here when we got to the room. I’ll be right back; the shower is just to the right if you want to wash up first.”

“Awesome, thanks a lot.”

As you reached for the door, the handle turned, startling you. Satoru moved so fast, his arms wrapping around you as the door opened wide. “Have you ever heard of knocking before? My girlfriend and I could have been doing something. If you saw that, I would have had to charge you for the show.” Satoru started as the door opened wide, revealing the person standing in front of it, four pillows in his arms.

”You seriously think I believe that?”

Your body went rigid as you stared into the dark eyes of the man who broke your heart. “T-Toji? What are you doing here?” You learned further back into Satoru’s chest, trying to put distance between the man that had stained your life.

“Bringing you your pillows.” He motioned his chin down at them to emphasize his words. “Look, we need to talk.”

Satoru could feel your breath quicken, your chest moving faster with each inhale you took. From your reaction, he could figure out just who exactly this asshole was. This dark-haired asshole who just barged into your room had to be the ex you didn’t want to talk about in any way, shape, or form. Looking at him, Satoru came to one conclusion without even knowing the guy. He was a fucking prick.

”Look, Toji, I’m exhausted. I don't want to talk right now.” You snatched the pillows away from him. “Satoru and I were going to get ready for bed. I require some TLC tonight.” You went to shut the door, but Toji placed his palm against it, preventing it from moving.

”Please, you and I both know this isn’t your boyfriend. I need to talk to you now. Tell your friend here he can fucking wait until our conversation is over.”

The tone and mere attitude of the prick in the door had Satoru seeing red. He released you, turning you to face him, glaring daggers at the man spewing toxic commands. “I’m not a friend.” Satoru spit out the last word. In a flash, his hand gripped your chin, turning you towards him. His other hand rested on the back of your head, pulling you into a kiss.

It was your first kiss in a year and a half, a kiss that was full of rage and passion like you had never experienced before. Satoru’s kiss was for show, but fuck, it had your knees buckling. You matched his pace, kissing him back urgently. His hands tangled in your hair while you fisted his shirt. You prayed that this mini-makeout session was enough to fool your ex. Satoru pulled away to glare at Toji. His chest rose and fell as he slowly licked his bottom lip with a smirk.

“My girlfriend and I were just getting ready to bed, if you caught the drift. If she wants to talk to you tomorrow, she’ll find you. Later.” Without another word, Satoru slammed the door in Toji’s face before turning to face you.

”Wow.” Was all you could manage to say as you ran your fingers over your lips. Seeing you do that while hearing your breathless voice had Satoru fifty shades of red. In his whole career as an escort, he has never lost his cool like that until he was with you.

Oh, he was fucked.

(TBC)

[alyblacklist]

Hey, I know you are not feeling the most friendly toward Red and TBL in general right now but I can't help but wonder of Red was right. I mean Liz was killed by Van Dyke (was that his name) who worked for Townsend. Townsend wanted Liz dead because of whatever Ivan Stepanov told him. I assume that was Red's big secret. If so, wasn't Red right about not telling Liz the secret. I mean she has a history of trusting people even though she doesn't know them well. Example: she trusted Jennifer after they had just met. Jennifer could have been working for an enemy yet Liz trusted her because of a biological connection (which she had no proof of). Also, blonde Kat, need I say more. She has proved that she has no sense of loyalty whatsoever betraying Red and the task force multiple times:

1.21/ 1.22 (Though, she had just found out that Red killed her father. I think that can be excused)

Season 3- she faked her death- did she not consider what she would be doing to Red, Ressler, Cooper, Aram, Samar and Dembe or did she just not care ? using gifs to make my point

Season 6- She turned Red in, nearly getting him killed and putting the TF, including herself, in danger. What if the government had decided to disavow all of them??

Season 8- She goes on the run, betraying the people who've stood by her for years and dedicates herself to killing the man who's protected her since she was a kid and has literally traded his life for hers. All of this for a woman who claims to be her mother. She values this alleged biological connection so much she ignores all the horrible things she knows blonde Kat has don.

Liz says she values honesty above all else and hates Red for not telling her things, but she constantly lies to, uses and manipulates the people she calls her family.

Opinions?

Thanks!

im posting this on my blog too.

I've gone back and forth on whether I should even answer this ask because I'm like a week late due to life events intervening but maybe I do need to say it:

I categorically and emphatically disagree with the idea that Red was EVER right in not telling Liz his secret because Liz was somehow untrustworthy. Liz resorted to trusting virtual strangers such as Jennifer and the fake Katarina only after Red repeatedly and mercilessly withheld basic information about HER OWN LIFE from her for years, all the while killing her adoptive father, admitting he "hired" her husband, killing Mr. Kaplan, killing her "mother" as far as she knew until the very end, keeping Kirk and Tom and anyone else who ever tried to get her the truth from telling her to the point that Tom died, all the while telling her it was either none of her business but done for her "protection"....I mean, come ON. She was not a child! She was a 35+ mom of a child who deserved to know why she was in all of this nebulous, supposed "danger" her whole life. She deserved to be invested in Red's plans especially when he expected her to take over his empire. What - she was supposed to do that blind to its purpose? To figure it out from that stupid letter?

Red held all the cards from day one. He allowed Dembe, and Dom and Ivan Stepanov - the important MEN in his life to know his secret and yet he couldn't bring himself to ever tell Liz. This is probably my biggest issue with the show right now. It was like everyone BUT Liz got to know "THE TRUTH." Even in the end - even after his SWORN ENEMY Townsend learned "THE TRUTH" he had to condition LIZ learning it on that stupid letter and his requirement that she KILL HIM? Who does that? Why is that in any way acceptable? We don't know. The only reasons we (the audience) were even given were a whole bunch of none of your business and I'm not sure why I can't tell her. Nothing - NOTHING - that Liz ever did supports how Red treated her in the end. Nothing except Red's colossal ego.

If the bones were really her biological father's as we have been told, she had a right to know that and why.

If Red is her biological mother as they hinted, it's even worse. And no, I still don't accept that as canon but I can't deny that's where they've left us with the teasing. Because then there is no larger motive or purpose to protect her mother or innocent third parties. Then, it is exactly as presented in 8.21/8.22 - all of this only to keep her mother (Red) hidden and Liz "safe" (an abject failure in the end). What a whole lot of death and destruction to protect a woman who wanted nothing more than to know WHY she needed to be protected. Who desperately wanted agency over her own life and deserved to have it. Who was an ADULT with a child of her own.

Even if Red is NOT her mother and is still an unrelated third man (as I hope) it's not much better. Maybe then he's at least conflicted between protecting Katarina/others while keeping Liz in the loop but this again begs the question - why enter/re-enter her life at all? Why keep her in the dark on these nebulous threats when the biggest threat ever seemed to be chasing after the mother she wasn't even aware of until AFTER Red entered her life? She was FOUR when her mother died. She was never, ever in danger unless and until the world learned she was leverage to get to Katarina, which they never would have learned had Red not done what he did for his own selfish reasons.

From where I sit, there was never, ever a good reason not to tell her why she was in danger and what her connection was to Red and to let her be a full invested player in her own future, and Agnes's future. I think Liz could have been trusted if Red would have trusted her. Yes, I get we wouldn't have a show if they had chosen to fill her in. It's the premise. But to see any part of audience defend Liz remaining in the dark after eight seasons because they just love Red/Spader so much that he can do no wrong, nope, I'm not ok with that. As things stand now, there was never a reason for Liz not to know "THE TRUTH" beyond Red's ego. And I guess that is why I cannot look forward to S9 because if he gets to prance around and pretend like nothing happened and it wasn't all his fault, and everyone happily claps while he does his thing, I will still be seething and raging. Liz deserved better. We - the audience - deserved better than for Raymond Reddington to be the "strong female character" of the Blacklist (I can't believe I actually have to type that). What a mess.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

msr + world war ii

the way I could technically spin this to fit with the actual canon in-universe AU (6×03 Triangle) but like... I'm actually gonna do a twist on the 50s AU I started trying to write while I was brainfried from a cold this past week lol. this is so random and probably won't make any sense without reading my tags on this post lol

Binary Star

~2k words | WWII AU Pilot | pre-MSR | AO3

Dana Scully nearly lost her younger brother from violent illness when she was eight years old. What she did lose was the proper use of her left leg, but what she gained was an intense need for understanding of the human body. It's only intensified as she grows older, fights her way into medical school right as boys her brother's age are fighting their way through enemy lines in Europe.

Young men in the prime of their lives with the lives they planned to lead stolen from them see a young, pretty woman with a crippled leg using a cane coming to treat their injuries and they have one of two reactions: they either look sidelong at her with scorn, or they start crying. All the doctors are healthy, said one boy, her younger brother's age, and no one can understand each other. That's the moment Dana knows she chose the right profession.

Fox Mulder lost his little sister when he was twelve, and gained an intense need to understand why, and what happened. His father was a government contractor before the War, and got back in with the secret services as soon as the States decided to step in. Fox dodged the draft because of the familial privilege that couldn't save his kid sister, and because the FBI wanted him on the home front. Maybe his father couldn't bear to sacrifice another child to whatever happens behind the scenes in those smoke-filled government offices where they claim war plans are made, when really it's so much more than that.

Dana has seen things that she can't explain. Men with their flesh eaten away, that she can only treat with dangerous doses of painkillers; some who came home with fifty years added to their age after only being gone for a few months; a nurse who exhibited symptoms of radiation exposure despite never leaving the country and another who died painfully of a tumor that Dana has only ever seen in illustrations, eating through her sinus cavity into her brain. That last is the one that piques Dana's medical curiosity; the woman had insisted with a surprising gravity and calmness that she'd been abducted and experimented on. The vividness of her descriptions, of white light and fear she could never fully remember, was such that Dana has to doubt it was all contrived, or a symptom of the cancer. She's heard talk of conspiracies, the government conducting secret experiments in New Mexico or other unlikely places; her sister believes it all, but Dana questions. She wants to know.

Mulder isn't expecting the knock on the door of the basement office; he isn't even supposed to be down here. There are more important things to worry about and work on than the mysterious x-files, what with a war going on all around them. But there's a folder down here with his sister's name on it, because if any case can be considered unexplained, it's Samantha's abduction. His father had ordered an FBI investigation, but Mulder thinks it was all for show. He knows a little too much about what goes on down in Roswell, New Mexico; just enough that he keeps a lookout over his shoulder. No one knows he came down here again, so he pretends he doesn't know he's always putting himself in danger and he quips that there's no one down here, just the FBI's most unwanted.

Dana was told she might find the man she's looking for down here, in an unused office full of files. She wonders if her answers are down here, or if Fox Mulder is holding them in his hands. He pulls off a pair of reading glasses and looks at her with mild surprise. "Agent Mulder," she says, resting both hands primly on the buffed, comfortable handle of her cane, "I was told you might be able to help me."

He listens, absolutely intent, to the little doctor who limps into his office and rattles off a description that lines up with half the abductee stories he's heard. He has permission to take a case in Oregon, teenagers disappearing and coming back wrong or broken. It sounds a little too much like the boys who are sent home from the front lines, and a little too unearthly; they're sending him to make sure whatever facet of their conspiracy it is doesn't get out. So, on impulse, he invites Dana Scully to come along with him. He doesn't have a partner right now, he says — Diana was sent to a Naval base overseas — and he could use her medical expertise. Maybe they can help each other.

"Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?" He asks when he hands her the file, and Dana scoffs. Her patients have told her some terrible, inexplicable tales, but no matter what she doesn't see behind the scenes of this war, she's never given credence to the notion.

"Logically," she replies, "I would have to say no. Given the distances needed to travel from the far distances of space, the energy requirements would exceed any kind of craft's capabilities."

Mulder's eyes brighten and he smirks. "That, Dr. Scully, is conventional wisdom. What do we do when, in the case of these kids or your patient who died, convention and science don't offer us the answers we need?"

"The answers are there, you just have to know where to look." This is the tenet she has built her life on. Her search for knowledge began when she was eight years old, the first time she questioned God and the world she lives in, and has led her here. And when she's on a train the next day, sitting across from Mulder's sleeping form, she wonders if this is the right place to look.

Mulder squints one eye open, watching the little doctor, or maybe little spy, as she watches things he can't see pass by outside the window. She's got bright, curious eyes; he'd seen it in how intensely she argued with him about the existence of life beside their own, in the way she fixed him in her gaze like she was trying to figure him out. He's still doing the same; he's just as curious about her as she seems to be about the world around them.

He rolls onto his side, reaches across the space between them and carefully taps her left knee — the one she favors, pretty heavily by the worn look of the top of her cane. "A doctor with a gimp leg?" He asks, maybe a little bit teasingly just to see the reaction he'll elicit from her, when she looks at him.

Dana is used to the questions about her disability, but she's also used to the disapproval or doubt in her soundness as a physician that tends to come with it. Mulder, sprawled across the seat in front of her, seems purely curious. She blinks down at him, finding it strange because when they're standing, he's so much taller, and folds her hands on top of her knee.

"Polio," she explains. "When I was a girl. One of my brothers nearly died, I came up crippled. That's the reason I went into medicine, actually."

Mulder nods, like he understands. Later, in a dark hotel room, he'll tell her how the loss of his sister sent him running to solve mysteries that others wouldn't care about; they might just be more similar than either of them thinks. Their innate curiosity, longing for knowledge, to understand, draws them together. They both want to understand each other, as well.

Dana isn't an investigator, but Mulder is a mystery she wants to solve. He touches her gently, hesitantly, when she impulsively flies into his arms, he flinches at the flames when the hotel lights on fire and then turns angry. His entire face lights up in a tremendous, all-consuming grin when she starts laughing in disbelief in the cemetery and he catches her when her cane slips and she loses her footing on the wet terrain. He calls her by her last name, not her title or "Miss" like she's used to hearing; it reminds her of how people have always referred to her father.

For a moment, it's like there's no war; she forgets about Bill Jr. deployed with the Navy, forgets about Charlie deserting from boot camp and never calling. She forgets, for a second, that she is not and will never be normal or whole, and that she's caught up in a mystery that might put her in danger.

Scully argues with him, almost constantly. She's the skeptical daughter of a Navy captain who's spent her life fighting for a place in a profession that would have her be only a nurse, secondary to everyone else. She questions everything, won't believe a word of his theories. But she listens. She doesn't disregard him, doesn't tell him he'd be better off codebreaking or spying on the Axis; she wants to learn, wants scientific answers for unscientific questions, and when she's caught in a corner, barely staying upright because it's muddy out and she's staring down into an empty grave, she laughs. She doesn't rail against her own lack of knowledge, doesn't argue the way she's been since the moment they met. She looks up at him, something intense shining in her eyes, and she laughs. Mulder cannot comprehend her.

She loses her cane trying to keep up with him in the woods, trying to either hide from or find the source of the blinding lights hovering over the forest. He's not sure which it is; if she thinks they're in danger, or if she wants to know more. Billy Miles, comatose only hours before, is in the light, with Theresa Nemman in his arms. The wind picks up, the light blinds him, and he's not sure where Scully is or if she's seeing this; he hopes she is.

She shouts his name over the sound of the wind whipping through the branches, and he finds her limping through the undergrowth, shining her light toward the ground. He drops to his knees and digs around in the brush for a minute, counting the seconds. He wonders if his watch will have lost time again. Scully balances herself against his shoulder, staring up at him with wide eyes.

"It was incredible," he breathes, and she nods.

Her mind is playing air raid sirens, instincts shouting at her to get out of there, that the light came from a foreign plane or weaponry; nothing she's ever heard of can hover that way, though, and she knows Mulder is thinking of flying saucers. She can see it in his eyes, feels it mirrored in herself when she sees the sheriff's boy and the medical examiner's daughter, alive and whole. It's absolute wonder.

She came here looking for answers, but found something she cannot explain. No answer, just more questions. She's found a mystery, or maybe two. Maybe a friend. Maybe more.

He knows, as well as he knows the back of his own hand, that there are, in fact, more important things to worry about. Abductions by extraterrestrials, experiments done by the government or secret services, should be secondary to winning the war, but what if the two go hand in hand? What if the same is true of him and Scully; she's small and curious and determined enough to be a soldier herself, fits into the mysteries he's after like she was born to be there.

Neither of them expected to find each other in the midst of the tension wrought by the war. Maybe neither of them knew where to look.

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

Steve goes home to a cold, empty building and ponders the family photographs that pretend at a life that doesn't exist.

i have a few i could answer before this, out of curtesy. but i had plans for this instantly. heheheheheh.

—

it hadn’t been a special day, so he didn’t really think about it. the empty ‘home.’

it was later at night due to dealing with dustin wanting to go too the arcade. and it was friday so they weren’t in a rush. not that he would anyway, they deserved as much childhood fun as they could get. he wouldn’t take those moments away. couldn’t.

he locked the door behind him. remembered distantly when tommy once asked why he did. no one else around town would since it was so quiet. tommy had asked if it was rich person thing. he hadn’t answered him, didn’t say it was because he was alone and was his only form of defense. so a lock couldn’t hurt to use.

he turned the lights on as he went, knew he’d be back down after changing. he slept in the living room most nights. had to have the television running just for some background noise to fall asleep. it was a little funny, living in such a quiet place when he was built more for a more urban environment.

almost like he was built just for his city living parents. away constantly and barely offering a scrap from their hearts. ironic.

he sighed to himself as he climbed the stairs, legs still a little stiff from being in the car for so long. he tripped on the carpet and reached out to the wall to find balance. which he did find but a frame dropped face down by his right foot.

the frame was unfamiliar but the picture was of a slice of his family at his fifth birthday. he hadn’t seen any of them for years.

his aunt carla, red headed and the brightest person he’d ever known. she was a fashion designer, his mother would speak jealously of her. then his uncle ben, a stout, bearded man who ran an auto shop but didn’t work in it himself. annie, the little girl three years younger than himself. he’d read about her in a magazine, she’d won some skater medal and was training for the olympics already. quite the spitfire apparently. he ran his thumb over the family so similar, yet so different from his own.

to think he could simply find the phone book and give them all a ring. not that they’d have time to entertain him.

he looked to the other side, grandma rose and grandpa killian. two close and personal souls. he’d always imagined, while he heard his mama and papa fighting, that they’d eventually turn out to be as close and loving as their elders. grandma was holding his hand.

his own father, a tall and broad man similar to steve’s figure now, stood behind them all with an almost smile. and his mother, perfect bun curled on her head and warm eyes crinkled in delight as she held steve’s shoulders from behind.

when she used to hug him. back then. instead of looking at him like a lost prize now. he hugged the rectangle to his chest and kept hold of it. couldn’t tell if his chest felt lighter or denser.

the rest were simply gazed at. he could barely recognize the people captured in the majority. he bit the inside of his mouth at the realization. he didn’t even know his own family. when did he give up? when had he become just like his parents?

he noticed another one with just himself and a baby. a little bundle of blankets with a closed up face showing. all held in his scraggly, eight year old arms. he found he couldn’t register the name. so he took it of the wall and turned it around. used his bitten off fingernails to pry the back open and off the get the paper out.

“steven + cousin vincent 1984”

he marveled at the sight once he turned it back over. he didn’t even ponder on the fact that the moment taken in his hand was probably the only time he’d seen the kid.

“cousin vincent,” he mumbled to himself and shook his head, “wonder where you are nowadays.” he thought hard about all his aunts and uncles. who he could he a part of.

maybe auntie may, the only blonde in the family. she was a hostess at a fancy restaurant and lived in vancouver last he knew. the kid looked like her. maybe. her face was blurred in his memories. their noses sorta matched though.

he found a small one near the end of the hallway. one he’d never even noticed before. couldn’t fathom how.

his mother smiling fondly at the other in her white lace dress. her wedding dress. she was beautiful and happy. put together in every way. her arms were draped over his father’s shoulders. his laughing father. in a tuxedo and his hair in disarray. both of them so different from who they are now. eyes full and wrinkled in mirth.

his eyes pricked then. what had happened to them all? one decade they were so united. and presently they couldn’t be more apart. his father held a permanent scowl and his own mother held a dullness in her soul now.

he couldn’t help but decide that they were defective. they started off perfect. but they lost everything somewhere along the way.

it was too late for steve to go on another one of his childhood adventures to find it.

he slid down to the carpet, ignored it when his feet numbed.

he was too late.

he looked back to the stairway and faintly stared at the door. begging all the divine beings to allow him one wish.

“send someone to me,” he whispered to the empty air. “i don’t want to be alone anymore,” he whined and forced himself up. he ran to his room and slammed the door.

the sound echoed shortly through the house and muffled bellows took over instead.

always open :)

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from Scream Queens Ep 10 "Thanksgiving"

Listen. I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I don't think I can bone you right now.

My wanger is way stressed out.

I've killed for our love.

I just gave her a little push.

You and I can pick up right where we left off.

You can bring me home for Thanksgiving and introduce me to my future in-laws.

What did you do with the body?

I put it in the meat locker. It's where we've been putting all the dead bodies.

I need to see the body.

Look, we can have a three-way with the body.

I'll show you the body, but not so you can have sex with it.

I'll show it to you so that you and I will share a dangerous secret that will strengthen our relationship and bring us closer together.

I don't understand how this keeps happening!

Is this meat locker, like, a wormhole to an alternate universe or something?

She'll probably stop at nothing until she gets her revenge by murdering you.

No one wants to spend a room service Thanksgiving alone.

Are you going to talk at all?

You shouldn't be mad at me.

We're the sane ones.

Now, I know you've got other plans today, and for alibi's sake we need to protect your cover, but I am not letting you leave on an empty stomach.

Is that what quail is? I thought they were bigger.

You know what I was picturing? Pheasant.

Time to slice off those breasts.

I feel like this holiday is all about family, and, well, as you know, I gave up on my real family a long time ago.

I mean, at this point, the closest thing I have to family is. . . you.

I understand that Thanksgiving is supposed to be about family and being together and thanking God that we were born rich in America and not in Uganda or Venezuela or any of those other African countries.

You're late. The game's just about to start.

What do you think would happen if those instructions were incorrect?

This family's fortune is built on being right on time.

There's nothing better than sitting together as a family, watching the game. Laughing, smiling, just enjoying the warmth of each other's company. That's what it's all about today. Togetherness.

I hate defrosted food.

Why is it called Italian Style Chicken Cacciatore? All chicken cacciatore is Italian style.

This is not what Thanksgiving is supposed to be.

A bunch of my sort-of friends have been killed and no one has asked me about it.

Oh. And I'm starting a new family tradition. It involves me never coming to any family occasions ever again.

Would you stop with the screaming?

It's more like a stay of execution until no one is looking.

I've never cooked before, but that should be fine, since I usually just pretend to eat.

Well, I can cook and eat for the both of us.

So we've decided to have an orphans Thanksgiving all together.

I mean, I guess you could come over here if you wanted.

And this year I'm so thankful for the lax indecency laws in Eastern Europe that inundate our Internet with millions of hours of hard-core porn.

You know, ever since I was a little boy, I knew what God wanted me to do and that was make money off the backs of creative people.

I am so thankful that he, for whatever reason, has not murdered me yet.

You have such a vast future ahead of you.

You'll meet so many new and different women. So many wonderful women to go out with and break up with and move on from.

You should be thankful that this table is too long for me to reach across and strangle you, bitch!

What are you doing here? How are you alive?

When I woke up and regained consciousness, I felt better than ever.

The only thing you're carrying is water weight, you bloated little tramp.

I have a little game to play that's gonna make the time fly right by.

No, I've never killed anyone as far as I know.

Okay, there is no evidence at all that mass murder is genetic.

I would say that is more than a little suspicious.

I have bathroom shame issues. I always wait until everyone is asleep and then I sneak down to poop in the little powder room downstairs.

I mean, don't we all agree that those babies are the killers?

That seems like an unnecessarily complicated cover story.

I think we have plenty here to go to the police.

What, are you drunk?

You know, the one time I call you for a little advice, you're hammered.

I suppose we should discuss the matter of payment.

I'm asking you to name your price.

Are you propositioning me?

No, I'm asking how much money it'll take to make you go away.

My family is super-gross rich.

That outfit screams desperation.

I am, however, willing to write you a check for $50,000 if you will leave now and never come back.

It's a lot of money for a family like yours.

What is the best part about Thanksgiving?

Tastes like Henry VIII just barfed in my mouth.

Well, I don't want to sound like a dick here, but have you ever considered maybe you should leave?

I brought some of my famous eight-meat stuffing. It's beef, venison, alligator, buffalo, rabbit, goat, rattlesnake and Spam. I cut all of the meats super thin, so that you're guaranteed every meat in every bite.

I thought you said you were leaving forever or something like that?

Have you ever even cracked open a book?

You did say just the other day that the only way to live is to play the long game.

I really hope you can come up with something better than that.

I can prove that you're the only person in this room we know for a fact is a murderer.

I saw you in the coffee shop the other day, reading one of your old Playgirl magazines.

Okay, look, there's just some stuff that doesn't add up.

Look, I've gone through all the suspects in my mind, and I can explain away all my suspicions for everyone except you.

Can we just talk this out, so you can help me see that I'm wrong?

I mean, it would fit in with your whole hard worker, let's find out the truth, never take no for an answer, awful personality.

Anything to redeem your beloved dead mother.

I can't rest when the killer's still out there, so I stayed behind to do some more research.

You're skinny and pretty, so that's a plus, but it's highly competitive, so you'd better be rich, too.

You know how at the beginning of the year, I was always secretly following you so I could just keep an eye on you, make sure you were safe?

I heard you talking to someone, but I couldn't hear what it was about.

Thank you for letting me talk about this, talk this out, and hear your side of the story.

Um, homely, ugly.

Gold digger! Not welcome.

No, no, too chunky to wear that outfit.

I'm fairly certain this board game's been tampered with.

And while my motivations were airtight and my conscience clear, still, I'm sorry.

I mean, no one deserves to be spoken to like that, particularly not by what is, without a doubt, the most awful family in America.

I've honestly seen more tasteful decor at a Sizzler.

And you, sir, give the kind, hard-working, deeply moral people who work in such a wonderful industry as Hollywood a bad name.

I am walking out that door and never speaking to you again.

How could such a stud evolve from a boy who was so clearly a douche?

Oh, please, look, I-I was so bombed at that party. I mean, I remember I puked while I was making out with some girl, but there is no way that I could've found my way back down there 20 minutes later, let alone 20 years.

This is really embarrassing, um, but I started the paleo diet, because I'm back on the dating scene now, and I-I wanted to lose some weight.

I never saw a body down there.

I-I was a bit of a man slut back in the day, and it was the '90s, so nobody wore condoms.

I'm obligated to take it to the police.

What are you gonna do with the money?

didn't take the money, idiot.

Okay, first of all, I experienced extreme emotional trauma this evening, and second, I'm the one delegating tasks, thank you very much.

I couldn't find any matches.

I was sharpening this knife.

You haven't eaten yet, have you? I knew it!

You've come back. You've chosen me over your awful family.

First of all, my family is awesome. How dare you?

So, without further ado, dinner is served.

[castielific]

Title: Fancy and the tramp

Story status: Complete, 8 chapters

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dean/Castiel, Alternate Universe, Fake boyfriends, pretend relationship, homeless!Dean, rich!Cas, family, angst with a happy ending, temporary breakup, getting back together, coming out, past!homophobia, self esteem issues, Dean Winchester has a sexuality crisis, first time, homelessness, bed sharing, pining

Sex tags: anal sex, switching, bottom!Cas, bottom!Dean, first time, frottage, marking, blowjob, fingering, barebacking

Special warning: Contrary to what the title may presage, there are no spaghettis in this story. 

Summary: 

"Okay, let's be clear on one thing from the start. This is not a lifetime movie and I'm straight, so no falling in love, get it?"

"I get it, Dean," Castiel nods.

Well, that's it then, apparently Dean is going to a fancy engagement party with his new fake boyfriend. What a weird day. 

Link to AO3

Chapter 1 under the cut:

************

"Come on Ricky, you owe me that money!" Dean says on his phone, taking a step forward when the line of the coffee shop shortens. 

"I don't owe you shit, Dean. You still owe me the last three months of your rent," his ex landlord says on the phone.

"And I'll pay you, you know I will. But to get the money, I need a job, and to get that job I need some new clothes and-"

"Yeah yeah, I know the deal. You think no one has told me that one before? No bueno, man, I'm keeping your deposit," Ricky grumbles. 

Dean groans in frustration. "Come on, all I need is fifty dollars so I can buy a pair of pants without any holes in it. You give me fifty, I get the job and I pay you back, how does that sound?" he tries to negotiate. 

"Like a fucking lie," Ricky spits just before hanging up.

"No Ric-fuck!" 

The woman in front of him in line sends him a dark look. Dean rolls his eyes at her. Like she hasn't heard worse before. 

Ricky was his last shot. It was a long one, he really does owe that bastard some serious money. Guess he can kiss the job interview at two goodbye. It's some kind of assistant job. It sounds easy enough, buying coffee and picking dry cleaning and stuff. It was still a long shot anyway. Dean's only real job experience is being a bagger boy when he was seventeen and it lasted about two months before his dad decided to move them further east. 

So far, he'd always managed to get by doing repairs or cleaning at gas stops and motels. The older he gets and the harder it gets to find that kind of random job. People are more willing to give a few bucks in exchange for manual tasks to a kid than they are to a nearly thirty years old guy. Now they just tell him to fuck off. 

And since it's always been casual and off the book, the only official work experience he has is the bagger thing. He doesn't even have a high school diploma because he dropped out long before that. Not exactly a stellar resume. Which explains why he hasn't found work in eight month and is currently living in his car. Thank God he has Baby. 

He had been too ambitious thinking he could get his own place. It could only pay rent for about five months before he went broke. He's never had a home before, and had no idea that having an apartment cost so much. In motels, you don't exactly have to pay for water or heat or utilities. There was a bunch of stuff he hadn't planned for that ate up the last of his meagre savings. Ricky threw him out after three months when Dean couldn't scrape up enough money to pay rent anymore, putting a violent stop to Dean's pipe dream of living a normal life. He hoped it would be simpler to get a job if he had an actual address, had even thought about scrapping up enough to maybe get his GED. He's not sure what he's going to do now. 

He's always wanted to be a mechanic. If his dad ever taught him anything, it was how to take care of the Impala. John taught him all the basics and Dean got the knack of it. As a teen, he spent days reading car magazines and working on the Impala, trying to learn as much as he could about how cars worked and how to repair the different parts. He knows enough by now that he could easily work in a garage, but he's got no diploma, and hasn't found anyone willing to hire him on faith alone. 

The line of the coffee shop shortens again, the barista asking her order to the goody-two-shoes in front of him. Dean looks regretfully at the display of sandwiches. He searches his pockets and only comes up with three dollars. Of course, the cheapest piece of food cost four dollars. Dean sighs. Guess just a coffee will have to do today. 

He won't have another choice but to go to the soup kitchen tonight. He hates it there. The food is crap and he wants to punch the prancy people serving it. They always try to give him some Jesus bullshit with his food, like Jesus is ever gonna put a roof over his head and find him a decent job. Neither Jesus nor God nor whatever gives a crap about him. Not that he blames them. Hell, if they exist they're probably not big fans of the guy that used to slip into church as a kid to pick the lock of the donation box

"Just an americano, please," Dean says regretfully when the barista asks for his order. At least it will keep him warm and fill his stomach for a short while.

Halloween just went by and the weather is becoming really cold. He should use the last of Baby's tank to go as far south as he can before winter really hits. He probably won't get farther than Wichita though, and the thought makes him shiver. No one wants to get stuck for a winter in Wichita. Maybe he could go and see if he can make a few bucks at the nearest motel, that kind of place always needs a handyman's help. He hasn't tried the one on Corn Street yet. He's noticed only two lights are still working on their sign, he could offer to help with that. If he makes fifty bucks, he might be able to reach Austin. 

Dean stops on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, pondering if he should walk to the bar a few streets down or the motel. Sometimes Benny, the owner of the bar, lets him use the sink in the back to wash up. If he's lucky, he'll even get some leftovers from last night. It's generally just some stale pretzels, cold fries on good days, but it's still better than nothing. He's got two cans of beans and a car with an near empty tank to his name right now, so he's not picky. 

Dean takes a look at his watch. It's eleven thirty already, the leftovers are probably already in the trash at Benny's. The motel is probably his best bet. 

"I'll give you a hundred dollars if you pretend to be my boyfriend." comes a hoarse voice, way too close to his ear. 

Dean jumps, nearly spilling his coffee on himself. He spins to the right to face the man who just talked and is met with a pair of clear blue eyes. Way too close again. He waits a second for the man to take a step back as he realises as close Dean turning brought them, but the guy just continues to stare at him, head slightly tilted to the side. He's wearing an oversized trench coat over a dark blue suit that looks expensive. He's so close a gust of wind makes the bottom of his coat brushes Dean's shin. 

"Dude, personal space," Dean reproaches, taking a step back. "And fuck off, I don't swing that way," he adds, not meanly. It's not the first time he's getting hit on by a dude. Sadly, not even the weirdest. He's strictly into chicks though, so no dice.

"Two hundred bucks," the man insists. He looks ready to fall on his knees and beg, eyes going wider and wider as he throws a panicked look to the right of Dean's shoulder. "It won't take more than ten minutes and all you have to do is nod along," he begs, making Dean wonders if he's in danger somehow. Maybe he has a stalker or an abusive ex? 

Dean follows his eyes to a woman coming closer. She's very elegant in a grey pantsuit and a long white fur coat as she walks straight toward them. He can feel her eyes judging him even from thirty feet away, looking at him from head to toes. If he wasn't already self-aware of the number of holes in his jeans, he would definitely be under that gaze. 

"Five hundred dollars," the other man whispers just as the blond woman reaches them. 

"Castiel, dear, you should have told me we would have company, I would have notified the restaurant," the woman says, sending a clearly disapproving look toward Dean as she deposits a kiss on the other man's - (Castiel, apparently, what kind of name is that??) - cheek. 

"Mother, let me introduce you to my boyfriend," Castiel says, looking ill at ease. He's obviously not a very good liar. 

Dean blinks a few times as their attention turns toward him. Castiel seems to be trying to communicate something with his eyes, and Dean frowns in incomprehension for a moment before he gets the hint. 

"Huh. Dean. Winchester," he finally says. "Ma'am," he adds when she just continues to stare at him like he has grease smeared all over his face. He's pretty sure that she wouldn't want to touch his hand if he were to offer it to shake, so he doesn't. 

"Naomi Novak," she introduces herself. "What a delight to finally meet Castiel's new companion," Naomi says, her deadpan tone contradicting her words. "Of course, I would have preferred not to be ambushed by such an announcement. Castiel, you know, that Le Délice hates it when we change our reservation last minute. Who knows if they will even have a table for three," she declares, already composing a number on her phone. 

"It's okay, mother, Dean won't be joining us for lunch."

"Oh, is it because your attire isn't appropriate?" Castiel's mother asks, looking at the holes in Dean's jeans and the big leather jacket that used to be his dad's. "I assure you they won't say a word about it if you're with us," she reassures. 

Dean squirms a little, wondering what the hell is even happening. Ten minutes ago he was buying a coffee and going at his day like a perfectly normal person (well, albeit a homeless and jobless one). Now, his fashion sense is being criticized by the mother of a man who is pretending to be his boyfriend. Did a piano fall on his head or something? Has he finally lost his mind?

He looks to the man beside him. He's scratching the side of his neck in nervousness. The move makes his coat fall a little over his wrist, revealing a freaking Rolex watch. Dean looks back to the woman, eyes sliding on her diamond earrings and the huge rock around her neck. 

You know what? That's not okay. His stomach has been crying for food since last morning, and he's what? Supposed to help this stranger by saying no to free lunch at one of the most prestigious restaurants in town? Fuck no. He's gonna eat like a king and make a few hundred bucks off the back of those rich assholes. 

"In that case, it would be my pleasure to join you," Dean announces with his most charming smile. 

"What?" Castiel can't help but bark. "But y-your work thing?" he tries, sweating. The round panic eyes are back. Dean sends him his best shit eating grin. They both know he now either has to invite this stranger to lunch or reveal the lie to his mother. The guy is trapped and may as well continue to play along.

"It's not as important as a chance to finally get to know your mother, honey," Dean answers. "He's told me so many nice things about you, Naomi. Can I call you Naomi?"

"Of course, dear," Naomi says. She looks a little wide eyed too, probably thrown by Dean turning on the charm to the max.

"Perfect! We shall go now, we don't want to miss your reservation. I do hope it won't be too much of a bother for them to add a chair to your table," Dean says. He should probably tone it down with the pompous tone, because he nearly added an English accent here. 

Naomi leads the way, and Dean is going to follow when a hand grabbing his arm makes him fall a few steps behind. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Castiel hisses.

"Acting as your boyfriend?" Dean says innocently. By Castiel's glare, he's not fooled. 

"I asked you to nod silently for ten minutes, not to do method acting for a whole meal," he reproaches. Naomi sends a look behind her shoulder and Castiel smiles at her like there is no worries, indicating for her to lead the way, 

Dean shrugs. "I had some free time."

"I'm not giving you more money than planned, if that's your goal," Castiel says with a suspicious squint. 

"I'm fine with the five hundred as long as you're also paying for lunch," Dean says, wiggling his eyebrows as they walk toward the restaurant. Something passes on Castiel's face that Dean can't quite identify. The other man stares at him for so long that it's a wonder he doesn't trip. He finally relents with a long suffering sigh as they enter 'Le Délice'. 

Apparently, Naomi Novak is prominent enough that they don't mind changing her reservation after all. They're seated at a table near a legit indoor fountain. Dean is looking around, trying not to let show how impressed he is by the place. The walls are made of stone and covered in frescos that he always thought you couldn't see outside of a church or castle. A waiter gives him a leather covered menu and Dean opens it eagerly. After a few niceties to Naomi, they're asked what they want to drink. Dean has an inkling that he probably shouldn't ask for a beer in an establishment like this. 

"Same for me, please," he says after Castiel ordered some wine with a name Dean can't pronounce. At least, he hopes that's wine. Who knows. Hell, in this place the bottles of water are probably more expensive than his usual brand of beer. 

Dean starts to second guess his decision when he realizes that the menu is in french. What is it with rich people and France? He just wants a damn steak, how do you say that in french? Is there even steaks here or is it just frog legs and snails? Oh god, he hopes not. 

"I think I'll take the duck today," Naomi notes. "Nobody cooks it better than chef Francis. How about you Dean? Have you ever come here before?" There is a mean glint in her eyes that says she knows perfectly well he hasn't. Hell, from the side eyes he got from everyone as they crossed the room, everyone here knows he's not from their world. There are three holes in his jeans, threads hanging from the bottom and his dad's leather jacket probably should have ended up in the trash about three years ago. Even now, it's still too big for him and the sleeves are so scruffed that they're nearly paper thin. The original dark brown color has turned to a light beige in most places from wear. His scruff is just the bad side of too long now, and he hasn't had a haircut since April, strands starting to fall into his eyes. At least, he's wearing his best plaid shirt and managed to wash up last night, so he's not smelling too rank. Why would Castiel pick him out of all the people in the street at that moment to play his boyfriend? It makes no sense at all. From the guy's obvious discomfort as he hides behind his menu, he probably realizes it. 

"Actually, Naomi, duck sounds like a delicious idea," Dean says, voluntarily ignoring her question. To be honest, he’s never even eaten duck before, but it's poultry so it probably taste like chicken. You can't go wrong with chicken, right? His stomach certainly likes the idea, gurgling so loudly that he has to hide it behind a cough. 

Castiel ends up ordering some fish and soon their drinks arrive. Dean barely has time to sip at his red wine before Naomi pounces. 

"So, tell me everything, how did you two meet?"

Dean nearly chokes on his drink. Castiel seems to gulp down his whole glass. 

"We met at a coffee shop. Dean was in line in front of me and we started to talk," Castiel explains, not quite meeting anyone's eyes.

"How quaint!" Naomi exclaims, clasping her hands in delight. "I'm just sorry that you didn't tell me about it sooner, Castiel. How long have you been keeping this charming man a secret?"

"Not-," Castiel clears his throat, "-not long."

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you Dean. I sure wish this luncheon will give me the chance to learn everything about you."

Luncheon? Who even talks like that outside of Downton Abbey?

"I do hope I'll get to keep some mystery, we wouldn't want this guy to lose interest," Dean says with a wink. He pats Castiel's hand on the table. Should he hold it or something? How open on PDA are gay people those days? Not that he knows more about how heterosexual couple act in public anyway, especially in those crowds. It's probably safer to keep the PDA to a minimum here. 

"You have to at least tell me some things. For one, what career path are you on?" She looks like a shark circling her prey. 

"I'm a mechanic," he lies. He'd rather stay as close to the truth as possible. It's a little unfair that Castiel is letting him do all the talking when his initial demand was that he stayed silent, especially since it's his skin that Dean is apparently saving, but the guy looks like he's swallowed a potato whole. 

"Oh, that's...interesting," Naomi says in that insincere tone of hers. She looks like he told her he was fucking children’s corpses every full moon. He's two seconds away from telling her that he's actually jobless, penniless, and homeless, just to see her face, when Castiel intervenes. 

"How is Anna's engagement party coming on?" 

Thankfully, this seems to be a subject Naomi loves because she tells them about every aspect of the future party all the way through their meal. 

Duck, as it turns out, is actually very good. It's more like red meat than chicken, which is a great surprise. Although, Dean isn't a fan of the way rich people put tiny quantities of food in very large plates. He eats all the dinner rolls and scrapes every single bit of sauce out of his plate, yet he's still hungry by the end of it. He nearly starts crying when the waiter asks them if they'll take dessert and Naomi declines. He's starting to wonder if that little piece of duck was worth sitting through lunch with her. 

"That sounds like you're turning this into a wonderful event, mother, Anna must be delighted," Castiel compliments. 

"Oh, you know your sister," Naomi waves it off. "It sure feels like a nice opportunity to introduce your new beau to everyone."

Dean frowns. What's a beau? Is that him? That's not him, right?

"I wouldn't dare take any attention away from Anna," Castiel tries to refuse. 

"Don't be daft, you know your sister won't care. Everyone will be so happy that you've finally found-" she passes a long look, over Dean, like she's doubting anyone would actually approve of him. She certainly doesn't seem to, "-someone," she finishes lamely. 

"Oh shoot, I don't think I'm available that night," Dean tries to play off. 

"I'm not sure I've told you the date of it yet."

"Cas did," he says. The other man perks up at the surname, but whatever, 'Castiel' is a mouthful. "And I have this huh work thing, you know? Bummer," Dean says with a fake pout. 

"What kind of 'work thing' can a mechanic possibly have on a Saturday evening?"

Dean tenses up, pursing his lips. "One he can't get out of?"

"Nonsense, you're coming," Naomi brushes off. And that is that apparently. Shit. There is a vein about to pop on Castiel's forehead. "Castiel, dear, you look a little white. Was the fish okay?"

"I-Yeah-I-Actually, do you think we could possibly cut our lunch short? I am indeed feeling quite unwell."

"Of course, my dear," Naomi says, leaning forward until her hand touches his forehead. "You're as clammy as a fish. I should come home with you, and make sure you're okay," she announces, taking her napkin off her lap and deposing it on the table, ready to stand up. 

"No!" Castiel stops her, a little too brusquely. "I-Dean will take good care of me, don't worry," he says, getting up and grabbing Dean's arm so he does so too. Dean follows his lead, all too happy to get out of here. "Stay and enjoy your tea, mother."

"If you say so," Naomi says, sending an unsure look at Dean, obviously upset at being brushed off in his favor. "Call me this evening, or I'll worry all night."

"Of course, mother," Castiel acquiesces, kissing her cheek. Dean hovers behind him. Is he supposed to kiss her too? Wave hello? Shake her hand? 

"Dean," she says as what is apparently a sufficient goodbye. Thank God. "I'll be sure to see you on Saturday," she reminds just as they're walking away. 

Cas turns on him as soon as they're outside the restaurant. 

"What was that?!" he asks, not quite yelling. He starts pacing, rubbing a hand through his already pretty ruffled hair. 

"You owing me five hundred bucks? Dude, you're lucky I don't charge you more for the fresh hell I just lived through."

"You went through hell? You?!" his pacing gets faster and Dean has an idea that if he stops pacing he might punch him in the face. 

"That's what you get for asking this kind of stuff from a perfect stranger," Dean shrugs, pushing a pebble with the point of his shoe. His red sock is peeking out from a tiny hole near his big toe. It's such a contrast to how grand everything and everyone looked in there. It's making him feel like shit. He's maybe feeling a tiny bit guilty for trapping Castiel like that too. He doesn't seem like a bad guy, albeit one with a psycho mom.

Cas turns on him, eyes glaring and mouth open in what will probably be a flow of reproaches. He stops himself before he says anything though, seeming to deflate. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breathe instead, shoulders falling. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should be thanking you. I have no right to make you any reproach when I brought this on myself."

"It wasn't so bad, though, was it? I mean, I think I sold it?" Dean asks, a little hesitant. He even used pedantic talk and everything. 

"You did as well as could be expected."

"That's not much of a compliment…". 

"I shouldn't take more of your time," Cas apologizes, taking his wallet out. Dean goggles at the amount of cash in there. 

"You really shouldn't have that much cash on you, that's, like, asking for trouble."

Castiel squints at him like he's wondering if that means Dean is gonna rob him for a moment, before he hands him a wad of cash. 

Dean's eyes bulge out, "That's way more than five hundred dollars."

"There's also an advance in there to buy some clothes for the engagement party."

"The what now?" Dean blinks dumbly for a second until his brain catches up to what is happening. "Dude, no, I'm done!" 

"You were the one to push it so far in the first place," Castiel reminds. Accuses, really. 

"I just wanted to eat fancy food, okay! Not, like, go steady."

"There will be lots of food at my sister's engagement party," Castiel tries to persuade. Badly. 

Dean gives him a nonplussed look. The cash feels heavy in his hand. He's never had so much before. This could help him get a new start. What's a night of playing Downton Abbey compared to the many many nights he might not have to freeze his ass off in the backseat of his car thanks to it?

"Why are you even doing this anyway? And why would you choose me? Do I look that desperate for cash?"

"No," Cas says after what's definitely a too long pause. Dean scowls. "You were in front of me in the coffee shop line. I heard you talking on the phone. You said you needed some cash to buy a new outfit for a job interview. Begged, really."

"Where the fuck do you get on listening in on other people’s conversation?" 

"I didn't listen, I just heard."

"You know, what? Fuck you," Dean spits, "I don't need that bullshit in my life right now." He has enough cash to get to Austin and replenish his stock of food, even buy some new clothes. At least this way he can keep his dignity rather than being insulted by a bunch of rich assh-

"Please," Castiel begs, following him as Dean storms away. "You don't understand…"

"Oh I understand perfectly," Dean says, stopping and turning around so brusquely that they nearly bump into each other. "You think you can shit on other people from your high horse and that they'll still do your deed for a few hundred bucks. Well, I'm not your freaking puppet, man."

"I have never shitted on any-" he stops himself with a frustrated groan, before turning on the puppy dog eyes. "Dean, please. Listen to what I have to say at least?"

"I know what you're gonna say. I've seen that movie before, Cas. You're going to bring me to that party, so you can parade me around like I'm some earned price or some shit. Meanwhile you get to appease mommy dearest and the clan of hyenas putting pressure on you to find a husband, while still having the satisfaction of giving them a huge fuck you by bringing a guy like me instead of the golden boy they're dreaming of."

"I-" Castiel stops himself, pursing his lips. "That's actually not that far from the reality."

"Of course it isn't. Told you, I've seen that trope before. Except this is real life and your plan sucks, so you can keep your money and I'll keep my dignity. Just grow a pair and tell them all to fuck off, will ya?"

"You sure do like saying that to people," Castiel sulks. "Are you sure you can't do it for me?" 

"Oh believe me I would love to tell your mom to fuck off, but I like my balls attached to my body, so that's a hard pass."

Castiel laughs slightly at that and Dean can feel his own anger start to abate at the sound. "Good self-preservation instinct on your part," Cas mumbles. The puppy look is still there, except now it's making him feel like he's kicked the puppy.  

"You know, we're in the 21st century, right? You shouldn't feel pressured to the point of inventing a boyfriend. Who gives a shit about that nowadays?"

"My family does," Castiel answers in a long sigh. "You don't get it, how could you... I have three brothers, Dean," Castiel explains. "Two sisters. My little sister, who is just nineteen, just got engaged. I was already seen as the irremediably unwed one and now I…," he pauses, sending a nervous look at Dean, looking ashamed.

"Oh come on. How hard can it be? You're rich, objectively good looking. Do you have weird kinks or something?"

 "I-I wouldn't know. I've never even been in a relationship before," he confesses, looking at the ground.

"When you say 'relationship', you don't mean you've never…" Dean inquires. Cas' cheeks redden, and Dean blows like he just got punched. "Wow. That sucks."

"Yes, it's very pathetic."

"What? Eh no, it's not pathetic. Surprising, yeah. But, to each their own, you know?"

Cas inclines his head like he's not sure he does know. 

"I'm sorry I tried to drag you in all of this. You seem like a good man. You don't deserve-"

"-to be served on a platter to your family?" Dean asks, searching Castiel's gaze until they exchange a smile. 

"Yes. That." The man is still looking dejected. The money is still in Dean's hand. That duck really was good. Damn it.

"The food better be freaking awesome," Dean relents with a frustrated grunt. Castiel seems instantly relieved. "And you're not pretty woman-ing me," he warns, pointing a finger at the other man. "I'm choosing my own clothes and I don't give a shit if I don't know which fork to use for fish."

Castiel's head is tilted and he's blinking owlishly, like he doesn't understand a word that Dean is saying. Figures. He's not sure how he could convince anyone that he's this dork's boyfriend, honestly. Naomi certainly looked like she wasn't fooled. 

"I'm sorry for the way my mother behaved toward you. I assure you, being yourself will be amply sufficient to the task."

"Dude, the way y'all talk, where do you come from, Victorian England?"

"I-I don't think I have English ancestry, no. Why?"

They blink at each other for some time. 

"I must be a freaking masochist."

Cas' face scrunches up even more in incomprehension. 

"Okay, let's be clear on one thing from the start. This is not a lifetime movie and I'm straight, so: no falling in love, get it?"

"I get it, Dean," Castiel nods. 

Well, that's it then, apparently Dean is going to a fancy engagement party with his new boyfriend. What a weird day... 

You can read the rest on AO3

[ouuuuki]

Stormbringer ((Page 15-40))

15

Chuya Nakahara never dreams His awakening is like bubbles rising from the mud. Chuya woke up in his room. There are walls, floors, and ceilings that are murky rooms. The blue darkness that covers them. The furnishings are "Kishingaku". A bed with sheets and a small bookshelf embedded in the wall of a small bookshelf A jewel-related booklet is randomly opened on the desk in the center of the safe. That's all. Asahi, who looks like a film inserted through the gaps in the curtain crevice shading cloth, cuts the murky room into two halves, and Chuya Nakahara got up. I'm sweating a little around his chest. The slag was swirling around it, but I can't remember what it was like. This is always the case these days. I gave up and got out of the sleeper and took a shower. Chuya Nakahara thinks about himself while bathing in boiling water from his head. He is 16 years old. Since joining Port Mafia a year ago, it has achieved results at an unprecedented speed, and it is a program of at most 2383 lines that researchers who are recognized by the organization C () DE: 0 have devote themselves to it.

16

The boy was given this room because he was warmed up, but he brought no money, no position, and no joy to Chuya. In the past, Nakaya doesn't know who he is. The memory of Setsu is that he was kidnapped from a military research facility eight years ago. There is no life before that, the darkness of one side What kind of darkness of the night It's deeper and darker than the darkness of the shooting ball. He wiped his body and headed for the dressing. When he pushed on a side of the wall, the wall opened silently, revealing a clothing rack. All his clothes were high-class, and I chose one of them that had no wrinkles and put it through my sleeves. Hold the emerald jasper cuffs on his sleeves and look in the mirror. After a small tongue, Chuya left the room. When he left the 0 Sugu family, a shuttle car appeared as if he had timed. The black luxury car was driven by Port Mafia's black clothes with light-shielding glasses. When I stopped at Chuya's sideways sentence, the more important thing that silently opened the back seat door remained missing.

17

"To the usual shop," Chuya said to the driver, he got into the car and closed his eyes. A black luxury car ran smoothly on the main road in the center of the city. Commuter cars were jam-packed on every road and every intersection. However, the Wakimichi car carrying Chuya passed through the convoy, a side road, and a traffic jam. It's as if you used magic that wouldn't interfere with other cars. "What was yesterday's transaction record?" This is it. "',," Chuya read the documents given by the driver. It is a document printed with a special dye that cannot be duplicated. All the content was encrypted so that it would not be evidence even if it was held down by the police. 0 "Hmm, is the transaction going well this week?" Chuya said in a throwing voice. Chuya's job at the "boring" Kanshi Sport Mafia was to monitor the distribution of smuggled gems. Gemstone-One of the highest substances in the world, Iguiyamond Shimizu, has the highest value per unit weight. Jonathan. Jade. And the mere element under pressure from Kongoishi will become a magic stone with terrifying magical power as it touches people's eyes, fins, and hands.

18

And the condensed thing of that demon is the smuggled jewel. As long as there is a jewel that was like a shadow created by the brilliance of the jewel, there will always be a smuggled jewel that is a shadow. There are countless places in the world where the shadow of the world and smuggled jewels are born. A poor miner sneaks in and steals in a gem block. Alternatively, a robber smashes a jewelery store, Shokes, with a stock and takes it away, or a pirate sinks a merchant ship carrying jewels. Or hold a quick-up robbery from the neck of Serep. The "dark" gems thus created in the mining areas owned by the rebels, paid for weapons and drugs, cannot enter the world of light as they are, where illegal organizations such as Port Mafia have trouble. A carrier who sheds light on the dark-colored jewels that have flowed to the port of Yokohama brings them to Yokohama, the late shop buys them, and a skilled processor does not know the source. Cut it back to. Turn the necklace into a 0 presslet, the presslet into an earring, and the earring into a ring to bring a second life to the jewel. The new gems created in this way are given a formal appraisal by the Mafia's breathtaking gem, a smoky appraiser, put on the market by wholesalers, and lined up at the front of the prestigious jewelry store Ire. The smuggling jewelry industry is one of the most important sources of income for the Australian Mafia. Giyo, Kaya

19

This is because smuggled gems, which can eliminate intermediate exploitation by customs and distribution control companies, always generate enormous profits. However, items with magical power like jewels inevitably attract blood and violence. So far, Chuya, who should be prepared for further violence, such as chewing any violence in one bite, has done its job perfectly in order to suppress it and establish stable distribution. Too perfect. Many of the members of the old stock were surprised. I didn't expect the 16-year-old kid to manage the dark jewel market so perfectly. However, there were a few who were not surprised. Those who fought against "Sheep", an organization that was once headed by Chuya. The king of the organization that continued to afflict the Mafia. I wondered what wondered when one or two of the jewelry markets were completely controlled, but surprises, praise, or jealousy didn't matter to Chuya. What they want is something they can never give. Chuya Nakahara threw the document into his seat with the annoyance of throwing a pebble. And he said in a small, thorny voice, "I don't know how many years it will take at this rate." The driver pretended not to hear. Surprising Exploitation is', Re "

20

The luxury car carrying Chuya headed for a quiet residential area as originally planned. It was quiet except for the crowing of the greenfinch in the low sky. The sound of the train and the hustle and bustle of commuting, the car that couldn't reach this point ran quietly and stopped in front of a store. Brick Old World Brick old billboards have the store name Ku Old World,-in pale letters. Chuya got out of the car because the neon tube was not lit because it was before the store opened in the morning. The car ran away quietly so as not to break the tranquility of the residential area. Chuya opened the store door. Five guns greeted Chuya. "The store is in preparation," said two men, holding their guns. The muzzle of the pistol is pressed against Chuya's head. "Isn't it okay if it's a corpse?" Said another man, Su-san. A shotgun with a barrel cut down is placed on Chuya's chest. "Isn't it careless without an escort, Mr. Jewel King?" Wow, a different man said. A pistol is pointed at Chuya's flank. Is it enough?

21

"Even you can't prevent the first strike from this position :::" another man screamed. A small pistol that fits in the palm of the hand is attached to Chuya's neck. "What should I do? Invincible Gravity Master. If you cry right now and apologize, I'll kill you easily." I said in front of Ya. A long-barreled pistol is aimed straight at Chuya's eyebrows. If you attack one person, you will be shot from the rest. If you try to retreat, you will be shot from the front. Before you are shot from the front, you will be shot from the back. Chuya did not react. I didn't even change my facial expression. The air in the room was hardened. Everyone put a lot of effort into the fingers on the gun. The dry sound of "Han!" Echoed in the surrounding streets. 0 From the head of Chuya who stood up, the colorful decorative strings that hung down like bloody ("Chuya! Port Mafia Joining One" Congratulations on the anniversary! "And the joyful voices of the men echoed throughout the store. Chuya looked around with a disgusted head. Dead rock fluttering.

22

"I'm a fool." That's "It's not a huge monster ..." White smoke was rising from each barrel, and a colorful paper company was on Chuya's head. In the air he flutters with confetti. The men were looking at Chuya, who was covered with a string, with a grin. Gathered there were members of the Mutual Aid Society within the Port Mafia. He is not just a mutual aid society. All of them are the leaders of the future of the organization, and their positions are equal to or better than Chuya. And all are composed only of young people under the age of 25. Port His Mafia's young wolves, who are only called "Young People's Association" by the organization. Chuya sighs and walks to the back of the store with a cold look without greeting anyone. "Why isn't Chuya happy?" Said a tall man on Nakahara's back. "Everyone got together for you." "Don't celebrate the first anniversary." Chuya told me to reject. "I'm glad I don't know what to do." "Don't say that. You must love it." A tall man chased Chuya. "I'll have time to give a souvenir later. Isn't it fun like a student?" Chuya stopped and turned around and stared at the other person. "In other words, you are the mastermind or the piano man. Your sense of joke is rotten at all.":

23

Egao "Well, I'm still breathing today to annoy everyone with this rotten joke." Chuya's sarcasm returned a cool smile to the mafia standing in a black cloak and white long skirt. .. Known in the organization as "Piano Man. His clothes are always in black and white. He is tall, has thin fingers and always has a happy smile. He is the founder of this youth association and It plays a role like a leader. It is this man who invited Chuya to this young group. He is more like a craftsman than a mafia. He is almost the only fake bill with the same accuracy as the real one in Yokohama, a complete fake bill But with a whimsical personality, if you're not happy with the fake bills, you'll run out of time for months, even if it's an instruction from the chief. By the way, The nickname "Piano Man." Does not come from black and white clothing. He uses an electric winder with a carbon steel piano wire to kill his enemies. When this copper wire is entwined around his neck, any mysterious power It can't be removed, and in a few seconds the neck will fall off. What's left behind is the perfect flat between the shoulders. And the voluminous blood and the reverberation of the screams of the victims. A man with cruelty. He is now said to be the youngest man closest to a boat mafia executive. As Chuya walked into the store, another man called out. Haha! Chuya's face was awesome! At least I'm in great agreement with this show! Saseiya Zankyo

24

Hitsujio A young star and former mafia enemy, Chuya Nakahara, the King of Sheep! It's worth joining this young group just to see your troubled face! " As he swirled his gun, he laughed in a voice that a young blonde man often passed through. Chuya glared at the blonde young man. "Hmm, tell me. If I didn't realize that it was a show, you were dead at the beginning of Albato 0 Suze, Mia Tori Ku" Jimankobushi Nagu "Wow. I'm sorry, but I was killed by Chuya. It's not as good as it gets, but before being hit by Chuya's proud fist, this hatchet cuts off his fist. ”Babiro Kukri Knife When you say that, a wide hatchet appears silently from the back of your jacket. It was. The young man let go of his hand after flashing his blade and slashing the air several times in a non-heavy motion. The impact of the fall of the floor pierced the hatchet, and the young man laughed as the hatchet ran radially on the floor with a heavy sound. 0 Yukai Albatross Laughs a lot with a funny face, the street name of the young man is Ku Abotori 4 He is a tuned person and speaks better than anyone else. His men lose sight of him, even in the middle of a struggle of bullets, blood and flesh. " If he goes to talk or laugh, he's there. Albatross, tsu ... Toku Abotori Tsu is said to be in control of "everything faster than walking" in the Port Mafia, that is, a vehicle. That's his territory. , Coast Guard Leh crack

25

He will prepare all the transport boats that will not get caught in the higuchi and the dar. In some cases, we will also procure criminal vehicle supplements with forged registration number marks. Originally an organization's "escape shop," you can control anything with a control stick. Faster and more precise than anyone else. Rumor has it that he took a shabby fishing boat and escaped from the Coast Guard's high-mobility combat helicopter, but no one in the organization doubts that rumor. The person who offended him cannot live in an organization for three days. The car, the stream of stuff and money, is at his knees. If he hates him, all economic activity will be cut off and he will quickly become ill-mannered. "Chuya Nakahara, let's make a toast." However, Chuya ignores it at a glance and walks to the back of the store. "Oh, I'm in a bad mood today, Chuya." The stupid bird left while supporting the glass with an exaggerated movement to prevent champagne from spilling. "About once a month, he suddenly becomes moody, but what happened? Did he have a pulsed dream?" A pulsed dream. The moment he heard the word, Chuya looked back and looked like a flame. "It's not like that!" 25 Bungo Stray Dogs STORM BRINGER

26

The angry quivering the glass of the store "Scary ::: What?" Chuya hesitated a little, wandered his eyes, and said that his voice was a little less tuned than before. "Maybe it's because you make noise upstairs every day until the morning, but it's a stupid bird. I'll forget it many times, so I'll say it again, because your floor is my ceiling." "No. You can't forget it? You know, you're a neighbor. ”The stupid bird laughed with a benign face. The stupid bird lived on the same high-class residential land as Chuya, one floor above. According to Chuya, the placement of Abatos was one of the biggest mistakes the Port Mafia made. The stupid bird sometimes gets into Chuya's room on a whim and pulls out Chuya by saying,'・ Help with work ,. And Chuya got better at swimming thanks to taking him to a ridiculously distant battle zone on a car, a ship, or a helicopter. This is because the stupid bird does not always prepare a return flight. Albatross Chuya ignored the stupid bird and walked to the back of the store. And when I tried to put a cloak on the hanger hook of the store, a man with a champagne glass appeared next to me. From the back of his bangs, he was screaming at Chuya with a dark gaze. "I didn't expect you to stay this long: Albato 0 Susaki, Albatross

27

Fufu and the man were strangely thin. A thin wrist is swimming in the sleeve of his shirt. What's more, the hand that doesn't have a glass of champagne is holding a drip stick that hangs the drug solution, and the tube that extends from the drip bag disappears into the clothes. He was an unhealthy man. "Surgeon" Chuya received the champagne glass presented. Then he looked inside. "I don't think it's poisoned." "No poison." The man called the surgeon smiled darkly. "I wonder if you can't kill with poison." "What do you know?" "It's an experience." "Because I've killed a lot with poison" with dark eyes. Mafia medical director, only a surgeon. In the black society, there are many unlicensed doctors, but he is different. He is a real doctor with a PhD in medicine in North America. Sugujuyo, the dark doctor is a profession that is in great demand in a black society. If you go to a regular hospital, you have to rely on a dark doctor to treat the wounds that are reported to you-gunshot wounds and torture wounds-the same in Port Mafia. It is. Fishing,

28

But there are also differences. In the Port Mafia, doctors are especially important and favored chiefs, Ogai Mori, who is also a former dark doctor. Ryo, Tsujin and the thick port mafia medical team, Ku surgeon is the best doctor. At this young age, he has already saved the lives of nearly 800 humans. And he deliberately took the same human life as that. His purpose is to get closer to God. His belief was that "every time you save a person, you can approach God." His goal is to save two million lives, the same number of humans that God killed in the Bible. I entered the Mafia, and I was waiting for a large-scale conflict where people would die like bugs. "It's not like they're all gathering together, no way to gather surgeons: I looked around. "In the first place, it's about the first anniversary, do you hold such a gathering?" "I'll explain that." A young man with a gentle voice came out with a slow movement. 0 "The first year after joining was the most difficult time for the Mafia." Su "What?" The scared young man smiled. The smile is seductively sweet. And his facial features are strangely well-organized. The magical beauty is that if you dress up as a man and smile, a woman will be dressed up, and if you dress up as a woman and smile, a man will be watered down.

29

Deadman's Carp "The first year is the steepest curve of the dead for mafia subscribers. In the meantime, most humans either run away, are crushed, or are confused and erased by the organization.・ It's a celebration of survival. ”Maybe,“ Sledding and fun. Did you think I was crushed by a blunder?''A public relations officer? ”Chuya glared. No, I don't think. "I am."'・ The young man, who was called a public relations officer, smiled mysteriously. And', Shu spokesman-丨 His work is extremely special among these people. A window for negotiations with the world of light. That is the job of a public relations officer, that is, the job that appears in public. He also negotiates with front companies, meets and negotiates with government officials, and in some cases responds to the press. If Port Mafia has a front face, it's him. 0 It was extremely difficult to kill him. In a sense, it's harder than killing the chief, because he's an active movie actor and a fashionable child who even has enthusiastic supporters abroad. If he was killed or missing, media outlets around the world would write and report it as the most important article, so it's natural to be in a turmoil, who killed it, 1 how?

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In other words, the search for suspects attracts attention from all over the world. It is a situation that the back organization absolutely wants to avoid. In addition, since the public relations officer himself is a powerful talent, and his ability is a counterattack type talent that responds to the attacker's murderous intention, evidence is given. It is absolutely impossible to erase it quietly, and once the criminal is named, media outlets around the world will enthusiastically reveal the murderer's identity, purpose, and mastermind. The privacy of the people involved in the organization who took the lead in the murder was launched high in the sky and never returned. The organization is over. Destrap Bakutan Oso, he's the first bomb to fire when he dies, a deadly poison that no one can touch. And his weapon isn't just famous. He is a born actor. The speech and bargaining ability that comes from his acting capsetsukan, and his beauty, which is said to have a perfect curve on his face, especially the problem with the legal world, were when he reached the bargaining table. You almost settle "But if you get kicked out of the organization, I don't care at all," the spokeswoman smiled like a feather. "At that time, I'll invite you to my main business. Let's aim for the world as a silver screen haiku together." Su "I'm absolutely sorry." Chuya made a bitter face as if he had poisoned. "I'm absolutely sorry to say it again." "I objected to the anniversary," I suddenly heard that quiet voice echoing from the back of the store. I didn't scream. There was no intimidating voice. However, everyone was silent and the voice was scary.

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I looked at you. A man in plain clothes stood there Iceman: Shiriki Shin "Mi Cold Blood ,," Chuya said in a cautious voice. "That's right. The celebration seat doesn't look good on you." The man had no feelings. His presence was different even in the gorgeous and intense youth association. He had the tranquility of a dark night, radiating any ambition or impression, rather inhaling all the signs and sounds of his surroundings. Icemank cold blood. The second oldest man after the piano man, he is an expressionless and expressionless man. He prefers simple clothes. And his work is also quite simple and mundane. Hitman, especially in the Mafia. All the time he carries a knife that doesn't even use a gun that doesn't use his abilities to kill, but he never uses it for work. He works with what's indispensable. Fountain pen, liquor botokiyoto, kazahimo shunkandan cancer 2 ru, electric lamp decoration string. The moment everything is in his hands, he's a more dangerous weapon than a bullet, so he can kill people anywhere, whether in the desert, in the palace, or in the vault of the bank. Although it may be inside, there is another special skill in the desert man and cold blood. When he activates a different ability nearby, he feels it as simple as his skin.

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It is his constitution, not his ability or skill, that he can feel. Therefore, his success rate in killing is higher than that of the hundreds of fighting talents, because he can instantly sniff out the right place and time for killing. However, because he does not have different abilities, he cannot pay attention to the special affairs section and the military police's special crime countermeasures section. Take measures, just a shadow man with no connection. If Chuya could be killed, the most likely thing would be cold-blooded ostriches, the organization said. Iceman "I didn't expect you to come to my celebration, Mi cold-blooded ostrich. Do you hate me? "Chuya laughed provocatively. "You and I killed each other once in the" sheep "era, so it seems that you failed to assassinate me and lost your reputation?" "I opposed the feast, but that was you. It's not because I don't like it. It's because I have a grudge and I don't have an iceman. It makes you more angry. " "It's not like it's crushed." "What?" Ötzi Iceman "I thought it would cause a rebellion." The cold-blooded voice was as sharp as the sound of a lump of ice cracking. The leader of the Sheep. I thought you would betray the chief and kill him and wage war on Mafia. To prevent that, Pianoman had you join this youth group. "

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Chuya glanced at the piano man. The piano man is expressionless and watching the conversation. Neither denial nor affirmation. In other words, it is affirmation. "::: Yeah. That's right." Chuya glared at everyone. "Everyone was kindly watching over me like a newborn red toy boy. I'm thrilled. So that I don't get sharp, I'm wearing a toy and even rattling. Thanks. So I was alive and turned one year old, so I need a big toy event. "He said, squeezing a glass of champagne in his hand. Iceman eyebrows where liquid splatters Even if you see it, cold blood does not move your eyebrows Iceman "There is evidence to warn you" Cold blood continues. "June 18th, 3:18 pm. A jewelry wholesaler who offended the rooftop was injured for three months after he was completely healed. The reason is that you did a good job. It's a lonely question, but when you hear it, you blow the wholesaler to the roof of a three-story building. "2" Was that so? I forgot. "Contrary to the content of the reply, Chuya's eyes are sharp. .. "If you have the courage to try it now, try it now," Su'Iceman cold-blooded. After five seconds of expressionlessness that sucked in all the emotions, he said, "Where were you born? Sui Suiman Eritsuka Gochuya reacted quickly. Grabbing the cold-blooded collar and pulling it roughly.

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The sewing of the shirt broke somewhere and there was a sharp noise. Ötzi "What's this hand?" Cold Blood looked down at the hand he grabbed and said emotionally. "It's up to you," Chuya screamed from the side, as if the stupid bird was in trouble. "Hey, take it to that side," and grabbed Chuya's arm. "Don't get angry at such a question, Chuya. You're not like me?" "You can't decide what's like me. I'll kill you." Chuya swiftly flipped the arm that grabbed herself. The stupid bird, who was dressed to be pushed away, stepped on the tatara behind him and stepped forward, and Chuya's leg suddenly stopped. I, Tsukinha :, "Chuya's temple has a billard stick attached to it. Horizontally, with the edge of the sword, you can stick it. : What is this stick? "Chuya said silently, still. "Hey 0 Iceman" It's up to you, "said the cold blood holding the stick. Chuya pulled his upper body away from the stick, and then shook his head and head-butted the stick. (The stick flew away. A myriad of pieces of wood from Icemans splattered throughout the room. Most of them fell on the cold blood that had the sticks, and only Iceman. A sharp piece of wood cut through the right temple and blood was eye-catching It runs down the edge of the room, but the cold blood even blinks.

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No "That's it" I heard the most ruthless voice I've ever had. Behind Chuya: Before I knew it, a transparent piano wire extended from the sleeve of the raised arm on which the piano man was standing, like a high-class necklace that circled Chuya's neck. .. The first rule of this young society, "Chuya", the piano man said coldly. "Don't use different abilities for your friends." Did you forget it? ”The name is piano wire, but it is different from the one used for musical instruments. It's not that easy, it's a completely industrial steel wire that hangs and ties up rebar and concrete lumps, and a take-up device is installed behind the sleeves of the piano man. When it starts, the piano wire transforms into the lightest decapitation stand in the world, and the neck is cut off. Even if Chuya tries to reduce the mass of the piano wire by gravity operation, it is not possible to increase the winding speed, so it is the neck. "I know you're in a bad mood, Riyama," said Piano Man. "If nothing is done, you will lose to Dazai. You have to become an executive before Dazai. Because, in the first place, you were in Remafia because you had a secret document that only executives could see. Because it's for reading. The document tells you what you are. "Wakato Umei

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Chuya's expression has changed. "Why that :::" "But it takes another five years to become an executive in this condition." Chuya's eyebrows are engraved with deep wrinkles and the meshed teeth creak. No, I say, "Pianoman smiled ruthlessly. "I'm being told by the chief," "What?" Chuya flirts with "I was ordered. Immediately after you joined the youth association, what should I watch for Chuya?" Do you want to get new information? Do you want to investigate the contents of secret materials on your own? "" I'm a ::: watcher. If you don't need to see it, you're a human being of an enemy organization, of course. You've been told why, of course, and you're a piano man who could strip your fangs. It's a totally amazing truth. " "::: Stop" Chuya moaned in a murderous voice. B. "" Araha vomit ". Also known as the military's artificial genius research body," Prototype Ko 258th ". That is you. You are not a human being, you are just an artificial I suspect it's a personality. The basis is

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Because you don't dream. "Chuya groaned unvoiced. It was a momentary event. Chuya's right hand flashed like a snake, grabbed the pianoman's arm, and crushed and destroyed the electric winder for the piano wire there. Then, Chuya's left hand picked up the falling sticks and debris from the throat, and attached the pointed tip to the piano man's throat. Apatrosk Kukri Knife Machine Vist spokesman, who moved quickly except for Chuya, took out the submachine gun from the inside of the suit and attached it to Chuya. The hatchet sword of the stupid bird was hit on the neck of Chuya. The surgeon took out the syringe and put the tip on Chuya's temple. He picked up a glass of champagne with broken cold blood and brought its pointed tip close to Chuya's eyes. And everyone at rest was moving, even holding their breath. It's like a still photo. The only thing that moves is the power and the ball that receives the rising sun- "Only the dust that shines and shines 0 All of them could kill someone's life with just one action, but no one moved. Su "Do it," said Chuya. The voice was the trembling of a squeezed bow. "Anyone can do it, but let me finish planning the event before that." Piano Month said in a plain voice.

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"What?" "Is there a souvenir for the first anniversary?" I took it out of my pocket. "This is it," Chuya moved his gaze with a watchful expression. And, as if it was frozen, the breathing that stopped everything seemed to stop even beating. The mosquito came out of Kawa Chuya's hand, and the fragments of the stick that he was holding fell off. Chuya picked it up as if he had forgotten the surroundings. It was a photo. "Isn't it worth it? I had a hard time." Chuya approached the photo as if he was fascinated. The voice of the piano man has not arrived. Chuya, who withdrew his weapon with a bitter smile, didn't even notice it. 0 "If you ask an unprecedented question, show it from the next time." It was Chuya, who was five years old. Somewhere on the beach. With the sea in the background, Chuya and a young man wearing hemp kimono are shown. The two are holding hands, and the young man heading toward the photographer is squinting and smiling, perhaps because of the dazzling diagonal sunlight. Young Chuya is foolish and uncertain if he doesn't know what's going on.

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"The picture was taken in an old rural village in the western region," said Piano Man, looking at the photographer. "Now it's an abandoned village, and no one lives in the area, but the surgeon got a hit from the medical records kept in the nearby village. 丨 丨 Surgeon" "Fufu ::: Human Even if he lied, the dental record does not lie. "The surgeon brought another document with an unhealthy smile. "Medical records have to be kept for several years ::: That duty has become a light ::: Fufu: ・: ・"-Kouwa', Chuya looks embarrassed and the surgeon and him Comparing the documents presented by him, "Don't worry if you take credit for yourself, a surgeon!" "Without my power, I couldn't even reach the medical record. The medical record of the crushed clinic is from the company that has as much sand as the sand on the beach that the medical corporation keeps together. , I followed the memoirs to find the desired storage location-because I threatened all the material storage companies and finally arrived at it! "Apatros in Switzerland

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"Of course, no good explorer can reach his destination without the first step. A spokeswoman laughed softly and offered another document." Of my personal acquaintance. To women