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tainted-wine · 4 years

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I hope you don’t mind this being exclusive for the Pro-Heroes!

(NSFW)

Papers? Check. Writing utensils? Check. Lube? Check.

You were primed and ready to begin this cocktastic journey. Completing this project will be a great benefit to Thirstology. You can’t believe that they put their trust in you to collect such valuable information from several willing participants. There’s no way you’re going to let the people at National Thirst Studies down.

With your lower body completely bare, you and your ambitious pussy set out to begin the cockwarming interviews.

Yagi Toshinori/All Might

Pre-Notes: The Symbol of Peace. It’s still surreal to see him in such a fragile state. Strangely enough, I never once asked myself: Does All Might fuck? “Obviously he was too pure for fucking,” is what I would have said before I devoted my life to Thirst Studies. But I have learned over the years that there is no such thing as purity.

------

After he got over the initial shock of you wearing no pants or underwear, you were finally able to begin your study and ask him the main question.

You barely dodged the spray of blood spewing out of his mouth. “Am I into what?” He sputtered.

“Cockwarming, sir. The act of settling a penis in a nice cozy orifice. There’s no movement, only penetration. Surely you already at least knew the definition when you agreed to this?” You offered him a paper towel, which he accepted with a choked “thank you.”

“Midnight told me this would be about intimate relationships,” he anxiously explained while wiping the red off of his lips. “But I wasn’t expecting to hear something that graphic.”

Ah, so he was talked into this. “Well, with your permission, I can give you a personal demonstration.”

His answer was inaudible the first time; you had to ask him to speak up in order to hear his adorably high “yes.” He was a lot shyer than you imagined. Poor guy was shaking like he was on a verge of a heart attack when you took his cock out and boy, did he put the ‘long’ in ‘schlong.’ But your mission wasn’t to admire the dick’s appearance, it was to learn how their owners used them inside a hot snatch. You climbed onto him and lowered yourself and ooooh shit, both of you were moaning as his inches sank into you. You couldn’t take it all, but it was more than enough to get the job done.

“Mmnngh, yes, very long. Pushing almost painfully,” You said through clenched teeth, scribbling in your notepad as you sat semi-comfortably in his lap. “Can you give me your input, Toshinori? How is this feeling for you?”

“Blrraaaffggg.”

“Toshi?”

“…”

He laid limp in the interview chair as crimson liquid continued to flow from his mouth. Well, this is troublesome. You’ll have to wait for him to regain consciousness to hear his feedback.

------

Conclusion: This was his first time experiencing cockwarming. He described it as ‘intense, but not unpleasant’. Unfortunately, whenever I ask for more details, he would get too embarrassed to share anything. Frankly, this isn’t the most fruitful start to my series of interviews, but it was a great privilege to meet the amazing All Might.

Shouta Aizawa/Eraserhead

Pre-Notes: I honestly don’t even know who the hell this is. An underground hero, apparently. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that he brought a cat with him. I told him that it needs to stay outside during the interview, but the difficult bastard was ready to turn around and leave unless I allowed the furball in. What a hassle. Do I even want to sit on this man?

------

You’re thankful that you did, in fact, sit on this man. His sleek ebony cat was relaxing in your lap while your pink kitty was stuffed with his cock. Despite his indifference to the situation, it was strangely intimate. Taking notes over a cute feline while his length twitched inside you was rather challenging.

“You seem like a rather exhausted fellow. Is it maybe the laid-back nature of the act that you find so alluring?” You asked.

“Mmhmm.” His arms circled around you to stroke his adorable pet.

“Being able to just wind down by giving your hard snake a wet hot crib to rest in?”

“Mmmmm.”

“I would appreciate a more elaborate answer.”

“Mmmmm...”

You shifted just enough to turn your head and see Aizawa’s head lolled back, his breaths getting heavier after each exhale. You can feel him quickly going soft inside you.

Ugh...

------

Conclusion: Given that he fell asleep in the middle of the demonstration, it’s safe to say that he finds the act very relaxing. I can only make guesses because the moment he woke up, he hurried me off his lap, picked up his cat and headed out. I did my best to chase him and ask if I could at least hear his final thoughts, but that bastard leaps on cars and buildings as skillfully as Edgeshot.

Hizashi Yamada/Present Mic

Pre-Notes: I’m not sure what to expect from the Voice Hero. His radio show has hosted some surprisingly insightful interviews. Unlike the last two, he will hopefully have some truly constructive answers to give.

------

“Not gonna lie, I always wanted to try this!”

Both of you were red in the face as you sat on his throbbing cock. Despite the blush and slight shake in his voice, he was as cheerful as ever. “Sometimes I just wonder, it would be pretty cool to just have a hottie warmin’ me up during my show, ya dig? No sex, though. I know I’m not quiet enough to get away with that on the air!” He laughed loudly right into your ear.

Well that kinda hurt, but it’s nice to finally have a fully cooperative interviewee. You were actually able to ask all of your planned questions for once, and Hizashi gave a satisfying answer to each one.

Unfortunately, it just couldn’t go perfectly, and his phone ended up ringing near the end of the interview.

“Hold on, listener. I gotta take this.”

Did he really? You wished he would wait until you were done.

You felt him lean back as you remained on his lap. “Shouta, buddy! What’s goin’ on?”

Shouta? Does he mean...?

“Sorry about that! I’m not home yet, I’m doin’ a...special interview, with a hard-working thirstologist.” You heard the voice on the other end respond, and Hizashi made a noise of confusion. “Eh? What do you mean ‘you too?’”

Oh dear, he does. They actually know each other.

The conversation quickly transformed into an argument, a loud one. The two heroes apparently have some...tension between them.

“Oh, so I throw hints at you for years and you act as innocent as your cats, but you’ll sit down and let a girl hop on your dick during an interview?!”

You had to lift yourself off of his softening member and take shelter from his booming voice. He was tucking himself back into his pants with one hand as he marched out of the room, but his hurt and anger was still loud and clear. “Don’t give me that bull. I bet if I hit you with twenty one questions about cockwarming, you’d just pretend you’re asleep! Oh, you actually did fall asleep? Huh.”

You awkwardly collected your notes as the two gentlemen were seemingly making up.

“Damn right I’ve always felt this way. Oh man, you better get ready tonight because I’ve got over ten years of pent up feelings, and you’re gonna take it all.”

------

Conclusion: It feels good to have a full interview. In summary, Hizashi is intrigued by the combination of closeness and casualness of it all. His interest in cockwarming during his jobs also indicate a possible thrill out of doing it in public. In addition, I’d like to announce with some pride that I may have assisted in taking two friends to the next level of their relationship.

Hawks

Pre-Notes: I’m eager to hear what the handsome winged hero has to say. I wouldn’t mind if we just stare at each other throughout the entire interview. My lust for him is unbearably strong and I’m not sure why. It’s probably just the horny writer’s obvious bias towards this bird. She could use another hobby.

------

Hawks laughed once you gave him the question that officially begins the interview. “Gotta admit, I’ve actually never tried it.”

That’s a surprise that you quickly jot down in your notes. “I see. Is it something you’re interested in trying? I can give you a demonstration right here.”

“Oh? I’d love one.”

You try not to look too excited as you leave your seat and move to undo his pants, but Hawks raises a hand.

“But I want you to do it on your knees.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “My knees? How do I-”

“With your mouth.”

Oh my.

You granted his request and kneeled down to take his half-hard cock into your mouth.

“Ahhh, that’s nice.” He sighed loudly, spreading his legs more as he stared down at you.

You detached your mouth from him to speak. “Can you tell me what it is that you-mmffrrf.”

A hand pushed you back down onto his man meat. “No no no, just...stay right there. I’ll do the talking in a minute.”

You sat there with his cock growing in the heat of your mouth. Hawks’s eyes were closed, a small content smile on his face. Every time you lifted your head just an inch, the hand on your head pressed you back down. Just when this interview was starting to feel more like a hookup, he finally began to talk.

“Oh yeah, I’ve fantasized stuff like this. You got a shitty boss? I do, don’t tell them I said that, though. They’re always finding something to get on my ass about. Working me like a dog everyday, expecting me to pull off these insane missions flawlessly.”

All you could do was look up and listen to his rant. He must have loved the sight of you, going by the strong twitch of his length in your mouth.

“They just keep asking more and more from me. ‘Do this faster next time, Hawks!’ or ‘I know you’ve never done something like this before, but don’t fail us, Hawks!’ Sometimes I just wanna shove something in their mouths...like my dick. Can you relate?”

You shook your head as well as you could in your current position.

He shrugged. “Oh well. As far as I know, I’ll always be the one getting fucked by them. But something like this...” He pat your head. “Ah yeah, it would be so nice to see them like this...”

------

Conclusion: Hawks was sadly short on time and had to leave before I could even get into the questions. Going by the very personal feelings and frustrations he shared, Hawks enjoys the dominance displayed from cockwarming, and prefers it be done orally. I will respect his wishes and not reveal any of the opinions that he shared about the establishment he works for and its executives.

Taishiro Toyomitsu/Fat Gum

Pre-Notes: It’s best that I continue to be honest: I’m anxious. Fat Gum is one of the biggest heroes around, and I just know that there is a deadly pillar of pussy destruction in those pants. I know that I should be more concerned with the questions, but it just won’t leave my mind.

------

“So, what experience do you have with this, Toyomitsu?”

The large man chuckled. He was currently in his skinny form, which you’re pretty thankful for since his fat form would have been beyond awkward to straddle. That would be like trying to hump one of those giant inflatable characters at parades. “A pretty lady I knew was really into it! I tried it for her sake, but I’ll say this with no ego, my sausage ain’t something to be taken lightly! Still, she was determined, and I was really digging just how strong her will was to take me.”

‘She sounds like a very brave soul,‘ you thought as your pen glided across your paper.

“I couldn’t believe it when she managed to get all of me inside. She couldn’t either, because she passed out! At first I just wanted to laugh it off,” he cackled as if to give an example, but his face quickly drooped into a somber expression. “But then I realized she wasn’t breathing...” His eyes shut in pain and sorrow. “And I couldn’t find a pulse...”

You nearly dropped your pen in horror. “My goodness, Toyomitsu. I’m so sor-”

“I’m just messin’ with ya! She’s fine!” His face immediately brightened up again, leaving you shocked and somewhat upset over the scare. “But seriously, if you want a seat on this big boy, I hope you’ve got plenty of lube on hand.”

“Don’t worry, I do. More than enough for the biggest flesh towers.”

But your doubts instantly returned when the bulging monster was freed from his pants. It’s huge. Toshinori may have been long, but this monster was unbelievable in both length and girth.

Your fear must have been evident on your face, because Toyomitsu asked, “You sure you wanna do this? Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

You whipped out your bottle of lube and drenched your hands. “Thirstology is my passion. My life’s work. I am more than willing to put my life on the line for science.”

The hero raised an eyebrow. “It’s...not that serious, but I really like your guts, missy.” He gave himself a few strokes. “So let me tear them up.”

Even with the coatings of lube inside your pussy and on his massive cock, this was still the most arduous task you have ever performed in your life. You didn’t know it was possible to be stretched this far. The light blonde was mesmerized by your trembles and scrunched expressions and as you tried to take more of him, his mouth slightly open when he noticed the swell in your lower abdomen.

“Oh, that is hot.”

------

Conclusion: I did it. I took the Fat Gun. Fat Gum himself takes a lot of pleasure in watching the strain of someone trying to take him in, and due to his partner often being much smaller than him, the tightness is very pleasurable to him. He was the only interviewee that actually came during the demonstration, so I suppose it’s safe to say that he is the biggest fan of cockwarming out of the five. He was very panicked when he came inside me, but I reassured him that I am on the pill. This is still a hell of a mess to clean up, however.

(I hope the information I have obtained will be useful for the institute. Thank you for giving me this opportunity)

#asks #smut #all might #shouta aizawa #hawks #present mic #fatgum #yagi toshinori #keigo takami #yamada hizashi #i got more invested in this as i went on #also how the hell do you write fatgum

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yume-fanfare · 4 years

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Sakuragaoka Highschool’s Newspaper Extra: Interview

this is a translation of one of the short stories published for LIPxLIP’s birthday in japanese here. you can read the other one, starting line, here. this was translated from this spanish translation by mieltrabajos

Yamamoto Koudai went to the staff room after class. He was now the president of the journalism club, as the one before him had graduated, and he’d been called in by the club’s advisor, Akechi Saku. Koudai thought the talk would be about the school’s newspaper report on the school festival as it was supposed to be ready by December, but it turned out not to be the case.

Mr. Akechi had said it nonchalantly, without looking up from his computer with a lollipop in his mouth. Koudai, however, was very confused.

“An interview…?”

Mr. Akechi nodded and then turned towards Koudai.

“Every now and then we have a section named Sakuragaoka’s Stars, don’t we?”

“Yes… well, there is one.”

They did have a section like that, introducing active students as stars. It wasn’t a bad project, but the... old-fashioned title was a bit cringy and people didn’t read it much. Well, the school’s newspaper as a whole wasn’t read much, people weren’t interested in it. They published it monthly and handed it over in the school festival, but not many people took them. Maybe if they didn’t publish information on all the school activities, they’d be able to cut down expenses next year.

(I am lucky to be managing the school’s newspaper, journalism is the only school activity I’m interested in).

“Have you decided who it’ll be about this month?”

“No, I’m… still in the process of selection.”

He was thinking about the light music club, or maybe the drama one as they both were active during the school festival. Or maybe interview the students from the festival executive committee themselves. It could also be one of the swimming club members, as they were doing synchronized swimming even in the cold, or someone from the tea ceremony club who were doing something called “creative dancing tea ceremony”. December’s issue was going to be the last one of the year, so he wanted to end on a high note. There were lots of students he’d like to see.

“Would you like to interview my students, Shibasaki Aizou and Someya Yuujirou?”

Koudai stayed silent for a few seconds thinking about Mr. Akechi’s words.

“Wouldn’t that be hard?” he answered.

With just a few comments on those two’s appearance at the sports festival, that month’s issue had skyrocketed in popularity as their fans scrambled to get a copy. If Koudai got to interview them, the newspaper would be read everywhere.

But Shibasaki Aizou and Someya Yuujirou were professional idols. Interviewing them without getting through their office first would be a problem. That was why Koudai was unsure about being able to handle the project.

“They’re students of our school, so there should be no problem, right?”

“I’ll ask but… I’m not sure if they’ll cooperate.”

“That’s fine, Yamamoto.” Akechi smiled and offered him a lollipop, like always. “Please do it properly.”

“Ah…”

(He’s even telling me to do it right…)

Koudai excused himself out of the staff room, and twirled the lollipop in his hands.

“It’s so easy to say that…” he sighed.

But, did that mean he trusted Koudai as the club president? Mr. Akechi may look a bit eccentric, but he never said anything without a reason. Koudai couldn’t answer his “Will you be able to do this?” question with a no. He was determined to do it.

He put the candy in his pocket and pushed his glasses up.

“I want to do something really good…”

(If I got to interview those two, I want to make it a special issue, use big pages and highlight it. It’d be great if I could take a photo too).

“Is that really possible...?” Koudai brought a hand to his chin, deep in thought as he walked down the hallway.

He still wasn’t sure, and even if he didn’t have much hope, it may be possible. It was a very rewarding job for him, even if Mr. Akechi had put him between a rock and a hard place. If he managed to get it right it would be a fantastic opportunity to get more people to learn about the club.

(Where do those two go after school?)

He hadn’t heard anything about them being in clubs. Maybe they headed straight to work after class.

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey, Koudai!”

Shibasaki Ken was walking down the stairs. They were in the same class and together with Enomoto Kotarou, had been good friends since middle school. They usually called him Shibaken.

He looked like he was about to head home. Since he wasn’t in any clubs, he always wandered around after class.

“What are you doing? Club activities?”

“Something like that. Are you going back home, Shibaken?”

“Yeah. Kotarou is also doing activities, so I have no other choice.”

“And Takamizawa-san?”

Takamizawa Arisa, whom Ken was always running after, didn’t seem to be around either. She wasn’t in any clubs, like Ken, and Koudai had seen them going back home and spending breaks between classes together recently. However, that wasn’t the case today.

“Arisa-chan has intensive classes today,” Ken sighed, crossing his arms behind his head with a bored grimace. “Lately, everyone does.”

“You have a lot of free time. Why don’t you find a hobby or join a club?”

When they were in middle school Ken spent his time playing with girls, but he seemed to have lost interest in that. Now, he was really invested in Takamizawa Arisa. As a close friend of his, the fact that Ken was so focused on a single person alone was a bit surprising. Despite his appearance and carefree attitude, he seemed to be becoming a little bit more serious.

“There’s no club activity that stands out to me. I could consider your journalism club, though. You don’t have many members, right? It’d be a friendship club!” Shibaken joked.

“We don’t allow ghost members. What about the gardening club?”

Kotarou and his childhood friend Hina were in the gardening club, but there barely were any members, and it was at risk of closing. Though the journalism club was, too, they had only gotten one new member this year. The track and field was the most active one and the students were really good athletes, so most freshmen applied for that one.

“I’d only be a bother there.”

Kodai turned his head to the side.

“Really?”

He guessed it was because of Kotarou and Hina.

They were childhood friends, but everyone could clearly see Kotarou liked Hina, although she constantly made fun of him. Koudai, however, didn’t know how she felt about him and he wasn’t going to snoop.

Ken put his arm around Koudai’s shoulders.

“And where are you going, Koudai?”

“To an interview. For next month’s issue.”

“Oh, that sounds fun, I’ll go with you! Who are you interviewing?”

“A pair of freshmen idols,” Koudai answered.

Upon hearing that, Ken drew his arm back and stayed silent for a few seconds.

“Oh I just remembered I have a really important business to handle. Well then, Koudai, do your best with the interview!” Ken walked away towards the entrance.

Like always, Ken’s personality was a fickle thing. It seemed like he had some complicated and uncomfortable circumstances.

Koudai had wanted to ask Ken about ‘him’, because he probably knew him better. But as Ken’s friend, he prefered to not touch the topic much either.

After all, the interview was about ‘them’ as students, not some scoop.

Koudai took out his pen and notebook and whispered:

“All right, let’s go.”

Maybe they’d still be inside their classroom.

---

Koudai reached the first years’ hall and looked around with nostalgia. The first years who looked so nervous at the entrance ceremony now seemed completely used to high school life.

Time to start looking for those two.

Loud voices could be heard from one of the classrooms, so he stopped by there first. Most students seemed like they were about to go home or were getting ready for club activities. Only a few girls still crowded around their desks, excitedly talking about some magazines.

“Doesn’t Aizou-kun look like someone dangerous in this picture?”, Koudai overheard.

“Yes, and Yuujirou-kun looks so cute!”

“What kind of CD did you choose? I want a poster!”

“I preordered everything! If you get a Yuujirou-kun sticker we can trade~”

Seemed like those two were the center of attention.

(I hope I can talk to them…)

When Koudai walked into the classroom, someone seemed to have noticed him. A girl wearing the sports uniform looked at him with sparkly eyes.

“Could it be, Yamamoto-san from the journalism club!” She smiled brightly.

She was at the track and field club and had participated in the relay race. Suzumi Hiyori, Setoguchi Hina’s underclassman. Koudai had interviewed her a bit some time ago.

“Are you looking for someone?”

“Yes… for a small interview.”

“An interview!” The girl leaned forward with eyes full of curiosity.

“Yes, could you help me a bit?”

“O-oh, yes, if you’re fine with me!”

They moved away from the hall to not bother anyone and Koudai opened his laptop.

“Could we do it now?”

“Yes, of course!”

“I wanted to interview two of your classmates for next month’s issue, Shibasaki Aizou and Someya Yuujirou-”

“Shibasaki-kun and Someya-kun?!” Hiyori’s voice became surprisingly low and she took a step back.

(Uh…? … Why such an exaggerated reaction…?)

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked.

“Yes… I just want you to tell me a bit about them.”

“So it’s not an interview for me?” Hiyori’s face fell down and her shoulders dropped.

(Oh, so it was that…)

“Of course, I’ve heard about your feats at the sports festival. Setoguchi-san is also really happy about how you did and praised you for your hard work,” he tried to cheer her up, and it immediately worked as Hiyori lifted her head and smiled.

“For real?!”

“Yes, she always says she’ll do her best not to lose against Suzumi-san.”

“My goal is Setoguchi-senpai too! I’m so happy~” Hiyori laughed cheerfully, a bit embarrassed, touching her cheeks.

“Suzumi-san, you’re in the same class as them, right?”

“Yes… for now…” Hiyori rocked back and forth as she answered.

“Anything is fine, but if you know something, please tell me.”

“About what…?” “Anything is fine…”

“I don’t know anything, really!” Hiyori shook her head and stuck out her tongue, like she was annoyed.

“Why? You don’t talk with them?”

“I don’t! Whenever I try, their fans bite me…” Koudai slid his pen over the notebook as he mumbled:

“Even in the classroom…?” Then added. “Then, do those two usually stay alone in class? During lunch break, I mean.”

“Hmmm… they’re not always together. They usually eat by themselves… it’s kind of rare to see them talking to each other?” she answered.

Koudai leaned forward.

“That’s… surprising. Is their relationship bad?” He put his hand on his chin, thinking.

Hiyori grimaced and quickly added:

“That’s not it! There’s times where they have fun and cheer each other up when they’re feeling down!” After saying that, for some reason, Hiyori added in a whisper: “In front of the fans… I’m not sure…” she sighed. “It may look like they don’t get along… but they like the same things.”

“The same things?”

“Yes! Singing, dancing… and tuna mayo riceballs.”

“Tuna mayo…” Koudai mumbled. Without noticing, he doodled a riceball and wrote tuna mayo next to it.

“Oh, I prefer the dried plum ones. My grandma said that eating acids makes you live much longer and have 100 times as much energy!” Hiyori said and then crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks. “But those two don’t appreciate their greatness…”

“Eh?”

“Oh, it’s nothing! I was just monologuing…”

She got nervous, and Koudai softened his gaze behind the lens.

“I understand, Suzumi-san. But this is about them.”

“I know, I was just trying to explain!”

“What kind of bond do Shibasaki Aizou and Someya Yuujirou have in your eyes?”

“For me…?”

“Don’t think about it too much. How do you think they are like…?”

She took a while to think about it, but focused again.

“Hmmm… they’re incredible…” she closed her eyes as she answered. “They work very hard every day. When I look at them, they’re always doing their best, and they make me want to work hard too, so, to me… they’re cheerful partners?”

Then, she blushed and pressed her hands together in a plea.

“Don’t write that in the article, it’s too embarrassing!”

“Suzumi-san, you sound like you’re a fan of them too.” Koudai put the pen on his mouth, smiling.

“Yes… but even so, my number one idol is Setoguchi-senpai!!”

Koudai laughed and said: “I’ll let her know.” Then added: “Well, do you know where those two are? I was looking for them.”

“Today Shibasaki-kun has to record a song, and Someya-kun has a photoshoot at a fashion magazine, so they’ve probably left already.”

“Oh, I see...·

“Ah! Then, maybe I could…! I heard those two talking about that… something like...” Hiyori bowed. “I’m sorry, I have a club meeting!” she exclaimed and bolted out of the classroom in the blink of an eye. As it was to be expected, coming from a track and field pro.

“Such an interesting girl, Suzumi-san…” Koudai wanted to interview her, some other time.

But now, he had to work on those two. Talking to them after class seemed complicated, since they left so quickly.

Koudai closed the notebook and pocketed the pen.

(I’ll look for them during lunch break tomorrow, maybe I’ll get lucky)

---

The next day, Koudai heard excited screaming as he was walking through the courtyard during lunch break.

The first years were playing soccer, and a lot of girls crowded around the fence, cheering and yelling. And not just first years, but also second and third year girls. Even the school’s nurse was looking towards the field from one of the school’s balconies.

(So popular…)

The reason for all of that was no other than Aizou. He had taken off his blazer, rolled up his sleeves and was running after the ball with his classmates.

The soccer club members watched the first years with interest too. Koudai noticed Kotarou amongst them and walked up to him. A tournament was about to start, so they were practicing during lunch too.

“Hey, Koudai, what are you doing?” Kotarou called out to him. “An interview?”

“Something like that.”

Aizou reached the boy who had the ball, easily stole it and ran towards the goal. The defenders tried to stop him but he dodged them and scored a goal. The girls all stood up and screamed and his classmates high-fived each other and laughed, celebrating the victory. Koudai quickly snapped a picture. He didn’t know if he’d be able to use it but he didn’t want to lose the chance.

“He’s great. I wish he’d join the club.” Kotarou crossed his arms and sighed heavily, looking at Aizou.

He’d been pretty good during the relay race at the sports festival, and his motor skills would surely be great at any sports club. No matter what, he could adapt and excel at it for sure.

“Why don’t you try to recruit him?”

“He’s too busy with rehearsals, he’s a full-time idol…” Kotarou crossed his hands behind his head and eyed Koudai. “What’s the interview about?” “The first year idols. They’re hard to find.”

“Shouldn’t you hurry up and talk to him then? Before a girl bites you for getting too close.”

Kotarou clapped his hands together:

“Everyone, gather!” he ordered the first years in a serious club-president tone.

Koudai walked up to Aizou, who was still breathing heavily.

“Shibasaki Aizou,” he called out. “I’m from the journalism club, may I interview you a little bit?”

Aizou wiped his forehead with his sleeve and turned towards Koudai.

“Yamamoto-senpai.”

“Oh, you remember my name?”

“It’s because… I saw it during the sports festival. But I don’t know if I can accept the interview.” Aizou rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Probably because of his agency.

“I think it’ll be okay, I don’t want to interview you as an idol, but as a first year student.” It was what Mr. Akechi had said: after all, he was a Sakuragaoka student.

Aizou changed his expression to a friendly grin.

“I don’t think that makes much of a difference but… what would you like to know?”

“About your school life. How’s this year going? Anything is fine, it’ll be interesting.”

(He seems like a normal student after all… not as carefree as Shibaken).

Both brothers were a bit shy but kind, with friendly personalities. Easy to talk to. Koudai had a lot of classmates like that. The other boys who were playing soccer called him by his first name, too. Koudai thought the fact that Aizou was an idol would make him less approachable in class, but it seemed like that wasn’t the case.

“Well, something interesting… do the cultural and sports festivals count?”

“During the last festival, your class did a haunted house, right? You were one of the best classes during the costume contest too. Yours was a very popular one, Shibasaki-kun.”

“The girls from our class were really excited about it and they were the ones to design the costumes. I hope everything looked good…”

Aizou seemed a bit embarrassed.

“I think it suited you…” Koudai remembered all the screaming fans running to the haunted house to see Aizou’s costume.

(It went quite well I think).

“Maybe the zombies could have been better,” said Aizou. “Even if it was a haunted house, I wasn’t very scared. I would have wanted it to be more realistic…”

“In my opinion it was pretty well made. Especially the sound. Though, in some areas the lights were too dark and we couldn’t really see the production work. Things like the chandelier, the mannequins or the hands on the walls. I would have liked to see them properly.”

Aizou crossed his arms and mumbled:

“Yeah, it was a bit dark after all…”

Maybe it was so he and his partner stood out less. It was inevitable, though. If they were there, all eyes would be on them.

“The voice and the wind noise that played when you walked into the room was seriously frightening. It felt so real,” Koudai reminisced.

Aizou grinned widely.

“Oh, that was my voice! Maybe most people didn’t notice… The wind was Yuujirou’s hair dryer, though it wasn’t very strong.”

“It looks like you had a lot of fun at the cultural festival.”

Koudai thought he wasn’t very interested in school events, but it seemed like they both had participated with their classmates both in the sports and the cultural festivals.

“You really are a regular student too, like Mr. Akechi said.”

“Mr. Akechi?”

“Ah, um yes… It’s nothing. This is enough.”

“Are you sure?” Aizou asked rushedly.

“Yes, thank you. By the way, I’d like to interview Someya Yuujirou too, do you know where he is?”

“Yuujirou? Well… I don’t know if he’ll be okay with being interviewed. He can be a little problematic sometimes, but, if you want to… He must be at some secluded place, without many people. The backyard, maybe…”

“I’ll look for him. It’ll be a great article.”

“I haven’t answered much though… just things about the school festival.”

“Everyone wants to know about it. About you doing normal things.” Koudai closed his notebook. “See you,” he told Aizou before leaving.

The girls who had been looking at them from afar immediately ran towards Aizou.

Such a hard life, the school idol’s.

Koudai continued with his path: “The backyard huh…?”

---

When he got there, there were no other students around. Usually, it was the third years who met here, not the freshmen, but there weren’t any seniors around either. Probably because of the November cold. The cherry trees’ leaves had been taken by the wind a long time ago.

Koudai caught sight of a student, standing alone in front of the flower beds.

(Exactly where he said…)

It looked like there were no noisy fans around. That should be better, right? Koudai walked up to the flowerbeds, the ones the gardening club was taking care of. Yuujirou looked at them absentmindedly, like he wasn’t really there.

“Someya-kun,” Koudai said, raising his voice.

Yuujirou turned around, quickly changing his expression.

“Senpai… Are you talking to me?”

Much like Aizou, Yuujirou also remembered him from the sports festival as a senior from the journalism club.

“I’d like to publish an interview of you and Shibasaki Aizou in the school’s newspaper next month.”

“I’m not supposed to agree to things like that though…”

Koudai sighed lightly at the negative answer, touching the rim of his glasses. He had gotten him to answer some questions at the sports festival, but maybe it was because there were a lot of students around… It wouldn’t be that easy this time.

“I only want to ask about your school life, is that still no good?”

“I am not very good at talking,” Yuujirou bowed his head. “Sorry.”

(I’ve already interviewed Aizou so that could be enough, but…)

He wanted an interview with both of them, but he didn’t want to force him.

Yuujirou turned his head back to the flowers and Koudai looked at them too. Swaying with the cold wind, they were yellow flowers.

“Rudbeckies… they’re still in full bloom…” he commented.

Kotarou and his childhood friend Hina had planted that one. They had joined the club as first years and had fought to preserve them. It was nostalgic. That flower was very important for those two friends.

Yuujirou lifted his gaze and looked back to Koudai, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

“They’re from the gardening club,” Koudai explained.

“There’s a gardening club…” Yuujirou said to himself, looking at the flowers again.

“Well, I’m not sure if there’ll still be one next year, there aren’t enough members and no one new has joined yet. If you’re interested…

“I can’t join, I’m not interested.”

Koudai exhaled, casually pushing his glasses up.

“Of course.”

Balancing idol work and school couldn’t be easy. He had no time for clubs. And even if he had, it’ll probably attract too many fans.

It was plain to see that Ayase Koyuki’s graduation had been the cause of the club’s demise. Kotarou and Hina were trying to revive it, worried for the club. They really wanted someone new to join.

“You’re staring at the flowerbed a lot… Are you worried about something?”

“It looks like they’re about to die. I was wondering if they’re well cared for.”

“Yeah, it’s because the season for flowers is over. They bloomed already, they’re fine.”

“... You know a lot about this.”

“One of my best friends is in the gardening club.”

He had stayed late reading a flower book with Kotarou at the library once. The season for these flowers was from summer til October. Maybe they had lasted this long because the warm days were expected to continue until mid-January this year. But their season was already over.

“Is the gardening club in charge of the flowerbeds at the rooftop too?”

“Indeed. Kotarou and Setoguchi-san said they had planted pansies. They plan on planting tulips there next spring.” Koudai pointed to a remote flowerbed. The grass had been removed from it and the soil had been smoothed out. “Since the third years are graduating…”

During spring, beautiful and colorful tulips would bloom. Just like the year before.

(Really, in the blink of an eye…)

“Have you had fun? This year…” Koudai asked casually.

Yuujirou furrowed his brow.

“I will not be interviewed.”

“It’s just small talk. I won’t write an article. I promise.”

Yuujirou looked ahead.

“Well,” he said. “It was…” His gaze softened and he smiled slightly.

He must have remembered something good. Koudai wanted to hear a bit more now but…

“I’m glad,” Koudai smiled and turned around.

“That was good?” Yuujirou said, confused.

“This was not an interview. Though, if you were to accept one, I’d gladly do it,” he answered, turning back to face him, and waved his hand.

“Oh, here you are!” Suzumi Hiyori rushed towards Yuujirou with a cheerful voice. “Someya…!!!” . When he noticed Koudai was there, she covered her mouth with her hands mid-yell.

Yuujirou furrowed his brow at her mistake:

“God…” he mumbled.

“Someya-kun… uh… eh… it looks like… Teacher Uchida is calling you,” she said to Someya in a terrified tone and then ran away.

(Is there a teacher named like that in school…?)

Passing by them, Koudai went back into the building.

---

Koudai went to talk to Mr. Akechi at the staff room after class before heading to the club room.

(Mr. Akechi told me to wait until tomorrow, but I don’t think I’ll be able to ask him again…)

He walked down the hall as he thought about it and opened the biology classroom they used for their club. The other members had other work that day, so there probably wasn’t anyone there yet.

However, when he opened the door, he stopped in his tracks. There was in fact a student there.

Yuujirou, standing next to the shelf by the window. He was looking with curiosity at the cameras and lenses Koudai used at the club.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Koudai commented.

Yuujirou looked at him, chin in hand.

“You said you wanted to interview me, Yamamoto-senpai. But I want to interview you.”

Koudai laughed.

“I wanted to interview you, Mr. Akechi asked me to.”

Yuujirou clumsily turned around. He puffed out his cheeks in annoyance.

“I see,” he said, lowering his voice.

Koudai closed the door behind them.

“Then, let’s start.”

There were lots of things Yuujirou could ask about.

This was going to be a fun interview.

“I wanted you to tell me about the camera.”

“The journalism club is also looking for members. If you’re interested…”

“I can’t join.”

The answer was still simple, but his jaw softened a bit.

“Well… do you want to learn how to take pictures? Of whom?”

“For now… of my dog?”

Koudai walked closer to Yuujirou and handed him his single-lens reflex camera, his favorite one. Yuujirou held it very carefully and pointed the lens towards the window.

“...How do you focus?”

“Like this. It’s set on manual now, but if you set it to auto, it’ll focus on its own. When you change it to shooting mode, you can-”

“Ohhh...” Koudai noticed how bright Yuujirou’s expression was while he looked at the camera.

“... adjust the exposition,” Koudai finished.

Yuujirou nodded with a serious face.

“Can I take a picture?”

“Of course.”

Yuujirou took a step backwards and, much to Koudai’s surprise, turned the lens away from the window to focus on Koudai.

The shutter went off.

“Wait, I am supposed to be the one interviewing you.”

“A bit of change is always good,” Yuujirou joked, lowering the camera.

Koudai pushed his glasses up.

“I see…”

(With Shibasaki Aizou and him… this should be popular)

---

Mid-december brought Yuujirou and Aizou relaxing at the office’s break room.

Yuujirou was sleeping on the table while listening to music. In front of him, Aizou played mobile games to kill time. That day, they had had a meeting with their manager regarding their next mv.

In that moment, Suzumi Hiyori, manager in training, barged into the room yelling:

“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!”

Yuujirou was startled by the scream, lifting his head with a sleepy face.

“Monster…” he mumbled. Maybe he was still asleep, actually.

“What the hell, you scared me!” Aizou put his phone down, frowning.

“I brought a surprise!”

Suzumi held the school’s newspaper in her shaky hands. The journalism club members had been handing it out in the school that morning.

“Our… our interview is here!”

Aizou quickly took the newspaper from her hands with sparkling eyes. That morning the girls at school had made a fuss over that issue and he’d been unable to catch a copy for himself; they all disappeared within seconds.

(Oh, last month’s interview… do I have it?)

Yamamoto-senpai had given Aizou a newspaper, but he’d been too busy to read it. He’d left it in his school desk’s drawer and had forgotten about it.

“Where’s the interview?” he asked, skimming through the pages.

Hiyori leaned over.

“Here!” she proudly pointed at the main article.

Comments from their classmate, S-san, a subheader said.

“‘Apparently, they like tuna mayo riceballs’...? What the hell is this?” Aizou complained. “Don’t accept interviews without permission.”

“Well… but I didn’t say anything out of place!” Hiyori shook her head.

“Don’t sound so happy about it. It’s a single line on a school’s paper.”

“Hey, it’s okay! Sometimes I like standing out too, alright? You two are always getting interviewed everywhere.”

“It’s only natural, who’d want to interview a manager in training?” Aizou got up, angry. He wanted to chop Hiyori’s head off.

“Wh… that’s the school newspaper? It’s out already?” Yuujirou mumbled in a sleepy I-just-woke-up voice while he ran his hands through his bangs.

“You got interviewed too. How did they buy you?” Aizou asked him with a mocking smile.

With his interview, there was also Yuujirou’s. Aizou was surprised, he was sure Yuujirou would’ve refused.

“It was fine… I didn’t answer much…” Yuujirou looked at the article. “‘Preparing for the school festival was hard, but cooperating with everyone was very important’... Aren’t you a fraud? You didn’t do anything, just slept in a coffin.”

“Do you ever shut that irritating mouth of yours?”

Yuujirou kicked Aizou under the table.

“That hurts! Don’t kick me!”

Right before the argument escalated, the break room’s door opened.

“Sorry for the wait!” It was their manager, Uchida, who seemed to be in a good mood. “The pictures in this newspaper are very good! I wonder if the boy from the journalism club took them, he’s got a good eye. He captured that natural side you two rarely let out.”

“Eh?! Why did Uchida-san read the newspaper?!” Aizou asked loudly, pointing at the school’s newspaper.

“Oh, the teacher in charge of the journalism club sent it to me. He asked me for permission to interview you two, he’s a good teacher. But, above that, he’s a good man~ ❤” Manager Uchida giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I don’t want to hear that!”

“I didn’t really cooperate anyway…” Yuujirou mumbled sleepily.

“I wonder if I can post the newspaper’s pictures on our website,” Manager Uchida wondered. “Like a precious photo of LIPxLIP’s school life!” she suggested.

“Oh, that’s right! If our interview appeared in a newspaper, I should contact my grandma and my mom!” Hiyori excitedly pulled out her phone and started to dial her house. “Oh, but I should contact my school counselor too and send them a picture!”

Manager Uchida happily strolled around the room, skipping steps, almost jumping.

“Stop that-!!”

“You’re so loud. You’re not a speaker, lower your volume.”

“Don’t cover your ears and stop Uchida-san! She’s out of control, what if she makes merch out of the pictures?!”

“It’s fine by me. Unlike Aizou, I don’t find it embarrassing.”

“What do you mean ‘unlike Aizou’?”

“Oh, mom! I got the newspaper! It’s our school’s but… I’ll fax it to you at a convenience store. So you can read it! Eh? Dried plum? Yes, I’d love to eat some! Oh, send me rice too. Yes… hm, canned.”

“Hey, potato girl, call your home outside of your work schedule!!”

“Don’t call me potato! … Oh, mom? It’s nothing. The pineapple from my part-time job is making fun of me… Yes, it’s fine. I totally defeated him!”

“Eh?! What are you telling your parents?!”

“Pfft… a pineapple!”

“Don’t laugh, Yuujirou…”

---

Koudai leaned over the rooftop’s railing after school, looking at the ground that was dyed by the sunset. The soccer, baseball and track and field club members trained with enthusiasm despite the cold.

Kotarou’s figure received a pass and ran after the ball. Hina’s running figure seemed small. And Suzumi Hiyori’s, who ran with her, did too.

Takamizawa Arisa and Shibasaki Ken were leaving the school building, walking next to each other. He saw Ken stop and laugh, waving at Kotarou.

In the school’s gate, the idol duo’s fans were waiting for the manager’s car to arrive, surely making a fuss. And it was not just Sakuragaoka’s uniforms, but from other schools too.

It was a familiar sight.

“It’s cold…” mumbled Mr. Akechi, his advisor, as he opened the door and walked into the rooftop.

When he got to Koudai’s side, he trembled and rubbed his arms. He put his hands in the pockets of his white labcoat.

“Mr. Akechi…”

“Thank you for your hard work. Today’s article was very well received,” Mr. Akechi smiled. “A success.”

“It was because those two answered properly…”

They had balanced what they should answer, what they wanted to answer, what Koudai was looking for and the proper wording for it. They were clever and talented. Going to school with those two…they really were pros.

“It worked because you’re you, Yamamoto, don’t you think?”

When he heard those words, Koudai turned to look at Mr. Akechi. His eyes were fixated on the ground, where the students could be heard yelling.

“Ah, the youth,” he whispered with a smile.

“I only wrote.”

It had been Mr. Akechi who gave him the article, and he had apparently called the office to ask for permission. Thanks to that, he’d been able to publish a special picture of those two in the newspaper. The interview wouldn’t have been possible without him.

“Did you ask me to do it because you trusted me? If not, I don’t think I would’ve done it. Those two…”

Koudai saw Akechi’s furrowed brow and laughed.

He must fight with them constantly too. They probably weren’t easy-to-handle students at all.

“It’s hard, right? For teachers, too.”

“Well… they’re never boring, though. It’s like this every year.” He smiled, hands in pockets. His eyes were looking at the sunset sky, gazing at an airplane far away.

“I see,” Koudai commented.

“Those two’s manager praised your picture. It was a very good shot. She wants to put it on their website, is that okay?”

“Yes, I’ll send it to you later.”

Koudai waved him goodbye, and Mr. Akechi left the rooftop. Koudai stayed there some more time. The sun’s warmth hit his back, his shadow falling over the flowerbed.

He took out the lollipop Mr. Akechi had given him before. He unwrapped it and put it in his mouth. Koudai gazed at the ground, leaning over the railing.

An irreplaceable year for everyone.

Everything moves forward while the present turns into a memory.

Like the older graduated students, and the ones to follow too.

“Someya Yuujirou and Shibasaki Aizou, they both seem to have had a satisfactory year. The journalism club wishes to look over them to see what awaits them in high school.” -Yamamoto Koudai

#special thanks to ao3 user chivalrousamour for beta.reading!#GOD THIS THING IS SO LONG #almost 6k be prepared guys #lipxlip #honeyworks #someya yuujirou #shibasaki aizou #yamamoto koudai #akechi saku #suzumi hiyori #TALK TO ME ABT THIS STO RY I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTSSSS #hworks #mar's translations

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kudostomrwilde · 4 years

Text

Academic kids in boarding school

chaotic academia

- “oh shit oh shit oh shit where’s my tie”

- works hard to do the bare minimum

- dedicates time to personal research and hobbies rather than school work

- is actually very disciplined despite popular opinion

- meticulously organized but you wouldn’t know it

- takes naps

- coffee but it’s half milk

- argumentative to point of bordering on antagonistic

- would rather debate for the sake of a final truth than to win

- fuck sports, play chess

- bluffs their way through life games

- black chipped nail polish

- cannot, and will not stop talking about their interests

- probably has an inferiority complex

- does not believe in making their bed

- idolizes the marauders from Harry Potter

- definitely has stolen things from teachers

- sits on the roof to think

- extremely ambitious

- a bit arrogant

- has not realized they have friends

dark academia

- 100% writes poetry

- wears their uniform constantly and somehow never looks bad

- perfect hair

- somewhat of a teachers pet

- likes astronomy

- earned confidence

- stays up late working on assignments

- top of the class and worked hard to be it

- can be very closed minded without meaning to

- extremely tidy

- never opens the curtains, fuck the sun

- prefers to read classics over modern

- plays an instrument, probably piano or violin

- taught themself to speak out loud and clearly

- tea > coffee

- keeps a bullet journal with extensive schedules

- prepared for anything

- older sibling of the friend group

- very put together

romantic academia

- in love with their best friend (dark academia)

- writes letters constantly

- feminine

- couldn’t care less about the lectures

- calls everyone love, honey, and sweetie

- passes notes constantly

- runs around the grounds late at night with their crush

- skipping classes to go make out with someone

- makes their bed and tidys their nightstand

- somehow always has a pastry when you need it

- annotes books

- sneaks out of school with their lover and spend the day in museums or sight seeing

- pressed flowers

- gold or silver accessories to accompany their uniforms

- in a lot of clubs around the campus

Classic Academia

- Always participates in class

- The president of at least two clubs

- ambitious

- most likely wants to be a teacher or at least stay in an academic field

- loves autumn, winter and any cold weather

- On the student council

- excellent test taker

- values hard work and work ethic more than grades

- the mom friend

- probably makes chaotic academia’s bed

- does a lot of work in human rights and pushes for equality in the school

- curses more than anyone else

- sweaters ALL the way

- carries a beige satchel because fuck backpacks

- loves to travel and learn about new places

- spends more time in the library than their dorm

- can settle disagreements between others easily but can’t regulate themselves

- not a perfect relationship with their family but is still trying

- has a lot of siblings at the school and watches out for them silently

- keeps a journal but rarely writes in it

- goes to detention just to keep their friends company

- does a different teachers homework in class but always knows the answer when the teachers try and test them

Light Academia

- opens the curtains when others close them

- first to wake up

- loves the outdoors and any windows

- collared shirts is all they know

- reads a lot of fantasy and fiction

- is an emotional person but knows when to use their logic

- balence in everything they do

- participates in specific sports

- loves warm weather but doesn’t hate the cold

- can cook anything perfectly

- does all the little things that everyone else forgets (flipping the calendar page, putting away stray cups of tea, etc.)

- stresses with schoolwork

- really good friends with the teachers

- introvert but likes people

- draws a lot

- comes off as pushover but most definitely is not

- only curses with their friends but goes full sailor when they do

- loves hats

- wears a lot of corduroy

- makes everyone their preferred drink in the morning

- probably wouldn’t be able to function without the sun

- “PLEASE DEAR GOD JUST LEAVE THE CURTAINS OPEN”

- carries books with them everywhere

- takes note of almost everything

- great at geography

- screams of warmth

- gives great hugs

#chaotic academia #dark academia #romantic academia #light academia #classic academia #boarding school #academia #friend group

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justsomeoneunordinary · 4 years

Text

An “Assassin”

Day 2 of @winteriron-week: Assassin & Recovery

T, 2.3k, Crack, Humor, Sam Wilson Is a Little Shit and We Love Him for It, Background Sam/Nat, Team as Family, Bucky Is an Idiot in Love | AO3

(Day 1 / Day 3 / Day 4)

—

Muzzy is not a word Bucky thought he’d describe how he feels like with ever since he got injected with that bastardized version of the Super Soldier Serum. And yet it’s exactly how he’s doing after waking up and being blinded by the brightness all around him. A groan leaves his lips as he closes his eyes again.

Fucking hospitals and their stupid bright lights.

There’s a snort to his left, followed by a “Finally, you’re awake.”

Bucky slowly turns his head and blinks up at Sam who’s seated at the visitor’s chair, a grin plastered on his face, all shiny glinting teeth and tooth gap. The sole sight of the mischief in those black eyes is enough for his memories to come back.

And boy, do those hit harder than a truck on the highway.

“Oh man, that was hilarious.” Sam’s grin widens even more at that and Bucky can feel his cheeks heat up. “Can’t wait to tell the rest of the team what happened. I even got a video of it!”

Oh, hell no. Sam is already taking his phone out but before he can click on the video, Bucky shoots him an angry look and growls, “Don’t you even dare.”

He tries to get up in a sitting position, so he can throw a pillow for emphasis but with each movement the room spins even more and he loses orientation anew. Faintly, he feels a pain in each of his joints, but his head is too dizzy to register it properly. God, the last time he had been like this was in 1937 when he got high in the queer bar down the street of Steve’s and his apartment with that tiny guy from the neighborhood who knew to give one hell of a blowjob.

“Sure. I already quiver in fear,” comes the deadpan reply.

What an ass. Not for the first time does he wish to kill Sam. Just a little bit. As a treat.

So, he pulls his winner card: “You tell anyone what happened and I tell Nat where you hid that strap-on of hers she’s been missing so much.”

Sam’s grin immediately falls at that, changing to an expression of pure outrage. “You son of a bitch.”

Hah, checkmate. Bucky still can’t feel any of his face muscles, so he doesn’t know if they’re doing the right thing, but he imagines he’s grinning smugly right now.

“Have you even seen that strap-on? That thing is deluxe! You wouldn’t want that up your ass either!”

No, Bucky had not seen it, and he’d like to leave it that way too, thank you very much. But knowing Natasha, he can only imagine what it must look like. She tells him much more about their sex life than he’d ever want to know. And he still doesn’t know why she tells him these things of all people, instead of Clint or Wanda or hell, even Tony (Tony would absolutely participate in any sex talk there is (Bucky wouldn’t say no to sex talk when Tony is involved in it)), but he suspects it’s her own way of hobby torture.

Sam wrinkles his nose while he gets up, flips him the bird and says, “Fine, you win.” Then he walks to the door and Bucky squints at him, because there’s no way it would be that easy, Sam would definitely want to have the last word—

“Good luck explaining to Tony what happened, because he’s waiting outside already,” Sam tells him while opening the door, winking at Bucky and leaving the room, his snickering still lingering in the halls outside.

… Fuck.

Okay, he’s got like… ten seconds before Tony comes in, he can easily just climb out of the window and up to the roof. He just needs to get out of the bed which shouldn’t be a problem, broken bones or not, because he’s a high-profile assassin and—

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Busted.

“Trying to disappear before you can see me?”

Tony blinks at him and Bucky blinks right back, because seriously, what the fuck Barnes? He didn’t mean to say that, it just… slipped out.

“Well, that doesn’t sound like a good idea. You might have enhanced healing, but you broke nonetheless more bones than you have in your body, I don’t think getting out of that bed any soon could end well for you. And it would be such a shame too. After all, I brought you a get well soon balloon.”

And sure enough, there it is. A red balloon. With a ‘get well soon’ inscription in golden letters. Bucky feels quite touched by this gesture. Tony thought of him. He brought him a balloon. In Iron Man colors even. That has to mean something, right?

As Tony comes closer, Bucky seizes the opportunity to appreciate the way Tony’s suit hugs his figure perfectly in all the right places. If Tony were his, he’d unwrap him out of it as if he was a present. He’d trace the material with his fingers, take slowly each layer off and soak in every inch of newly revealed skin.

“Hey, I know I look irresistible, but there’s no need to drool, Buckaroo.”

Damnit. Bucky would like to order a shot in the head right about now, please and thank you. He tries to wipe the drool off, but neither hand does what he wants, so he settles for living in shame forever.

“So,” Tony sits down at the same chair Sam had been just a minute ago, “can you tell me what put you, a Super Soldier, in such a state?”

This is exactly the question Bucky had been afraid of. See, Bucky has a tiny little bit of a… problem.

It started only three weeks after he had moved into the Avengers Tower on a completely ordinary and uneventful morning. Bucky had sat himself down at the kitchen bar, as always on the second last chair on the left side, which was the exact right angle for him to get a look at Tony’s perfect round bubble butt when he would come and bend over the counter to get himself coffee, so his pants would stretch over that wonderful butt and Bucky would have an eyeful of perfection without being creepy about it, because he was “just sitting there” and “looking normally straight ahead”.

On that particular morning however, had Tony loudly cursed after opening his coffee can, and whirled around to glare at each Avenger with a look that promised murder and bloodshed. “Which one of you used the last bit of my coffee and then didn’t even tell J.A.R.V.I.S. to order more of it?”

The answer to that was obvious. No one else would’ve done something risky like that but Clinton “I have a death wish” Barton. Which wasn’t something they would tell Tony, because no one on this team was a snitch.

Well, and then Tony’s eyes landed on Bucky and it took only three seconds of having Tony’s full attention, that he blurted without a second thought, “Clint was it,” and even pointed with the finger towards him. That earned him a gasp and spluttering and an utterly disappointed “How could you? I thought we were sniper buddies!”

After that there was a pattern. One Nat didn’t take long to notice and confront him about it.

“You can’t lie.”

“What? Of course I can lie.” Which was true. You can’t be a high-ranking assassin and go on undercover missions without being able to lie—you’d die on the spot.

“Fine, I correct myself: you can’t lie at Tony.”

Which Bucky denied vehemently and then didn’t talk to Nat for a month.

Fact is though, which it always is when it comes to Natasha Romanoff, that she was right. For some even to him inexplicable reason, Bucky is simply unable to not tell Tony the truth when he just looks at him. And it’s absolutely ridiculous, because Bucky should be able to. He is the Winter Soldier. The Fist of HYDRA. Instructor of the Black Widows in the Red Room. A weapon—a ruthless killer responsible for numerous assassinations. Tony’s big brown eyes, shining golden in the hospital’s light, framed by those surreal long eyelashes, which makes him the most beautiful person in the entire world, should not be a reason for—

“Sam bet that I wouldn’t manage to roller skate and I had to prove him otherwise.”

… Damnit. Bucky doesn’t need a mirror to know that his face is redder than a tomato. The memory of it alone fills his entire being with embarrassment and Tony knowing what happened makes this situation definitely not a single bit better. He still can’t believe it happened in first place. Bucky is a well-trained Super Soldier! A pair of ugly shoes with some tiny wheels on it should not have been his downfall, for fucks sake!

Tony tilts his head at that, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait a moment. What exactly happened then? Did you just… fall?”

Bucky gulps and focuses on Tony’s tie pattern instead of answering. There are little Hulks on it. He likes it, it’s very Tony.

“In my defense; there was a staircase,” he murmurs at last, still not looking up. The Hulks on the tie wear purple pants. He’s pretty sure Bruce would like that tie too, he’s got a dorky humor like that, even though he’d never admit it.

A few seconds of complete quiet pass, and when Bucky finally does look up, he can see Tony’s corner of his mouth twitch, until he apparently gives in to his urge and throws his head back, laughing so hard that tears of laughter start forming and running down his cheeks.

Bucky wishes for an instant divorce. Sure, this might be the most beautiful sound he has ever heard in his life, but he still wants a divorce.

Not that they’re married or something—or at least not in real life. Bucky did dream of it once, though. It was a spring wedding. Nat and Pepper were their “best men”, because neither wanted Steve and Rhodey to hold a speech. The decorations were in Arc Reactor blue. It was very beautiful, people even cried.

“You are something else, Bucky Barnes,” Tony shakes his head, the humor still audible in his voice, and a look in his eyes, that could almost be described as fond.

Bucky takes the divorce-wish back.

“Now see,” Tony begins as he gets up and slowly gets closer to Bucky’s bed, “you’re not as subtle as you think you are.” He sits down at the edge of the bed an sends him one of those brilliant smiles, that make Bucky’s head all dizzy and his heart sing with want. “Those looks you always give me are unmistakable.”

Tony takes that weird looking pudding from the nightstand and starts opening it up. “And all this time,” he continues, “I waited for you to finally make a move.” At that he rams the spoon with the pudding right into Bucky’s mouth without any prior warning.

Bucky almost chokes and it’s only thanks to his control over his reflexes that he ends up swallowing the pudding, instead of spitting it out. He coughs a few times and looks up at Tony in shock and disbelief. If this is how Tony takes care of injured people, Bucky doesn’t have any interest to ever do a nurse role play with him.

Tony gasps in indignation. “Are you telling me you would not want to see me in a nurse costume?”

This time Bucky does choke. On nothing but his own spit.

He imagines Tony in one of those tight short dresses, his legs all exposed, wearing heels as well as rich red lipstick and—and stops before his blood can rush anywhere south.

“Yeah, thought so,” Tony smirks and proceeds to slam another spoonful of pudding into Bucky’s mouth. At this point Bucky doesn’t know if his face is red from embarrassment, horniness or almost chocking, but red it sure is.

“Where was I again? Ah right, so I waited for you to make a move, but had to face reality, that you’re just too chicken to do anything about your crush on me. Which is kind of ironic, because aren’t you supposed to be a feared assassin or something?”

Bucky’s brain officially short-circuits at that, because Tony did… what?

“Yes, yes, I figured out your little secret, keep up with the class, I don’t like repeating myself. So anyway, this is me—” another spoon makes its way down his throat— “asking you for a date, because you apparently weren’t going to.” And Tony smiles at him so brightly, Bucky is sure he could lighten an entire country.

Bucky holds his breath and waits to wake up, because this can’t be real, this must be a dream. But when after a while nothing happens, but Tony’s smile slowly falling apart and making room for an unsure expression, he asks, “A date?”

“Yup.”

“With me?”

“Preferably, yes.”

“Okay,” he croaks, so he doesn’t do something dumb like start crying from happiness for example or jump at Tony who’d crush under his weight.

“Okay?”

Bucky clears his throat. “Yes, okay. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Okay.” And back is that smile finally Bucky would like to kiss one day.

“Now that that is settled,” Tony digs into the pudding again (fucking hell, is that still not empty?), “how about a deal while I take care of you, since we have to wait until you have healed anyway before we can go anywhere: you tell me where Wilson has hidden Nat’s deluxe strap-on and I tell the rest of the team that you got your injuries from a heroic fight protecting civilians against a criminal. Hm, what do you think?” The glinting mischief in Tony’s eyes when he winks at Bucky is unmistakable.

Bucky thinks that this is the best day of his life.

#may writes #winteriron #buckytony #starkbucks #tony stark #bucky barnes #WI WEEK 2020 #WinterIron Week

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fireemblemtcg · 3 years

Text

“The Cipher Frontier!” Issue 58: “Cipher Will Never Die!”

"The Cipher Frontier! With Emma, Shade, Yuzu, Randal, Alice, Val, Niamh & Poe" was a regular column on the Fire Emblem Cipher website which summarized upcoming news concerning Cipher and other Fire Emblem materials. It was presented by the eight mascot characters. The following is a full translation of the 58th and final issue of the column, which was originally published on 31 March 2021.

More Fire Emblem Cipher translations!

Hello, everybody!!!!!!!!

It's been over five years since Cipher launched - and, for that matter, The Cipher Frontier! itself...

And today... we bring you the last one!

Sniff... So this is really it...

Aye, it certainly is a bitter occasion.

With the moment upon us, I find myself overcome with emotion. Yet at the same time, I cannot help but sorely wish that this day had never come at all.

Well, it... It doesn't bother m-m-me... Not... one...

BWAAAAAAAAAAAH! I C-C-CAN'T TAKE THIS!

E-easy, milady! You swore before we began that you would not cry!

I, too, owe very, very much to all of you, so... I am very sad.

Where there is a beginning, so too shall there be an end... It is an inevitability.

Still, one might argue that as long as there are still decks to play with and opponents to challenge... Cipher may be played for eternity. So think not on this as the end, for this is but a milestone of life.

Sniff... So this isn't farewell?

Not in the least! All of our players can still continue to get together to play Cipher. So as sad as you might be now to see the game end, the feeling won't last! And I, for one, would like to close out our final day with a smile.

To that end, I propose that we all share some parting words. You first, Emma!

Alrighty! Well, I've been here since the beginning, but... Back then, I was an absolute noob, wasn't I? I didn't have the faintest idea what a "Tea See Gee" even was!

But then I learned so much from Shade, and I presented news, participated in Tryout and Gathering events, and watched Live Broadcasts - and all of that gave me the chance to grow so much.

And then as the days went by, we got to meet Yuzu and Randal, Alice and Valjean, and Niamh and Poe, and we all always had a riot of a time playing Cipher together... It's all been like something out of a dream!

Lastly, I just want to say thank you...

To all of you who've been reading our column to date, thank you tho thuch!

Ha! Is that a slip of the tongue I hear?

Why, I do believe it was... And of all the words to flub, at that.

H-heh heh heh! I guess I am still just a kid after all... But mark my words, I'll be working even harder to become a mature, full-fledged knight! Okay, let's try this again... Thank you all!

Well, I'm next! I was primarily tasked with hosting this column and presenting news.

But the work introduced me to more and more friends, and to a constant stream of announcements that were news to me myself... To lose it is like I've also lost my reason to exist, but at least I am left with fond memories of it all.

My desire to convey the appeal of Cipher to others hasn't wavered in the slightest, but... this is the last time it will ever happen here. Alas. Still, I will always be rooting for all of you, even if we don't see each other.

There will always be a bond between us - always. Remember that whenever you play Cipher and see our cards. On this, you have my word! This has been Shade, shepherd of wayward lambs, saying farewell!

Alright, then. You're next, Yuzu!

...

Huh? Yuzu! What's gotten into you? Would you just get out here?

Er, forgive me. When everybody's gaze turned upon me, I could not help but immediately seek shelter...

Oh, yeah. You never did like public speaking, did you, Yuzu?

Of course! We had a devil of a time convincing you to come out at all for your very first column.

E-enough! That was many years ago: a d-d-difficulty that I have long since moved past!

Hrr-hrr-hrr... heh-HEM! L-l-let us, er, begin anew.

I am Yuzu. My contribution to this column was to introduce cards that afforded new styles of play... only to let a haze of utter passion promptly consume me and hence spend my every waking hour crafting decks from them and trialling them in matches.

You always were one to cry, "I must test these cards at once!" and throw yourself into obsessive research.

As such, I have acquired an eye for strategy, forged in the fires of Cipher, to incorporate into my prior mastery of the martial arts - and with that, at long last, I have come to an understanding of the very heart of warcraft.

Further, as a consequence I may declare with confidence that, should I ever find my brother, I shall be able to hold my head high for all that I have grown in his absence. For that, you have my most heartfelt gratitude. So end my parting words!

Thank you, Yuzu. Right, it's your turn, Randal!

Huh? Oh, right then!

I've got a motto: always take your games deathly serious, and always make your own fun on the job… And, well, this has been my chance to prove those words true.

I mean yeah, I'm a wanderer at heart; I might've stuck around a bit too long... but that's just because this was all a hell of a lot of fun.

Oh, I agree... It was a HELL of a lot of fun!

GAH! It's... It's you!

Well, well. We have a stranger among us!

Pah! "Stranger," indeed. This hair, this face, this ribbon... None of this ring a bell?

Eh? Do you... do you mean Randal?

Indeed! I am...

...His son, no? It is nice to meet you!

OI!

What are you on about?! I AM Randal, just from the past - younger than the one you know!

It's happening again! The exact same argument!

This really must be the end, if HE'S here...

This is how you treat me? I have to hear that the last column is happening at the eleventh hour and make a mad dash to make it in time?! Bloody hell...

What is this? A being under the thrall of the Boundless Chaos? How intriguing. I must conduct a thorough examination at once...

H-hey! What are you doing, Niamh?! You look deathly serious... Oi, that's enough! Stay back! I... I've got a sword!

Well, er, I'm just about all out of time, but I just want to say it was a hoot being on the Frontier. Hope I see you all again someday. Adios!

He vanished?! Still more intriguing...

Sigh... What a pain in the arse, if I do say so myself. Although... I must admit, we do agree on one thing: I'd also be glad to see you all again.

This might be one farewell, but here's hoping we cross paths once more! And if we do, hey, why not play a match with this old fart? And that's all she wrote from ol' Randal!

Thank you. Next, let's hear from Alice and Valjean!

Heh heh! At last! Shall we, Val?

Yes, milady.

The two of us made our debut circa Series 10, and ever since that day, the Frontier never failed to be a most thrilling time. Would you agree, Val?

Yes, milady.

My objective in making this journey was simple: to experience much in my travels, such that I might someday return home and become a great ruler indeed. But instead, I first became a most superior, most brilliant Cipher player! Utterly invincible! Favored by fortune! And whatnot. Didn't I, Val?

Yes, milady.

I remember... that every time a Cipher release day came, I would be up all night from their eve, crafting decks and playing matches with the others. Oh, it was such fun! Wasn't it, Val?

...Yes, mi... mi... milady! Sniff...

V-Val?! What is the matter with you?

I am most moved. That my most capricious liegelady could at last find in Cipher such an engaging hobby, such good company, and such a source of training - and that she could grow so greatly as a woman.

Val...

We have been truly blessed to have had all of this: all of you, who welcomed us so warmly into the Frontier fold, and all of the Cipher players out in the world. I wish to offer you my gratitude for everything.

To be honest... I have something to say on that matter myself. Thank you, truly, for everything. I will never, ever, ever, EVER forget even a single day that we spent here together!

Nor shall I!

...Having said that, milady, I fear that you are still yet unready for the throne! From today onward, we must redouble your original leadership training efforts! I fully intend to prepare for you an intensive study regimen.

I-I-I beg your pardon?! You will not speak to me so! If I see even a single incorrect mark, you would do well to prepare yourself, for I will work you to the very bone for the rest of your days!

By all means, do it. But be prepared, for I have a lifetime's worth of admonishments at the ready.

Heh... Best of luck to the two of you!

Your turn, Niamh!

I was present from the 37th column onward... To be precise, it was in the "Love and Bonds Special Talk CD" audio drama that came as a set with an artbook, sold at Comiket 93.

My inquiry and research into the miscellaneous phenomena of this world, and the Boundless Chaos in particular, shall continue, but...

...

Well?! Don't tell me that's all you have to say!

...No. To me, my inquiry into Cipher represented the introducton of a new, major challenge into my life. Cipher decks... Gameplay... Which solution is correct, and which is optimal... As yet, I still have found no answers. As such, it is vital that going forward, I collaborate with a broad sample of Cipher players and find an answer...

So what you're saying is, you enjoyed playing Cipher with everyone, and you're gonna keep playing forever!

That, er... Ahem! That's pretty much it.

Cryptic remarks if I ever heard them, but certainly Niamh-ish.

Right, let's keep this going with Poe!

Only a year and a half has passed since I was welcomed to this column, and sadly, in the end our association has been brief. But I was able to have a very fulfilling time with you.

Attending that Winter Comiket thing with all of you, playing the "Recite and Play: Heroes Iroha" card game being sold there... They were very happy days.

And in all of that, I have always been monitoring Niamh...

...

Hee hee... You have been a good girl here, have you not? I do nothing to good girls.

If one of you becomes wicked, at that time I shall... Heh... Heh heh heh heh heh...

So, I pray that we never have an unpleasant reunion, and end my speech. Thank you. This has been Poe!

Heh... Let's keep that warning in mind.

...With that, have all of us spoken?

Tsk tsk... We aren't actually finished just yet! Since this is our last column, allow me to call upon a special guest!

...A guest? Wait, you don't mean...

Ta-daaaaa! Here he is!

Hello, everyone! I am Kawade, the producer of Fire Emblem Cipher.

K-K-KawadeP!

My, what a surprise!

The publication of the final Frontier coincides with, at last, the end-of-March termination of event support for Cipher. So I thought I would share a message for all of our readers and Cipher players.

If you count from when Cipher was first announced, roughly six years have passed. That's a long time, yet it's just flown by... These have been very busy years, but also wonderful ones, absolutely full of memories and events.

In that time we've constantly taken on new challenges - not just the production of Cipher itself, but Twitter content, live broadcasts, and staging events all around Japan.

And through all of that, we've had the chance to meet so many fans of Fire Emblem and Cipher... That was not only the most fun part of all, but a part that made us happy.

Although, we were unfortunately unable to hold any of our planned events for our final year, and for that I am truly sorry to all of you.

Still, we staff stuck with it to the very end, and as a result were able to complete Cipher as a fantastic game that can be played for years and years to come. For that, we are proud of ourselves.

It was thanks to all of you, who kept on supporting us, that we could continue our work to this standard all the way to the final series. I am overcome with gratitude to you all!

Production might have come to an end, but Fire Emblem Cipher will never die! It would make me happy if, every now and then, you might bring your cards out and play with them. Thank you all, truly, for everything!

And that concludes KawadeP's remarks!

Whew!

That, I believe, is everything that we wished to share.

Aye, I've got nothing to add.

So I suppose this is it: the end of the Cipher Frontier's long run.

Er... Shade? Can I say one last thing?

Hm? What is it, Emma?

Thank you for taking the lead in hosting this last one... And thank you so much for all the things you've taught me!

(Emma...)

H-hey! That's enough of that! You're about to make me cry, and that wouldn't be ending this day with a smile, would it?

Heh. I guess not!

So hey, let's give them one last, enthusiastic That Thing before Shade bursts into tears!

Very well, then. That Thing it is! This has been The Cipher Frontier!

With Emma...

Shade...

Yuzu...

Randal...

Alice...

Val...

Niamh...

...and Poe.

Now, then...

Let's do it, everyone!

One...

Two...

CIPHER!!!!!!!!

THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING, EVERYBODY!!!!!!!!

...

FIRE EMBLEM CIPHER The Cipher Frontier! With Emma, Shade, Yuzu, Randal, Alice, Val, Niamh & Poe

Emma Emma continues to train in order to become a full-fledged pegasus knight. Her tireless Cipher training also continues, but she has yet to show much improvement at the game.

Shade Veteran mage that she is, Shade continues to teach the next generation. Many seeking to become almighty Cipher players have come to her, only to struggle bitterly under her tutelage - yet at the same time, to Emma and the others, she remains a nurturing guiding hand.

Yuzu Yuzu embarked on a journey of martial training, all the while following whispers of her brother's whereabouts... although evidently, she does return from her travels from time to time, bearing souvenirs, to partake in Cipher matches with all of her friends.

Randal Randal made a truly once-in-a-lifetime wager, only to go into hiding thereafter. Some rumors attest that he won, and that with that windfall he secured for himself a carefree life of quiet leisure in some southern land - others, that he met with a catastrophic loss, and was hence forced into labor in someplace.

Alice Alice's travels continue, as she seeks all the experience that she needs to become a true leader. Although at first she struggled, she grew to thoroughly enjoy it, and so she will persist in her journey without ever taking a break to return home... Or so she tells herself, at least.

Valjean Valjean continues to travel all across the land with his liegelady. Witnessing Alice grow ever stronger and wiser by the day, he cannot help but feel conflicting feelings of joy and loneliness beneath the privacy of his helm.

Niamh Even as she continues in her pursuit of wisdom, Niamh silently carries out research into Cipher. Her seminal monograph, "A Compendium of Cipher Decks," is over 100 volumes in length, and by all accounts is still in print to this day.

Poe Poe vanished in her hunt for evil, and her whereabouts remain unknown. However, according to the afterword of "A Compendium of Cipher Decks," she and Niamh have since fought to the death on many an occasion.

The End...???

#fire emblem #the cipher frontier!

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chucklegigglechortlesnort · 4 years

Note

MY B O Y S :( Yaku get your ass back here. I miss you. I love nekoma too much. could I request manager for Seijoh?

YESSSSSSS IVE THOUGHT ABOUT THESE WAY TOO MUCH CAN YOU TELL???

Seijoh Manager Headcanons:

Alright so by SOME miracale you manage to sneak your way into being Seijohs manager, which the whole team is pretty surprised by.

Save for maybe Oikawa - who got you the position - or Iwaizumi.

I say this because there’s literally NO WAY, with Oikawas reputation, that they let just some random person be manager for the sake of making goo goo eyes at him all through out practice.

They made this mistake during his first year and it didn’t take long for them to learn their lesson.

So the only way you’re manager is if you’ve known Oikawa your whole life and therefore are aware of how annoying he is, or if you’re related to him. Let’s go with the former. Because I love the childhood friends cliche that’s my SHIT.

So if you’ve known Oikawa since childhood, you’ve definitely known Iwaizumi since childhood. Therefore, the coaches let you on the team not only because Oikawa knew you, but Iwaizumi put in a good word for you as well.

Doesn’t matter if you have other hobbies or interests in clubs, Oikawa is dragging you into this whether you like it or not.

You’re already familiar with the third years upon taking up the manager position, so they’re not too intimidating. Matsukawa didn’t really talk to you much at first but you both bonded over poking fun at Oikawa and a mutual love of memes.

You have a photo of oikawa sneezing where he looks absolutely atrocious that you “accidentally” sent into the group chat once. Makki and Mattsun use it religiously as a reaction image. Oikawa hates it.

You don’t talk to your fellow first years too muc, except for Watari, who’s pretty friendly. Kunimi doesn’t seem to interested in conversation and Kindaichi visibly tenses up whenever you try to talk to him, so you figured you’d have the coming years to bond with them.

Oh, and did I mention? You get invited to all the Seijoh sleepovers.

Since you’ve been friends with Oikawa your whole life, sleep overs weren’t a new thing for you. His whole family knows and adores you and you have your own seperate room at the Oikawas so your parents aren’t worried about you sleeping in a room full of teenage boys.

These sleepovers are absolute chaos

Every sleepover cliche you can name? You’ve done it. Pillow fights? Check. Often ends in bruises and ice packs. Nerf Gun wars? Iwaizumi always wins. Mario Kart? Makki plays dirty. Monopoly? Who will land on board walk this time? Trick question the answer is Mattsun. Wii sports? That’s your shit. Oikawa never wins at anything. He hates it. But he does build the best pillow forts, courtesy of all his practice with Takeru.

You’ve definitely heard every one of these boys rip ass. Even Oikawa. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. If you think for one second that they’re gonna hold it in because you’re around you’ve got another thing coming hon. Once you’re all in a private setting together all bets are off.

Jealous fan girls definitely bombard you with questions of what it’s like to be around “Oikawa-senpai” all the time, and say how lucky you are to get to be around him every day. Oh the things you could tell them, you could ruin this whole man’s career. Some even come up to you for advice on how to ask him out?? And that’s never something you know how to answer.

Kyotani’s strange respect for Iwaizumi is one of the most baffling things you’ve ever seen. You’ve tried to figure it out but honestly you don’t think you ever will. He’s an enigma and avoids you at all costs. prolly bc you’re a girl and he’s intimidated by you lmao

He still respects you tho. More than he does oikawa at least HA

By the middle of the year Kunimi and Kindaichi are progressively warming up to you and you now have a first years group chat and sit together at lunch at least twice a week. Kunimi seems to gravitate to you more than Kindaichi but you don’t push it.

You are team mom. Oikawa jokingly got you and Iwaizumi matching mom and dad sweatshirts that say “Team Mom” and “Team Dad” on them. Iwaizumi refuses to wear his but you’re more willing to play along and will wear it when you go out with the team for ramen after games.

Iwaizumi wore it to one of the sleepovers once and you forced him to take a live picture with the both of you showing off the sweatshirts.

It’s now your lock screen background and he grumbles every time he sees it.

He seceretly loves it. Good luck getting him to admit it tho.

Oikawa has a pic of you asleep on iwa-chan’s shoulder with the sweaters on and he thinks it’s one of the most adorable things in the world. The best part is, Iwaizumi wouldn’t stop him because he was too worried about waking you up, so he just sat there and let it happen. What a sweetheart. Oikawa thinks himself a master comedian.

One upside to being seijohs manager is that fuck boys stay the hell away from you. They just automatically assume you’re dating Oikawa which is bothersome to an extent, but if it keeps the thots away you have no reason to complain. Even those that don’t think that are usually too intimidated to approach you because your friend group is essentially the seijoh volley ball team.

However a downside is that you never really know who’s befriending you for the sake of trying to get closer to oikawa which is a bit of a bummer. You’ve grown pretty skeptical of your peers and sadly your friends outside the volleyball team are far and few between.

That’s okay tho because they fill up a huge hole in your heart and you couldn’t ask for a better, or more entertaining group of people to surround yourself with.

It was a huge hit when they didn’t make it to championships though and it was even worse watching the the third years leave never having achieved their goal.

You knew you’d always have oikawa, he was basically family to you and by default you’d always have Iwaizumi. But Mattsun and Makki were going on different paths, and despite knowing them for only a year they had effectively made their way into your heart.

Oikawa is the most dramatic about it though, pulling you into a bone crushing hug and refusing to let go of you despite all your protests.

There’s one last goodbye sleepover for the whole team, Iwaizumi even wears his dad sweatshirt one last time for the occasion. There’s mario kart and wii sports, monopoly and nerf wars, and no one is able to sleep that night, not even Kyotani.

It’s a bittersweet goodbye and you didn’t expect to be this emotionally moved by the end of the year.

You keep in constant contact with oikawa and iwaizumi following their graduation (which you attended) and make sure to spend lots of time with them as well as mattsun and makki whenever they return for breaks. There are still sleepovers with the five of you, but the rest of the team as well as the new set of first years are less inclined to participate now that oikawa isn’t the captain anymore.

Oikawa still visits the team every once and a while to pester Yahaba about his role as captain, making sure he was doing a good job filling his shoes. He’ll even participate in practices and teach whoever’s the new setter how to cater to their spikers. It’s pretty wholesome to witness. Makes you miss the old days.

Ngl I don’t know how i’m feeling about these, but I can’t think too much about it or I’ll chicken out on posting :/

~tre

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ryqoshay · 3 years

Text

Tri-Arame: Sleepover Night

Primary Pairing Trio: YuuAyuSetsu Words: ~3k Rating: G Time Frame: During their 2nd year in high school Story Arc: Stand Alone

----------

Author’s Note: My µ’s muse is rebelling against the drama I’m trying to write for my PTX set. So here’s some more fluff.

Summary: Setsuna took a rain check on watching the anime series that inspired her Koppe Pan order back in Ne, Wanna Bite? Now it’s time to cash in.

----------

“Uhm, Okaasan?” Nana asked trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice.

Why had she waited until the last possible minute to ask permission? What if she was denied? She’d have to cancel the plans to which she had looked forward all week.

“Yes, Nana?” Mrs. Nakagawa replied, looking up from her paperwork.

“Would it be alright if I stayed at a friend’s place tonight?”

“Oh? Someone from the student council?”

“No, a friend associated with the student council who is assisting with a project.” Nana explained. “There is a lot of preparation work that still needs to be done and I wasn’t the only one busy with tests this week.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. Ayumu had indeed helped her with student council work several times. So had Yuu, for that matter, as well as several other members of the idol club. Usually, their aid was reasoned away by them simply wishing to assist a friend, as well as allow her to more easily participate in club activities. This often led to her wondering if they knew how much their help was truly appreciated.

As for the mentioned project… Well, the club did have a Live coming up. And a member of the student council was participating. Granted that member was her, but…

“I see.” Mrs. Nakagawa nodded. “Very well then.”

Excitement bubbled up within Nana, but she quashed most of it, offering only a polite smile. “Thank you, Okaasan.”

Her mother offered a similar smile in return. “Have fun tonight.”

“I will.” Nana said before turning and heading to her room to pack.

----------

Setsuna was giddy with excitement as she undid her braids on the train. Her first sleepover with friends!

It wasn’t her first time visiting a friend’s home, but she hadn’t even done that in years. She had lost track of her childhood friends over the years, due in no small part to increasing expectations from her parents as she advanced in grades. The ban on her favored pastimes had been the final blow as she had to sneak around to continue to indulge, and that was best done alone.

Then she joined the student council and managed to become its president. Suddenly she had an excuse to stay out later or even just be out on weekends. She hated having to lie to her parents and did strive to be as truthful as possible, though she knew full well that a lie by omission was still a lie. But that had become her only way to become a school idol, to join the new club, to shop for manga and doujin and to hang out with friends.

And to spend time with those two.

Ayumu and Yuu had quickly become her closest friends after she joined the idol club. They had graciously given her an outlet through which to focus much of her enthusiasm for her hobbies. And this weekend they had agreed to marathon one of her favorite anime series with her. For the second time, Setsuna would be able have an actual conversation with friends about a beloved story, instead of just a one-sided explanation; the first being earlier that week as the three hung out together and purchased the latest book of Heavenly Life.

And she couldn’t wait.

Honestly, the train couldn’t arrive at the station quickly enough. And Setsuna knew she would have to resist the urge to run to the apartment complex where Ayumu and Yuu lived. For the sooner she arrived, the sooner they could start watching. And the sooner they finished the series, the sooner they could start talking about it.

----------

“Ah, Nakagawa-san.” Mrs. Uehara said upon opening the door. “Welcome. My daughters said you would be coming.”

“Daughters?” Setsuna couldn’t help repeating. Did Ayumu have a sister?

Mrs. Uehara chuckled. “I’m sorry.” She said shaking her head. “It’s a bit of a habit of mine. But Yuu is over here so often that she’s pretty much family at this point.”

A tiny flash of envy shot through Setsuna. How nice to be so close to someone. And not just them, but their family as well. Perhaps someday she could be that close to someone, or someones…? as well.

“Ah, pardon me.” Ayumu’s mother said after a slightly awkward moment. “Come in. Come in.” She opened the door fully and ushered Setsuna inside, introducing herself along the way. “Forgive my asking, but do you prefer to go by Nakagawa-san or Yuki-san?”

“Oh, uhm, actually,” She calls Yuu-san by her name, so maybe “Setsuna is fine.”

Mrs. Uehara smiled. “Setsuna it is then. I’ll go tell my daughters you’re here.” She laughed lightly again at her joke before taking a couple steps toward the hall. “Ayumu! Yuu! Setsuna is here!”

Before Setsuna could even finish removing her shoes, a twintailed girl was scampering around the corner.

“Setsuna-chan!” Yuu greeting joyously.

“I’m glad you could make it, Setsuna-chan.” Ayumu added, following at a more modest pace.

“I’ll have dinner ready soon.” Mrs. Uehara said, moving toward the kitchen. “I’ll send your father to fetch you once he’s home from work, Ayumu.”

“Thank you, Mama.” Ayumu replied.

“Thanks, Ayumama!” Yuu added, earning a blush from Ayumu and a chuckle from Mrs. Uehara. “C’mon, let’s go.” Yuu then said, grabbing both Ayumu and Setsuna’s hands before leading them down the hall.

Yuu opened a door, pulled the other two inside and…

Pink.

That was the first thought that came to Setsuna’s mind upon entering Ayumu’s room. The walls were pink. The clock and lamp on the headboard were pink. Pink curtains framed the balcony door, pink cloth decorated the shelves on the wall and a pink blanket covered something under said shelves. And what wasn’t pink was still some other light, fluffy pastel color. It was all… very Ayumu. Yes, that was the best description Setsuna could think up based on what she knew about her friend.

But beyond the cute colors, it was also very comfy, soft and warm. And welcoming. Setsuna immediately felt at home in the room.

Then her eye caught something. Or rather, a lot of somethings.

“They’re so cute…” She said, finding herself drawn to a display of plush animals.

“I know, right?” Yuu was the one to respond. “Ayumu wanted to pack them away because she thought they were too childish.”

“Y-Yuu-chan…” Ayumu protested.

“I should show you my collection sometime.” Setsuna said, resisting the urge to grab several animals and hug them, as she did not yet have such permission. “I have Kirara, Kyubey, Tamago Onsen, Dera Michimazzi, Kuroneko-sama, Sakamoto, Taroumaru, Ryo-Ohki…

Yuu started to chuckle. “Aren’t those all anime animals?”

“Yes.” Setsuna affirmed with a nod.

“I thought your parents forbid anime? I mean that’s why we’re having the marathon here, right?”

“Oh, uhm… my parents… don’t know they’re all from anime…” Setsuna admitted. “I haven’t told them, and they don’t seem to have looked into things online or anything. Posters, figures, and the like would be too obvious, so they’re the only merchandise I can display openly; I can pass them off as just being cute plushies.”

“Ah, I see.”

“And they’re not all from anime. I have Toothless as well.”

Yuu grinned. “A good choice.” She declared.

“Anyway, these are really cute too, Ayumu-san.” Setsuna turned her attention to the redhead.

“Thank you.” Ayumu replied. “You can touch them if you want, Setsuna-chan.” She added with an amused tone in her voice.

Was my desire that obvious? Setsuna wondered to herself. How embarrassing…

Setsuna swallowed down a blush and offered a smile instead. “Thank you.” She said, reaching for a pink rabbit to inspect. A pink bear had also caught her eye, but the rabbit seemed so Ayumu-like that she couldn’t help picking it over the others. It really was very cute, and she could easily tell why Ayumu liked it.

I wonder if there is one like Yuu-san here… Setsuna thought to herself as she continued to investigate the display.

“So, should we get a couple episodes in before dinner?” Yuu suggested.

“Yes.” Setsuna agreed enthusiastically, her attention reverting back to the original reason she was visiting.

“What site is the show on?” The twintailed girl asked as she sat down on a green pillow and opening what Setsuna assumed to be Ayumu’s laptop. “My parents have several accounts, so if its on one of them, I can sign in to it.”

“Actually, the series is old enough to be on the free sites.” Setsuna explained, choosing the blue pillow, and leaving the pink one for Ayumu.

“Oh, alright, uhm… here.” Yuu slid the computer over.

Setsuna started typing in the address, though as she did, she noticed both Yuu and Ayumu moving their pillows to either side of her. “Hm?” She hummed quizzically as they sat down.

“Since this is one of Setsuna-chan’s favorite series, she should have the best view of the screen.” Yuu answered before she could actually give voice to her question.

“But I’ve already seen it…” Setsuna rebutted.

“Setsuna-chan is also our guest and should have the best seat.” Ayumu added.

“Oh, uhm… alright.” Setsuna conceded. “Will we all fit?” She noted the tiny table did not have room on any one side for three people.

“It’s fine if we do this.” Yuu scooted in until her shoulder touched Setsuna’s.

So close… Eh? As Setsuna’s focus was on Yuu, Ayumu slid in from the other side, though not quite close enough to touch like Yuu. Setsuna wondered how red her face was as she quickly typed the title of the anime and found the first episode.

Setsuna was very much not used to watching anime like this. For so long she had watched alone, hiding from her parents and anyone she worried might not keep her secret. But this was simultaneously comforting and distracting.

Distractingly comfortable… Was that even a thing? While most of Setsuna wanted to pay attention to the anime on screen as the opening title began, there was no denying the part that wanted to focus on the surprisingly soothing warmth radiating from her two friends. She had only sat this way with her parents as a child, and the frequency had decreased dramatically as she grew older and her parents became busier with work.

As Setsuna felt her heartrate start to return to normal and the heat dissipate from her cheeks, she started to settle into the idea that this was a nice arrangement. She could get used to watching anime like this. She could probably even get used to Ayumu leaning in closer.

Yuu giggled, bringing Setsuna’s attention back to reality.

Ah yes, the protagonist’s introduction. Definitely a humorous moment, but there were funnier scenes yet to come, even in the first episode. What would Yuu think of those? Well, they did intend to talk about everything afterward, so perhaps she should just enjoy the show for now.

Setsuna relaxed and turned the entirety of her focus on the anime.

----------

Setsuna startled at the sound of knocking on the door. She turned her head to see said door open and a man she assumed to be Ayumu’s father poked his head into the room.

“Ayumu?” Mr. Uehara spoke. “Your mother sent me to say that dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Papa.” Ayumu responded, starting to get up.

The man’s gaze shifted. “Hey, Yuu.” He greeted with a smile. “And… Setsuna, was it?”

“Yes.” Setsuna replied, getting up as well before bowing. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for having me tonight.”

“The pleasure is ours.” Mr. Uehara’s smile grew. “Ayumu and Yuu have told us a lot about you. It is nice to finally meet you.”

Ayumu-san and Yuu-san talked about me? Setsuna hoped it had been at least more good than bad, though judging by both Ayumu’s parents’ actions towards her thus far, that had been the case. And that realization caused warmth to spread through Setsuna’s chest.

Setsuna couldn’t help smiling as well as she followed the other three out to the Uehara dining room.

----------

The notification chime sounded on Setsuna’s phone as she got out of the bathtub. She padded one hand dry on her towel and unlocked the screen to find a message from Rina. The first-year was inviting the school idol club second-years to join a game she was playing. Well, except Ai, though Setsuna assumed she was already playing. She tapped the link so the app could download as she dried off, deciding the game might make for a fun activity to pass the time while Yuu and Ayumu took their turns bathing.

A few minutes later, Setsuna padded down the hall back to Ayumu’s room, already fully engrossed in the game’s tutorial.

“Yuu-san, Ayumu-san, this game… oh…” Setsuna cut off as the other two girls looked up from their own devices.

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” Yuu grinned as she set down her phone and stood before heading toward the door.

Ayumu had also put down her phone and traded it for a hair drier. “Come have a seat, Setsuna-chan.” She motioned to the pillow she was in the process of vacating before kneeling behind it. “I’ll dry your hair for you.”

“Oh, I can do that myself.” Setsuna declined. “Thank you for the offer though, Ayumu-san.”

“Are you sure?” Ayumu seemed confused and… disappointed? “I’d be happy to do it for you, Setsuna-chan.

“Ayumu just wants an excuse to play with your hair, Setsuna-chan.” Yuu chuckled.

Setsuna startled. She hadn’t realized Yuu was still in the room, apparently having stopped to watch. In response to the teasing, Ayumu’s cheeks flushed and Setsuna imagined her own were close to matching.

Although, why was she declining anyway? Memories of the braided bun lesson from earlier that week were still fresh in Setsuna’s mind had certainly caused her to want to accept, and yet she hadn’t. But accepting wasn’t forcing those desires on Ayumu or inconveniencing her or the like. Ayumu had made the offer.

“A-Alright…” Setsuna said after an awkward moment before taking a seat in front of Ayumu.

“Back in a few.” Yuu tossed over her shoulder as she left to head to the bath.

Ayumu flipped on the hairdryer and began running her fingers through Setsuna’s hair to spread out the strands for easier drying.

For her part, Setsuna was just about to relax into the session, when her phone pinged. She checked the screen to find Rina had sent an in-game gift. She accepted excitedly and began to play again.

“Uhm… Setsuna-chan.” Ayumu said after a moment. “I don’t mind if you play, but can you stop moving around while you do?”

“Oh… uhm… Sorry, Ayumu-san…” Setsuna replied, chastising herself for being rude while her host provided a wonderful service. Still, it would also be rude not to use Rina’s gift to the fullest, so she resumed her game, but made sure to remain still for Ayumu.

----------

Setsuna stared up at the ceiling, laying on her back on one of Ayumu’s guest futons. As sleepy as she felt, she was still buzzing a bit with lingering excitement from the events of the night. The three of them had successfully powered through the entire season with a few breaks for snacks and stretching before spending the next couple hours talking about the story. It was well past midnight, but it was the weekend so they could sleep in late in the morning before having a late breakfast, or early lunch, before Setsuna would head home to study.

Or perhaps… maybe she could study here? She had brought her books, even though she didn’t really expect to use them. And she really liked the welcoming atmosphere of Ayumu’s room, though really her apartment and family as a whole, if she was being honest. However, she didn’t want to impose by overstaying her welcome, and she certainly wasn’t going to just invite herself to stay. Still, it was a nice idea. Perhaps someday…

“Yuu-chan?” Setsuna heard Ayumu murmur, distracting her from her thoughts.

She heard the mattress shift and turned her head to see Yuu’s silhouette sliding under the duvet. She couldn’t quite understand Yuu’s response, but both girls in the bed fell silent after.

Strange. While it didn’t surprise Setsuna that a dating couple would share a bed, she couldn’t help wondering why Ayumu would bother setting out a guest futon for Yuu. Or question Yuu joining her.

Perhaps they were hiding the fact that they were dating and setting out the futon was a visual prop to convince Ayumu’s parents? No, that didn’t seem right. Neither Ayumu nor Yuu seemed the type to hide much, if anything, from their parents. Unlike Setsuna herself… Also, if Yuu’s parents were anything like Ayumu’s, Setsuna believed they wouldn’t have much of an issue with their daughters dating. The Ueharas already considered Yuu part of their family after all.

Were they, perhaps, not actually dating? That would explain Ayumu’s protest. And knowing Yuu’s casual approach to personal space, it wouldn’t surprise Setsuna in the least if she just did as she pleased. And Ayumu would let her. Still, that didn’t seem quite right either. Setsuna was fairly certain they were a couple. Their close bond was obvious to anyone who spent more than five minutes with them.

In any case, whether they were dating or not really wasn’t any of Setsuna’s business. So perhaps pondering the possibilities was inappropriate.

What was far more worth her mental energy was focusing on memories of how much fun she had this evening. For the first time, she had been able to not only watch anime together with friends, but also talk about it with them. All in person. Not over the internet. She had shared a meal with her friends’ family and gotten to know them a little. Setsuna couldn’t remember the last time she had gone to bed feeling so welcomed, accepted and… loved? Was that the right word?

Surely, she didn’t mean to imply that she went to bed at home feeling unloved. She knew her parents loved her, even if their way of showing that love was apparently very different than Ayumu’s parents. But even having only been in the Uehara home for not even half a day, she felt loved here. They were all so kind and Setsuna hoped she could come back and experience it all again.

Setsuna closed her eyes, allowing her mind to begin yet another replay of the day. Sleep would come eventually, but right now she was content just being this happy.

----------

Author’s Notes Continued in Followup Post

#YuuAyuSetsu #Takasaki Yuu #Yuki Setsuna #Uehara Ayumu #Tri-Arame #Love Live Nijigasaki #fanfic

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obsidianfr3sk · 4 years

Text

Rise of the Renegades (Chapter 1)

Summary: Heroes come from the most unexpected places. Heroes sometimes feel a little too different, a little too scared, a little too alone. But heroes also know when enough is enough, and that before saving the world, they need to save themselves. And they cannot do it alone.

They were going to be the hope of the world. They were going to call themselves the Renegades. Even if they didn't know it yet.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246812/chapters/63886654

I needed to posted this now or I would never do it:))) what did y’all say? “this bitch won’t write again”???? surprise!!! sucks to be you, rules to be me (?)

for those who don’t know, this is a direct continuation from my other fic The Origins, so if you’re interested on this one, you should read the other first! But if your a freaking punk... then, welcome to my fic (?) it’s going to be all about the first year of the OG renegades as superheros, how they became friends, and that stuff. Maybe Ace will make an important appearance, idk, everything can happen. I hope you like it as much as you liked the last one c:

Tag list: @nodrianbcyes @healing-winston-pratt @alecjamesartino @blueraspberry-official @novas-tunnel-of-anxiety @magykaldealings @jacihayle

The Lost Voice

Age of Anarchy

Year 10. Month 10

Kick me under the table all you want,

I won’t shut up.

Simon

It was quarter past eight when their father told Simon and Sophie dinner was served. His sister had her nose stuck in a gothic novel that used language too complex for an eight-year-old girl to understand, and his father sipped his dark coffee, looking through yesterday's newspaper. Simon pretended to be reading the first volume of The Scarlet Enchantress and the Phantom Feline for the eighth time, but really, he was completely absorbed in his thoughts.

He had never hated dinners at his house as much as he did at that moment.

The worst thing is that it had not always been this way. He was still able to remember the controversial topics Laura brought up at the table. “Dad, what do you think about what the mayor did today?” “Mom, did you hear about yesterday's protest?” “What are we going to do about Ace Anarchy?”

His mother almost always agreed with Laura's opinion. His father, on the other hand, made jokes that were inappropriate for the situation. Even his youngest sister participated, while in her mother's womb. Simon joked that when she was born, she would be as “loud and annoying” as Laura. His parents burst out laughing and Laura gave him a bad look.

“Don't call me loud and annoying, Simon,” his older sister scolded. “I am the only ray of light in the midst of anarchy.”

She may have been joking. But for him, she was a ray of light in his life.

All the light left their house along with them. Mom died giving birth to her third daughter after she started bleeding out and there was no time to get to a hospital. Laura said that she had never seen her father cry like that day. All he said was, “Gabriela, oh, Gabriela, my love, please wake up.”

She didn't wake up and he never laughed again.

Laura. His older sister was stocky, with curly hair and olive skin like his. She had a smile that could please even the saddest of hearts.

The light in the midst of anarchy.

What the hell had happened to Laura?

What the hell had happened to Simon?

But most of all, what the hell had happened to their dinners?

Not that he wasn't used to it. In fact, he was so used to dining in silence that when Hugh invited him over to his house for lunch, the fact that he and his aunt kept talking and asking him questions struck him as strange.

So much light inhibited him.

He learned (a little the hard way) to appreciate silence.

However, now all he wanted was for someone to speak. Someone saying something to get him out of his thoughts for good. No matter what kind of conversation it was, Simon was willing to talk about the fucking weather as long as he didn't keep asking himself the same question over and over.

“But what if we did?”

Both of them. Beat Ace Anarchy.

Please.

And yes, it was ridiculous. Simon had even laughed and told Hugh to stop being an idiot, believing that the conversation would end there. But Hugh spent the rest of the afternoon talking about it, so convinced, so sure of his words, that Simon began to hear inside his head a voice that he thought he had lost a long time ago.

But what if you joked during dinner again?

But what if you gave your opinion when the teachers ask you to?

But what if you were the light in the middle of the anarchy?

He shot a glance at Sophie. She was the complete opposite of Simon (and Laura): Sophie had pale skin and straight hair, like their father. No one would have ever believed they were siblings if it weren't for the fact that they had the same dark eyes.

He wondered if she had that voice inside her head. Probably she did. She was a kid. Kids used to be more gullible about that kind of thing, right?

Perhaps it was a voice that you lost over the years.

Although he doubted Hugh had lost his voice. Simon would be jealous of him if it weren't for the fact that the voice was way too annoying.

He had to shut it up somehow.

Simon took a deep breath.

Then, for the first time in eight years, he spoke to his father during dinner.

“Dad, do you think I could defeat Ace Anarchy?”

His father stopped reading at that point. He looked up at him as if Simon were pointing a gun at him. Sophie kicked him under the table.

He knew it immediately. He shouldn't have done that.

“Give me that comic,” his father ordered.

Simon obeyed and handed it to his father. He started flipping through the pages frantically, looking for a single mention of Ace Anarchy in it, like he did with all the comics Simon brought home.

He didn't know how to feel about it. By this time in his life, John Westwood should know that Simon always read the same comics, which had been previously authorized by him. There was no “propaganda” in them. But, of course, it wasn’t like his father paid attention to him. (That, and that Simon never read the last volume in front of him, in which Ace Anarchy was the main villain. If his father saw it, he would go crazy.)

The man wouldn't even let him read superhero comics until a few years ago. Laura used to be a superhero fan, but when she died, his dad carried all her and his mother's things up to the little attic they had. His father wouldn't let him get close to them for any reason. He assured him that comics were full of dangerous propaganda, that they would put ideas into his head, and that they were boring and predictable stories anyway.

Although he believed him, he couldn't help picking up a copy of Wonder Man from a counter the first time he and Hugh broke into a store. Simon thought he was going to be happy. He knew how much his friend liked superheroes. However, it was the opposite of that. Hugh was very nervous and told him that they had to return it and apologize to the owner. But they couldn't return without having to confess their other crimes as well.

Simon could barely keep standing, and although Hugh didn't want to accept it, he couldn't continue for long either. Their families were also starving.

They needed that food.

In the end, they decided to keep it. They read it that same afternoon, in Simon’s basement, while eating a pack of rancid cookies. For some reason beyond his understanding, Hugh told his aunt what they had done and she, instead of getting angry, told him that he would give him a little money every two weeks to buy a new comic.

“Now we can buy our own comics, Simon!” he exclaimed.

And that was great, but Simon couldn't help but wonder if perhaps Miss Everhart needed to improve her parenting methods.

Simon kept his hobby a secret, even when his father gave him an old copy of Wonder Man because he considered that “he was mature enough to read it”. Ironically, it was the same number that he had stolen years ago. He didn't have the heart to tell him he had already read it, and he didn't like it that much.

His father gave him back his comic with a sigh. “Where did you get the idea that you could beat Ace Anarchy?” he asked.

Sophie looked at him curiously. She kicked him under the table again, as if to say, "Come on, tell us."

Of course, Simon wasn't going to tell his father that Hugh was the one who came up with the idea. He already didn’t like him. But he wasn't going to lie and say it was his idea, either.

“It was just— curiosity.” And he felt his body turn slightly translucent with embarrassment.

His father's expression softened. “What a peculiar curiosity you have, son.”

Simon just shrugged.

His sister's eyes gleamed peculiarly. Oh no.

“Dad,” Sophie called.

He kicked her under the table. Sophie didn't flinch and kicked him harder. It hurt Simon so much that he couldn't stop her before she asked, “How were things before anarchy?”

John tensed. And instinctively, Simon too.

Sophie was so young. She was the same age Simon was when Laura died. Back then, he didn't understand how things worked in that house, but now he did.

Linda Sophia, we don't talk about dead people in this house.

“We don't focus on the past, Sophie,” their father replied, squeezing the bridge of her nose affectionately, “it ruins our future—” he fixed his gaze on Simon— “because it distracts us from the present.”

Sophie pulled away, pretending to be upset about being treated like a little girl.

He wished he hadn't said anything. The first thing they said in eight years and it was stupid. He had completely ruined dinner.

Oh, but the voice was so loud. Simon was silent, but in his head, all he heard were screams of despair. There is no future, John! The past has ruined it! The present sucks! That is the problem!

Someone has to do something!

“Now go to sleep,” he ordered, picking up her plate. “Tomorrow is Monday and you have to go to school. Have nice dreams.”

“Dreams are for the weak.”

His father rolled his eyes and smiled at her. “Rest, vampire. You too, Simon.”

Sophie ran out of the dining room to the bathroom. Simon and she always fought about who was going to use it first when they were getting ready to sleep, but he didn't care at that moment. He had to do something first.

With translucent hands, he helped pick up the rest of the dishes. He put them in the sink and took the sponge to wash them. His father pushed him away without violence and whispered that he would take care of it.

That only made him feel worse.

“Sorry, Dad,” he whispered. “It was a dumb question.”

His father did not respond immediately. Every second of his silence was a second that the voice had to get louder and louder. There's no future! There's no future! There's no future!

“Don't worry, son,” he told him. “Seriously, no problem. Go to sleep.”

When he entered the room, his sister was under her covers on the top bunk, reading by flashlight and wearing a lacy nightgown that made her feel like “an evil queen”. She poked her head out from under the covers to see him enter and hissed at him. Was it a greeting? Was it a threat?

Who knows.

He got in his pajamas.

How did Sophie imagine the future?

There's no future! There's no future! There's no future!

On the wall, Simon had a picture of his mother sitting on a park bench, wearing a pink scarf. A five-year-old Laura was on her lap, eating a caramel apple with astonishing ferocity. He wished he had a more recent photo, but that was the only one he could save from when his father removed any remaining traces of his wife and daughter in the house.

How had they imagined the future?

He lay down on his bed and stared at the photo, feeling sleepy.

There's no future! There's no future! There's no future!

How did he envision the future?

It horrified him to realize that he had never asked himself that.

Someone has to do something!

Maybe someone should do something. But he knew that someone would not be Simon Westwood.

The voice insisted once more.

But what if you would?

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pilferingapples · 5 years

Text

for @shitpostingfromthebarricade , who very nicely asked for an elaboration of my partial disagreement with the idea that Grantaire represents “the people” of France or Paris:

First let me say again it’s a partial disagreement; I do think he represents a specific segment of the people. But one which is not ~~**~~ The People~~**~~ which I will hopefully be able to explain here?

- As far as “the people” goes, that term-- that specific term, “the people” detached from other qualifiers-- especially in Hugo’s specific political-social group-- seems to have been used mostly to mean the workers-- workers, small artisan-merchants, maybe peasants. If someone in a socialist-writer text of the period is called a “child of the people” it means they’re from the working class; if they’re a Man Of The People , ditto. Feuilly is the representative of The People in the Amis’ group-- Enjolras even specifically says so, in the middle of one of his full-on visionary speeches--Feuilly,vaillant ouvrier, homme de peuple, hommes des peuples” (valiant working-man,man of the people--and then the transition/combo that can be read as “man of all peoples” or “men of the people” , plural (or, actually, as “the people’s man”, depending on what you’re choosing to focus on. Lamarque song rewrite go!) . For a guy with very few lines, Feuilly is specifically carrying a LOT of social/political representation here :P (and of course it’s even more Symbolic because Feuilly has no known human parents; his class background is also his family background, he’s of The People, full stop, not of any more specific background. )

We’re never given Grantaire’s exact socioeconomic background, and certainly working-class kids could go into art studies in certain circumstances-- but Grantaire also has no apparent job and has a lot of middle-class-kid hobbies (boxing, singlestick, dancing, etc etc). Everything about Grantaire marks him as middle-class in background, currently choosing to vie-boheme it up. He’s definitely not a representative of “the people” in this sense.

I also can’t go with Grantaire representing Paris, at least not Full On Spirit Of Paris. Leaving aside that Grantaire specifically disavows Paris and his own Parisian-ness in Preliminary Gayeties, Hugo sets up very specific symbolism and character for Paris in Les Mis, and he’s pretty direct about it!

Hugo’s Paris is wild, bold, anarchic, laughing, unafraid of violence, sometimes lazy or careless but essentially generous, bold, insightful and daring, and always inherently inclined to liberty (and also essentially Romantic at its heart, because this is a Hugo novel and anything good has to be essentially Romantic at heart:P) (and Hugo has a Lot of Feelings about Paris). Paris in miniature--Paris Atomized, Paris made human-- is Gavroche, not Grantaire. Even among just the Amis, the one closest to being Hugo’s Paris Avatar is Bahorel, who shares so many echoes of the gamin chapters in his intro, the group’s flâneur-- flâner est Parisien!--and connection to the city, in the same way Feuilly is their connection to the wider world and internationalist causes.

But like I said, I do really think Grantaire represents a part of the population of Paris! An important part!

Specifically, he’s representing that part of the population that wants to take a damn break. The part that feels that “of great events, great hazards, great adventures, great men, thank God, we have seen enough, we have them heaped higher than our heads”,(4.1.1) the part that having found a seat wants to sit. The perhaps selfish, but very understandable, part of the population that is secure enough itself to feel like it will do nothing but lose in another revolution, that “some one whose name is all” that says “I am young and in love, I am old and I wish to repose, I am the father of a family, I toil, I prosper, I am successful in business, I have houses to lease, I have money in the government funds, I am happy, I have a wife and children, I have all this, I desire to live, leave me in peace.” (5.1.20)

That is to say...Grantaire is representing the apathetic, the burned out, and the bourgeoisie.

This is certainly not the most flattering thing to be representing, but then Grantaire isn’t a particularly aspirational character--not until the very end of his arc, when he stands up and announces himself For The Ideal. Like the people who close their doors,like the bourgeoisie who just wants to rest, he doesn’t hate the ideal, really...but he’s had Enough Trying, he wants peace and security and to not die or see his loved ones die, and all of that is very understandable! But if he were genuinely happy with that...well he wouldn’t be with the Amis at all. He also wants that Ideal, a better kinder world, and unfortunately to get that he’s going to have to stand up.

..Well, not him, personally,of course. When he stands up he’s-a-gonna die, albeit in a super symbolic transformational/salvational way. But the Not Very Subtle At All implication is that this is where the revolution wins: when the comfortable people , and especially the bourgeoisie (well, as Hugo defines them), who have been sitting down, sleeping, wake up and take part.

(This is of course true in a grand sense-- revolutions need mass participation! -- and it’s also true in the very specific sense of what went down in 1830 vs 1832. In 1830, a lot of the bourgeoisie did get involved , and it’s a big part of why that went as smoothly as it did. But in 1832, by and large they said No Thanks We’re Good; a handful of students and some wild Romantics really was about all participation outside of the working/poor classes. But this is already so freaking long and this is not a Barricade Day post!)

So: all of that very long ramble is to say, yeah, I think Grantaire is symbolizing not The People (who are , symbolically and historically, already on the barricade) but a specific and crucial subset of The People Of France (Or Wherever), which is why I never feel like I can go either “Yeah!!” or “Ugh No” when I see a “Grantaire is the people” mention. :P

--sorry I can’t put them under a second cut >< , but these are relevant longer chunks of some of the quotes above!

Of great events, great hazards, great adventures, great men, thank God, we have seen enough, we have them heaped higher than our heads. We would exchange Cæsar for Prusias, and Napoleon for the King of Yvetot. “What a good little king was he!” We have marched since daybreak, we have reached the evening of a long and toilsome day; we have made our first change with Mirabeau, the second with Robespierre, the third with Bonaparte; we are worn out. Each one demands a bed.Devotion which is weary, heroism which has grown old, ambitions which are sated, fortunes which are made, seek, demand, implore, solicit, what? A shelter.”(4.1.1, Well Cut)

The bourgeois is the man who now has time to sit down. A chair is not a caste.

But through a desire to sit down too soon, one may arrest the very march of the human race. This has often been the fault of the bourgeoisie. (4.1.2, Badly Sewed)

And it appears that they are going to fight, all those imbeciles, and to break each other’s profiles and to massacre each other in the heart of summer, in the month of June, when they might go off with a creature on their arm, to breathe the immense heaps of new-mown hay in the meadows! Really, people do commit altogether too many follies. An old broken lantern which I have just seen at a bric-à-brac merchant’s suggests a reflection to my mind; it is time to enlighten the human race. Yes, behold me sad again. That’s what comes of swallowing an oyster and a revolution the wrong way! I am growing melancholy once more. Oh! frightful old world. People strive, turn each other out, prostitute themselves, kill each other, and get used to it!

... I don’t think much of your revolution,I don’t execrate this Government. It is the crown tempered by the cotton night-cap. It is a sceptre ending in an umbrella. In fact, I think that to-day, with the present weather, Louis Philippe might utilize his royalty in two directions, he might extend the tip of the sceptre end against the people, and open the umbrella end against heaven. ” - (Grantaire, from Premliminary Gayeties, 4.12.2)

What, then, is progress? We have just enunciated it; the permanent life of the peoples.

Now, it sometimes happens, that the momentary life of individuals offers resistance to the eternal life of the human race.

Let us admit without bitterness, that the individual has his distinct interests, and can, without forfeiture, stipulate for his interest, and defend it; the present has its pardonable dose of egotism; momentary life has its rights, and is not bound to sacrifice itself constantly to the future. The generation which is passing in its turn over the earth, is not forced to abridge it for the sake of the generations, its equal, after all, who will have their turn later on.—“I exist,” murmurs that some one whose name is All. “I am young and in love, I am old and I wish to repose, I am the father of a family, I toil, I prosper, I am successful in business, I have houses to lease, I have money in the government funds, I am happy, I have a wife and children, I have all this, I desire to live, leave me in peace.”—Hence, at certain hours, a profound cold broods over the magnanimous vanguard of the human race. (5.1.20, The Dead Are In The Right and the Living Are Not Wrong)

#long post #all of the words or none of the words that's how it goes #Grantaire talk

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remywrites5 · 5 years

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if you're taking prompts (which if you're not feel free to ignore this) but i would *love* to see wolfstar with sirius buying remus flowers?? (for no reason other than he loves him, cause we love a sappy romantic Sirius!!) 🧡🧡🧡

Remus was just about to close up the antiques shop he owned for the night and go home. He risked a glance at the record store across the street but he couldn’t see anyone through the window. He ran his fingers through his curls and chastised himself for his stupid crush. He really needed to get a new hobby that didn’t involve drooling over a shopkeeper across the way.

Sirius Black. Even his name sounded effortlessly cool, matching the whole leather jacket, full sleeves of tattoos, long hair and oh by the way I ride a motorbike thing. Remus thought he was above that whole bad boy mentality but maybe not. Well, everyone had to have a weakness for something.

Remus stopped dead in his tracks on the way to the back room when he noticed an old antique vase full of flowers. When had that even happened? It must have been near the end of his shift or surely he would have noticed them sooner. He pulled the vase down from the shelf and looked at the arrangement. Yellow sunflowers and purple roses with baby’s breath filling the spaces in between. They were stunning and Remus glanced around in surprise even though he knew the door was locked and no one else was in the store.

He took the flowers out of the vase and held them gently. He placed them on his desk as he got his coat on, not wanting to ruin them by trying to hold them and complete the task.

Stepping out into the street, Remus glanced again at the record store across the way. He knew it was just wishful thinking to imagine it might have been Sirius that had left him the flowers. He’d only spoken to the guy a handful of times. And sure, Sirius had brought Remus coffee one day, from the café down the block, when he noticed Remus had been dead on his feet. It was a small gesture but one that Remus had appreciated. He’d yet to find a suitable way to make it up to Sirius.

Sirius stepped into the front window of the store and Remus felt his breath catch. He felt ridiculous that seeing a handsome bloke could have such an affect on him. Sirius glanced his way and gave a little wave. Remus smiled back in return and gave a timid wave of his own. A moment later Sirius was gone and Remus stamped down his disappointment. It was like he had conjured Sirius up by the power of his own longing.

Getting the flowers home in one piece was harder than he’d imagined with having to take the tube home. He was careful not to get jostled by his fellow passengers or else the lovely bouquet would get ruined. No one had ever bought him flowers before and Remus wasn’t about to kill the first bouquet of his life.

Honestly Remus was still a little thrown by receiving the flowers in the first place. He wasn’t even dating anyone. He really couldn’t think of anyone who would go to the effort of putting them in that vase while the shop was open and be sneaky enough to do it without Remus noticing.

Except Sirius Black, Remus’ traitorous mind unhelpfully supplied. From what little he knew of the man, Sirius was always up to no good. He had a tendency for throwing out customers that didn’t respect his music tastes or were rude. He’d once heard a story of Sirius Black throwing a man out of the store just for saying a disparaging thing about The Ramones.

Sirius Black and James Potter, the guy who owned the café down the street were always throwing block parties. About once every three months or so James and Sirius would organize a big do and get everyone on the street involved. James and his wife Lily would provide coffee and pastries, Sirius would provide the music, and have crates of records to sell for cheap, Sirius’s brother Regulus would give discounted tattoos in front of his shop next to Sirius’, the florist shop owned by Frank and Alice Longbottom would give our tiny bouquets for a dollar, Marlene Mckinnon, who owned the secondhand clothing shop would bring a rack of silly hats that people bought out of tradition, and Peter Pettigrew who owned the pet shop always brought a new little of puppies or kittens to sell for half off.

Remus was the only one who had never really participated. He felt bad about it but as an antique shop he didn’t really have much to contribute. He refused to undervalue the things in his store, things he had lovingly collected over the years. The price he sold them for was the price they were worth. If he gave away antiques at a discount he would go out of business.

Clearly James and Sirius understood that because after the first three times they asked, each time with Remus giving the same refusal, they had stopped coming around to ask. It was easier that way, not having to give the same excuse over and over. But the block parties had been going on for a year and a half now and it was hard not being a part of it. It still meant some increased traffic to his store but it felt wrong to get customers that way when he wasn’t participating in the festivities.

They were getting ready for their next one in just a few days and Remus already could feel his stomach churning with the familiar feeling of being left out once again.

Remus entered his one bedroom flat, toeing off his shoes and heading straight to the kitchen. He got down a cut glass vase – an antique he’d gotten on a trip to Prague and kept for himself – and filled it with water. He placed the flowers inside and put them on the windowsill where they could get the most light in his dingy flat. Already the place looked brighter and Remus couldn’t help smiling.

***

“You can’t tell me anything?” Remus asked Frank Longbottom incredulously the next morning. He was late to open up his shop because he’d stopped by the florists to ask about the bouquet he’d received. He glanced down at his watch and exhaled loudly in frustration. “Come on, Frank!”

“I’m sorry but he told me not to,” Frank answered with an apologetic smile.

“He?” Remus echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh damn it,” Frank said, chiding himself for his slip up. He pointed his gardening shears at Remus. “That’s all your getting out of me, Remus! Don’t ask me anything else because I’m not saying a word.”

Remus sighed and tugged his fingers through his curls. “Fine, thanks for nothing, Frank.”

“You’re welcome!” Frank said pleasantly, waving Remus off.

Remus stepped out into the sunshine and tilted his face up towards it. It really was a beautiful day and the street was already a bustle of excitement. He needed to get to his shop and open up but he took a moment to soak in the crisp air of early Spring.

He must have been soaking a little too much because someone plowed right into him. Remus got knocked sideways and fell to the ground hard. He was just about to tell whoever it was to watch where they were going when the words died on his lips.

“Oh, Remus!” Sirius Black said, smiling brightly. Remus would have happily soaked that up instead of the sunshine. “I’m so sorry. I’m useless before I have my coffee. I was just on my way to the Doe-Nut Hut.” Sirius scrambled around getting the records he’d dropped up off the ground. “Can I get you a coffee? It’s the least I can do after knocking into you so rudely.”

“Oh, um…” Remus swallowed thickly and glanced around. Suddenly every word in the English language seemed to have left his head. Maybe he had hit it on the sidewalk and he had a mild concussion.

Sirius stood and held out his free hand to Remus. Remus took it and was hoisted back up onto his feet. “So…coffee?” Sirius said, continuing to clasp Remus’ hand even once their desired result of getting Remus back to his feet had been accomplished.

Remus glanced down at their joined hands and finally was able to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “I have to open up my shop.”

Sirius nodded. “Okay, I’ll meet you there! I’m just dropping these off for the sprog real quick. I have to start his musical education early, you know? Before James poisons him with shite like James Blunt.” Sirius gave a little shudder as he gave the name. “Or Michael Buble.”

Remus looked at the record on top and read the name. “David Bowie? Are kids really into that kind of thing?”

Sirius snickered. “He is if he’s going to be my godson!” Sirius dropped Remus’ hand – more the pity. Remus immediately wanted to grab it back. “You go open up and I’ll be there in twenty, with coffee, I promise.”

“Okay,” Remus said, giving a small nod. He watched Sirius go bounding away down the sidewalk towards the café, blinking slowly as he wondered what had just happened. Glancing at his watch, he was already fifteen minutes late opening up his shop. Cursing under his breath, Remus took off in the other direction, grabbing his keys out of his pocket to unlock the door.

***

Remus sat behind the till with his hands wrapped around the cup of coffee supplied for him by Sirius Black, while the man himself wandered around the shop. “You’ve got a lot of neat things in here,” Sirius said, stopping and looking at himself in one of the many mirrors Remus had in the shop. Sirius fixed his hair for a moment and then continued on.

“Thank you,” Remus said, taking a sip of his coffee. “You know this is now twice I owe you for.”

“Huh?” Sirius said, poking his head around from a bookcase to look at Remus.

“You’ve gotten me coffee twice now,” Remus reminded him, playing nervously with the sleeve around the cup. “It doesn’t seem very fair.”

Sirius laughed, the sound of it filling the room, each cold lonely space of it. “The coffee is free, mate,” he explained, turning on and off an old Tiffany’s lamp. “Jamie doesn’t make me pay for it. So you don’t owe me anything.”

Remus shifted in his seat. “Oh, right. Well, I still appreciate it even if you didn’t pay for it yourself. It was a kind gesture.”

Sirius abandoned the lamp and came over, resting his elbows against the counter. “You’re not indebted to me, Remus,” he said with a lopsided smirk. “I just like doing nice things for you.”

“Why is that?” he asked, his heart rate speeding up. He nearly jumped out of his chair when the bell rang signaling a customer had come in. He looked up at Sirius expectantly but Sirius was already grabbing his coffee cup and making his way towards the front of the store.

“See ya later, Remus!” he called out before the bell rang again and he was gone.

***

That night at closing Remus found a bouquet of lilacs and white roses.

***

The next morning when Remus got to his shop, Sirius Black was leaning in the doorway waiting for him, holding an old record player. Remus’ brow furrowed in confusion as he took in the sight before him. Sirius merely smiled and scooted out of the way so Remus could unlock the door.

“Did we have an appointment?” Remus asked after stepping inside while Sirius following after him. He thought maybe Sirius was there to try and sell the record player for some cash.

“Nope!” Sirius said cheerfully, putting the record player down on a mahogany desk. “But I was thinking about you last night and I realized just what your store needs.”

“Oh?” Remus inquired, trying and failing not to think about that fact Sirius Black had just uttered the phrase I was thinking about you last night.

“Music!” Sirius said, dropping the needle down onto the record he’d already had on the player. “It was so quiet in here. You need some music to liven the place up. I wasn’t quite sure what you liked so I went for something classy like your shop. Figured some punk rock wouldn’t really go with the vibe you’ve got going on in here.”

The music began to play and Otis Redding began to sing. Remus smiled and gave Sirius an encouraging nod. Sirius matched his smile and held out his hand. It took a Remus a moment to realize what he was asking and then took it. Their fingers laced together and Sirius brought his hand up to rest on Remus’ shoulder. Remus put his hand on Sirius’ back and they swayed in time with the music. Remus had never considered himself much of a dancer but this kind of dancing was easy. All he had to do was hold Sirius and shuffle his feet. At least he could handle that.

Try a Little Tenderness faded out and Stand By Me began to play. Remus dropped his hand from Sirius’ back and spun Sirius under his arm. Sirius burst out laughing and made his way back to Remus and their original position.

When the second song ended, Remus broke away and smiled shyly at Sirius. “Come to the block party tomorrow,” Sirius said suddenly, catching Remus off-guard. “I know you normally don’t but just try, okay? Please?”

“I don’t have anything to contribute,” Remus said, tugging on one of his curls self-consciously.

“Just contribute yourself,” Sirius told him, reaching out and giving Remus’ arm a squeeze. Remus felt heat radiating through his body just from that small point of contact and fuck he really had a problem. “That’s enough.”

“Okay.”

Sirius grinned as if Remus had just said something brilliant. “When you get tired of Otis just let me know and I’ll bring you something else,” he said as he backed up out of the store. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the block party!”

“Bye,” Remus said, giving Sirius a small wave as he left the store. My Girl filled the store, keeping Sirius’ presence there even after he’d gone.

***

That night in the same vase there were red roses and marigolds.

***

Remus closed up his shop an hour early so that he could participate in the block party for the first time ever. He was anxious about what this would entail or if the other shop owners would judge him for coming to the party when he wasn’t doing anything for it. It felt disingenuous but then Sirius had invited him to come.

He wound his way through the sea of people just to get across the street to Sirius’ shop. When he finally broke through the crowd his eyes were immediately drawn to Sirius and the bouquet of flowers in his hands. When he noticed Remus, he smiled.

“Hi,” Remus said, taking the flowers after Sirius held them out to him. “So it was you leaving me the flowers then?”

Sirius nodded. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, hugging the assortment of different colored tulips to his chest. “I was kind of hoping it was you.”

“It was a real pain getting them into that vase every day without you noticing,” Sirius said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He had London Calling playing over the loud speakers. “Especially with all those damn mirrors you have.”

Remus laughed and shook his head. “You know you could have just asked me out. Now I’m definitely indebted to you.”

Sirius took a step closer. “I’ll call it even if you kiss me right now.”

“Such a bargain,” Remus quipped, bending down and capturing Sirius’ lips in a chaste kiss. After a moment he broke it and straightened back up. Sirius still had his eyes closed and he slowly blinked them open.

“That is what today is about,” he joked, licking his lips. “Did I say one kiss? I’m pretty sure I meant ten.”

“How about three kisses and a date tonight?”

“Are you haggling with me right now?” Sirius asked with a huff of amusement.

Remus put flowers down on one of the speakers so they wouldn’t get crushed as he pulled Sirius back towards him. “Well?” he asked, just barely brushing his lips against Sirius’.

“Unlimited kisses forever and you come home with me tonight.”

“For that price I’d better be getting a lot more flowers out of the deal,” Remus teased, rubbing his nose playfully against Sirius’.

“I’m guaranteeing a lifetime of flowers, happiness and pretty much whatever the fuck you want, Remus,” Sirius said, slotting their mouths back together and kissing Remus hungrily. Remus could faintly hear people cheering and clapping but he didn’t dare break the kiss to see who it was.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Remus said breathlessly before kissing Sirius again. He should have made it to a block party a lot sooner if this was the kind of stuff on offer. At least he’d finally made it and he was pretty sure he’d gotten the best thing on the block.

#wolfstar #i write things #fluff #anon prompt #long post #sirius black x remus lupin #modern au #shopkeeper au #is that a thing?

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copias-thrall · 4 years

Text

This is Halloween (Halloween)

Mary expands Suey's world by taking her to a crazy art party.

(Part: 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7; 8; 9)

It’s one of the stretches where you actually haven’t seen Mary in a few days. He’d apparently been by your apartment—dishes were done and he took out your trash—but you’d spent that day hunkered down at a coffee shop so you could have sandwiches with a friend who got a job downtown. And while Mary can be lyrical when he wants to be, his texts are usually brief and full of letters that only make sense to him in his shorthand … so you’re not ever going to get any missives from the front lines from him.

Which is fine: you’re super-busy and full of your own hobbies. Like napping. And complaining. Occasionally you’ll round that out with chip-eating. You’ve never been particularly creative—which makes Mary wince at you every now and then (you love art, you’re just not … adept, and sometimes it seems unfair that he can write music AND lyrics AND doodle great sketches)—but you are a voracious reader. You’d been shocked to find out that not only had Mary read Austen, but he also had a love of Persuasion—a novel you yourself found superior to Pride & Prejudice. He’d been similarly chuffed when he’d realized you liked Chuck Palahniuk for more than just Fight Club.

Which is all to say that when Mary’s not around, you like to combine your hobbies—a little chip eating while you read, only to fall asleep with the book on your face.

Tonight is no exception.

It’s nearly Halloween (it’s tomorrow actually, and you’re only slightly bummed that Mary has to work), so in honor of the holiday you’re working your way through an anthology of Lovecraft. Unexpectedly, there's a knock at your door. You check your phone, but there are no texts.

Hmm.

There’s another knock, so you set down the book and sprint to your bedroom to take up what Mary has dubbed your “Masher Hammer.” You make it back to your apartment door just in time for a third series of knocks. When you look out the peephole, however, it’s clear that whoever’s on the other side is blocking the viewer.

Gripping your hammer tight—ready for swing mode—you unlatch your door and open it.

You’re met with the sight of a Jack O’Lantern.

No—

Not a Jack O’Lantern … some guy with a carved pumpkin on his head.

“Ta-d—Jesus Christ, Suey … put Masher down,” says a muffled voice.

“Mary?”

Mary lifts the pumpkin—a real pumpkin, not a plastic basket from the dollar store—a little off his head enough for you to make out his face. You lower your swinging arm.

“Why is there a pumpkin on your head? What are you doing here?”

He spreads his arms out and does jazz hands. “Mischief Night!”

When you just stand there squinting at him, he finally takes the pumpkin fully off his head. His hair is squashed, and he’s only wearing some light makeup around his eyes and on his lips.

“So, you gonna let me in, or … should I duck?”

“Oh, right,” you say as you step back.

As Mary suanters in, you can see his eyes sweep to the couch where you’ve made a nest of blankets and pillows—your book lying face down, and the open bag chips positioned at an optimal angle on the coffee table.

“That looks nice.” He sidles up to you to squeeze your tits through your hoodie. “Almost makes me want to call it a night and get cozy in those blankets … I could crush those chips and lick them off you before I eat you out.”

His hand slides down to your crotch.

You’re trying to take him seriously, but he’s holding a pumpkin under his arm. You snap at his face.

“Mary—focus. What the hell?”

He gives you a put out look, exaggeratedly pushing out his bottom lip—but it’s soon replaced with a wicked grin.

“Mischief Night! Do you wanna go to a weird-ass art party?”

“An art party?” you ask dubiously.

“No, not what you’re thinking.”

He sets down the carved pumpkin on your table and walks to your fridge, rummaging around before pulling out the pisswater beer he keeps around.

“Think of it as a teen-movie house party—but on steroids and no one there got laid in high school. With, you know: art.”

“That’s … very specific.”

He walks back over to you, cradling the beer in one hand, and puts the other on your shoulder.

“We are under no obligation to participate in the orgy.”

You don’t think he’s joking.

He gives you a once over. “It’s also a—hmm—masquerade, so we gotta get you outfitted.”

Your mind darts.

“I only have those stupid headband cat ears my friend got me as a joke.”

He gives you a vulpine smile. “You’re gonna go as me.”

It had been a fun little party of two as you’d put on a YouTube Halloween playlist from your phone. Mary’d given you a dramatic mohawk with his precious airplane glue, then fished around in the pink makeup bag with hearts (that you’d put his stash in as a joke and he’d kept) to give you his iconic look—blood and all.

There was no way you were going to fit in his skinny jeans, but you’d been able to pair one of his well-worn tees (that you hadn’t already stolen) with your favorite denim skirt. Mary had taken off one of his studded belts to wrap around you—it’d needed a couple of safety pins to act as extensions, but Mary had assured you that that just made the style more authentic. Upon Mary’s request, you’d put on your ripped fishnets, and you had your own worn Docs to complete the look.

“Do I get to be a sex-crazed jerk all night?” you’d asked as you’d admired yourself in the corroded full-length you had propped up by the bathroom.

“You say that as if that’s something new and different for you—fuck ow,” said Mary as you’d tapped his balls.

“So where is this place?” you ask as Mary and you head to the train.

It’s in the old factory district, which means it’s a ways away, but still subway accessible.

“It’s actually in a converted co-op. I think they started out as squatters—unclear—but now it’s above board as a residence and shit. I used to know a guy who lived there for a while—they had sectioned off areas with screens—and he had a corner so he slept in a hammock. Most of the space is for their art, though. What a fucking life to live.”

You look at him, incredulous. “Mare. You live in a 2 bedroom with 4 other dudes.”

He scoffs at you. “We also have a couch. It’s a whole ‘nother level.”

You just hum at him.

When you finally get there—after a few mis-turns in this silent neighborhood full of abandoned brick factories—you’re surprised (despite Mary’s description) to see that the place is lit. There’s a guy standing at the entrance to the parking lot (that slopes dangerously toward the river) checking attendees; it becomes clear that not only is he checking for 21+, but for alcohol and toilet paper. Those without either have to “donate” $10.

“Oh—” says Mary right before it’s about to be your turn. “I’m not Mary tonight.”

“What should I call, then? The ‘Great Pumpkin’?”

“Just not Mary,” he hisses as you shore up to the “bouncer.”

The guy is not in any kind of costume—just grey sweats and a sports team hat. He’s sitting on a bar stool, and he has a little flashlight he’s using to check IDs.

“Hey, guys!” he says cheerily. “Welcome to Magical Mischief Mystery at the Factory. IDs? Ah! TP and suds? Cool, cool.”

He checks your IDs, then looks at you, then your IDs … then at Mary’s pumpkin face, then at you.

“OH MY GOD,” he starts chortling and slips off the stool to grab Mary’s arm. “Mary, you old bastard—I haven’t seen you since Dusty left to get hitched.”

You take a deep breath and—in your best screamo voice—you say, “I’m fucking Mary Goore,” (not a lie) “and he’s ‘Late for Dinner’.”

The pumpkin head turns to you. You can feel Mary’s unamused gaze.

The bouncer starts wheezing so hard that you’re afraid he might expire from laughing.

“Fuck, fuck,” gasps the dude. He shakes his head, eyes watery from mirth, and waves the two of you through.

“I hate you,” says Mary.

“I didn’t call you ‘Mary’, though,” you quip as you slip your arm through his.

“Why do I have to carry all the shit? Here. Pull your fucking weight.”

Mary hands you the toilet paper roll he heisted from your bathroom.

“Are we going to TP something?” you ask as you take the roll from him.

“Heh. No, it’s purely functional. This many people? It’s so the bathrooms don’t run out.”

The two of you enter with another mass of people, traveling through the miasma of secondhand smoke from the smokers. You cough, but Mary inhales deep, sighing. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you gape as you look around.

You and Mary stand on an open floor—which is what 5 or so floors look out onto all the way up. The place is crowded, but not jam packed. There’s a makeshift kitchen area where a dude in a bare chest and suspenders is accepting the toilet paper and libations. Above him is a white sheet that’s stretched out, on which an Art Film is being projected. The film has no sound because in the far corner there’s a DJ spinning, and a group of people are “dancing” to his jams. Mary was right: it’s like some kind of frat party for the artsy set. Because of the theme, most everyone is in a mask of some sort, and people—or groups of people—are making out in corners in various states of undress.

Mary grabs two beers, then leads you to a staircase—there’s a freight elevator by it, but it’s got cheesy Halloween “do not enter” tape blocking it.

“The first year too many people loaded into it, and it dropped 3 floors before the emergency brakes kicked in,” says Mary as he notices where you’re looking.

In a loft on the second floor you and Mary watch a woman—nude and covered in white paint—become the canvas to her girlfriend’s landscape painting.

In what’s clearly a shared bedroom, you and Mary peruse some really great paintings and sketches from what must be a number of the co-op residents.

“You should have told me to bring cash,” you say.

“We can always come back. I know a guy.”

You imagine Mary’s probably winking at you.

On the third floor there’s an inexplicable open-air kitchen attached to a bathroom. In it there’s a dude doling out beer from a keg.

“What’s this,” Mary asks him.

“It’s my homemade IPA, dude! Pumpkin for the season!”

He hands Mary a business card.

“We have a small space in the boonies, but we’re trying to get a brewery up and running in the city. Red tape though, man.”

“I fucking hear that.” Mary takes a sip. “Good shit, dude.”

The guy high-fives Mary.

“One for your girl?”

Mary hands you the solo cup, and you take a sip. You were expecting something grassy and hoppy—but the pumpkin actually balances it out nicely without it itself being cloyingly sweet. When you nod, Mary just lets you have his and indicates to the brewer to pump another cup.

The two of you enter what you think might usually be a studio space, but instead there’s a burlesque performance going on. There are some people making out, but Mary and you watch, rapt, praising the skill of the performers to each other.

The fourth floor has the least amount of people. Someone is doing a reading in one corner, and across the way there’s some sort of performance art going on. A woman stands in a white shift and gauze. Every time a dude who looks like a Nazgul rings a bell, she contorts herself to a different pose with a dancer’s ease.

You roll your eyes, but Mary begs your patience—watching solemnly as she continues.

“What is it?” you ask when the set is clearly over.

“Did you not feel it?”

“Uh …”

Even through the pumpkin you can feel his eyes on you.

“She’s a dancing monkey. Bound and constrained, only ever allowed to perform at the whim of her faceless master.”

“Mary …”

“No—don’t scoff. That was meant for you. It’s an allegory for the patriarchy, and I for one found it quite moving.”

You guess you can see it now that Mary’s pointed it out to you. He takes off the pumpkin, and you hold it while he goes over to talk to the woman. You shift uncomfortably as they engage, and she grabs his hands, shaking them profusely. Mary suddenly points over at you, and the woman waves and motions you over.

“Oh my god, look at you!” she squeals. She turns back to Mary. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it—she looks just like you.”

“I liked your patriarchal allegory,” you say.

Mary twists his mouth at you, but the woman just presses her hands to her chest.

“Thank you so much. I’m testing it out here as a protest piece. A bunch of us are going to travel to different cities and perform outside of big corporations.” She grabs Mary’s wrist. “Your boyfriend is wonderful. His song about—”

“—my band’s song—”

“—the nature of performative gender roles is one of my favs.”

You have no idea which song she’s talking about, but Mary looks pleased. So you’re pleased. You wrap your arm around his waist.

“He is pretty great.”

She lifts her veil to chug the glass of water Nazgul hands her.

“It was so nice to meet you person to person, Mary. I’m going to find the ladies before my next performance.”

“Love your work, Lizzy. I’ll put you on the list for our shows. Show up anytime!”

She bows and shuffles backwards as Mary leads you away.

“You have no idea what song she’s talking about do you?”

“I—” you sputter. “Uh. Dead Things?”

Mary looks at you indulgently.

“I’ll let you think about it.”

It turns out that the 5th floor is off limits to party goers, so Mary—back in his Jack O’Lantern—and you wander down to ground level to acquire more beer and to join the crowd of dancers. At some point the two of you take a break to pee, then hydrate as you add your own dialogue to the film on loop above you.

Back on the dance floor, there’s some skanking, some goth writhing, and some line dancing as the DJ spins his own set and sprinkles in some crowd requests. At this point in the night, most of the attendees have already made passes through the upper floors and are now all on the dance floor. Mary does some goth stomping (his pumpkin abandoned and now being passed around), and you do a silly skank until you slip on a slick spot and fall on your ass. After that, Mary pulls you close and grinds against you, his thigh between yours, both of you buzzed from multiple trips to the bar.

“Do you wanna find a corner?” he whispers into your ear.

In any other situation you’d probably say no … but—for all the crowd is packed—this is clearly a private party, one whose hosts don’t frown upon a little bit of lechery. You guess he wasn’t kidding about the orgy, after all.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

It takes a little investigation, but Mary and you find a room that seems to have been either designated or usurped as the makeout room. There’s a writhing mass in one corner, and the bed is covered in rolling bodies. There’re some breathy invitations—and a hand or two lightly caresses your calf as you walk by—but no one insists on participation further than that.

Mary yanks a pillow from the bed and tosses it to the floor. He pulls you down so that you’re both on your knees, his mouth capturing yours and his hands alighting everywhere. A hand of his sneaks down your skirt, and yours slithers down his jeans—the roving fingers of you each more a prelude than anything, stoking you both up to what’s next.

“Can I fuck you?” huffs Mary.

“Kinda drunk,” you say.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No—just not gonna be very useful,” you giggle.

Because you wore the fishnets you’re not wearing underwear, so all Mary has to do is rip a hole in the crotch area—they’re not even good fishnets, so it’s not like there’s a liner to contend with. He grunts at your wetness.

“You sure?”

“Fuck me, Mary.”

He fumbles with his dick, finally managing to sink it into you. It’s a very awkward fuck—you’re lolling all about the place, and Mary isn’t being particularly steady.

At one point a light turns on only for a Sorry! to squeal out as it turns off again.

You try to swallow your laugh, but your jiggling belly can’t hide your reaction, and soon Mary is laughing too.

“Fuck … shut up … fuck,” he giggles. “I’m trying to get off here.”

You’re just catapulted into further fits, and before long Mary’s soft cock is slipping out of you as he joins you in snickering.

“Crap. I might be too drunk for this too.”

The two of you lay like that for a bit, a feedback loop of laughter, until your belly muscles ache.

“Fuck. Take me home, Suey.”

“Yeah, ok,” you say.

After some readjusting, you both stumble out of the room. The crowd has thinned, but that’s not to say the dance party isn’t still going strong.

“We should get a cab,” you say.

“Cash?” Mary asks as you guys shuffle out of the building.

“App,” you say as you hold up your phone to poke at your cab app. “My card s’on file.”

“Fancy.”

“S’for emergencies.”

“Oh.”

You give him a lopsided grin. “Like staying too late at a factory party.”

There’s a comedy of errors when the cab can’t find you and cancels, and you have to rebook—only to have the same cab automatically cancel your order again. Mary calls the number for dispatch, and they direct you out to a main street. The cab that picks you up is the same cab that voided your reservation twice, and he yells at you for giving him the wrong address.

You let Mary argue with him (content to doze on his shoulder)—the conclusion seeming to be that while you put in the correct address, the app didn’t like it and spit out a close, but different, pickup address.

By the end of the trip, however, the cabbie and Mary seem to be old friends. He lingers even after the driver validates your card, talking with the guy about where he’s from, until you tug on his arm.

“Sleepy,” you grumble into him.

The cab driver laughs.

“We are beholden to our women, yes?”

“Happily,” says Mary as he wraps an arm around you.

“Have a good night,” says the cabbie, and Mary just raps on the car, waving as it pulls away.

“What a cool dude,” he says as the two of you shuffle toward your building.

“Mhm,” you mumble.

“Jesus, you’re useless when you’re drunk.”

There’s a lot of fumbling and stumbling, but you both finally make it into your apartment. Somehow Mary gets you into the shower, which you don’t even realize until it turns on, and you shriek when the cold water smacks you in the face before it has the chance to warm up.

“Why am I still in my clothes?!” you whine.

Mary pokes his head in.

“You fucking serious? You almost bit off my fingers when I tried to undress you!”

“I’m more than just sex!” you yell.

“Just fucking wash your face.”

“Kay.”

You fall asleep sitting in the shower, waking only when the water turns cold. It seems to have had a sobering effect, because you definitely feel more clear headed than when you entered—it’s not as funny to be slightly sober and peeling off your cold, wet clothes. Usually you give your teeth the full experience, but tonight (this morning?), you just give them a quick brush.

For all he seemed soberer of you two, Mary doesn’t seem to have fared much better. He managed to get his shirt off, but he’s lying on your bedroom floor—curled in a ball—still in his unbuckled jeans. It would be amusing—and maybe after sleep it will be—if you weren’t so wrecked. It’s a struggle tugging off his jeans, and he semi-wakes halfway through and starts to shiver.

“Wha—?”

He looks at you blearily.

“Help me get your pants off, Mare bear.”

He blinks down at his legs, then sort of squirms his legs to help you wiggle him out of the black denim. Luckily—disorientated as he is—he’s able to assist you in getting him into your bed; he conks out again the minute you trundle him under the covers. The night outside is lightening, and you know there’s no way you can work tomorrow. Today.

Whatever.

You shuffle into your living room and start up your laptop, blinking rapidly as it boots up. When it finally loads, you send off a missive to your supervisor about potential food poisoning you’ve contracted, but how you’ll check your email later this afternoon. You preemptively down some ibuprofen and sneak some of Mary’s Pedialyte.

Mary seems dead to the world when you climb into your bed, but he’s rolling over and wrapped around you as soon as you’re settled, huffing into your neck.

“Took the morning off,” you mumble.

He hums.

You’re in a good doze when he speaks, jarring you back awake.

“Had fun?”

“Yeah, Mare. Now, shh.”

He mumbles something into your neck, but it’s too incoherent and you’re too knackered to decipher it. You just relax into his koala embrace and let sleep take you.

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#mary goore #ofc #feral cats fic #gritty girls #gutter punk #my writing #original post #no smut #...kinda #original content

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txemrn · 4 years

Text

Catalyst

a Prequel to the Nanny Affair

Chapter 2: Covalence

Need to catch up? Chapter 1: Acquiesce

Rating: 18+ (Mature Audiences only)

Word count: 3255(+/-)

Warning: language; sexually suggestive language; mention of physical abuse, drug abuse, assault and adoption

"Alright, Pine Shadow family, here are your finalists!" Principal Larson's voice booms over the gym speakers. One would think he's announcing a night of rough and rumble with the WWE rather than announcing the award winners for a middle school science fair. Regardless, his enthusiasm is contagious much to the science departments delight. "Let's give them a big Wildcat round of applause for all of their hard work!"

As the audience abrupts into cheers, there she sits, melting into her chair as her knees bounce feverishly in fear. Her French-braided hair accompanies a denim headband, keeping the stray strands of brilliant wheat out of her gray eyes. Against her mother's disgust, she picks at the rubberbands attached to the hardware in her mouth. In her young 12-year-old mind, the audience seems to be doubling--no, tripling in size.

She worries if her hard work will payoff with a shiny blue ribbon--if any ribbon at all. Mrs. Ferguson and Coach Kincaid gave her nods of approval when she created elemental silver from the glucose mixture and Tollen's reagent-- who wouldn't be impressed with a 6th grader with an advanced passion for chemistry? But still, she worries.

"And," the principal continues, "our first place winner is--" The anticipation thickens the air as every movement seems to propel through space in slow motion. Like a dramatic montage of Rudy sacking the Georgia Tech quarterback to clutch the W for Notre Dame, or an injured Danny LaRusso crane-kicking Johnny Lawrence to become the All-Valley Karate Champion: this was her field; this was her stadium; this was her Hail Mary. All of the hours of research at the library; all of the frantic trips to the hobby store; the redundant presentation practices; the late evenings followed by the early mornings accompanied with the inevitable break downs. It all came down to this.

"Our first place winner is… Brynn Schuyler!" The applause is defeaning as time seems to stop. Did she hear the principal correctly? The name sounded very familiar--like her own name!

"Brynn Schuyler!" Did she really just win the coveted first place ribbon at the science fair? She froze, her tiny little body unable to process the abundance of emotion she was encountering all at once.

"Where is Brynn?" Outside of being gifted her hamster and her mom letting her wear clear lipgloss, this is the most incredible day of her life--

She feels a tap on her shoulder. "Ma'am?" The veiled-look from her eyes washes away; the clouds around her head vanish. Reality hits. "Are you Brynn Schuyler?" She feels the warmth of rose flood over her fair complexion as the barista interrupts her morning ritual: reminiscing.

"Uh--yes," as she brushes her fingers over her brow, as if to create a shield to her embarrassment.

Smooth. Real smooth, Brynn.

She quickly brightens, extending her hands, "I'm sorry. That's--"

"Iced venti white mocha latte with a blueberry muffin… and two mini cinnamon maple scones?"

I don't know what would be nicer: reading out my order for everyone to hear or calling me a 'fatass'.

"--me. Yes, thank you," she whispers with gnashed teeth behind a courtesy grin. As she slithers back down into her seat at the local coffee house, Brynn hides the pastries in her backpack, keeping them well within her reach as she continues to work: scouring the wanted ads.

Next Tuesday makes four months of no job and no steady income. She has been on seven 'promising' interviews with no avail. She is able to keep her bill collector's away with her savings account, but even that was beginning to dwindle like her existence.

Brynn is a scientists, a chemist to be exact--or at least she was. Her love for science led her from the suburbs of 'the City of Brotherly Love' to the University of Massachusetts at Amherst where she studied education. Her dream was to impose the wonders of science on young minds as they experienced the physical world around them. But, after her personal observation of the devastation of Alzheimer's disease with her grandmother, she took an unexpected internship with the Massachusetts's Alzheimer's Disease Research Center. She realized she didn't want to just teach science; she wanted to do science. One Master's degree in Chemistry later, she was well on way to making a real difference in the world. Or so she thought.

'Benson's BBQ: Host needed'--maybe. 'Browning Steel: Welder with experience'--no. 'Bus Depot: driver wanted, great benefits'--no. 'Cutshall Clearance Store--stalker needed'-- surely they don't mean 'stalker', but they may need an ad editor.

She had scored the chance of a lifetime when she was hired on as one of the first female level I Chemists at the Lincoln Laboratory at MIT. She quickly graduated from fetching coffee, dry cleaning and business lunches for her superiors--also known as a research assistance--to finally being a project manager of her very own, very first multi-million dollar research study. But after twenty-months with no success, the funding was pulled on the project, the wind knocked out of her sails. The punches didn't stop there: her team of men threw her under the metaphorical bus and it was 'off with her head,' her moment of glory now over. She often feels foolish that she thought she could actually make a difference in the world; even worse, she felt agonizing guilt for being a woman that couldn't hang in a man's world, feeling as if she was responsible for a sudden shift backwards in equality.

'Danny's Barber Shop: receptionist'--maybe. 'Danny's Cake Decorating: baker'--no. 'Danny's XXX videos: call for details'-- uh, Mr. Danny has his dick in one too many pies.

Bzzt.

Saved by the text.

She giggles to herself in seeing she has a message from her roommate Jenny. Knowing that this is about to become a full-on text conversation, probably more suitable for an actual phone call, Brynn folds up her marked-up paper, and stretches her legs. She grabs her second scone, placing it into her mouth to hold as she piles her greasy hair into messy bun on top of her head, secured with a pen.

She swipes across her spider-cracked screen; the message: 'Turn around whore! ;-P'

"Brynny!" Brynn ducks as if she is about to be hit. "I thought that was your Corolla parked outside!"

"Jenny! You scared me!" She exhales loudly. "What are you doing awake? It's--" Brynn looks at her phone, "holy shit! Is it really almost noon?" She has no place to be; she just hates the feeling of time slipping by unnoticed, especially with her not being an active participant in life these days.

"I'm sorry, girl--"as she sits her coffee cup down at Brynn's commandeered table, "And you're right--I should probably still be asleep." She stifles a yawn, "I had a very busy night--"

"At the bar?" Brynn raises an eyebrow, "Or with Xavier?" her lips curling into a knowing grin.

Xavier is the first intact penis Jenny had ever been with--and she was loving it. It had been the topic of conversation during their 3AM chats this week, but when Jenny didn't come home from her shift at the bar last night, Brynn automatically knew Jenny must be exploring the new uncharted territory at his place.

"I didn't--I mean--" Jenny let's out a scoff. "Fine. Both."

A giddy Brynn scoots her chair closer. "Ooooo do tell."

"I--" Jenny pauses for dramatic effect, "happen to have a very--"

"Insatiable appetite? Ferocious needs?" Brynn giggles as she wraps her delicate fingers around her straw, gradually sliding them up and down its length.

Jenny clears her throat, straightening out her overall posture. "I was going to say, 'healthy sex life,' but since you have to be a thirsty bitch about it--" she leans in closely to Brynn, grabbing the remains of her scone. She flanges her lips around the breakfast pastry, fluttering her eyes closed, finally letting out a soft moan when she takes a nibble. "Oh honey, he was ferocious." She draws a sip from her hot coffee before lowering her voice. "And he satiated my appetite very… very… well."

Brynn jokingly sticks her fingers in her ears, pretending to be disgusted, yet squealing in excitement. Jenny playfully hits her arm as the two women uncontrollably giggle as they continue to enjoy each other's company.

Jenny Browder and Brynn Schuyler were a very unlikely pair. They met in undergrad in a entry-level sociology course during their first semester freshmen year. Of the two, Brynn was mature and focused, especially when it came to her education. Often times, she had to be the voice of reason with a newly uncaged and untamed Jenny who was more concerned with socializing and drinking.

Jenny was brought up in a strict, Fundamentalist household, the kind that saw dancing and playing cards as evil. She somehow convinced her parents that God was calling her to attend UMass after a life-long career of being homeschooled. It was 'Goodbye, long dresses,' and, 'Hello, Bombshell Bra.'

She never returned back home. Even when she failed out after Sophomore year, she packed up her guitar and headed for Nashville to become a star. The two friends had quickly turned back into strangers.

Brynn will never forget they day Jenny stumbled back into her life. In the midst of grad school, Brynn had volunteered at a free/low-cost community health clinic offered to lower-socioeconomic families. Jenny was waiting outside the facility, chain-smoking her last four cigarettes. Brynn was unloading testing equipment when she recognized a very familiar purple butterfly tattoo.

"Jenny?" Hearing her name, she instantly responded. She looked so different--older even, weathered. Her once-lustrous auburn hair looked as if it hadn't seen a brush--or soap, for that matter-- in weeks. Her eyes had lost their glow, surrounded by gray bags. Even though she kept her arms crossed in an attempt to hide it, her stretched-tight shirt boasted a growing bump. But, perhaps the most bothersome was the severely picked scabs, scratches, and bruises, littering her entire body.

They made cordial small talk until Greg, her alcoholic and abusive fiancé, honked his horn from his rusty Ford Ranger, notifying Jenny it was time to leave. Before she could run out on her again, Brynn quickly dug a pen and Post-It pad from her white coat, and wrote down her cell number. Truth be told, she never expected her to call.

Two o'clock in the morning about 3 months later, Jenny called. In his usual anger fueled by Wild Turkey, Greg had beaten her and forced himself on her until he passed out from the exhaustion of his stuper. But, something was different this night; something snapped in Jenny's brain. Enough. Her body was frail and bleeding; but her spirit was kindled, coming alive with courage, telling her she was not broken, telling her to fight. Fueled with what could easily be described as courage--or insanity--she stole $12 from his wallet and packed an old duffle bag with a change of clothes and a water-stained Post-It note.

At a gas station outside of Boston, Brynn picked up a very pregnant Jenny. They sat in the darkness, the cabin filled with silence and stillness; but the conversation was loud and clear: Jenny was terrified. Terrified to talk, terrified to act, terrified of her past and terrified to even imagine a future. Brynn reached over and grabbed Jenny's hand as they both quietly sobbed. They weren't freshmen anymore.

All of a sudden in the quietness of the car amongst all of the chaos, a baby began to dance. Waves and ripples fluttered across Jenny's abdomen; flips and tumbles quickly ensued, becoming stronger and stronger. They took her breath away for a moment, but quickly returned in the form of tiny giggles. Brynn's eyes sparkle with wonder as she gently places her hand on her friend's belly, gently rubbing circles with her thumb and fingers. Jenny places both her hands on Brynn's, guiding her around her bump, occasionally pressing deeply until finally they are greeted with a kick.

For the first time in a long time, Jenny wasn't terrified. Her head wasn't pounding from an incessant ache, a craving for just one more hit. Her body was breathing, healing in between the throws. For the first time in a long time, Jenny had clarity. And she was ready to talk.

Jenny got the necessary help she needed. She spent time at a battered women's shelter where she was safe and protected; she was able to receive prenatal care and some deeply therapeutic counseling. She even painfully detoxed from her methamphetamine addiction. But her biggest victory: she was beginning to forgive herself, allowing herself to heal.

Six weeks later, a very round and overdue Jenny gave birth to a beautiful red-headed, 9 pound 8 ounce boy. Her heart swelled with love--a love she had never experienced before--as they placed him right on her bare chest. Overcome with joy and tears, the new mom kept him safe and sound, snuggled in a blue receiving blanket in her healing arms. She had already missed so much--she didn't want to miss another moment: she wanted to remember how his chunky cheeks felt against her lips as she kissed him. She wanted to remember the gentle smell he had after his first bath. She wanted to remember that tiny, fierce grip around her finger, a grip that would extend past her finger and right around her heart. A grip that would never let go, even well-after she laid him into his new mother's arms.

Jenny Browder is the strongest woman Brynn knows--and probably will every know. Even while she was still rummaging through the train-wreck that was her former life, Jenny had the selfless spirit of a saint and the bravery of the finest medieval warrior. She had nothing of value to her name except for her battered heart; but being the mother of all mother's, she gave her last possession away. She knew that in order to give her son the world, she had to place him in a new world.

Jenny celebrated five years of sobriety last month, and has empowered many women throughout the New England area with her story, speaking at meetings and volunteering part-time at a crisis center. She reconnected with her cousin Sean and his husband Charlie a few years back; feeling a pull to be near family, she moved to Newark, a few blocks away from the happy couple. She now has a home--an apartment--of her own, a car, and a steady income, bartending at a local, lively bar called Annex. As an added benefit, she also gets to perform twice a month with the house band. Going back to school might even be in her future; but for now, she is happy to be living life again--even if that meant hosting a squatter on her couch in the form of her best friend.

"Any luck on the job front?"

Brynn blows a raspberry with pressed lips in her exacerbation. "Well, today's options include wearing daisy duke's at a BBQ joint, or becoming a baker--possible porn star--with a man named Danny--"

Jenny laughs, "Ewww, gross. Do I even want to--"

Brynn waves her hand in front of her face, erasing the air of the horrid idea, even if it was a joke.

"Well, the perfect job is out there."

Yeah, yeah, yeah…

Brynn sighs, "Oh, Jen, you have to say that--"

Before she can hang her head down, Jenny interrupts the pity party, grabbing the remains of massacred muffin from Brynn's hand. "No, I don't. And believe me--" She stares warmly into Brynn's stormy eyes, "You are a catch. You are one in a million--"

"Are we still talking about jobs, or--"

"The perfect job is out there for you--trust me! We are one day closer to it." Not missing a beat, "Speaking of which--" Jenny rocks back and forth in excitement as her heart-shaped lips spread into a smile.

Oh, God…

"What are you doing tonight?" The words almost slur together like a waterfall crashing out of her mouth.

Don't invite me out. Don't invite me out.

"I think I'm gonna--you know--stay in, order out. Look for more jobs--"

"And feel sorry for yourself?"

Damnit, she's good.

Brynn sighs deeply as she lays her head down on her crossed arms.

"Well, it's a good thing we're not going out. You are just--" she lies, "accompanying me to work--"

"Jenny!"

"Brynny," Jenny fires back as both women compete in a staring--moreso glaring contest. She gives in first to the silly gesture, her look warming with affection. "Look, I-I know things have been have sucked recently--"

That's an understatement.

"You need this. It's time to join the world again. You can't just stay cooped up in the apartment all the time--"

"Um," Brynn clears her throat. "I do believe I am in a coffee shop right now." She smirks while delicately fanning her arms out in the air, as if she was showcasing a brand new car on a game show.

"C'mon, girl," Jenny whines, "You know what I mean. Just come up to the bar. Sit and talk with me. Keep me company. Meet some of my regulars. You will feel so much better about yourself--"

"You know I have nothing to wear."

12 pounds, fucking 12 pounds, and my entire wardrobe seems to have shrunk overnight.

"We'll figure something out--I promise! C'mon!" Jenny quickly bounds to the door with a sluggish Brynn in tow. "Besides," Jenny whirls around to continue, "You have a lot of miles left in this thing--" spanking Brynn's butt. Reflexively, Brynn immediately shields her pained bottom, her mouth gaping open. Jenny continues. "I've gotch'ya with shots all night. At least come window shop--it's Thursday night, which means the corporate hotties are shopping for some young ass--"

"Oh, yes. Because a one-night-stand and a raging case of chlamydia will cure my problems--"

"Hey, a shot in the ass, and you're good as new," Jenny jokes, making her apprehensive bestie crack a smile. "That's why I said, 'window shop.' Plus they're rich and love flaunting that they are rich. So--" Jenny shrugs her shoulders, "More free drinks for you!"

Brynn folds her arms across her chest, averting her gaze into the bustling traffic. She starts chewing on the sides of her mouth while letting out a long-winded sigh, clearly uncomfortable with the whole idea. The fact is she was embarrassed of herself, of what had become of her life. There she was, merely existing, living on her best friend's couch with no prospects--job-wise and love-wise. And now that her former-slender body sprung unwelcomed curves, she feels more comfortable in hiding--from the world, and from herself.

Jenny steps back out of her black sedan. She pushes her sunglasses back into her short hair, the sunshine illuminating her scarlet layers. She places her hands on her hips as she silently challenges her friend to a battle of wills.

Brynn feels her piercing gaze, but she can't bring her self to match it. Jenny never pushes her to do anything--and now, all she wants to do is help pull her depressed house-guest out of her mucky misery. And Brynn knows that she will be grateful for the night, especially tomorrow morning. She just needed the little shove.

Brynn breaks their silence with a long, drawn out sigh. "Okay."

"Yes, yes, yes!" squeals Jenny. She slides back into the driver's seat, adjusts her sunglasses and bellows across the parking lot: "Get in loser! We're going shopping!"

Brynn could only hope it was for a new life.

@choicesficwriterscreations

#the nanny affair #choices #choices stories you play #choices tna #pixelberry #tna sofia #tna mc #tna jenny #tna sam #tna robin

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rottmntrulesall · 4 years

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A Serving of Tea With a Side of Feelings

Hiroki always loved the pretend tea ceremonies she and Yosh- Splinter used to do back in their childhood. It was one of the very few good memories they had. And introducing her nephew to this practice was even more exciting.

Mikey was rocking slightly as he sat on the floor, clearly excited. Splinter, meanwhile was gathering the supplies and items needed for the ceremony.

"Back in historical times, Michelangelo, tea ceremonies were a ceremonial way of preparing and drinking green tea typically in a traditional tearoom with tatami floor." Hiroki chirped happily, "Beyond just serving and receiving tea, one of the main purposes of the tea ceremony is for the guests to enjoy the hospitality of the host in an atmosphere distinct from the fast pace of everyday life. The ceremony itself was called (茶道, sadō or chadō, "the way of tea" or 茶の湯, chanoyu),' she stated writing out the symbol so her reptilian nephew would have a better grasp of what she meant. "Nowadays, the tea ceremony is practiced as a hobby, and there are places where tourists can experience it, as well."

"That all sounds so nice," Mikey smiled, nodding a bit at her explanation. If tea ceremonies were just as much about relaxing and being social as they were about making and drinking tea, it was no wonder so many people enjoyed them. Watching his aunt carefully as she wrote out the symbol, he tried to study her brush strokes so he could try and write it out himself later. "I'm really gonna have to learn more Japanese," he told her, "the way you guys write is just so pretty-" he stopped, wincing a bit at how childish he probably sounded, hoping it didn't sound like he was mocking his aunt's native language.

"Aw, Thank you! It takes practice but it's very much worth it in the end! You're an artist, so I know you'll catch on to it fast!" Hiroki smiled. It was so nice to see the younger generation get in touch with their roots. Mikey smiled again, beaming at the compliment. He then heard his father chuckle as he set a plate down in front of them. "Another good thing about tea ceremonies? The tasty cakes you get to eat with them!" Splinter grinned, "Unfortunately, we don't have traditional tea cakes, but I figured cut up snack cakes would work just as well."

"It's still lovely. Reminds me of the many ceremonies we had as children." Hiroki sighed. Yosh-Splinter was the only one who was willing to participate in them with her. Saki thought her ceremonies were "Stupid, pointless nonsense' and she should be more focused on training. Nori was too much of a tomboy for it. Kenji just found them kind of boring, but he was nice about it at least. Mei would rather talk about summoning dead things. *shudder*

Splinter's smile softened. "I remember those as well... They were always pretty fun, I'm not sure why no one else enjoyed them. Who could say no to a good cup of tea and some cake? Though, spending time with my little sister was always nice too."

"Well, it's their loss. They probably would've spoiled the fun anyway. You were always the fun one, Yosh-Splinter. Hikari...he tried. But, it just wasn't his cup of tea....pun sort of intended." Mikey chuckled at his aunt's joke. "Well, I'm sure it'll be my cup of tea!" he told them, lifting up his empty cup, "What do we do first?"

"Well, a full, formal tea ceremony is a multi-hour event that starts with a kaiseki course meal, is followed by a bowl of thick tea and ends with a bowl of thin tea." Mikey blinked. "...Cool. So, we should start with preparing the meal then?" Hiroki smiled sheepishly, "Well, Kaiseki meals have a prescribed order to their dishes, most of which are prepared by using one of the common techniques of Japanese cooking. However, kaiseki chefs have considerable freedom to add, omit or substitute courses in order to highlight regional and seasonal delicacies and personal style. I don't think we have the ingredients for it here. Unless I could get it now if you wish."

"Mm, nah." Mikey wouldn't want her running errands when they were supposed to be having tea. "Maybe we could use substitutions? Like, have a NYC version of a kaiseki meal so you don't have to go all over the city for ingredients?" "OOH, that would quite unique! Let's see what we can whip up in the kitchen! I'll tell you ALL the traditional dishes we would have while your father finishes setting up!” Mikey grinned. "Sounds good to me!" Splinter chuckled again, patting his boy's shell as he got up and followed his aunt towards the kitchen.

"You three seem to be having a good time..."

"Hm?" Splinter's ear twitched a bit as he turned towards the voice. Hikari slowly stepped out of the shadows of one of the sewer tunnels. “Mikey is really getting into Hiroki’s tea parties.” Splinter's face lit up. "Oh, Hikari, it is you! Would you like to join us? I'm sure Mikey would not mind the extra company, nor would we." Hikari shook his head. “No thank you. You know I could never really get into the flow of these ceremonies. Besides this was more of a you and Hiroki thing. I always preferred just exploring the forest or pranking Saki with you instead.” Hikari said softly.

"Oh... Well, uh, there's a forest just outside the city. We could go there after the ceremony if you'd like," Splinter told him, "We actually have a friend who lives there. He is a bit strange but he makes really great lemonade."

"Oh uh...is he a mutant by any chance?", Hikari asked nervously. They've been to New York a few times now but Hikari still hasn't gotten over the fact that mutants and yokai were real.

"...Yessss," Splinter replied slowly, "But he's a capybara so, super chill. And uh, he has a bunch of normal, non-mutant puppies too, so..."

Hikari shrunk back a little at that, "Perhaps another time then. I probably would be a nuisance to you....like I always was." The last part he muttered to himself. Splinter blinked, his rat hearing still picking up on that last bit. "What do you mean?" Hikari glanced at his older brother, "I was a pest, a total pain that drove you away. That's...that's why you left us...left me."

"What?" Splinter's ears folded down, his eyes sad now. "No- No, Hikari, that is- I never considered you a pest, and you had nothing to do with me leaving."

Hikari's eyes widened, "I wasn't? but...Saki said...you hated us...and that I was one of the main reasons you ran away. I was always clinging to you and following you, like a second shadow. And that life in America was better than hanging around me for a second longer." Remembering those horrible words their eldest spewed at him when Hikari had asked for the umpteenth time where Yoshi was and when was he coming back.

Splinter scowled. Damn it Saki... it was bad enough his oldest brother was a bully and a pain, only caring about honor and tradition, but did he have to drag Splinter's name through the mud too?

"Hikari... It broke my heart to leave all of you behind. ...Well, all except Saki. But I had to leave - not because I was tired of you or annoyed by you but... because I couldn't be the Hamato Clan Warrior that Father wanted me to be." He scowled to himself. "I couldn't take the training, or the discipline... I could not take the pressure, or the pain of continuing to hide my true self."

Hikari's lip trembled as tears slowly formed in his eyes. "I had no idea, I didn't. I didn't know you were suffering so much. But why didn't you take me with you? You know I would follow you anywhere. We could've started over here together." Hikari lowered his head, "Instead we didn't hear from you in years until recently. Nori tried telling me you were off doing something important, but I had my doubts."

"Otōto..." Splinter stood up, walking towards his younger brother to hug him. As much as he had tried to ignore it, he had always known how much his leaving had hurt his siblings, but he hadn't known by how much until now. "I'm so sorry, Hikari... I would have taken you if I could have."

Wiping his tears away, Hikari hesitantly placed his arms around his Aniki. "Then why didn't you? Did someone stop you, was it too dangerous?"

"Heh..." He smiled sadly. "...Did Kenji ever tell you about the night I left?"

The second-youngest Hamato shook his head, "No, every time I asked him about your whereabouts. He just changed the subject."

"...The night I left... it was Kenji who helped me escape," Splinter told him, motioning for Hikari to sit down, "I had been locked in my room for a while at that point, barely been given anything to eat or drink. Father was trying to get me to break and submit to the Hamato way, to 'stop my foolishness' as it were... It was the middle of the night when Kenji woke me up, practically dragging me out of my room and off to the train station." Splinter blinked away a couple tears as he smiled softly at that memory. "If not for him... I do not know how long I would have been able to hold on. It was Kenji that told me to leave, while I still could. I did not want to abandon you all... but I also understood that it was my only shot - that it would not be as easy to escape a second time, and that Father would only be harsher as the years went on. So, I followed Kenji's advice. and I left."

Hikari didn't know how to react to that. He knew their father was an intense man, he himself had some rather scarring memories he would rather not bring up. But was Spli-Yoshi really put through such hell? And Ken Nii-San actually disobeyed their father to set him free?? His second older brother was always the keep the peace guy.

"Aniki...I'm sorry...I know how harsh Father could be...but I didn't know he would go THAT far. Nor did I think KENJI would do something so daring. He really saved you."

Splinter nodded. “He did... and as much as I missed you, my little brother, I could not afford having Father finding out where I was and sending Saki or one of the clan members after me. ...and, for what it is worth, while I would have loved to have you with me, it was probably better that you weren’t. I was in a new country, a new language, people who didn’t look or speak like me. Also, you don’t just become a big movie star overnight, after all. I had a couple of rough years trying to find roles and only getting bit parts.” It was a wonder he didn’t starve during that time, honestly.

"We probably would've been separated...or worse.” Hikari said. Everything finally made sense but that didn't mean the pain was gone.

Knowing this, Splinter hugged him again. “I am still sorry that I wasn’t able to see you grow up... or that I wasn’t able to properly say goodbye.”

Hikari hugged him back tight. "Aniki...I wish I was able to help you, I didn't realize you were in so much pain. I'm just happy that we're together again now."

"I am too, my brother, and please believe me that I want to spend as much time with you and our siblings as possible while you are all here with me. Both I and my sons do."

Wiping the remaining tears and snot (ew) from his face, Hikari started to smile.

"Is that offer to visit your capybara friend still open?"

"Of course," Splinter smiled, "We can do whatever you want."

"GET READY FOR THE FINEST CUISINE NEW YORK HAS TO OFF-" Hiroki sang as she and Mikey left the kitchen. Immediately noticing her twin and their older brother practically bear-hugging each other. And the slightly red eyes Hikari had. Hiroki immediately passed the platter of food to her nephew and rushed to her brothers' side.

"Hikari!? What's wrong? Why are you crying?? What happened, Nii-san?" Splinter took his sister's hand, patting it to try and calm her. "Hey, hey. It is alright, Hiroki. Everything's fine! We were just, ah, having a bit of an emotional moment." ‘More like a conversation that was long overdue.’

"Yes Hiro Nee-chan, nothing to worry about now.” Hikari sniffed, a relaxed smile appearing on his face. "Nothing at all." For the first in a long time, he finally felt at peace. 'I was actually wondering if I could join your little tea ceremony. I hear you're quite the chef, Michelangelo."

Splinter's smile grew at that, his own eyes getting a bit teary. "Wait, really? Well of course you can join us!" Setting his own plates down, Mikey joined in on the group hug. "And heh, yeah, I am sorta the family cook. Auntie Hikori was just teaching me how to make a traditional tea ceremony meal, and I was showing her how to add a bit of razz-ma-tazz to it."

"Razz...Tazz? That sounds...unique. Let me try this tazz." Hikari said letting go of his family and reaching for a piece on the platter.

Hiroki beamed and squealed, "I never thought you'd want to take part in my tea ceremonies, Hikari! What a pleasant surprise! But I still want to know what the tears were for from the two of you." She said giving Splinter a look.

Mikey giggled. "Help yourself!" he told his uncle, hoping he'd enjoy it. "I will tell you later," Splinter assured Hiroki. If Saki had told his little brother such things, who knows what he told his sister. Hiroki finally looked reassured and started to set everything out. "Now! Traditionally, we start off with bite-sized appetizers and a small glass of alcohol." She pulled out some apple juice instead.

“Since Michelangelo is underage, we'll stick to juice."

"Will you please present the appetizers, dear nephew?"

Mikey saluted before getting the plate, bowing slightly as he presented it to his father and uncle. Splinter sniffed it. "Mmm, smells yummy!"

"This is absolutely wonderful, Michelangelo. You really are gifted!" Hikari smiled. He wished for more moments like this. Just relaxing, chatting, and bonding with his family. They may not have had a great beginning, but he hopes that in later times they'll create happier memories to look back on. As the group of four dined and talked, Hikari sat closer to his beloved older brother.

Mikey beamed. If not for the plate he would have hugged his uncle again. "Thanks Uncle Hikari, and there's more where that came from! There's still a whole lot more where that came from!" They had a whole meal to enjoy, after all. Taking a sip of his apple juice, Mikey hummed and leaned a bit towards his pop. "You knowww, I am a mutant turtle, which means I don't HAVE to follow the law since I can't really get arrested, given that human cops don't even know I exist. So, if I WERE to have a bit of alcohol-"

"Mikeyyyy," Splinter said, giving his son a bit of a look, making his answer to the unasked question quite clear. The box turtle sighed. "Worth a shot."

"Why are you so interested in drinking anyway?"

"Rupert Swaggart uses alcohol in his cooking all the time! Plus I'm curious about the taste. I mean, it has to be pretty good if people drink it all the time.”

The twins stared at Mikey in confusion. “Rupert Swaggart? Isn't he that gross fat pig thing you boys were fighting the other day?" Hikari asked. "I bet he tastes delicious." Hiroki chimed.

END

This was an RP I did with @fanfic-inator795. Big Thanks for the help, friend!

#little brother and big brother bonding #a bit Japanese culture thrown at you lot #also some feels #dark secrets are revealed #turths come out #tw; child abuse #papa hamato sucks as a father #siblings au #hamato family #hamato hiroki #hamato hikari #hamato saki #fanfic-inator795

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