#other than perhaps a lack of caffeine

[averagelivingbeings]

The black magic tube

Top Blade/Bottom afab Dan Heng

In which Ren finds an uncannily realistic fleshlight and decides to fuck it, unaware of his boyfriend Dan Heng feeling it from miles away.

Word Count: 4516

Tags: PWP, Afab Dan Heng, magic fleshlight, vaginal sex, cunnilingulus, big dick Ren, public sex, public humiliation, a little bit of pussy spanking, long distance sex, they aren’t even in the same room once, humiliation

AFAB language used for Dan Heng

——————————————

Ren found the strange cylindrical tube while cleaning up around the apartment. The outside was of an even shape made with smooth, black plastic and fit comfortably into Ren’s large hand. Upon closer inspection, he noted that it had a lid, a simple screw lid.

Perhaps it was one of the tubes Dan Heng used to transport his artworks with, albeit a very short one. Usually he’d just use a folder for the smaller papers and a longer container for the large ones.

However, upon unscrewing the top, he was neither greeted by a thick roll of paper nor the darkness an empty tube would contain inside.

Instead, the bright, rosy lips of a pussy, complete with clit, hood and hole greeted him.

Ren swiftly slammed the lid onto the tube, a mad blush spreading on his cheek. He certainly didn’t remember buying that thing and unless Dan Heng wanted to tease him with a foreign hole, he had no reason to either, lacking the anatomy to actually use it.

He pensively stared at the black tube, barely paying attention to his broom falling over, as he took it to their shared bedroom.

~/~

“Yo, what if we just had a threesome?”

Dan Heng sighed, moving on to drying the freshly cleaned plates, which were messily piled into the dishwasher, courtesy of his laid-back colleague Jing Yuan.

“Wouldn’t that be incest?”, Caelus replied, thoughtfully swirling the contents of his third cup of coffee for the day around. “I mean, we’re twins, that’s even worse.”

“Yeah, but you won’t be fucking me, we’ll both just fuck her”, Stelle rebutted. She had just gotten started on her fourth cup and Dan Heng was really contemplating not giving them anymore caffeine, its effect on the twins similar to alcohol.

They had been debating their could-be romantic relationship with Firefly in front of Dan Heng at the cafe he worked part-time at for weeks now. Apparently all three were head over heels over each other, with the exception of Caelus and Stelle, and couldn’t decide how to proceed after a coffee drunken day had led to a spontaneous hookup.

“What do you think, Dan Heng?”

Of course he’d be dragged into it again.

“Well, it all depends on what each of you wants, of course”, he began, already seeing the exasperated eyerolls make their way into the twin’s faces and quickly continued: “But you could have an open relationship with Firefly dating both of you. And you two just… Keep your hands off of each other.”

“That’s true, but what if we want to marry someday?” Caelus raised an eyebrow at both of them, the question prompting Stelle to choke on her drink.

“You’re thinking about marriage already??” She looked at him in disbelief, half of the cafe lazily turning towards their little group, before going back to their business of reading newspapers or working.

“Well of course! Foresight is better and cheaper than hindsight”, Caelus insisted.

“That’s not foresight, that’s overplanning.”

“I’m not planning anything yet, I’m just…”

Dan Heng shook his head, the ghost of an amused smile playing at his lips, as he went to fix up another customer’s order.

Yes, today was a good day.

~/~

Upon closer inspection, the fleshlight, which Ren came to realise the tube to be, looked awfully familiar. Or at least the pussy inside of it, not the item itself.

The sun-kissed, smooth skin, a single mole near the clitoris, just the shape of the labia as well as the coloration.

Ren had seen more pussies than he thought he ever would in his life, but the image of the one of his beloved boyfriend was practically etched into his mind at this point.

Gingerly, he reached out to touch it, gently stroking the labia and nudging the folds. It felt smooth and soft to his touch, the plush material dipping the slightest bit at his touch, almost exactly like it was the real thing.

Ren held the tube between his thighs and used his thumbs to spread the hole apart. Despite probably just being a piece of silicone, he couldn’t help but be entranced by how realistic it was designed. The pink insides glistened, as if it was already wet and he felt the hole tighten up around his fingers.

“Mghhh…” With a lustful groan, Ren leaned over to place a kiss onto the hooded clit and reached down to palm his clothed cock. He was amazed by the feeling of his lips touching the fake pussy, his grip tightening on the base of his dick.

Slowly and gently, all thoughts about what a degenerate he was for licking a fleshlight like it was his lover being discarded and forgotten, Ren wrapped his lips around the clit and began sucking on it.

~/~

Dan Heng froze, as he waited for the milk to heat up, gripping the counter tightly and clenching his thighs together. There was a strange tingling sensation at his crotch, as if someone was touching it.

He felt the ghost of a rough finger brushing over his labia, but upon looking down, there was nothing. His legs allowed no room for anything to touch him, yet the phantom digits kept going anyway.

Dan Heng’s breath hitched, when he felt two fingers shamelessly spreading his hole open. It took all of his willpower not to whine at the teasing and exposing gesture. Ren loved doing that whenever he was about to demolish his cunt and afterwards to watch his cum seep out of it.

“Dan Heng?”

“Huh-?” Blinking, Dan Heng’s gaze shot to Jing Yuan who had been calling out for him.

“Your milk.” The taller man motioned to the coffee machine with the glass he was cleaning.

Right, his milk. The milk for the coffee. The milk for his customer’s coffee.

“Right, sorry…” Dan Heng awkwardly grabbed the container and shuffled over to make it foam up, all the while, the fingers or rather, the finger by now kept massaging his pussy and inevitably driving him to wetness. Watching the milk foam slowly dripping out of the measuring cup into the actual cup only spurred on his arousal, as he fantasised of his boyfriend. Ren always had fairly big loads and no matter whether he dumped them on Dan Heng’s face, his chest, his stomach or in his cunt, he found it mesmerising to watch.

“Ngh-!”

The milk spilled over onto the counter, as a sudden, wet kiss hit his clit, making Dan Heng jolt.

“Fuck-! Sorry…” He bowed at the grey-haired customer with the strange wing and halo accessories who had been standing patiently in the same spot all the time. Grabbing a towel, he quickly wiped down the counter and moved to prepare a new cup.

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” The man smiled at him, his golden eyes shining in an uncannily kind manner, as he pointed at the cup Dan Heng had miserably failed at. “I’ll take this one.”

“If you insist, sir…”, Dan Heng squeaked out pathetically, his growing arousal making it hard to focus on the task at hand. Carefully, yet shakily, he cleaned the cup, finished the coffee and lifted it up to hand over to the man.

The finger had stilled for the most part, but it was definitely still there. He was glad that the mouth had retreated though.

“Here’s your coffee, si- Mghh-!” Dan Heng couldn’t hold back a moan and nearly dropped the coffee onto the customer’s pristine suit, when he suddenly felt a mouth wrap itself around his clit and suck harshly.

“Woah-!” The man caught the coffee just in time to prevent it from spilling, yet the unsettling smile prevailed on his face. “Thank you, sir. Have a nice day.”

“Have a nice day…” Dan Heng couldn’t even look the other in the eye, as he left, his cheeks were burning from arousal and humiliation, both of which perpetually amplified each other.

“Fuck…”, he muttered under his breath, when the mouth on his clit didn’t let up and kept sucking, licking and even biting his sensitive nub. The sensation made his body burn from pleasure, it felt exactly like his boyfriend eating his pussy.

“Dan Heng, are you alright?”

Not Jing Yuan again. Dan Heng blinked and looked to the side, his knuckles having turned white on the counter, as he kept subtly moving his hips and clenching his legs in a futile attempt to drive the invisible molester away.

“Y-Yeah… I’m…! I just-“ He bit his lip, pussy clenching around nothing, as he felt an orgasm approaching. His underwear was surely soaked through by now and he thanked his apron for hiding any stains that could make it through his pants.

But before he could come in his pants like some depraved teenager, both the mouth and the finger retreated, leaving him panting, sweating and horny beyond comprehension.

Looking around, he noticed Jing Yuan as well as Stelle and Caelus at the counter shooting him concerned looks. The rest of the cafe thankfully couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to him.

With a sigh, he stood up straight, trying to even his breathing and coming down from his denied high. “I’m fine… Sorry for that…”

Seeing that the sensation wasn’t coming back, he went back to work as usual and upon seeing him back to normal, Jing Yuan and the twins relaxed as well.

~/~

“Hnghh, hahh…” Ren grunted, as he slipped his hands into his pants and started fisting his cock. His grip was tight around the fleshlight to the point it may as well be in danger of shattering between his fingers.

His dick hardened in no time, soon standing tall and proud in its full glory, the tip an angry red and veins bulging at its shaft. He thoughtfully thumbed the tip, as he inspected the hole of the toy. It was small, not smaller than the average pussy, but the type of small that made Ren hesitate about whether he should just ram himself inside.

Would he fit? He wondered silently, as he slowly stroked his cock, comparing its length to the tube. At least he could fully push it in without issues, but he was certain he’d be spearing that hole open.

Unsurprisingly, his dick twitched when he thought of that and he smiled a little. Arousal pooled in his gut, when he thought back to Dan Heng’s first time taking his dick and how he had whined about his size being too big. The fact that he alone had reduced the other to a moaning mess drowning in a perfect blend of pleasure and pain did things to Ren’s ego.

Fuck this shit, Ren thought to himself, dropping the fleshlight grab a bottle of lube and spread the contents over his length.

Picking the toy up and gripping it tightly, he teased the hole with his tip, spreading the lube everywhere and making the pussy glisten as if it was wet. With an aroused hum, Ren grabbed his dick and slapped it against the artificial cunt multiple times, watching the way the realistic folds bounced lightly from the impact.

Finally, when he had teased himself to his limits, he pushed forward, his tip slipping inside and already pushing the hole to its limits. An almost sadistic grin spread on Ren’s face, as he saw the hole try to accommodate his girth.

“Awww…” Cooing and stroking the clit, he waited a few seconds, as if the toy was a partner that had to get used to him first. With his patience running thin though, he discarded the thought and slammed the toy down hard on his length.

~/~

Dan Heng shouldn’t have had hope. Despite the mishap with the grey-haired customer’s coffee, everything went fine. He could even stand back and relax a little, remembering that he knew the eerie man from a mysterious sex shop he recently stumbled into on a rainy day.

But of course, good times never last.

The sensation of flesh touching his private area returned, this time different. The… Thing touching him was far thicker and smoother than the fingers, it’s wet and Dan Heng could feel bumps similar to veins in some places.

“Mgh…” He shifted uncomfortably, no clenching his legs together or trying to bat at it deterred whatever ghost molested him. Leaning back against the wall, he clenched his eyes shut, his panties were still wet from the aggressive oral sex he had been given not too long ago and his arousal quickly spiked again.

“Dan Heng, are you sure you’re okay?” A large, warm hand gently came to rest on his shoulder.

Ren, was his first thought, until his eyes snapped open and he stared right into Jing Yuan’s face.

“You’re very red and warm, maybe you should-“

“Ghh-! Please excuse me-!” Dan Heng weakly punched Jing Yuan in the chest, his face turning even redder upon feeling the thick, hefty thing which he now recognised to be someone’s fucking cock slapping against his pussy and clit. Curse his masochistic side for loving it and wanting to moan and beg for more like a slutty bitch.

Jing Yuan gave way despite the hit carrying only the strength of an ophthalmologist and Dan Heng dashed off, trying to look as normal as possible while a fucking huge cock, as he realised, slapped his cunt.

He nearly fell to his knees in front of the door to the bathrooms, when he felt the tip slip in. It was painful, the thing was big and stretching him to his limits. At the same time, only Ren could spear him open in such a deliciously pleasurable manner and Dan Heng gradually felt his resolve crumble.

He hastily stumbled inside and shoved his shirt into his mouth to muffle his groans of pleasure, as the rough pad of a finger returned to stroke his clit. The person in the mirror was sweating and blushing madly, his black hair sticking to his forehead, while his eyes were hazy with lust.

With a whimper, Dan Heng shoved open a stall door and retreated into it, before slamming it shut and locking it tightly. He had just turned his back to the toilet, his legs reflexively spread to accommodate the thick phantom girth between his legs, when it suddenly slammed right into him, causing him to fall back onto the toilet lid with a moan.

Deliriously, he stared down at his crotch, seeing absolutely nothing there, even when he flipped the apron up and took off his pants. Only when Dan Heng slipped a hand into his underwear and touched his soaked clit and wandered down to his hole, did he notice it gaping.

It looked and felt as though it was being stretched past its limits by a thick, hefty girth, but no matter where Dan Heng moved his fingers, he felt nothing, no trace of the phantom cock or the fingers and mouth.

~/~

“Hahhh, grrghhh-!” Ren groaned in surprise, delighting in the tightness of the fleshlight. He paused, once fully inside, relishing in the way it seemed to squeeze him like a vice, like Dan Heng’s pussy.

After a while of imagining his partner moaning and arching his back while seated on his cock, Ren slowly gripped the toy and started moving it up and down his cock.

The plush, soft walls felt heavenly around him, despite the tightness and how they seemed to suck him back in every time he lifted the fleshlight, the glide was smooth and easy. Ren loved the friction against his shaft, the way his tip kissed the deep end of the toy and how thoroughly speared open the hole looked.

~/~

“Ahhh, hahh, mfgghhh~”

Dan Heng had expected the ghost cock in him to start moving, but he hadn’t been prepared for how good it felt. Shoving his fingers in his mouth to gag himself, he threw his head back and spread his legs, the burning humiliation from being fucked by a mysterious entity only adding to the heat forming in his stomach.

Slowly but surely he found a comfortable position on the toilet in which he could handle getting fucked in. His eyes rolled back and he slowly rubbed his soaked clit with the same rhythm of the cock forcing him open. Dan Heng must be looking like one hell of a slut, drooling all over his fingers with his legs spread and his pussy gaping and closing at regular intervals.

Of course, the moment he started to fully immerse himself in the pleasure, someone had to go piss.

Dan Heng groaned internally, trying to slow down his fingers and reduce the squelching sounds they made from rubbing his clit. Instead, he raptly listened to the heavy footsteps marching over to the neighbouring stall and dug his nails into his clit. A shudder shook his body, the stinging sensation of his sharp nails against the sensitive nub definitely felt too good to remain quiet.

Dan Heng hoped the sounds of sprinkling water hid the gasp he let out.

~/~

This thing was driving Ren feral.

At this point, he was growling like a starved animal, while his hands ached from gripping the toy too tightly. His cock had soiled the inside with pre-cum which was starting to leak out from the side, but the pleasure felt far too good to be coming from a simple fleshlight. It was so realistic, he could feel it squeezing and tightening around him every time he sunk into it and whenever he aimed his movements in a way to hit a g-spot, it clenched around him even more tightly.

When he closed his eyes, he could see a vivid image of his boyfriend bouncing on his cock, face red, tears in his beautiful, turquoise eyes, as his tummy and legs flexed from the movements. His sweet, little pussy spread obscenely around his veiny cock, as a small bulge appeared on his stomach with every thrust inside.

“Nghhh, ahhh~” With a deep moan, Ren lifted his shirt and started caressing his abs and chest with one hand, just like Dan Heng would do it. He dug his fingers into his pec, squeezing and pulling at his nipple and massaging the thick muscle, while speeding up his movements with the fleshlight.

~/~

“Nghh-!” Dan Heng couldn’t prevent a moan from slipping out, when the cock began pounding him faster, effortlessly reaching the deepest and most sensitive spots inside of him. His legs were shaking and he felt his pussy clench down tightly on the invisible intrusion.

“Sir, are you experiencing an emergency over there?”

Shit.

Dan Heng cursed himself, trying to catch his breath and to sound normal, as he pulled his saliva soaked fingers out of his mouth with a wet pop. “N-No, sir, I’m alright-! I’m perfectly alright-!” Of course, the cock inside him decided to take that moment to speed up and roughen up its thrusts. Dan Heng would have been bent in half already, if Ren was the one fucking him on the spot.

There was silence on the other side of the stall door.

Dan Heng held his breath, perfectly aware of the wet sounds his pussy was making. He had started playing at it with both of his hands, unable to resist the pleasure of rubbing his clit and stroking the inside of his spread walls.

“… I will not question your choice of activity in a public bathroom, if I may be so bold as to call it that.”

Dan Heng’s face was surely overcooked now from both arousal and humiliation, but just as he was about to throw any sense away and moan the guy out of the bathroom, the thrusts stopped. The thick, long cock was still lodged deeply in his hole and kissing his cervix, but it just sat there, he felt no cum, nothing.

“… But should you feel great discomfort at this moment, I can send someone to help you”, the scholarly, deep voice carried on.

Dan Heng rolled his eyes. Can’t he just leave? “Really, sir, I’m alright… Give me a few minutes and meet me outside in the cafe, if you are so concerned for my well being.”

A dramatic sigh. If Dan Heng had any fucks left to give, he would have described the guy as sounding like the epitome of a dramatic young male hero in ancient Greek mythology. “If you insist. I shall wait outside.”

“Do that…” Dan Heng murmured, relief washing over him like a cool ocean breeze on a sweltering hot summer day, when he heard the man’s footsteps carrying him outside. He faintly felt the dick inside him shift, as if its owner was planning something.

Hopefully nothing too devious.

~/~

“Hnghhh, anghhh…!” Ren groaned, as he held the fleshlight in place with an iron grip. Getting up from the bed, he determinedly walked over to Dan Heng’s study, swiped the stray papers, brushes and pens off and placed the toy with his still throbbing and rock-hard cock into it on the desk.

He held the black tube with one hand and ran the other over his torso, before starting to thrust his hips into it and oh yes, that felt so much better.

Ren always preferred setting his own pace and thrusting his cock into someone always felt better than letting them do their thing with him.

Right off the bat, he set a rough pace, the force behind his movements shaking the table with every thrust, as he rammed himself into the toy.

~/~

“Fuuuck-! Angh-!” Dan Heng threw his head back and spread his legs wider, when the cock inside him started fucking into him roughly. Each thrust was perfectly aimed at his g-spot and the powerful force he felt so clearly behind it sent jolts of overwhelming pleasure through his body.

His fingers aggressively rubbed his clit, while he pinched his nipple with the other. The overstimulation hurt and Dan Heng loved the pain, his cunt clenching down harshly onto the length inside of him.

“Nghh, hahh~ Ohhh, yesss-!” He couldn’t give a living shit anymore for anyone hearing him, he was getting close to a well-deserved orgasm and he wanted to feel it wrecking him.

Dan Heng felt the thrusts stutter, losing their steady rhythm and equally picking up in roughness, the harsh slams into his g-spot bordering discomfort.

“Mghh-!” Recognising the pattern as Ren’s telltale sign of an incoming orgasm, Dan Heng slapped his cunt, wet liquids splashing through the stall. It only took three consecutive hits to his clit, before he came with a shout, pussy squirting wildly all over the place. His entire body was shaking, as his orgasm washed over him and he was left gasping and panting on the toilet lid, soiled in his own fluids.

~/~

“Ngh-!” Ren’s orgasm hit him unexpectedly. He had felt the hole tighten up around him, but now it was clamping down on him like a vice, keeping him inside, as he dumped his load deep into it. With a groan, he rode out his orgasm, shallowly fucking his cum into it until it leaked out from the sides.

He stood there for a while, eyes closed and panting lightly. Half-expecting his boyfriend to eventually whine at him to let go of him, he lazily snapped his eyes open, only to realise that his softening cock was lodged in a fleshlight and his cum dripping out of an artificial pussy. He was even fully clothed with only his dick hanging out of his unzipped pants.

“Fuck…” Humiliation and a bit of shame washed over Ren, as he hastily pulled out and tilted the toy up to prevent it from soiling the floor of Dan Heng’s study. He couldn’t believe that he had let that simple toy carry him away and drive him into a sexual frenzy.

Shaking his head at himself, he grabbed a tissue and wiped his cock clean, before moving on to clean up the mess on the carpet and the desk. The amount he could cum at once always astonished him once the post-nut clarity hit him.

Ren stuffed his cock back into his pants and pulled his shirt back down, before bringing the fleshlight into the bathroom to remove his cum from it and clean it up.

~/~

Dan Heng only now saw the mess he had made and his face was burning with humiliation, as he hastily cleaned it up with toilet paper. His pussy had dripped all over the toilet lid and the liquid he had squirted when he came was staining the floor and the door of the toilet stall. At least the hefty load he had felt being dumped inside him and dripping out of his cunt wasn’t even physically present to dirty the floor or his clothes even further.

He simply couldn’t think of any reason for why and how this could have happened. He could feel cum inside his pussy being gently pulled out by a phantom finger, which seemed to come back every now and then, as if wanting to deep clean his hole. The treatment wasn’t bad though, it was gentle, almost nurturing, as if soothing him after a rough fuck.

It reminded Dan Heng so much of Ren, he couldn’t wait to get off his shift and come back home to kiss and cuddle him. Throwing the toilet paper into the toilet and flushing it down, he got dressed again and left the bathroom.

Hopefully the weirdo from before wasn’t actually waiting outside for him.

Well, he wasn’t, but as Dan Heng washed his hands and freshened himself up in the mirror, another familiar man entered.

“Ah, it’s you, young man.” The grey-haired customer from before flashed his enigmatic smile at him, as he slowly turned on the tab to start washing his hands as well. “Don’t worry, the coffee you prepared was excellent.”

“Ah, I’m glad to hear it, Mr… Mr Sunday.” He couldn’t believe he remembered that name, but then again, he was just at the other’s sex shop last week to pick up an order he had placed.

“Pardon, but if I may ask…”

Dan Heng felt an odd sensation of smallness, like a human in front of a god, but at the same time a warmth, as if he stood in front of a benevolent god, when Sunday looked at him through the mirror and tilted his head to the side.

“Are you satisfied with your purchase from our store?”, Sunday asked, an innocent lilt to his voice. “Have you and your boyfriend tried it out yet?”

“Well, no, but we also haven’t had time yet for that”, Dan Heng answered. Despite the private and intrusive nature of the question, he somehow couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Hm, that’s a shame, but I do recommend it.” Drying his hands, Sunday turned away from Dan Heng, the absence of his gaze somehow just as unsettling as the presence of it. “You will find the experience just as enjoyable as he will.”

And with that enigmatic statement hanging in the air, he left the bathroom.

[thevoidstaredback]

Phantom's Coffee

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant Side Story

There is a lot that comes with being a ghost. Most of that is really cool superpowers. The unfortunate side effect with the whole being dead thing is that he doesn't have need for human functions or sustenance.

It had been a horrible thing to discover, really. The lack of constant need for sleep and food and drink was sometimes useful, but that came with the realization that nothing affected him.

At first, Danny and his team thought it was because he was dead. No blood flow, no working organs, no metabolism. This lead to a lot of experimentation. Drugs and alcohol had no effect, neither did poisons. He didn't get sick anymore, no matter what he did!

And then he realized that coffee didn't work.

Naturally distraught, Danny went straight to Frostbite to figure out what was going on. It's finals season, damnit! Coffee was gonna be the one thing to pull him through his studies!

"From what I can tell," the yeti explained, "your human functions have stopped. Quite the opposite, really."

Danny blinked. "But, I'm dead. Ghosts don't have working organs or stuff like that."

"Indeed, but you're only half dead."

"What difference does that make?"

Why did Frostbite now have charts, and where did they come from? "I can only guess, but when you died and brought back, the electricity jump started everything in your body. It essentially supercharged you. I can only assume that it'll die down in time to the point of non-function, but we can't know for sure."

"Wait," Danny's voice was nervous, "What does that mean?"

Frostbite took a minute to think over his words, looking for how to phrase what he wanted to say. "When you are alive, your heart beats slower than it did before your death, yes?"

"Yeah."

"That would be the effects of the ectoplasm that reanimated you. Your heart rate is slower, breathing takes a more conscious effort, your blood flow is slower, your organs are all working at half of what they used to." He took another moment of pause. "When you are dead, your heart beats faster than it did, breathing is faster, blood flow is faster, your organs are working at twice capacity."

Danny's breathing, now that he was very aware of it, picked up. "What- But that- What?!"

"With a high enough voltage, electricity kills. With a high enough concentration, ectoplasm reanimates."

"Reani- but I'm alive!"

"Indeed."

"But that doesn't make sense!"

"Doesn't it?"

"No!"

"Perhaps I should try a different phrasing." Frostbite said. "When you are Danny Fenton, you are more dead than alive in the sense that your body has been killed and not fully revived. When you are Danny Phantom, you are more alive than dead in the sense that your body was revived and not fully killed."

Danny was quiet for a moment. "Reanimated and revived aren't interchangeable, Frostbite."

"In some contexts', no. In others, they are."

"Are they here?"

A beat. "Yes."

Danny knew he was lying, but he didn't call him out on it. That was a crisis for another day, thank you very much.

So, higher metabolism for Danny Phantom, lower one for Danny Fenton. Great.

All crises pushed aside to freak out about never later, Danny's ew mission was to find out exactly how much caffeine would be required to give him the buzz of wakefulness that he was searching for.

Normally, the course of action would to be to measure how much e weighs and look up the maximum caffeine intake his body could handle. It was the first thing he tried, and it failed.

By the tried and true method of 'Fuck It, We Ball', Danny learned that he needs to have 35,000 milligrams of caffeine in a single sitting before any effect takes hold when he's drinking as Phantom.

The calculations running at a 5:1 ratio, caffeine milligrams to weight pounds, the lowest end on the scale of average weight of a small female elephant (3,175 kilos), multiplied by five gives him the 15,875 milligrams that would be enough to give him a low buzz and keep him awake for a few hours. That's enough to kill the elephants on the low end of the scale.

(Jazz vetoed any kind of caffeine that wasn't naturally occuring in chocolate when he's Danny Fenton. She said that he's already died once and that he doesn't need heart problems to kill him.)

(Danny calls bull, but he isn't willing to risk his sister's ire.)

Because he can't let finals get the best of him, Danny decided to take it a step further.

The highest end of the scale for the average weight of female elephants is 4,050 kilos, multiplied by the same five, gives 20,250 milligrams of caffeine.

Essentially, the lower end of the scale would give him the same effect as 99 (and a bit) 473 milliliter cans of Rockstar Energy Drinks in one sitting. The higher end of the scale would be 126 (and a bit) 473 milliliter cans of Rockstar Energy Drinks in one sitting.

All that was left to do, now that he has the maths for the desired effect figured out, was to mix that in his favorite drink: A Red Eye.

Truly an abomination for the ages.

After way too much brain power, Phantom's completed coffee order looks like this:

A large Red Eye with 20,250 mg of caffeine

2 tablespoons of cinnamon

1 tablespoon of honey

1/8 cup of chocolate syrup

and 3 mint leaves or 1 teaspoon of mint extract

(he added 4 shots of vodka when he turned 21)

Danny is gonna kick his finals' ass, and be hyped up on caffeine while doing it!

Storyboard

[deathbyathousandspiders]

omggggg can i request billingual reader and maybe peter finds it cute that when shes explaining stuff she has a thinking face of what to say next cos she wants to be sure of how to say it in english 🥹 or maybe hearing her speak in her mother tongue/native language does he find it cute or smn :(((((((

as a white english–speaking woman, i only feel comfortable writing for a bilingual reader with a language/culture that i’m relatively familiar with and could properly represent, which isn’t many :,)

so i will write an imagine for a bilingual reader with a language i’m going to school for: ✨sign language✨

i hope that’s okay :)

a/n — i am still a student and i’m constantly learning, so if there’s a detail or some information that i’m incorrect about, please tell me asap !!!

✨masterlist✨.

2.5k.

Sitting alone at cafes was a custom for you. People watching, spectating murmurs and laughter but never quite grasping it. You lacked the understanding of how the sound captured their conversing, but you weren’t missing anything. Your focus was mainly set on finishing your chemistry homework, anyways.

Midway through an equation, the light shifted over your table. You felt the dip in the booth on your left and looked up to see who sat beside you. Your eyes met the deepest brown pair you swore you’d ever seen. It was almost like the rest of the room lit up with color after you first caught a glimpse.

You certainly recognized the boy. He went to school with you, but you’d barely crossed paths other than having a class or two together. And from the way he glanced at your paperwork, you assumed that chemistry was on his schedule too.

His lips moved, and your eyes studied their shapes as best as they could. Perhaps he was nervous, or overly caffeinated, but the movement was too swift to distinguish.

Slowly, you shook your head at him, right index finger pointing to your ear. Apology and disappointment weighted your eyelids. You really did want to see what he wanted to ask you, but your expectation was for him to up and leave.

Instead, sudden understanding washed over him; a look of epiphany. Quickly after, patience overtook the presence beside you. You were shocked. He tried to slow his words of choice down, using his hands to illustrate but not really communicate. You could tell he was trying, so you didn’t want to make fun of his efforts. The smallest fit of laughter threatened to slip from your lips as you gestured at him to stop.

From the table, you grabbed your notebook and flipped to an empty page. Your pencil flew over the page to jot down a question:

‘Do you know any sign?’

You figured that was a start.

Watching the way he smiled, you nearly forgot to hand him your pencil to reply. Your eyes followed his hand as it met the parchment and scribbled so gently, it surprised you to see writing even stuck. He pushed it over to you. ‘Yes, I know one’

Your eyes met, and you studied him patiently. His right hand sat atop of his left elbow, holding a fist that excluded his pinky and index fingers; a rockstar skull. His left hand rested beneath his right elbow, opening and closing a fist with a flicking motion. It was a sign you knew all too well. ‘Bullshit,’ you watched him mouth.

The giggle bubbles through your throat with physical feeling, and your hands gently pressed his arms to make it stop. You shook your head, smiling as you corrected him.

Your dominant hand met your chin with an open hand, lightly touching the tips of your fingers to your face. As you moved your hand to the space in front of you, you closed your hand into a fist.

‘Bullshit,’ you mouthed back at him. The crinkle in the boy’s brow marked his confusion.

Pen met paper again as you wrote out the explanation. ‘Hearing people came up with a fake sign to act like they knew shit.’

He looked up at you with some disgust to his expression, and you simply shrugged at him.

Politely, he held his hand out for the pen, and you gave it to him with the trust that he’d return it soon after.

‘Then maybe you could teach me some instead?’

The grin on your lips was unbreakable, and only seemed to grow the more you kept up the conversation. You nodded your head, writing a simple ‘sure:)’ beside his note. You met his eyes again, pointing to your chest before swiftly fingerspelling your name. The boy marveled at your hand, equally lost and mesmerized.

His pointer finger rapidly twirled the air, circling near his face four or five times; you assumed that meant he wanted you to repeat yourself. So, you agreed.

Slowly, you held out each hand shape of your name a little longer, waiting til the twinkle in his eyes indicated that the letter was registering for him. It was fairly entertaining to watch.

He wrote it on the notebook once he got it just to clarify with you. ‘Y/N?’ He seemed nervous for your reply.

You signed yes, then gestured for him to do the same. You wanted to see what his name was.

Hesitantly, the boy tried his best, bouncing each hand shape to the letters of his name. It made you happy to see his attempt, and you were fond of his efforts.

Pulling the notebook closer, you jot down his name. ‘Peter?’

You’d never forget the way he smiled at you afterwards. ‘Yes:)’ He wrote back. ‘You want help with chemistry?’

And that’s how you met Peter Parker.

You were an unlikely duo at Midtown. It was nice to have somebody in the classroom to have secret conversations with, and to teach sign to. Peter picked most things up pretty quickly, especially because he had an excellent teacher. Plus, little did you know that he watched ASL courses off YouTube in his free time.

That is, his freetime when he wasn’t being Spider–Man.

He never told you that he was Spider–Man. In fact, you didn’t find out he was until a few months into your friendship. After months of study hours and movie nights, you watched Spider–Man signing to a Deaf kid on the news; the web–slinging superhero signed what like salad.

That was a classic Peter Parker mistake.

So, when were you planning to tell me you’re Spider–Man? You asked him, signing nonchalantly. You’d waited all week until you two were alone, studying like you normally did on the weekends. You sat back on his desk chair, raising a brow, calm and collected.

It took everything in him not to forget how to respond. Peter had been practicing sign, but he still wasn’t nearly as versed as you were. What? He started. Poor way to respond on his part. You pointed at his hands, trying to call him out.

That! You were so determined to catch him in his coverup, opening your laptop.

His hands flailed to try and capture your attention. However, your laser focus was something he couldn’t cut.

Having the clip ready, you played it, turning the screen towards him and showing him the fluke in his signs.

Peter facepalmed when he noticed, face red as a tomato but you couldn’t care less. You felt more than accomplished to have deciphered his secret. You owe me!

Signing, Peter got over himself a little, rolling his eyes playfully at you. Whatever, fine!

To help Peter practice his signing, you’d dismissed your in–class interpreters the second the bell rang and had Peter translate your questions to your teachers. Perhaps it was selfish to put him on the spot, but when you’d asked him about it later, he said he was more than happy to help you out.

He enjoyed learning sign, almost as much as he enjoyed his time with you. Peter had never met anyone as amazing as you; nobody that he’d met before watched the world with your eyes, or lit up a room so vibrantly. You always asked the right questions, saw straight through people’s bullshit, and put others’ needs far before your own. Don’t even get him started on the fact that you’d never even heard your own laugh before.

Peter couldn’t wrap his head around all the things he thought you were missing out on. That was how he saw it, at least, til you changed his mind. He was grateful to know how your fit of giggles sang to him, but there was more things to life than that. Sound was only one way to see the world; if you choose to act like it’s a principle more than a privilege, you’ll get nowhere. He knew he’d waste time dwelling on things you weren’t even sad over.

Instead, Peter would marvel at how fluently and beautifully you’d sign when you were passionate about something. The choreographed tangents that you’d go on absolutely mesmerized him, even though he could only pick up one or two things you were saying.

Your hands moved so fast, he second guessed whether you were actually communicating or just painting a masterpiece with the shapes of your hand.

That blissful, ecstatic look in your eyes told Peter everything he needed to know. He was the luckiest boy in the world to know you.

You were the most joyous person he knew.

That joy was a strength that you’d gained overtime, though.

Rushing down the school halls, you had memorized the rhythm underneath your feet as you pattered down the tile. You always pictured the sound like something fragile, or feathered, especially seeing as your shoes had rubber soles. Sometimes, when you walked slow enough, you could feel the rattling steps of other students around you.

Today, specifically, the rumbled pattern beneath you threw you off your rocker.

Especially as the charging steps behind you tread right in your direction.

A hefty pair of hands shoved your shoulder blades, pushing you toppling into the floor beneath you. The sound of chatter couldn’t be heard, but you certainly felt the energy in the hallway shift. Pressing off the floor with your hands, you noticed the eyes now mindful to your presence. You had an audience.

You flipped yourself around to look at the shadow towering over you. Some flimsy–looking, curly haired, short classmate of yours stood above you. His hands perched on his hips as he spewed words at you, mouth moving far too quickly to lip read. You stayed there, staring up at him with a glare, merely making out the words ‘stupid’ and ‘Parker’ from his muted speech.

You were used to bullies, but you couldn’t sit while this dickhead kept Peter Parker’s name disrespectfully in his mouth.

Just as you pressed up to rise to your feet, this bitchass shoved the toe of his shoe right in the center of your chest, pushing you back into the ground and leaving dirt all over your favorite top. You felt the gasp leave your throat, trying to fight against it.

That’s when Peter Parker swooped in and forced the boy away from you. Anger wasn’t an expression you’d seen on Peter’s face, and you couldn’t tell whether it was something to awe at or fear.

Their echoed shouts and feuds and insults bounced from the floor and into your fingertips. You could tell the words they exchanged were ugly, considering that the two were face to face and both had such crease to their eyebrows. Fists clenched, shoulders squared, you could tell they were about to brawl.

Peter threw the first punch, taking you by surprise but still sending a smile to your lips. The two boys had a displeasing fight to the eye, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to look away.

A girl to your left offered a hand to help you off the floor, to which you signed a quick thank you before both of you saw the boys getting caught by a set of teachers. All it took was a second before the two boys froze dead in their stances and peacefully walked with the teachers down the hall to the principal’s office.

In an instant, all eyes found their way to you and your dirt–stained top. Before you let them react to the heat growing on your cheeks, you rushed off, going to the one place you knew you wouldn’t be disturbed in.

Two and a half hours passed before Peter walked through the open door of his bedroom, a small smile on his lips as he greeted you. Are you okay? He signed quickly, soon shutting the door.

Are you okay? You signed right back, swift to press off your spot on his bed and walk over to him. Peter was the one with the blackened eye and busted lip. Clearly he should be the one to worry about. Your hands found his cheeks and gently cupped his face as you looked at his injuries. The sight broke your heart.

Although, you weren’t expecting to see his pale cheeks brighten with red in your grasp. You could feel the second when his breath stopped fanning your face, and that’s when you realized that his breath had been fanning your face; you were inches away from him. The atmosphere of the room changed.

‘What?’ You mouthed, brows creasing together with concern. You weren’t stupid, but you were definitely choosing to ignore the obvious. There was no way that Peter Parker was flustered by you, right? That was preposterous.

His eyes threatened a glance at your lips before you felt his fingers curl around your wrist. Peter moved your left hand to his chest, pressing against his heart. The skin beneath his shirt pulsed against you, and quickened by the second. Things felt very intimate, things felt very thick and hot and heavy. You didn’t notice it til right then that the room was getting hotter.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of his lips and you hadn’t noticed that you were staring at them. Peter’s face moved closer to your’s and that’s when you decided to be bold. You captured his lips with yours, kissing him tenderly, careful. The caress of his hands down your sides and grasp he held around your waist told you that you didn’t have to tread as cautiously.

Peter kissed you and every inch of you felt warm. You swore you’d lifted off the ground when his hands held your back, your hips, your waist. His lips against yours truly felt something like magic and you never wanted to leave this moment. A moment where his hair was silk between your fingers and his body became one with your’s.

Pulling back, Peter kept his arms around you, now taking the time and the close proximity to study you and your injuries; you learned to recognize the protective look in his eyes. His stare stopped and stuck itself to the dirt smudged between your breasts. He moved his right hand from your waist. Your shirt.. Peter couldn’t help but stare at the stain.

You couldn’t care less about it. What? You want it off? You joked, watching the immediate shift in his expression, and feeling the laughter he admitted through the tips of your fingers on his torso. Peter pulled you back into a kiss and you knew right then and there that things would be different.

Never in your life did you think you’d get so lucky as to meet Peter Parker, but now that you had him, you knew you’d never let him go.

[seoliee]

It's been a while since I wrote something so it might be trash lolol but I tried my best because there aren't any stories for my main ;_;

Behind Those Eyes

Reverse 1999: X x reader

"So... what is this supposed to be?"

You ask, staring at the unknown contraption X had placed in front of her desk. His handsome facial features beaming with excitement and pride.

"It's my newest innovation! Introducing the great expresso making machine!" X exclaims, his voice filled with enthusiasm as he made goofy hand gestures towards the contraption that he made.

You made an exasperated sigh, your gaze flickers to the grinning young scientist in front of you. As much as you are tired of his antics, you cannot deny the fondness you feel in your heart whenever he gives you that grin he seldom gives to others.

"What does it do exactly aside from of course, making expresso?" You ask, leaning yourself further on your swivel chair and crossing your arms waiting for his demonstration.

"I'm so glad you asked my dear (Y/n)."

And so, he went on lengthy explanation on how this new contraption of his is another step close to the great future and exaggerates how it could solve every coffee lovers dilemma.

Mainly, because the machine does the little artwork thing on the foam by itself rather than doing it themselves therefore no failures and you drink your coffee right away without any do-overs.

Perhaps, you should hide his coffee beans to lessen his caffeine addiction and knock some sense into that handsome head of his.

"Well? Amazing, right?" X looks quite pleased with himself, pertaining to the smug smile curled up on his lips.

"Yes. Indeed it is." You replied, clapping your hands and trying your best to show a genuine smile.

Though, of course nothing could get pass X's watchful eyes.

He pouts, looking as if he was about to throw a tantrum like a child. "Come on... That's the driest response I've ever gotten from you." He complains, displeased by your lack luster reply. He thought you would be so enthusiastic and basically be jumping all over the place.

His heterochromatic eyes narrows at you, as if a predator watching its prey carefully.

You had a sudden change after getting assigned to work under Madam Z. He deduced it must be because of the sudden inflation of workload or perhaps another variable he's unknown of.

Either way, he didn't liked it that much. No. Anyone, but not his (Y/n).

He heard you sigh once more, breaking out of his trance. He looked at you with concern as he sat down on top of your desk. "Hey, what's wrong? Is everything fine in your department?" He asks, sounding genuinely concern for her well-being.

You don't even know where to start. It's not like you can tell him everything you've witnessed as it'll endanger both you and him. Her lips pursed into a thin line, frowning. "It's just about the mountains of paperworks I have to do tomorrow." It's not a lie. You do always have a lot of paperwork to read and sign.

However, X had seen through it but decides not to go into detail.

"Then why don't you ask to be reassigned somewhere else?"

"That can't be done. It'll look so unprofes— woah!"

Before you could register what just happened. X had forcefully turned your swivel chair to make you face him, extending his arm to the head rest so his face is now close to yours. So close that you can practically feel his breath against your own parted lips.

His other hand was on top of your hand rested on the armrest, practically caging you underneath his body. His hypnotic heterochromatic eyes were squinted down, gazing deep into your own wavering pupils.

"I can go make a request to Madam Z to reassign you back in my department." He speaks in a hush tone, his hot breath fanning against your lips.

His eyes trail to your parted lips as he brings up his hand and runs his thumb across your bottom lip.

"I missed working with you, (Y/n)"

Before things could escalate further, you gathered your bearings together and gently pushes him off of you much to his dismay.

"B-Breaktime is over. I.. I have to go and deliver some papers to Madam Z." You hastily grab a few random papers off your desk and ran off outside the room with your cheeks flaming red and fuming.

Once you're out of earshot. X laughs and lets himself sit down on your swivel chair and glances up to the white ceiling above him.

"My dear little lamb has gotten so easily flustered these days..."

His right hand goes up to cover his peculiar yellow eyes that has a gear iris and combs back his bangs up.

"Perhaps blowing up this whole place isn't so bad." He says to himself, letting himself absorbed into his own thoughts.

He made a gun with his hand and makes an action like he shoots himself, chuckling once again to the thought.

"Just kidding..."

~•~

"Have you ever wondered what the outside world looks like?" A little version of (Y/n) asks the small gray head boy beside her.

"Sometimes. Why do you ask?" The boy asks.

Little (Y/n) continues to stare up at the glass ceiling above them and watches as birds freely flies above the globe. (Y/n)'s eyes glints in wonder. How would it feel to be free? Free from this orphanage.

"Because I want to see it. I don't wanna stay here anymore."

The boy only stared at her. A comforting silence engulfed them both before be uttered a response.

"Want me to burn everything and escape?

Little (Y/n) turns her attention to him and watches how the gear iris in his peculiar yellow eye began to turn.

[junosmindpalace]

This wasn’t playing out like he had hoped it would. 

Maybe the amount of movies Gojo sat him down to watch made Yuji think this sort of plan would work. It had been a while since you and him have had time to properly hang out, both of you shouldering a particularly demanding amount of work in the recent weeks. There’s an evident exhaustion from you whenever the two of you manage a few hours to catch up; eyebags, a slightly higher dependency on caffeine and sugar, and a slow, almost sad tone interweaved with your usual light-hearted conversation. His heart ached over the state you were in  along with your lack of presence in his everyday.

And so upon hearing from you in a relieved tone that you’d be getting some time off, Yuji had immediately begun thinking of plans for the two of you to refresh. 

You and him and a late night horror movie binge session; that was Yuji’s plan. The suggestion was one you eagerly took up without thinking too much of it. The way Yuji was going about the details in his head, however, made it seem like he had some extreme ulterior motives.

But it was nothing more than what it was; an invitation from a good friend who just wanted to hang out. Though maybe in the back of his head, Yuji hoped that the evening would carry other events too. 

His plan was a cliché one, and he has his idiotic, charismatic mentor to thank for the encouragement. Binge a whole bunch of horror movies at night with the lights turned off, and hope the combination of the unsettling anticipation from the movies and the lack of security the lights provided would cause you to seek comfort elsewhere; like Yuji’s arm, for example. Or perhaps in sharing his blanket. 

But he finds any and all of his hopes slowly starting to chip away with each glance he manages to steal down at you from beside him, unmoving and fixated on the gorey scene on the TV.

Even he’s flinched at a couple of heartstopping jumpscares, made some terrified expressions at the climax of suspense. But every time he’s looked over at you, hoping for some sort of a reaction, he’s only met with you slowly reaching for your snack and never letting you eyes stray from the movie. 

The time reads half past three when the final movie's end credits roll. Yuji lulls his head to the side to get a look at the clock through bleary sight. He thinks he’s starting to hear the darkness when he processes the situation, and groans a little as he stretches his arms over his head. 

He doesn’t know if and when he, at any point, fell asleep, but a voice at the back of his head can’t help but feel disappointed when he slumps back against the couch. It’s a dull disappointment, but there nonetheless. It’ll probably enhance in the morning when his brain doesn’t feel like mush and his bones aren’t asleep and he has to bid you goodbye. 

But then he remembers your intrigued and eager expression, how endearing you looked so invested in the films with the blue light illuminating your face. Remembered the way you laughed at dry jokes from the characters and asked him certain questions and gave some comments throughout the duration of your session, and he can’t help but feel he was successful anyway. He got to make a memorable night for you, especially with all that had been happening as of late. He was more than happy enough with the fact that he managed to get your mind off things for a while, even to help you sleep a little better.

And then suddenly he felt a pressure on the side of his arm. It startled him out of the muddy sleepy state he was in, and his breath hitched when he turned around to see your head leaning against him. 

Your arms were draped close to your sides, fingers brushing the side of his thigh, and your head was slumped down toward his chest and into the crook of his arm. His heart began to pick up speed when he felt your knee against his under his blanket, having subconsciously drawn it closer to you when the noise had started to lull you to sleep. You wore one of those ugly scrunched up sleepy expressions, and a slow smile spread across Yuji’s face to create an endeared one.

He doesn’t dare lean too far away-- even to reach for the remote to turn the TV off--, only the slightest bit to tuck the blanket closer to your chin and around your body. The light bounces off the two of you as Yuji simply takes in the sight through a still slightly muddy swamp of thoughts. All of them are hyper focused on you. Yet when he lets himself succumb to his own sleepiness, his head slumps gently on top of yours. 

His mission had failed, but he gained a small victory, anyway.

[class-1b-bull]

Ayo you're back!! Awesome!! Could I perhaps ask for how each of them are when they're chronically sleep deprived? Like "I've lived off of caffeine for the past two weeks and I am currently communing with the microwave via love bites" kind of sleep deprived (and maybe what the others do to get them to fucking bed)?

Not proofread we die like men

Awase - he already casually drinks energy drinks so no one really noticed he was as tired as he was until they tried talking to him. Bro can not understand a word being said to him at any given moment. Not to mention he sounds like the dyslexic scene from the ghost stories dub. Rin or someone probably throws him onto his bed only for him to almost instantly pass out lmao.

Sen - everyone knew he was lacking sleep when the saw him poor an energy drink into black coffee and say sorry to a wall for walking into it. He eventually falls asleep on the common areas couch and his classmates just leave him there undisturbed. (Monoma did draw on his face with a sharpie thought)

Kamakiri - it takes so long for people to find out hes lacking sleep. Him cussing at objects and drinking 12 black coffees in five minutes or less is considered normal for some reason. They only realize hes desperately needs rest when he doesn't immediately try to fight tetsu when he asks to train his quirk. He probably just ends up falling asleep on his own since he dosent let his classmates in his room anyways.

Kuroiro - bro is always sleep deprived so nothings new. He goes on average 2-3 days without sleep. So him walking into class with a bag full of energy drinks and a large black coffee extra espresso in hand no ones really surprised.

Kendo - shes pretty good at keeping a good sleep schedule but because of that kendo losing only a few hours of sleep can really mess with her head. So a full all nighter has her seeing stars and stuff. Everyone can instantly tell shes exhausted and all it takes is for someone to ask her to go take a nap and she does just that no problem.

Kodai - when shes sleep deprived she actually becomes more talkative but shes yawning in the middle of every sentence and constantly losing her train of thought (not to mention she poured an entire pot of coffee onto the floor before realizing she missed her cup completely.) Komori or kendo probably takes her to bed lmao

Komori - shes a very loving person so when shes sleep deprived its probably because she struggles sleeping without someone near her. Shes probably used to sleepovers with the other girls (mostly pony and setsuna) so once the girls see komori bite into a piece of tree bark she found on the ground they decided to hold a small sleepover to help her out.

Shiozaki - its really hard for her to become tired much less sleep deprived since she can absorb a little energy from the sun with her vine hair (at least thats what the wiki said) but since shes used to the sun giving her a little boost she quickly becomes tired during long periods of clouds and rain with little sunlight. She starts to doze off while standing and kendo has had to carry her to her room more than once during this.

Shishida - once he starts getting tired he takes less care of his hair(fur?) And it quickly starts getting tangled and matted. He unintentionally starts sounding like an old man thats fought both world wars. Idk its just his tired tone of voice lmao. He probably doesn't drink energy drinks so when hes sleep deprived there isnt a moment where there isnt a black coffee in his hand. He probably ends up falling asleep sitting up in a chair.

Shoda - if hes lacking too much sleep and the coffee and energy drinks arnt helping anymore he will simply fall asleep at his desk for a few minutes at a time or in the common area. If hes that sleep deprived he will catch up on sleep through little naps throughout the day instead of just going to bed normally. (Which arguably makes his sleep deprivation worse)

Pony - when shes sleep deprived she dosent bother with brushing her hair in the mornings or things like that so as she gets less and less sleep she looks more and more like a zombie. She probably is a lot like komori and needs one of the girls to help her sleep a bit.

Tsubaraba - hes always sleep deprived. It gives charachter. He'll go for days without sleep and not even notice until one of his classmates point out how hes taking to his own shadow. Rin and awase got him to go to bed. (It took welding him down but if it works it works)

Tetsutetsu - not getting proper sleep isnt manly in his opinion, so he tries his best to take good care of his sleep schedule. So on the rare times where he is lacking sleep hes not sure what to do. He ends up falling asleep in class and staying asleep until schools over pretty much. Other than being really tired and barely being able to form a coherent sentence hes not as bad sleep deprived as ya think.

Tokage - she will say absolutely anything and everything she thinks of when shes tired and she will be immediately forget what she said. Its not anything mean or remotely understandable for that matter, but she will say it. She seems the type to get more tired from things like coffee and energy drinks so those dont help. The only way she gets any sleep is either from the girls sleepover or by actually collapsing

Manga - pulling 4 all nighters in a row just to draw was not his smartest moment. Doing that during exam season was an even dumber move. He pulled up to class without a pencil or book of any kind but he had a black coffee with triple espresso. He dosent like coffee but he forgot until he was already half way done with his coffee and the bitter taste hit him like a truck. After that he slept for like 2 and a half days straight.

Honenuki - he can go 4 or 5 days without sleep but in those final few hours on the last day he loses all grip on sanity lmaoo. He'll be fine and then suddenly he'll be drinking 12 energy drinks in one sitting and forgetting his own name. Hes pretty good at getting himself to sleep at that point tho.

Bondo - no one can tell hes sleep deprived until he falls asleep standing up. He starts moving all sluggish like and is constantly yawning but other than that not much of a difference despite how tired he is. He probably ends up falling asleep in the common area.

Monoma - he loses an hour of sleep and he'll look like he hasn't slept in months. So even one all nighter causes him to get the biggest eye bags youve ever seen. He can only stay awake thanks to the multiple energy drinks he has. He finally gets some sleep after kendo knocked him out.

Reiko - she usually stays up later than the rest of the class so shes used to having a bit less sleep than some of her classmates but the second she starts walking into walls because she can barely keep her eyes open she knows its time for bed. When she gets like this she can sleep for almost a full day and a half and still be tired when she wakes up. Becoming sleep deprived is how she knows its bed time.

Rin - the only reason he would ever lose sleep is if he stayed up all night studying or some nerdy thing like that lmao. Day of the test he walks in with the biggest eye bags and 12 energy drinks in his bag only to pass out the second it starts and not wake up all day. He refuses to pull all nighters after his final grade dropped 20% from that.

Gifs anime - dungeon meshi

[dragonnan]

May Prompts 2024

May 1st

Sharing is Caring

The violent sneezing could be heard even as John was still halfway down the stairs. Not even a surprise, really. It was the second week of Autumn and three things that could always be predicted during this season were rainy days, changing leaves, and Sherlock's allergies.

Even Greg knew better than to call unless things were truly dire.

As he made his way to the kitchen, John started the water boiling before arming himself from his kit. Tissues and antihistamine tablets were set on a tray. He also made toast and spread it with honey before finishing the tea – an herbal blend with orange that lacked caffeine.

With everything ready he gave a soft knock on Sherlock's door. “Alright if I come in?”

There was another sneeze, followed by a somewhat blurred reply which John took as consent.

One inside, juggling the tray to one hip, John turned on the bedside lamp to take stock of his friend. Sherlock was... well... he looked miserable. Features more pale than normal save the flush on his cheeks and reddened nose. Eyes red and watery, lips cracked, and a snuffle through clogged sinuses.

John set the tray down on the floor before pulling the duvet back. “Here, budge up a bit. I've brought you some breakfast.”

Sherlock made a face. “No thank you.”

Ignoring the protest, John collected the tray and bridged it over Sherlock's lap. “It's just tea and toast. It will help. Here's some tablets for your sinuses.”

While Sherlock picked at his toast and sipped his tea, John went about collecting the drift of tissues from the floor (though, upon examination, were actually wadded loo roll as Sherlock couldn't have been arsed to locate proper tissue).

Sherlock managed to finish one slice of toast and about two bites of the other before pushing away his plate. He did drink all of the tea as he downed his tablets so that was something. John removed the tray; carrying it out to the kitchen, before returning with an ice pack.

“For your head.”

Sherlock took it and groaned as he laid it across his eyes.

“Anything else I can get for you?”

Sherlock pulled a face. “Some silence perhaps.”

Rolling his eyes, John quietly left the room. An hour later Rosie was at her creche and John at the clinic. Mrs. Hudson had assured him she'd look in on Sherlock throughout the day and had even insisted on a trip to the shops for juice and soup. So, of course, when he arrived back at the flat, that evening, it was to find his sleeping flat mate curled up on the couch in a cocoon of blankets while Mrs. Hudson puttered over a cook pot that smelled absolutely fabulous.

Bypassing the mound of misery, John went straight into the kitchen. She, of course, noted the absence of a certain someone. “No Rosie? Ah, you've left her with someone.”

John hummed while leaning over the kettle. “Harry. Didn't think it was a good idea to have her around with Sherlock being sick; just in case this turns out to be something more.”

That 'something more', of course, proved to be an apt prediction.

The evening had all started out well enough. While Mrs. Hudson had been finishing up dinner preparations, John had returned to the sitting room to rouse Sherlock. Ratty about being cajoled into consciousness he'd shaken off John's steadying hand and trailed off to the loo. Fetching down some of their mismatched bowls while Mrs. H secured the cutlery, John was about to go rap on the bathroom door when there was a toilet flush – soon followed by the door opening.

Sherlock emerged in a miasma of gloom. His cheeks were splotchy and he held a wadded bit of loo roll to his steadily running nose. There was no grace remaining in his steps; instead he trailed wretchedly back to the couch where he, more or less, collapsed onto the cushions.

Mrs. Hudson made a small sound of pity while John followed in his friend's wake – placing the back of his fingers against Sherlock's cheek in spite of the disgruntled moue he got for his trouble.

“You feel a bit warm. Which means this likely isn't allergies.”

“Took a medical license to figure that out?” Sherlock griped.

Ignoring him, John retrieved his kit before returning to the couch to get a proper temperature. Making use of an ear thermometer, not worth that battle to get Sherlock to take it orally, John held it in place until it gave a short beep.

38.3.

Well, not the worst – though it did mean some changes to their plans.

“How's the stomach? Think you could handle a little soup?”

If the sudden flush of pale around Sherlock's throat was any indication, the answer was likely to be a negative – confirmed when Sherlock swallowed hard.

John tapped the thermometer against his palm. “Some juice instead then. And there's a package of biscuits in the cupboard.”

Sherlock winced as he shook his head – his voice rasping. “Just the juice.”

Which, truthfully, was better than John could have hoped to manage, though he still wished he could get Sherlock to eat. Granted that was a hard sell even when Sherlock wasn't ill.

Half an hour later, John and Mrs. Hudson had finished their meal and Sherlock was asleep on the couch. Rather than attempt to cajole him back to his bedroom, John had just dimmed the lights, and made a fire, before settling in his chair to read. Even the telly, turned down low, would be too loud as Sherlock's hypersensitivity tended to go into overdrive when he was sick. Book in hand, attention divided between the words on the page and his miserable friend, John prepared for a long night.

***

Something rattled John from the sleep he hadn’t intended to drift into. A blurry look at his watch confirmed it to five minutes past three in the morning. Thank god he didn’t have clinic duty, later that day, as he would have been dragging himself around the office. He next looked towards the couch – squinting in the dim light. Blankets and pillows were scattered in a jumble that trailed from the couch and halfway across the rug. One needn’t be a world class detective to see the pattern of a panicked race towards the…

A muffled and violent gag came from the bathroom. John rubbed his eyes and pushed out of the chair – back already stiffened from the less than perfect sleeping surface. Approaching the shut door, he rapped lightly with his knuckles. “Hey, you alright in there?”

A response may have been attempted but was swiftly overcome by another rough sound and a watery moan. John hummed in sympathy. “Right. I’m opening the door.” Sherlock made no comment to this and remained slumped between the toilet and tub as John entered. Stretching across to flush away the vomit, John then reached down to press fingers against Sherlock’s pulse. His skin was still warm but, thankfully, felt a small bit cooler than before. Pulse was elevated but that was to be expected.

“Think you can walk back to your room? Probably be more comfortable than the couch.”

Lips pressing tight, likely debating the effect that going vertical would have on his constitution, Sherlock finally held out a limp hand with all of the wilting flair of a victorian maiden. John, to his credit, managed to keep his smile internal at the dramatics.

The journey to the bedroom, for all of its close proximity, was a saga of dragging feet, hitching breaths, and one alarming moment where it seemed a return to the bathroom may be needed. As it was, they made it without incident and John was able to lift the detective onto his mattress. Another soft groan slipped past clenched teeth as Sherlock settled. His eyes were two narrow slits; giving away his discomfort.

“I’m going to get you some more juice and something to help with the fever and nausea. Think you can swallow some tablets or would you prefer an injection?”

One long-fingered hand crushed around the duvet that covered him up to the chest. Finally, Sherlock gulped, then breathed out. “The tablets. Please.”

John nodded, even though Sherlock’s eyes remained closed. “I’ll be right back.”

Medicine administered, along with a full bottle of juice, John finally took himself back to his chair once more. Going off Sherlock’s previous illnesses, he’d likely be feeling much better by the following day and would be completely well by the end of the week. That meant at least two days of petulance and pouting, while John insisted that Sherlock stay home, rather than trekking out in the cold and giving himself pneumonia. Once was enough, thank you.

Lifting his discarded book, John pulled the quilt from the floor and placed it across his knees before flipping back to the last page where he’d left off.

He managed to read three paragraphs before feeling a sudden tickle in his nose. Immediately afterward, his whole body shuddered in a violent sneeze. And then another. And then a third one. Grabbing the nearby tissues, John blew his nose – swallowing around the start of a familiar dryness in the back of his throat.

“Well fuck.”

Read it on ao3

[thedeerman]

RadioApple fic:

Do You Want To Know?

Chapter 1

Ch2: Admire

Sitting through morning meetings and Charlie’s exercises is a necessary evil. Being there for any hotel related meetings was his job, and he took his job quite seriously. Much more seriously than originally planned, but all the best entertainment comes from hard work. Whether it be taking down overlords, forging eternity-long deals, or just simple sinner watching. Alastor loved people watching in life, and in death it’s no different. Only better. In life, people followed standard moral codes when they knew they were amongst other people. It was only after spending many hours, sometimes days, watching from the shadows that he would finally see one’s true, awful self emerge. In Hell, there are no social codes that must be followed while at the bottom of the ladder. Overlords and politics were a bit different, but even here in this welcoming environment that Charlie had designed, there’s plenty of sub-human filth to keep him occupied.

Until Charlie comes up with yet another odd distraction for them all to partake in. This one didn't seem terribly troubling. Alastor didn't mind writing, and being able to finish the exercise on his own without needing to sit in a room full of other sinners felt like a blessing. The whole thing seemed like it would come and go without much thought until he opened the paper he was given during the meeting. The paper that would tell him who he was to be writing to for the next week. His smile never wavered, but he felt his ear flick in irritation. Lucifer. Just my luck. Alastor glanced over to where the fallen angel was sitting on the other side of the meeting room, but the idiot looked lost in his own thoughts. As was typical.

It gets even worse when he sees what the writing prompt for the day is. There, at the top of the piece of paper that Charlie had handed him on his way out of the meeting, lies the instructions: “Name two things about your person that you admire and why.” It’s surrounded by little stars and smiley faces that make Alastor want to throw the thing away and forget he ever agreed to do it. Instead, he folds the paper neatly and places it in a pocket for later. He brews himself a cup of coffee, hoping that the caffeine will help dull his early morning irritation and sits in one of the seating areas of the hotel’s lobby to take a moment for himself. Almost immediately after, the devil himself comes walking out of the meeting room with a genuine smile on his face, the kind that only his daughter ever manages to put there. Alastor quickly looks away, but not before seeing Lucifer’s face fall into a frustrated, irritable look. The demon decides to keep his eyes off of the devil for now, ignoring him as he stormed past. He only snuck a glance when Lucifer’s back was turned, quickly heading out of the lobby and towards his tower on the far end of the hotel. How am I supposed to even tolerate anything about him, let alone admire him? As he drinks his coffee he wonders how many indirect insults he can put in each letter before being called out and put in mandatory group therapy. He hums an old tune while he ponders how to go about antagonizing the king without facing consequences. After some time, he drinks the rest of his coffee and decides it’s time to go off and tend to his duties for the day. He’ll think about this writing prompt nonsense later.

And he does think about it, but by the end of the day he’d spent so much time thinking about it that he hardly cared anymore. He had an entire week of this letter nonsense, he may as well play nice for the first letter or two, lest the king figure out who was writing to him too quickly. He wonders if there really is anything that he admired about the king. His power, perhaps. His ability to create such gaudy, showy nonsense with the flick of his wrist. Alastor didn't care for his lack of style, but the potential for that power was unmatched. Alright. That's one. What else could there be? He pulls the folded paper out of his pocket and sets it down on the desk in his room.

“Name two things about your person that you admire and why.”

The demon sighs. He pulls off his coat and sets it aside as he sits at the desk. Best not stick to my typical handwriting, thinks the demon. Lifting his pen, he adjusts his writing style as he starts to write.

One thing I admire about this person is his raw power. It has a lot of potential.

Alastor looks at the words on the page and finds that they’re true. True enough, objectively, that anyone could have said it. That’s the goal. Keeping the recipient guessing on who the sender was. That was Charlie’s strict rule, right? Alastor chuckled. He won’t have a clue. He continued to write.

Another thing I admire is

He paused. What else could be considered admirable by that nuisance of a king? He hasn’t backed down from any of Alastor’s antagonizing, despite it clearly being in his best interest. But what could be admirable about being bullheaded and quick to fight? Alastor takes a moment to think.

Another thing I admire is his determined unwillingness to back down from a challenge.

Alastor looked at the page in front of him. That seems sufficient, he thinks. Chances are, the king would assume that the writer is referring to his battle with Adam, which Alastor wasn’t around to witness. Satisfied with his work, he folds the letter and puts it in the envelope Charlie supplied. Hopefully tomorrow’s prompt will give him more to work with. This little game was beginning to seem like it might turn out to be a bit of fun after all.

Lucifer sat in his room, at his desk, for two hours trying to write the letter assigned to him. What the fuck could I possibly say about this guy that isn’t negative enough to put me in therapy jail? He stared at the paper, decorated with little drawings that were certainly Charlie’s personal touch, and reread the writing prompt again.

“Name two things about your person that you admire and why.”

One thing was going to be hard enough, but two?? Shit. Maybe he could just not do it. Yeah! Maybe he can beg Charlie for a pass on this one. But if he doesn’t participate, he’s definitely going to group therapy again. Even if it isn’t meant as a punishment, it’s not something he wants to have to participate in. Just two things. Damn it! He looks at the paper for what feels like the 10,000th time and finally picks up his pen.

Alastor,

He cringes at his immediate instinct to format the writing like a formal letter. Well, too late to back out of it now.

One thing I admire about you is

Lucifer pauses to think again, racking his brain for something nice to say about the radio demon. What’s something that he does well? the fallen angel wonders. He took out tons of overlords apparently, but that’s not really great... He then remembers how Alastor had not only used his power for destruction, but protection. He protected the hotel from loan sharks, from the exorcists, from...

He lifts his pen again.

One thing I admire about you is your willingness to use your power to protect this place, even if you don’t completely believe in it. Even facing a danger that could have killed you.

Lucifer looks at what he wrote and nods. He continued writing.

Another thing that I admire is your ability to get people to listen to you. No matter where you are, or who you’re speaking to, people always tend to listen.

Lucifer squints his eyes for a minute. Did I just write that? He shakes his head. Whatever. Technically it’s true. He then thinks about how he might be the only one in the hotel ‘family’ that wasn’t present for Alastor’s fight with Adam. Ha! He thinks to himself, No way he’s gonna think this is coming from me! Lucifer grins, satisfied that he’d finished his daughter’s project properly. He folds the paper and stuffs it into the provided envelope, finally done with it. Glancing at the time, he accepted that his day wasn’t going to go far. Still a few hours before ‘family’ dinner, he turned to his workbench. Rolling up his sleeves, he started sketching out some new ideas. Maybe if I make something nice for Charlie, I can get out of the next ‘activity’...

By dinner time, Charlie’s starting to feel exhausted. She was up late working on the new activity plans and was too excited to sleep in. The participants didn’t seem thrilled, but she was. She’d been working on this nonstop for a week, taking every spare moment to jot down notes or bounce ideas off of Vaggie. But now that it’s been put into motion, she has a TON to catch up on. Meetings to attend, people to get in contact with, but mostly just planning. Tons and tons of planning. Charlie couldn’t do everything, so she had a complex system of tasks and staff, when each thing had to get done and by who. It’s more of a volunteer thing, everyone was glad to pull their weight when they could. But keeping track of it all to keep everything running was quite a job.

After doing everything that needed to be done for the day, Charlie looks at her chart to see who’s responsible for dinner tonight. Looks like.... Cherri! She smiled brightly. Cherri was who she was going to be writing her letters to, so she hoped that she would have an opportunity to learn more about her. This was a convenient surprise, seeing as the names were each chosen randomly. Well... Most of them, Charlie thought. She may have felt a tiny twinge of guilt for the little lie, but hopefully, the outcome would be more than worth the trouble. Only time will tell! She thinks with a smile, ready for whatever happened next.

Chapter three below!

[pininghermit]

Cafe Light

Genre: Fluff and comfort

Paring: Platonic Adrian x Reader

Summary: As you were diligently wiping the counters, he walked in. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though your former self had materialized before you.

We all have to bear the weight of pain to truly grasp its essence, to discern its nuances, and to learn how to mend it for others. Perhaps you had already embarked on the path of healing. The inviting scent of freshly ground coffee beans, a balm for the soul, had the power to divert your mind from the looming past, a shadow that had once clung to you relentlessly. You carried the scars, yes, but they had transformed into a subtle background melody, no longer the jarring cacophony of yesteryears.

As you were diligently wiping the counters, he walked in. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though your former self had materialized before you.

His broken nose, a perfunctory frown etched into his weary face, chipped and stained fingernails, and clothes bearing the indelible marks of a harsh existence - all these characteristics aligned as he stood before you. For an instant, he appeared uncannily familiar.

"Welcome in," you chimed, gracing him with a smile, an offering he evidently hadn't anticipated. Expecting hostility to be the only retort to his presence, his initial frown slowly faded in response to the warmth that enveloped him.

Significantly younger than you were when you'd dared to seek a glimmer of hope, his apprehensive gaze scanned the array of treats before him. "How do you like your coffee, or perhaps you'd prefer a non-caffeinated drink?" you inquired, extending the offer of a fresh start.

"I have no money," he blurted, yet his eyes remained entranced by the array of delectable cakes. "You don't have to pay. Please, take a seat," you urged, and he cautiously perched himself at your counter.

His movements were marked by uncertainty, as though he awaited a scolding for merely existing.

"What is your name?" you gently probed, beginning the preparations for a drink much like the first you crafted when you found your freedom.

"Adrian," he whispered, a name that the world might have endeavored to obliterate relentlessly, yet it endured.

"I have nothing," he voiced his despair once more. "I don't even know if I'll have the breaths I draw for myself." Without meeting your gaze, he focused on his trembling, folded hands.

A youth, scarcely of age, already broken by the unrelenting violence of gangs. "Here," you offered a glass of warm milk, more comforting than any fancy concoction you could brew, capable of soothing wounds deeper than any surface scar.

Adrian downed the glass in the blink of an eye. "You can work here. You're free to use the studio upstairs," your words hung in the air, their weight sinking in. As you watched, tears welled in his eyes, his quivering lips revealing the immense emotions he held back. Soon, his sobs overtook him, and he hunched over your counter, his vulnerability laid bare. His figure trembled as he tried to regain his composure, and your hand, a reassuring presence, gently patted his shoulder as you consoled your newest employee.

"But first, we must mend your nose," you declared, enfolding the sobbing man in a comforting embrace, offering not just healing for his broken nose but also a path towards a mended spirit and a brighter future.

Cafe Light, a hidden gem nestled among many in the neighborhood, is unremarkable for its beverages or snacks. It lacks extravagant decor and breathtaking views that set it apart. Yet, it boasts the most exceptional staff.

Baristas with hands bearing scars but eyes brimming with hope. Muscular individuals who handle cutlery with the utmost gentleness, and sharp-eyed waiters who can effortlessly juggle more than four cups at once.

People gravitate to Cafe Light in search of kindness, for within its walls, even the most wounded hearts extend the warmest of welcomes.

Longtime residents of the neighborhood often speak of the café's owner, a young woman who once arrived with a pocketful of cash and a tattered jacket amidst a raging storm.

You, who toiled tirelessly, dedicated long hours to construct everything from the ground up. You meticulously taste-tested every beverage in collaboration with neighboring businesses. They witnessed you sleeping in the frigid shop when others returned to the comfort of their homes.

And for that reason, this neighborhood treasures Cafe Light.

[rayraygo1267]

A Gabenath Fanfiction: Admiration in Disguise Chapter Five

Note: Ahhh it's the last chapter you guys!

Rated: T

Warnings: Minor Language

Word Count: 3,716

Link to Chapter Four

Chapter Five

I greatly appreciate the opportunity you have given me—

Nathalie huffed, pressing a pointed finger to the backspace key of her keyboard. She could already feel a migraine beginning to form behind her eyes — pricking like sharp needles insistently into the crevices of her brain. She knew it would soon develop into a full fledged dizzy spell if not mitigated, but her focus was too captivated by her current objective to make any moves to do so.

This was her fifth attempt at a rough draft and once again she was staring at a blank white screen, the mouse cursor silently blinking back at her, daunting her as if they were in a silent standoff, the absence of words on her computer screen edging her on. 

It had been five days since she had tested the waters with Gabriel, crossing over the boundary line that she herself had set firmly in place, and five days since she'd made the decision that would alter her life in a way that she could have never anticipated, much less with permanent ramifications. 

Nonetheless, the decision had to be made and she knew it was the best option. It was the option that would give the Agreste family their best chance at being reunited with Emilie — their best chance at happiness. 

Nathalie  knew if she stayed with them any longer, she'd get in the way of that. Her feelings for Gabriel were only growing and getting profusely out of hand and if she pursued them any further she'd hinder any chances Gabriel had at accomplishing his goal. Her impending illness also didn't help matters, as it was seemingly only getting worse as the days went on.

She didn't know where she'd be going from here, for the Agreste's had been the closest thing she had obtained to any kind of family for the past decade. The mere thought of starting anew without them was akin to the feeling of a piece of dried up sandpaper being torn apart and shredded, like her own heart was being forcefully ripped from her chest. But regardless of how much it would pain her, she knew it was what had to be done.

Luckily, she loved the Agreste’s enough to let them go.

Gabriel Agreste was nearly finished with the spring's new clothing line. He just had to read over a few more documents and sign a few more waivers and then the line would be selling in stores worldwide, just in time for the beginning of April. The main features consisted of flowy spring dresses with the hem passing just below a woman's knees and brightly colored shirts with the Agreste brand logo printed across the front. Most critics would perhaps consider the design  to be overworked but Gabriel knew it would sell out like wildfire. 

And if he were being honest with himself, he couldn't wait to be done with this whole ordeal. It had been taking up too much of his time, and time wasn’t something he always had available to him — what with having another life as Hawkmoth? 

In spite of that, he wanted nothing more than to be rid of the fashionable obligation. Having a double life was far from easy and if he could take one burden off his plate then he’d also be able to turn his focus to more vital affairs. 

Just the thought of having such a weight lifted off his shoulders, made a small smile lift up from the corners of his lips as he took a sip of his miraculously still piping black coffee. As he swallowed, the warm liquid descending down his throat with a scorching aftertaste, Gabriel felt a small tinge waver through him, causing his tongue to go numb. He stared down into the mostly filled mug, then upward as his eyes reflected off the ceiling’s light fixtures then back down into the dark caffeinated fluid.

It was coffee, coffee that Nathalie had brought him just this morning. Her attitude had been stoic, permitting no comment other than regular pleasantries.

She had been, for lack of a better term, quite reserved these last few days, only assisting him when asked and of course firmly sticking to addressing him with respectable mannerisms.

Gabriel didn't enjoy the tension that was building up between them. It almost felt like two strangers living together in one house, only speaking when necessary and keeping to themselves their own personal lives. They had never previously held each other at such a distance and although they hadn't been as close as Gabriel wished for them to be, their friendship was better than this — than nothing. 

Friendship, Gabriel pondered, his eyes momentarily darting back to his design pad. It seemed they didn't even share that anymore. Not since that day, not since Nathalie had changed the wavelengths of their relationship to a more open ended setting.

He had wanted to talk to her about all this, in fact his brain started churning out speeches and scenarios — some with better outcomes than others — but how did one tell another of their desperate need for a closeness without opening their heart to them? Gabriel was not a social person, most people were aware of that. He didn't like overly drawn out conversations, or any sort of unnecessary intimate relations, he much preferred to keep to himself.

Just last night he had gone to see Emilie, asking her for her advice seemed like the best course of action to take. He felt foolish thinking back on it now, for Emilie seemed to be the only way he knew how to deal with his problems. Nevertheless, he had to inquire with her one last time and even without hearing her voice, he knew what she would say. He knew she would tell him to be honest with himself — with Nathalie — and he knew she was right.

Yet a problem still remained, one that had kept him up at night tossing and turning in frustration. 

He didn’t know how to proceed. He felt as though things were already set in stone, like even if he were to give Nathalie the world, she’d just hand it back to him with a simple but clipped, “No thank you sir.” 

Gabriel's forehead creased as he suddenly remembered his current task at hand and the time parameters that were in place along with it. He couldn't think of Nathalie right now, no matter how much his mind yearned to. He couldn’t… not when he had work to do, plus what most would call the ‘universe’ seemed to have a different agenda as a soft knock echoed from outside his office door.

"Sir," came Nathalie's voice, as velvety and soft as ever. Gabriel felt his sternum contract, his middle thumping soundly against his chest.

"I know you're very busy but may I please come in for a moment? There is something I'd like to discuss."

Gabriel stared down at the documents in front of him, frowning as a wet, brown smudge marked one of the pages, the remainder of a tiny droplet that had fallen from the rim of his coffee cup.

The knocking returned, though this time with a more forceful reverberation. Gabriel  jolted, the blood flowing back into his veins as he moved, hurriedly tidying up his mess of a workspace, suddenly self conscious of his cluttered surroundings. 

"Sir?" Nathalie called again, this time not accompanied with a knock.

Gabriel blew out a breath, forcing himself to remember how to speak.

"Erm, yes Nathalie, come in." He spluttered, mushing his work documents into somewhat of a neat pile.

Nathalie opened the door, her stance stiff and her gaze fixed. In her hands she held a manila envelope that her hands seemed to like fidgeting with the corners of.

"Hello, sir." She murmured, her tone vacant. Gabriel peaked up at her over the rim of his glasses, frowning.

"Is something wrong Nathalie? Are you feeling alright?” He spoke calmly, despite the soft yet consistent pound of his heart, “Is everything okay with Adrien?"

Nathalie blinked, "Your son is fine sir. He is currently at his fencing lesson."

Gabriel nodded, scanning her, trying to find an explanation for her unusual behavior, though this behavior had been rearing its ugly head for the last five days. 

Nathalie could see that Gabriel was trying to figure her out and rather than leave him in the dark, she pressed on, knowing that if she didn’t do this now, she wouldn’t be able to make herself do it at all.

"I'm resigning, sir."

The words were thick in her throat, yet somehow she had managed. Nathalie placed her letter of resignation on top of Gabriel's desk, not daring to meet his eyes.

Gabriel was stunned to say the very least. Perhaps he’d misheard her, for what she had just said had to have been a mistake. He couldn't bring himself to even acknowledge her words let alone some fruitless letter of resignation.

If he acknowledged it, it would take a presence as reality and he couldn't accept that. He could not accept Nathalie leaving. Not when he needed her — not when her presence was the one thing that brought him any amount of joy anymore. He wouldn't stand for this. He refused.

"What are you going on about Nathalie? I don’t think I understand," Gabriel snapped, voice shrilling as he bolted to his feet, his movements so haste that a splash of coffee flew from his white mug and landed in a nice little splotch onto one of his documents.

Nathalie sighed. She had anticipated this reaction but that did not take away from the fact that she didn't particularly want to witness it.

"I can no longer work for you, sir. I've come to realize that I am no longer a decent candidate in helping you achieve your quest in saving Emilie. Due to my illness and...other circumstances I know I will only restrict you."

Gabriel scoffed, scowling, color rising in his cheeks."Don't be ridiculous Nathalie. You know this is all pointless without you. I need you." As the words left his mouth, he could  feel all the emotion dripping from his voice like the ends of a drippy umbrella.

Nathalie's heart swelled at Gabriel’s words, though tinted with what felt close to a seething burning sensation. She really hoped Gabriel wouldn't beg her to stay. If he pushed too much she didn't think she'd have the strength to deny him.

"Please don't make this harder than it has to be sir. You know I only want what's best for you and Adrien—"

"You are what's best for me and Adrien!" Gabriel lashed, pounding his fist to his desk, causing his coffee cup to take a full tumble to the ground.

Out of instinct, Nathalie made a move to retrieve it but stopped short when Gabriel only kicked it farther out of reach, causing it to roll against the wall and crack on its side.

"Sir!" Nathalie yelped, "You need to get ahold of yourself!”

Gabriel’s cheeks burned, his eyes bulging, "How can I Nathalie?” He snapped.

“How can I? Huh? My assistant—” he paused, stumbling over his choice of phrasing, “my friend who has stood by my side for years suddenly decides to get up and leave? No notice, no explanation—"

Nathalie could practically palpate the sharp pang reverberating throughout her. She could feel a fervent heat building behind her eyes.

"I told you sir. I'm holding you back."

Gabriel huffed, crossing his arms,"You're not—"

"I'm sick aren't I?" Nathalie interrupted, causing Gabriel to hesitate. She was right. He had been taking precautions when it came to fighting for the miraculous and handling her illness, but he wouldn't say she was holding him back.

He needed Nathalie if he ever wanted to be reunited with Emilie. He needed Nathalie because without her his heart wouldn't be beating and oh how he missed that beat. The beat and thrum of loving another was something most only got to experience once, yet somehow he’d been fortunate enough to get to experience it for a second time. He was far too selfish to give it up now. 

Gabriel's telling silence had been enough of an explanation for Nathalie and a good decoy to shield him from the truth.

"I'll only make things harder. With me around, you won't be able to focus on saving Emilie, not if you have to constantly worry about keeping my health in check."

Gabriel's face twisted up into a bitter sneer, his eyes narrowed, "Your health can be dealt with. As long as you don't use the peacock miraculous—"

"But you need Mayura, don't you?" Nathalie reasoned, hands resting firmly on her hips.

Gabriel's eyes flickered, considering.

"Yes...which is exactly why you need to stay. I can't do this without you."

It was like being stabbed, her body leaking out from the inside. Those words confirmed it. That was all she was good for. She was his assistant, she was Mayura and nothing more.

Nathalie could feel her insides burn, her face heating with a flush of anger. Why couldn't she be good enough? Why did he beg for Mayura to stay? Why couldn't he beg for her? 

"I'm sure you can find a way to fix the peacock miraculous, sir. And then you'll be able to use it yourself. You'll no longer need me—“ she wavered, “er…or Mayura.” 

Nathalie sucked in a breath, prepared for Gabriel to have another outburst but all he did was sigh. A deep, wearied sound, his pointer finger and thumb resting over the bridge of his nose.

"Why are you doing this Nathalie? What have I done that has caused you to want to leave so badly? If you don't want to help Emilie, fine. I don't expect you to but I do want you here. You are my assistant after all."

The air in Nathalie’s lungs grew thick, her mouth parting. Sometimes one had to be more careful when it came to their desires.  "Sir..." her will power was crumbling before her like cracked plaster. 

Gabriel stared her down, his previous defeated demeanor glossing over.

"Is it a raise? Is that it? Is that what you want?" Gabriel hurled. He knew he was being unethical but his anger was getting the best of him — taking reign over anything else.

It was like being slapped, an abrupt showering burst of cold water while lying in the sun. A pang of hurt washed over Nathalie, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Are you serious?" She muttered, her voice hoarse and full of disbelief.

Gabriel cocked an eyebrow, testing her, despite his inner conscience trying to reign him back in.

Nathalie scoffed, her guilt for trying to let him down gently, washing away like dust on a surface.

"You really think I'm doing all this because...because I want your money?"

The fierce punctuation of Nathalie’s words halted Gabriel in his tracks. He immediately knew he'd overstepped, but he also knew it was too late to turn back, "Nathalie..."

"No!" Nathalie barked, raising a pointer finger. She was more than just angry now, she was pissed.

"I've known you for years, Gabriel. I was there when you were at your lowest, barely making damned near ends meet and you have the gall to think I, of all people, who has continuously stood by your side in all this," she paused, gesturing wildly, "madness? You really think that all I want out of this is your damn money? Are you kidding me?"

Gabriel felt himself unravel, even if he was aware that he was being illogical, he couldn't think of anything else to go off of, he was skin deep in this. 

"Then why Nathalie? Explain it to me! Why are you doing this?!"

Nathalie's eyes flared, red lights curving around the edges of her sight as she let out an enraged cry.

"Because I'm in love with you!"

The words hung in the air, potent and true and both parties were still in awe of them even after several moments. Nathalie's vision was fuzzy, shrouded by her tears. She imagined her face was blotchy, her glasses fogged, but she had to think fast, she had to say something. She had to make sure Gabriel understood. She hadn't wanted him to find out this way or rather at all but now that he has she had to regain control of the situation.

"And..." she breathed, voice choked and uneven, "that conflicts with your objective and this will only make things even more complicated."  She kept her gaze trained on the floor, not wanting to face the man she'd just admitted to loving.

Gabriel was dumbfounded. He felt like all the muscles in his body had turned to mush. His head spun, his heart raced. Was it true? Was Nathalie truly in love with him? Even after all he's done? Could she still have found a way to see the good in him? He wasn’t a fool, he was well aware that he was quite a difficult man to love but somehow, some way Nathalie managed.

Gabriel’s mouth parted, then closed again, words clogged in his throat, fighting desperately for release.

"Nathalie..." he breathed.

"Don't."

Nathalie didn't need to hear him say it. She didn't need his rejection when she was already planning to leave anyway.

"I'm going. You don't need to say anything." Nathalie said, moving back from his desk.

Gabriel tensed, his shoulders going rigid.

 "Nathalie—" he stammered again, trying to form words other than her name. He took a hesitant step towards her.

"Gabriel?" Nathalie questioned as she watched him move closer. His steps were slow and measured, as if he were a hunter approaching its prey.

"Nathalie," he raised his hands, gently cupping the side of her face, something he only dreamed about doing. Nathalie shuddered, for this was far more painful than any amount of rejection. Why couldn't he just scream at her and tell her to go, things would be so much easier then — painful — but easier.

Her eyes watered, tears spilling over, falling lazily down her cheeks. She trembled lightly as she felt Gabriel's thumb brush away the moisture dribbling down her chin.

"What are you doing?" She asked, breath eluding her.

Gabriel smiled softly, his eyes locking with hers, the fury in them completely evaporated.

"I thought you knew."

Nathalie frowned, "Knew what?"

Gabriel chuckled lightly, like an echo in a cathedral, his warm breath blowing against her face. Nathalie knew he wasn’t mocking her, Gabriel could be cruel but he wouldn’t do that to her. Nathalie took a step back, the step of her heel in time with Gabriel’s chuckle. Gabriel continued to laugh, a rare scarce sound. His hand took her own, pulling her back towards him, gently enough to give her enough room to object if she wished to. Nathalie let him guide her, her resolve completely abolished. 

Gabriel squeezed her hand, his smile giddy, "That I'm in love with you too."

Nathalie's heart jumped, her eyes dilating, a gasp escaping her. This couldn't be right. This had to be a faux pas of some sort. She couldn't let herself fall, not when all of this could crumble so easily.

"No...you…” She bit her lip, “What about Emilie?"

Gabriel smiled again, though bittersweet, his hand still holding her close.

 "I will always love Emilie,” He murmured, his eyes lighting with a misty-like haze.

“She was once the reason for all I did in life,” he paused and Nathalie watched as he let the nostalgia of his love for his wife consume him. Nathalie imagined that all those memories were flashing before his eyes, as people say they do when they are faced with accepting a loss. 

After a moment of this his focus returned to her, that smile that Nathalie had not seen in years returning once more, “but I've since found a new reason." He reached down to take both her hands in his, running his fingers over her knuckles.

"You, Nathalie. You are my reason. You are the reason I try so hard everyday in everything I do. I know I've made mistakes but I do truly want to be a better man for you...for Adrien. And although you may not believe me now, I promise I will prove it to you. I will not stop until you know just how much I love you."

Nathalie was full-on crying now, her lower lip trembling. She never thought she'd ever hear such words come from Gabriel's mouth, especially such words attuning to her.

"You...you...love me?" Nathalie murmured, still somewhat in denial.

Gabriel laughed softly, pulling Nathalie even closer, their chests pressed up against one anothers, foreheads nearly touching.

"Yes, my dear Nathalie." He replied. Nathalie’s heart pulsed as his gaze fell to her lips. Nathalie stared up at those grayish-blue eyes that resembled a hurricane once more. She could see the question there — that one small fragment of hesitation. She could only think of one answer.

Nathalie let her hands travel along the sides of his face, feeling the soft skin and crevices. She closed her eyes to him, allowing him to guide her.

The kiss was soft and gentle, almost as if he were asking her permission. Nathalie felt herself slipping away, not knowing where she'd land as she let herself fall. She'd never kissed a man like this. It was exhilarating and she couldn’t get enough of it — she couldn’t get enough of him.

Eventually Gabriel pulled back, his hands still cupping her face, his eyes studying her flushed cheeks and wet lips, his breath coming out rashly. He noticed that her glasses were fogged, similar to a murky sea. He removed them, setting them to the side. He used his thumb to push a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear, his lips landing in a soft caress against her forehead. 

"Do you understand me now Nathalie?" He whispered against her skin, his question reminiscent of the one he asked her in her room all that while ago.

Nathalie leaned back, letting her gaze fully take in the man she loved. Her heart was rising, her features easing as she finally let herself go, “Yes Gabriel.” 

A/N: Eeeek! I hope you guys enjoyed the final installment of Admiration in Disguise! Please don't hesitate to let me know what y'all think. I'm really excited to start some new fanfic projects now that I've completed this one. Next up will be a short gabenath drabble, so keep an eye out for that! And as always if you have any requests for fanfics or anything gabenath related please let me know! I'll be able to attend to them much more frequently now, seeing as I've completed this project. Finally, sorry for any grammatical errors I'm not the best editor.

[ritterum]

As a Stupidist, I’ve found it useful to hold two (harmless and arbitrary) “beliefs”: one that can logically be argued to be true, and one which is both logically and intuitively absurd. These aren’t “beliefs” in the popularly understood sense of the word - certainly not actual philosophical positions to stand and die for! - Rather, think of pictures or sticky notes on one’s desk: reminders of the things or people closest to us.

Take as an example these two beliefs: (1) that technical understanding and mastery of the natural world translate into the ability to project indvidual/community will onto one’s surroundings; and (2) that the Gallic provinces consist entirely of cured pork bits. The second is obviously absurd - Gallia sit omnis divisa in partes tres, but those partes are geographical delineations of land, and land is clearly not made of processed pork. One could make the argument that this land could be, say, traded for barrels of pork; or that, like stardust, all pork eventually decays or is shat out and turned into soil. It may be that in some obscure medieval document, the entire region was declared to be made out of pork! In similar fashion, (1) appears to be self-evident: the development of the arts and sciences allowed e.g. Galileo to espy the moons of Jupiter, or Toby Fox to create Undertale. And yet certain animals and humans can do things effortlessly or instinctually that most people would struggle to do even with  training (consider hunting dogs bred solely for spotting/tracking/retrieving, or savants like Mozart and von Neumann who played with notes/numbers like they were Lego blocks).

I think this disparity handily illustrates the principle of caution: we are meatsacks who default to heuristics and pattern-matching, and it is easy to fall into generalizations or jump to conclusions. Perhaps we missed an angle, or forgot to drop a zero in the calculations - whatever the case, it is prudent to remember that we are but meatsacks, and approach truth-seeking with thoroughness and respect.

As meatsacks, we are inevitably going to mess this up somehow - maybe due to lack of caffeine, or lack of perspective! This brings us to the principle of compassion, which, put reductively, is: we’re trying to do the best we can with the best we’ve got, and as hunks of meat, that’s not a lot. But we can watch each other’s backs and pull each other up, which is a damn lot more useful than pissing on someone for not knowing how to pull themselves out of the mud. The keyword here is “growth mindset”. I’m a huge believer in the “lucky 10,000” concept popularized by Randall Munroe: at any given time, there are about 10,000 people in your continent of choice who aren’t aware of <common thing>. Why ridicule them for not knowing <common thing>, when you could celebrate them being the lucky 1 out of 10,000 to discover it!

And this brings us to the third leg of the Stupidist tripod: curiosity. What queer meatbags we are, that we have gained the ability to look upon our world and comprehend it. And how much there is to comprehend! The great temptation of adulthood is to pick a lane and stay in it; to affiliate oneself with tribal beliefs; to trade the promises of discovery for the secure stasis of prestige. All well and good, until the ever-changing world shifts under our feet, and we are forced to remember how to wonder, how to adapt.

I started out this essay wanting to talk about core conflicting beliefs, and ended up with a primer on Stupidism. I guess that’s just how the ball rolls! Feel free to adopt the conflicting beliefs above, which, since they’re quite lengthy, I’ll sum them up for you:

Knowledge is power.

France is bacon.

[epic-potato-crisp]

The Monday Incident

A very belated Secret Santa Gift for @kaseytransboi-blog (hope this is your Tumblr!)- so belated it is from 2022. So incredibly sorry about that! 🙈 I wanted you to still receive this gift, even if it means arriving in time for Ajin Secret Santa 2023. You wanted "Generally Wholesome" so It's a little One Shot featuring the Ajin Cast in the Brooklyn 99 universe - I hope you will (still) enjoy! <3

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LINK:

The Monday Incident - epic_potato_crisp - 亜人 - 三浦追儺 & 桜井画門 | Ajin - Miura Tsuina & Sakurai Gamon (Anime & Manga) [Archive of Our Own]

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Detective Nagai had a terrible day. A day that had started with a diffuse ache in his abdomen and his heart palpitating at a mile an hour when he woke up an hour before his alarm from a nightmare he could not remember.

Seeing as it was pointless to go back to sleep, he cursed himself and the entire squad out, a plethora of creative insults he would, most likely, never voice out loud.  Then he went to brew a cup of coffee. He would have loved to say it immediately jolted him out of his stupor and into an active, motivated, pre-case solving state, but of course it didn’t. Rest assured, he was mercifully saved the one benefit of caffeine that he was betting on. The only change he experienced was a familiar burn in his throat, his reflux’s friendly way of reminding him that it was planning on becoming a permanent resident.

What a bother. Kei had always hated the concept of roommates.

He didn’t own a car, neither did he drive- not, as some might assume, because of not passing the ridiculously simple theoretical exam (He had, with a stellar score of 110% , the bonus resulting from giving himself extra credit for a formatting and spelling error he noticed). No, he simply chose not to, because frankly, the idea of riding into oncoming traffic on four shaky wheels with nothing but steel-aluminium walls that dented at the lightest scratch and a sorry excuse for an airbag keeping him from certain death, did not seem very appealing.

(And perhaps also, because the look his driving instructor had given him after his most recent attempt at the practical exam had etched himself in his soul forever. Sure, Kei might have avoided the head-on collision with the HAYAKAWA CIGARETTES truck, but the terror in the man’s eyes and the scathing indictment that followed made him wonder if actually getting mowed over by 4 tons of vehicle would have been the better alternative.) Ah well, now he would never know.

Thankfully, there were other people in his squad. Some compensated for their mediocre cognitive ability with a surprisingly solid physical skill set. One example was Nakano Kou, the overly-energetic detective who had declared himself Kei’s best friend two weeks after the latter had joined. It had been an unanimous decision Kei had interestingly never been consulted on. But he could live with that, he supposed.  Nakano could be incredibly annoying, but he did give Kei rides to work, which was appreciated.Especially , on a day as frosty as this one, where Kei would have rather stabbed himself than get up an hour earlier to spend his precious pre-work time scratching ice off car windows. Nakano, thankfully, seemed to have no such problem.

He was even punctual when he pulled up to Kei’s apartment that morning, dressed in his signature yellow parka.

“Good morning!“ he cheered loudly, turning down the Black Eyed Peas‘ “I GOT A FEELIN“ that was blaring in the background at Kei’s raised eyebrow. Orange strands as unkempt as ever, one hand on the steering wheel, he held out a cup emblazoned with yet another caffeine franchise that people with lack of a spine might pledge addiction to.

 “Kei”, the cup read.

He grinned as Kei got into the car, strapping on his seatbelt: “You gotta call shotgun, Nagai.”

“I’m not saying that every single time.” Kei sighed, “And I don’t want coffee.”

“That’s hot chocolate.”

Kei narrowed his eyes: “Without caffeine?”

“Yes, yes! Without!” Nakano said, lifting his left hand in an idiotic gesture of sincerity.

“Careful.” Kei snapped, not wanting his idiotic attempts at being genuine to endanger them in the morning traffic.

“Dude, chill, I’m still parking.” Nakano said, conveniently ignoring how Kei had told him to never call him dude  under any circumstances in their first week working together. He revved the engine to life and then, placing a hand on the back firmly of Kei’s headrest and turning to look behind himself, maneuvered them backwards and then out of their parking spot. The close proximity of his teammate’s fingers to his neck and the self-assured, almost cocky way with which his colleague steered them back into traffic did nothing for him, Kei reminded himself, gripping tightly around the cardboard wrapper. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and chased away a flicker of regret when Nakano’s hand dropped from its place on the headrest, fingers curling back around the steering wheel.

“You know, a “thank you, how was your weekend” wouldn’t kill you.” his colleague said, side-eying the stiff way he stiffly occupied the passenger seat.

“Just drive.” Kei grumbled, managing to avoid the eye-contact he was afraid would sell him out.

“Screw yourself, seriously.” Nakano said, fondness tinged with annoyance, as he shifted into third gear. Thus started their morning bickering- the only way, Kei realized, to properly wake him up.

They managed to get to work a good fifteen minutes before their morning meeting at 8 am. Which was good, because arriving any later than the designated time would be a surefire way to draw the wrath of their captain.

“Good morning, Sarge!” Nakano cheerfully greeted Sergeant Hirasawa, who was already sat at his desk, two yoghurt cups stacked in front of him.

“Good morning, detective Nakano.” Hirasawa replied. Age was not lost on the seargant, who combed back his hair in an effort to mask the balding patch, tucking his glasses behind his ears.  Calloused hands spoke of many years in the service, but in the seargeant’s case, he had followed an unconventional career path, having spent his years before training in the Academy as a bodyguard of sorts. “Well, hired gun is more like it.” the Sarge had shared during one evening during a post-working gathering a pub. Manabe, one of the four guys that had been employed about the same time as the Seargeant and who seemed to have known him for even longer, chuckled dryly at that.  Kei hadn’t bothered asking what the vague job description meant, he could put two and two together. Unlike Nakano, who had stared at Hirasawa with a quizzical look. Before the words “What’s a hired gun” could leave his mouth, Kei had grabbed him by the back of his parka and dragged him to the bar.

“The next rounds of drinks are on you.” he said sullenly, as his colleague complained loudly about the rough treatment. There must have been something in Kei’s eyes however, as Nakano dropped the topic pretty much immediately. When he came back carrying an armful of beers, their table cheered,  detective Suzumura and detective Kuroki slapping him on the back appreciatively. Nakano preened under the attention and was engrossed in a lively conversation within minutes.

Kei nipped at his rum-filled beverage, grimacing at the bitter taste and cursing out the bartender for clearly misjudging his soda to alcohol ratio preference. But just as he was about to call it an early night, Sergeant Hirasawa slid on the stool next to him. “So, I’ve heard some impressive things about you, Detective Nagai.”

“Which would be?” Kei asked, skeptically. The Sergeant laughed at his open mistrust. Well, someone tells me you are planning to become a captain of a squad yourself someday. Your stellar scores graduating from the Academy and your track record of solved cases also speak for themselves.”

Kei did his best to not feel too flattered under the praise. “That is, if I make it that far. I’ll have to pass the Sergeant’s exam first.. It would be a fool’s error to rest simply because of previous success I had.” He took a sip, and forced himself not to avoid the Sergeant’s gaze, which seemed downright friendly and empathic. Sometimes, he had to remind himself not everyone he ever worked with had ill-intent.  But then again, he had to keep an eye open for the possibility.

“I still have a long road ahead of me.” He concluded a conversation that he felt was becoming too personal for a work acquaintance.

“Spoken as a true contender for the position of Captain would.” Seargeant Hirasawa said, and Kei attempted not to startle too much when he amicably slapped his back, and in a tone, that sounded too genuine to be false said,  “I’m rooting for you, Detective Nagai.”

Well, at least, someone was rooting for him. Kei felt as though he was not having the same luck with the new Captain that had been assigned to their district.

Captain Tosaki Yuu  was not one for humor, or slacking, or any other form entertainment that would have made the arduous work days in the precinct more bearable. Kei would have been fine with that. Instead, it was Detective Nakano’s morale that took a major hit when their new commanding officer introduced himself and how he planned to run the precinct. However, it took him only a few weeks to win even the sour-faced captain over in that strangely charming way of his. This didn’t necessarily mean that Detective Nakano didn’t still make a fool of himself- he did- or that the Captain had never yelled at him for his tardiness or unserious attitude – he had – but it did meant that even tall,  pale, consistently stressed Captain Tosaki begrudgingly accepted the cheerful detective as vital member of his squad.

Which caused Kei even more of a headache because he himself wasn’t having any of that luck.

He had tried every strategy from mute respect to blank sincerity to disinterest to word-by-word conduct of corporate advancement guidelines but he kept clashing with the Captain more often than he had probably should. Conflict with superiors was not a favorable strategy, that was what he’d learned in the Academy. Sometimes, he laid awake at night, ruminating on the possibility that it could be a death sentence for his career that had not even properly begun. It was simply that he, Detective Nagai, had his own way of doing things which had served him well over years in service, and was only the slightest bit aggrieved at the fact of being presented with a new Captain that seemed to micromanage his every move.

If he was available to speak with at all.

As Nakano settled into his desk, finishing his coffee and chatting with the Seargeant, Kei flicked his eyes over to the Captain’s office. At the desk right in front sat Naomi, his personal secretary, who spent 1/3 of her time relegating calls, another third being mean and the final third playing Flappy Bird on her phone.

“Sorry, Captain’s not available right now.” she warbled into the speaker, examining her sapphire acrylics with genuine interest, just as Captain Tosaki came into view behind her.

“Who’s that?” the Captain asked sharply, flanked as usual by his right-hand Sergeant Shimomura, who stood stoically next to him.

To Naomi’s credit, she was used to his unannounced entrances and didn’t as much as startle, left alone appear guilty being caught blatantly avoiding her job.

She swiveled around in her desk chair, blowing maroon strands out of her eyes, perfectly manicured fingers held over the mouthpiece.

“Oh, just Ogura from Forensics.” she said, batting her eyelashes and dragging out the “a” with an annoyed sigh, “I told him I don’t get paid to deal with this before 9 am. Do you want him to call you back later?”

“That is exactly what you are getting paid to do.” Tosaki said monotonously, “But yes.” He grimaced, “Let him call back later.”

The fact that there was no love lost between the Captain and the leading physician of the Forensics Department, who liked hassle him at every turn, was not a secret for the crew. Naomi smirked, delighted at having her expectations met and withdrew her fingers from the mouthpiece, “He’s busy right now.” she faux-sweetly announced, “Try again during our office hours.” She slammed the phone down before Ogura’s distant voice on the other hand could as much as bring forward another jab.

Now that the matter was dealt with, Captain Tosaki moved onto the next target to air his morning frustration out on.

“Detective Nakano, Detective Nagai.” he barked.

“Sir, Yes Sir!” Nakano immediately jumped to attention, almost spilling his drink in the process.

Kei rolled his eyes.

“What is it, Captain?” he asked, feigning politeness.

“What are you standing there for?” Tosaki said, irritatedly, “Get settled in the meeting room. I’d like to start on time for once.”

Nakano cheerily shouted his affirmation, as the Captain strode off. Sergeant Shimomura remained behind, noting something on her clipboard.

“Good morning, Detective Nagai. Detective Nakano.” she greeted them properly, obsidian eyes calmly meeting their gaze.

“Good morning, Seargeant!” Nakano exclaimed, grinning back at her, not even attempting to hide his delight as having received her full attention, “How was your weekend? Did you do something fun?”

This was a one-sided love affair at best, Kei was certain, but that didn’t stop Nakano from being hopelessly infatuated with the Sergeant the moment he had stepped foot into the precinct. It’s good that he himself never had to deal with this type of ridiculous experiences, he thought, quenching the faintest annoyance that bubbled within him whenever he realized Nakano did have a habit of being very flirt-friendly with a lot of his female colleagues. Shimomura faintly returned his smile.

“It was fairly uneventful.” she said, in that reserved, cryptical way of hers, “I hope yours was enjoyable, as well.” The open-ended question was a rookie mistake.

As Nakano launched into an overly-detailed recitation of his weekend which included a paintball tournament and a barbecue (where on earth did he take the energy, Kei could not imagine), he observed the Seargeant more closely.

Fairly uneventful could mean anything when it came to Sergeant Shimomura. The last time she had used that description, she had single-handedly led a drug bust that had carried on into the early hours of Sunday morning. She was only few years older than Kei. He was also fairly certain they’d both trained at the same academy, although he had no proof of that. Upon joining their precinct, Tosaki had immediately recruited her as his second-in-command, which came to no surprise. Shimomura was not only loyal to the core, but also greatly skilled both in detective work and martial combat. She also did not seem fazed by the fact that she often got mistaken as Tosaki’s secretary. Whenever that happened, the Captain made sure to correct the mistake immediately, referring to her as his “highly talented Sergeant” and, and redirecting whoever misspoke to see Naomi if they wanted to speak with his “highly talented secretary.” (It was a blessing that he always made a show of loudly announcing these corrections, so Naomi at least had a few seconds to save her level on Wintry Workshop and pull up an Excel Table on her computer so as not to undermine his statement.)

Apart from this, he had not a single clue about the Seargeant’s backstory, interests or even exact whereabouts. Which was fairly unusual for a  department as…sociable as theirs. This was the most polite way Kei had of putting it.

“I know exactly three things about you.” Kei had pointed out one evening, as stacks of paperwork were dragging them long past the end of their shift, “And one of them is that you don’t let anyone know where you live.”

“That is already one thing more than you were supposed to know, Detective Nagai.” the Seargeant had said, the corners of her lips tilting up ever so slightly, “Not even my relatives have the information.”

He had left it at that. He had once seen her body-slam the leader of human trafficking ring that towered two heads above her after the man had attempted to pull a gun on her. It really wasn’t worth the risk.

“So in conclusion.”  Detective Nakano said, gesturing towards the projector, “I’m really certain this is the man we’re looking for. Here he is, on his way of committing crime.”

With a dramatical flourish, he moved onto the next slide of his presentation.

The grainy photo, taken from a security camera inside the Forge headquarters, showed an elderly gentleman wearing a baseball cap and a knit cardigan. His eyes were unfocused, almost closed, giving the impression of him having just woken up from a nap.

Kuroki and Manabe erupted in laughter.

“No way.” Kuroki said.

“He’s on his way alright, but to the next retirement home.” Manabe scoffed.

Kuroki cackled at that and held out his hand for a fist bump, which Manabe returned.

“Alright, let’s give Detective Nakano a chance to present his case.” Seargeant Hirasawa spoke up patiently, ever the mediator, “Detective, what proof do you have?”

“Oh, uh- proof.” Detective Nakano said, scratching his head, “Well…”

Kei looked over at the Captain, who was observing Nakano from his seat at the front of the  meeting room with a stony expression. Never a good sign.

“Well, the evidence speaks for itself, doesn’t it?” Nakano said, shrugging helplessly, “He’s in this footage, he was on the previous footage…I’m sure if I contact the Cyber Crimes division they could retrace the IT address that the perps used to hack into the Forge database, and that would probably lead back to—”

“We do not operate on the basis of probably, Detective.”  The icy tone in the Captain’s voice made even Nakano cringe.

Tosaki got to his feet. He swiftly moved towards Nakano, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Zoom in, Detective.” He ordered. And Nakano did.

Kuroki whistled at the sight. ““Man, let’s hope he meakes it to the retirement home at all.”  he said.

As much as it pained Kei to admit it, he was right. Upon closer inspection, the suspect appeared even older, properly geriatric. Fragile. If Nakano had meet him outside of work, he would have likely asked if he needed assistance crossing the streets. And then helped him cross said street. Nakano was friendly like that.

“Are you telling me.” Tosaki said, each word laced with scathing disbelief, “That this is the man you believe to be behind the string of seven flawlessly executed robberies, most recently at the Forge headquarters, a company that prides itself on their bulletproof security system?”

“I’m not sure he even knows what Windows is.” someone muttered in the background. Probably Kuroki. Kei shot an unnerved look in his direction. If someone was to harangue Nakano for his mediocre presentation abilities, it was to be him.

“He could- could have allies!” Nakano defended himself, now gesturing wildly, “Like, most of them big time dudes do.”

The big times dudes, right. Whenever Kei doubted his own capabilities as a detective – which happened more frequently than he would like to admit – it was moments as this one that reassured him that perhaps a future command wasn’t this far out of reach, if this was the competition he was to contend with.

“He has a caretaker, at most, that- “

“Enough.” the Captain snapped. He massaged his temples.

He turned towards his right-hand, the only other detective’s – except, in some instances, Hirasawa’s- opinion he regularly took into consideration. “Sergeant Shimomura, what do you think?”

The room grew quiet, as everyone’s attention focused on the Seargeant sitting in the second row. Nakano seemed to be holding his breath. Shimomura was silent for several moments. When she then spoke, there was the faintest trace of sympathy in her otherwise emotionless tone.

“As much as I appreciate your case work so far, Detective, I believe you at this point that you are lacking the necessary evidence to make an accusation, let alone an arrest.”

She concluded by clicking her pen shut. Upon this judgement, Nakano visibly deflated. Shimomura had likely been his last and most important pillar of hope.

Tosaki nodded. “I agree.”

“Listen, guys.” Nakano called out, a tinge of desperation creeping into his voice, “You know I have a really good intuition.”

That he had, Kei had to admit. Despite his own record of solved cases, Nakano wasn’t lagging too far behind. Or at all. There had been one too many times where they had made a competition, with a humiliating punishment for that month’s loser in terms of numbers. Though even those didn’t seem to faze him. He had worn the pink, glitter-adorned “Boss Babe ” shirt with pride to the precinct the day after Nagai had bested him one glorious August evening. Kei would have called sick before he sat one foot through the doors in this get-up. He imagined his little sister calling him a misogynist and scowled at the idea.

“And it is because of said intuition”- wow, what a big word for you, Detective, Kei thought drlyly, “That I am so very certain.”  Nakano continued, his voice becoming more steadfast and louder in his determination, “This is the culprit!” He pointed back towards the screen, the image woefully undermining the earthshattering point he was trying to make, “this is the guy we have been chasing for months, who has been making our lives hell since he robbed that gaming store a year ago.”

“That’s a hell of a nice deal on those retro consoles.” Ogura had whistled through his teeth when Kei had shown him the recipes of the robbery after the doctor’s persistent badgering, “Wish I had a Pacman game at home.”

“So, if you believe me, I can say that it’s him with like” Nakano frowned, running the numbers in his head: “85% certainty! That’s how certain I am!”

Kei was about to throw in his own comment on the situation when the Captain shut down the projector, much to Nakano’s gasping dismay and feeble protests.

“85% are not enough, Detective.” he said coldly and turned towards the room

, “Meeting dismissed.”

Kei tried to spend the rest of the day in a productive state, in an effort to be able to go home at the designated time that was almost never kept. Nakano, who had not quite bounced back from their morning meeting, unintentionally made every effort to thwart this plan.

“I just don’t get why my case work wasn’t enough.” he whined, for the second time that afternoon, head placed on Kei’s desk, where the later was filing, or rather, attempting to file a report.

“And I don’t get why you continue to ignore my work space, but here we are.” Kei said monotonously.

“Come on, dude, we’re basically desk mates.” Nakano argued, which was a very convenient stretching of the truth.

The fact that he had to roll past four other desks on his way to Kei’s – courtesy of Tosaki, who had placed them apart in his first week in order to improve work flow - was no deterrent for Detective Nakano. He enjoyed making the way into a race of sorts, often timing how long it took him to get from one desk to the other. His record of five seconds was still unbeaten.

“I pulled so much overtime for this, it’s like the Captain didn’t even properly read my report-“

Kei saved his document, and sighed, deciding to spare a few seconds of his valuable time for his colleague.

“I’m certain he did. It’s just not that simple.” He said, “Seargeant Shimomura has been on the same track for months. If she’s finding it to be a challenge, why did you think it would be an easy solve for you?”

This seemed to resonate with Nakano. “Well.” he said, appearing thoughtful of suddenly, “Guess you have a point. Still sucks, though.”

Kei hummed affirmatively, leaving his colleague alone with his own thoughts, which was thankfully a peaceful situation. He chanced a glance at the large office clock. If he kept working at his previous speed, and if Seargeant Hirasawa didn’t magically appear with another apartment break-in for him to process, then perhaps- today he would actually be able to leave-

“Detective Nakano, Detective Nagai.” Captain Tosaki barked from his office door, “A word. Now.”

Kei did not even attempt to suppress his groan.

“Well, suppose we should go, right?” Nakano said, squaring his shoulders and throwing him a questioning sort of look to which Kei could only respond in kind. No, he too had no idea what could possibly be going on.

“Oopsie.” Naomi said, a grimacing-type of smile clear with Schadenfreude, as they walked past her desk, “The Captain is still in kind of a bad mood. The fact that Doc Ogura just called back a few seconds ago didn’t help with that at all.”

Kei saw that she at least had the decency to pause her Candy Crush game for that short, albeit pointless conversation.

“Great.” he replied sarcastically, “Thank you for the info.”

“No worries.” Naomi chirped, “Let me know if there’s anything going on, yeah? The office has been so quiet these past few days.” She leant forward and lowered the register of her voice: “I could use some juicy info.”

“We’ll see what we can do, Miss Naomi!” Kou called out enthusiastically, as Kei, unnerved, dragged him to Captain’s office.

Captain Tosaki wasn’t alone. Sergeant Shimomura stood on his right side, giving them the hint of a smile as they entered.

“Close the door properly and pull down the blinds.” Captain Tosaki instructed promptly “I have a matter of great importance to discuss with both of you.”

Kei had not expected this turn of events. He took a moment to recollect himself, while Nakano already jumped into action with an enthusiastic “Yes, Sir!” and carried out the tasks.

“Sit down.” the Sergeant said, gesturing to the seats in front of the desk.

They both did. Anticipation had Kei sliding to the edge of his chair, toes poised on the carpeted floor. Nakano seemed equally as nervous, but in stark contrast, as far as Kei could tell, carried himself with less with dread, even with a hint of excitement.

“So.” Tosaki said, after a few beats of uncomfortable silence, “I have called you here to inform you that I – or, rather, we both-“ he glanced at the Sergeant, “Would like to revise our statement on Detective Nakano’s casework.”

Something lurched in Kei’s chest.

“Revise?” Kou said, in a puzzled tone, because of course he did.

“Retract.” Sergeant Shimomura interjected, “We have reviewed your work and believe that you are on the right path, Detective.”

“All evidence considered, we believe you have identified the correct culprit. Responsible for the burglaries of several stores, the Forge headquarters and beyond.”  Tosaki continued with a sigh, “Your intuition, unfortunately, was correct.”

Kei could see the wheels turning in Nakano’s head.

“Heck yeah!” his colleague shouted, pumping his fist in elation, which earned him an insistent Shush from his unamused superiors.

“Sorry.” Nakano .said sheepishly, scratching his head. “I’m just glad I got it right. It’s good when your work pays off.”

The Captain sighed again.

“Why unfortunately?” Kei spoke up, raising an eyebrow at the odd turn of phrasing, “How is a progress in a case not beneficial?”

The Captain and the Sergeant exchanged another one of their trademark looks.

“Well.” Sergeant Shimomura said, hesitating, “The matter appears to be larger than we originally anticipated.”

“That being a rather euphemistic understatement.” Tosaki said, producing a file from his drawers and slapping it down in front of them, “Our culprit, Samuel T. Owen, is not only responsible for the string of robberies.”  

CLASSIFIED, red letters read.

“We also believe him to be the leader of an anarchist uprising with ties to the black market, specifically organ trafficking.”

Fuck, was the first thought to enter Kei’s mind, More overtime. He was exhausted as it was. He ignored the sliver of interest he felt at the promise of a case far more thrilling than he had ever worked one, even dreamed of working when he chose his career path. Nakano, on the other hand,  made an odd, high-pitched noise next to him, which Kei correctly identified as a suppressed whimper of excitement.

“Heck yeah.” his colleague whispered in awe, fist clenched,  beaming like Christmas had come early.

“So we have asked you here to promote you to primary investigators on this case that must be carried out with utmost-“ Tosaki paused, eyeing Nakano scrutinizingly, “disrection. No- one is to be informed the nature of this investigation, or any new developments, apart from Sergeant Shimomura and myself. At least, for the foreseeable future. Understood?”

“Yes Sir!” the Detective replied, an excited almost-yell that made the Sergeant shush him again.

The Captain massaged his forehead. “You both, including you, Detective Nagai.”

“Yes, Sir.” Kei responded, dully.

“I hope you do not disappoint us with your work on the SATO case.” The Captain concluded.

“Sato?” Nakano asked, frowning.

“It’s the acronym we have chosen.” Sergeant Shimomura explained, “Samuel T. Owen is the name of our suspected culprit. Or in other words-“ she paused for effect,  “SATO.”

Even if Kei had had more time to prepare, he would not have been able to quell Nakano’s shout of excitement this time. It would have been hard too, with excitement and anticipation thrumming in his own veins.

“Heck yeah!”

------

Rest in Peace Andre Braugher (01.07.1962- 11.12.2023) - your incredible portrayal of Captain Raymond Holt will be missed. You will always be the Captain of our Hearts!

[archangelsunited]

Hi AUfriend <3

Excuse me marching in here unannounced. I sent some asks to Mareena and Para, and well, I thought that perhaps you might also like these questions. (Feel free to do it in your own time or ignore as spoons allow. <3)

I know we love to talk about breaking the rules in writing and obviously, that not every piece of advice is one-size-fits all, but there is a lot to say about being able to speak with each other about what we have learned during our journey. I was wondering if you wouldn't share. (I also plan on poking some of the others to see what more we can shake out. The more the merrier, no?)

What is the most useful/helpful pieces of advice you ever received during your education in relation to writing?

Once you started to write, what was the most important thing that you learned about writing or its process?

Has your real life had any influence on your writing? If so, how?

What advice would you give to aspiring writers (be it fanfiction or original)?

I would, in fact, like these questions. Give me all the questions. I broke my own advice and deleted a paragraph of this and started over. Then I left and came back a few hours later.

1.) The most useful advice?

Your job is to tell a story. (Stop trying to push multiple things in a narrative, stop trying to impress people, stop wondering what the audience wants, you have one goal- anything extra is extra.) Motivation will not support you, but discipline will. (I wrote everyday, two days off a week. I did this for a year. That year has given me more stamina in terms of writing than any amount of inspiration ever has. Its the reason some stories can exist at all.) The job of a first draft is to exist. (It can't be good until its bad, it can't be bad if it doesn't exist.)

2.) Once you started to write, what was the most important thing you learned?

<Trying to remember when I started writing> Start small? I started a lot of big projects before I got comfortable doing small projects, and that hurt me in the long run, I think. It isn't a lack of discipline or ability on your part, don't get offended. Its just, small things are a huge confidence builder. I have so many unfinished works on my laptop, that it made me feel like a failure. Having several small completed works helped me have the confidence and know-how to look at a big project and go "no big deal." Also, contrary to popular belief, people do actually like small bits of fanfiction, gen fanfiction even. Short stories do have a market. Those small prompts are really helpful in boosting confidence and practicing in a non-stressful environment. Also, it helps work maintain an even amount of skill. My skills at the beginning of a story are much better than at my endings.

Technical stuff: Warming up will save me time and stress.. I can spend two hours looking at a blank screen or I can spend five minutes on typing exercises and ten minutes free writing. Sitting at a desk is more productive and better than sitting on my bed. I need to have some sort of caffeine and or water next to me. Walking beforehand eases out the jitters. I do better when I am not posting everytime I hit 1 or 5k.

Brand new information: Having a group of writers talking to you and encouraging you about your project makes writing a LOT easier. They give me a positive word and suddenly things start getting accomplished. Its magical. Being dependent on other people for motivation is not healthy, but it IS normal to need affirmation- my mind thinks of it as a really good dose of speed.

3.) Has your real life had any influence on your writing?

I had two immediate responses to this. One was, "I hope so" the other was "Damn, I hope not." A few things that have probably gotten into my writing: 1.) My relationship with disability 2.) Sometimes people have to live in unhealthy and uncomfortable situations. They live and their lives are still WORTH living, even if things aren't perfect. 3.) Sometimes life changes directions completely and you aren't you you thought you would be by the end. 4.) Some of my favorite fic authors 5.) My family history

There is also a Screwtape Letter's quote that really put my writing into perspective, or really any skilled labor. It eases a lot of insecurity, if this is what I am striving towards. > “The Enemy wants to bring the man to a state of mind in which he could design the best cathedral in the world, and know it to be the best, and rejoice in the fact, without being any more (or less) or otherwise glad at having done it than he would be if it had been done by another. The Enemy wants him, in the end, to be so free from any bias in his own favour that he can rejoice in his own talents as frankly and gratefully as in his neighbour's talents--or in a sunrise, an elephant, or a waterfall.”

4.) What advice would I give?

You have to let yourself suck. You have to let it be bad. You get good by being bad. Writing is an imperfect craft, and if you spend your time trying be perfect- its just going to add a layer of misery to what should be a joy. My friends and family have to drag me away from writing these days. I get irritable if I don't write, because the last little thing that was keeping me from writing- what was filling me with dread- was that need for perfection.

Stop hiding your work. You have nothing to be ashamed of.

Do your time letting yourself work through it feeling like a chore. That is a normal part of the journey, feeling like each word is coming at a crawl and "I have no idea why I do this" and "This isn't good." I would compare it to doing scales or running laps. Its hard, repetitive, useless work- but after you've built up the skill and endurance, you can focus on the story you are writing- not if you can do it at all.

[ddagent]

INTO THE FIRE, hot chocolate

John/Delenn | Professor/Coffee Shop AU | FR12 | 1,775 words Professors Mir and Sheridan share a hot chocolate together one cold December afternoon.

Shortly before four, Professor Delenn Mir left the Humanities building in search of tea – and Professor Sheridan.

A few months before, she had been ahead of Professor Sheridan – John, as the barista scribbled on his takeaway cup – and he had been lamenting that the coffee machine at Babylon Brew, the campus coffee spot, was not working. Knowing full well the pain of marking undergraduate papers with little caffeine, Delenn had ordered both herself and Professor Sheridan a takeaway cup of sama le’a – orange tea. She had considered it a safe bet; Sheridan was well-known to have a bowlful of oranges on his desk for himself and any vitamin deprived students.

She had returned to Babylon Brew the next day to find that Sheridan had bought her a mocha with chocolate shavings.

Continue Reading Below or Read at AO3

So began their curious ritual. Every day, depending on who was done with their marking or classes first, they would order for the other. Delenn would order them tea; John, coffee. Occasionally they branched out into baked goods. After a particularly nasty meeting with the Dean of Students, Delenn had paid for two large iced lemon cookies to accompany John’s takeaway cup. A few weeks before, when Delenn had worked through lunch, John had paid for a sandwich to accompany her double espresso. So many coffees. So many cups of tea. Yet they had never once shared a drink together. It wasn’t for lack of trying: they stole moments together in corridors, after meetings. But John was working on a new book and Delenn had four doctoral students who were testing her patience.

So, four o’clock it was.

Today, Delenn swept across the quad with a smile on her face. Despite the rolling clouds beckoning in the early evening and the slight bite to the December air, Professor Mir couldn’t help but beam at any soul who walked past her. She was late today, which meant that John would be buying. Delenn could stand behind him in line; admire the broad line of his shoulders through the coat he wore, dark strands brushing the collar. She could stare openly at his warm smile towards the barista, the truly dreadful pun that would leave them both laughing in hearty embarrassment. Then Delenn could witness him stand at the counter, holding court as he waited for his name to be called. John wouldn’t check his phone. He would watch the coffee shop, gaze drifting from stranger to stranger until settling upon her. Their eyes would meet, heat pooling low in Delenn’s belly, as the world fell away.

Then John would offer his takeaway cup in salute and off into the cold he would go.

But as Delenn entered Babylon Brew that afternoon, she did not catch sight of John waiting ahead of her. Lips forming into a thin line, Delenn reluctantly joined the queue. Her eyes darted around the coffee shop, trying to find John in the throng of harassed students and caffeine deprived academics. But there was no infectious smile; no raspy laugh. Disappointment flooded through Delenn as she approached the counter. Perhaps I am earlier than I thought, she wondered, drawing upon the hope as she was called to the front. The peppermint tea, today, I think. With a slice of lemon drizzle cake.

“Professor Sheridan’s already been in,” announced the barista, quickly dashing all of Delenn’s hopes. “He bought you both a hot chocolate.”

Delenn nodded, offering a thin smile to the barista. “Thank you. I will wait—”

“—he’s over by the window.”

Her head jerked in the direction of the window overlooking the gardens; the view now cleared of departing students. There sat John. Coat off. Scarf abandoned. Cheeks slightly pink from the change in temperature. He raised his cup – a proper, porcelain cup – in her direction. There was a second mug in front of him. Two plates. An empty chair. Delenn barely thanked the barista again before she rushed to join John. He rose as she approached, pulling out her chair for her. Like this was a date. This was a date.

“I thought it was about time we actually sat down to drink,” John said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

John’s grin grew impossibly wide. Delenn’s face split in two as she fumbled with the ties of her long coat, wrapped tight to ward off the winter chill. The coffee shop felt ridiculously warm – but perhaps that was just the presence of John so close; his heated touch as he helped remove her coat from her shoulders. Delenn felt his breath on the curve of her neck as his hands slid the wool from her form and draped it across the back of her chair. His gaze refused to leave hers as he re-took the seat opposite.

John gestured towards the two cups and plates. “I overheard you talking to the barista the other day that you’d never tried hot chocolate. Thought we should remedy that.” He pointed at the cup. “I went for whipped cream and chocolate shavings to give you the full hot chocolate experience. We also have some mince pies.”

Delenn stared curiously at the miniature pies placed in front of her, dusted in sugar with a holly leaf embossed atop the shortcrust pastry. “I have heard of these. They are the…the smaller form of the shepherd and the cottage?”

Her date stared, confused, before realisation sunk in. John shook his head good-naturedly. “No, no, it’s not like a shepherd or cottage pie. These have mincemeat in them.” Delenn raised an eyebrow. She thought that was the main ingredient in those previous pies. John just chuckled. “They used to have meat in them, but now they have dried fruit and spices – sometimes even a dash of brandy depending on who makes them. Grandma Sheridan used to get rid of half a bottle every Christmas.”

“I see.” Delenn lifted her fork to break the pastry into two. The filling seemed innocuous enough. Taking a tentative bite, she was surprised at the decadent flavours. The pastry was buttery and crumbled upon the plate; the filling was full of cinnamon and nutmeg. Delenn took another eager bite. “Despite your perplexing attitude towards naming, these are most agreeable.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” John took a bite of his own, using his fingers rather than a fork. Sugar dusted his fingertips; his dark shirt caught a few crumbs. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “You’re from Minbar, aren’t you?” Delenn nodded. She had taught at the University of Tuzanor for several years before coming to Babylon. “I teach a few kids from Yedor. They were telling the class the other day about the Solstice celebrations. Do you have any foods that remind you of this time of year?”

Delenn nodded, thinking instantly of her father cooking on the second day of the Solstice celebrations; their home filled with the aroma of spiced nuts and fruits. “We have…parcels made out of very thin pastry, dusted in sugar, and filled with a filling of our choosing. Fruit, nuts, chocolate – they are made together, baked together, and given to someone we love.” A blush rose high on Delenn’s cheeks as she imagined making the kai’tan and offering one to John. “It is considered an important Solstice tradition.”

“They sound great. You’ll have to make some for me.” A pause. Eyes met across the table before their gaze quickly fell away. John cleared his throat. “And I can make some of Grandma Sheridan’s mince pies.”

The thought of exchanging recipes and traditions and words of affection filled Delenn with joy. She chased it with her first sip of hot chocolate. It was more bitter than she had expected; the dark chocolate shavings cutting through the wisp of cream that clung to her top lip. The drink itself was not overly sweet but rich in warmth. Across from her, John chuckled at the picture she made with a cream moustache. His hand reached out to wipe the foam from her face but he hesitated. Delenn angled her mouth closer to his outstretched fingers. A gentle thumb swept across her top lip, before lingering on the delicate skin. Delenn could not help it. She drew John’s thumb between her lips and sucked. His blue eyes widened at the contact; a sharp intake of breath lost in the rush of the coffee shop as afternoon classes finished.

No one noticed as Professor Sheridan leant over the table to press his lips against Professor Mirs. No one noticed the way he cradled her chin as his lips – sweet and bitter – caressed hers. It was only the splutter of the cappuccino machine that prevented Delenn’s tongue from exploring the taste of John even further.

“We should have a drink,” John said, drawing in a ragged breath as he returned to his seat.

“We are having a drink.”

“An alcoholic drink.”

Delenn leaned forward, relishing this game of linguistic misunderstandings and the frustration and arousal it summoned in John. “Minbari do not drink.”

“Dinner, then,” John put forward, leaning back and taking a victorious sip of hot chocolate. “I want to see you over candlelight, Delenn. I want to eat a meal with you that isn’t a sandwich or a slice of cake. I want to close down a restaurant talking about everything and nothing with you.” He lifted his cup once more to his lips. “Dinner.”

“Or breakfast.” Accompanied by a twinkle in her eye and a sultry tone, the offer of breakfast left John spluttering his hot chocolate all over his shirt. Grimacing, Delenn quickly offered him the handful of napkins from the table and the one over. “My apologies, John. I should not have said that.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, dabbing at his shirt. “Just thought all my Christmases had come at once, that’s all. Why don’t we start with dinner and see where the night takes us?”

Delenn beamed. “Sounds perfect.”

After John had mopped up his hot chocolate, the two finished their drinks and talked at great length about their respective festive traditions. As a group of students hovered nearby, wanting their table, John and Delenn took their cue to head out for the evening. They found themselves in a small bistro just off campus where John, indeed, got his wish to close down the place, the pair talking about anything and everything. As for Delenn, the next time John bought her coffee, it was early in the morning, from the coffee shop down the street from his home, while she waited in his bed.

It was the best cup yet.

[adoiescents]

Can you believe

Void Stiles x Reader | © adoiescent 2022. reposting or translating is not allowed.

The plan had been simple. Do not, under any circumstances, show a break in the system, in our power.

For you, this has meant to leave the house earlier than needed, for a walk dedicated to caffeine. You’d have your bag, umbrella and purse accessorizing it. The weather would differentiate from rain to sun to cloudy dimmer. There’d be a skip in your walk, a need for quicker movement, for more speed. But why, they’d ask. You’d answer, never with a frown of uncertainty, with a tumble of unsteadiness. Instead, it’d be a laugh of habit, to bury the clear lack of safety trailing along side you.

Scott, so loving and kind, made sure to check anyway. He had searched for an intruder of human kind, of digital threat or supernatural games. But he was unsuccessful, and so, so sorry for you. But of course, the chitter of your lip was gone in an instant, replaced with all but a smile. That is, if it had looked anything alike.

The walk you’d fear now more than ever, consumed and overthrew your rational and human scare of the supernatural. Scott, despite his friendly demeanor, had a bite for kill, eyes for hunt and claws for prey. Allison, an arrow for your heart. Isaac, teeth for your throat. And Lydia, a scream for your head.

You and Stiles were paper thin, easily crushed underneath.

Perhaps that’d been enough of a reason for trust, for vulnerability.

Late into night, for stars and moon to stand higher than all, alarmed a melody for attention and awake. You had sat on your bed, fingernails crushed by your teeth, as the line build up longer and longer, with no telling whether it was ignorance or sleep hindering the awaiting conversation. All windows and roller blinds shut and secured, so nothing was to be seen.

After the second attempt, it had felt silly to you, calling someone who had clearly no time in their life, for an unnervingly spooked teenager.

But, all noise and line stopped, and a deep clear sound sucked you in. For was he awake, or finally annoyed, and had hung up on you, or he’d accepted a camouflaged scream for guidance and safety.

“Hello?” The voice had panted.

“Stiles?” Your voice asked. For security it was really him, or if he’d not read your name, you weren’t sure.

But there was a pause, long and suffocating.

“What do you need?”

That had been your first abandonment of the plan, your first move in a game of chess against an faceless opponent. A mask with a plan, them, unknown, but you, the one to lose. But of course, the downfall had felt like a victory blanket, wrapping you in it’s safe and warm arms. In this case however, it was the coffee sitting in your lap and hands, and the temperature in the jeep older than time.

The seats were comfortable enough to sink into, to lose time and space in the blur of the world. Here, where succumbing to the gentle flows of music would be heaven, you could relax. Stiles had settled for empty words, silent communication. You had brought him a coffee too, yet to be tasted and complained about, even if it was his favorite taste, his favorite drink. He had yet to drink. For now however, the rain drew around you and left you for a rest. The danger be dammed, if sleep could not calm you.

Eyes still painfully open, you sought out the plan of yesterday and tomorrow. Something was happening, to not only you, but Stiles, Allison and Scott. You hadn’t given your soul for your parent, for he was save and sound while theirs were in deadly panic. However, you seemed to have caught a second shadow, lingering in the fearful beyond of your understanding. No trace was ever left, only the little things with no meaning other than dread.

Your room was not the cleanest, but every change made was noticeable. What was yours, was not to be moved without your notice. Your father was quite the cleaner, so every time an item disappeared, your first question would be directed to him. He always had an answer. Well, until now.

You had a camera since your mother had passed, determinant to capture every moment with importance. Once gray would braid into your hair, you would sit with a book, full of memories and moments. You would have a museum of adolescence and childhood, many old and new faces joining along the way. At some point, it would probably get lonelier, but colorful doodles would erase any traces of sadness. One section however, would be missing in the book, set aflame by a teenage you.

The set of photographs that returned with the camera.

After the camera had been removed, and wasn’t found by your all knowing father either, you could only feel restless. Every memory that clung to that collector was a bad one, ruined by blood and death. Canines and corpses were disturbed by it first, a follow on threat from Derek too, as he would sooner or later destroy that camera. He hadn’t, and back then, you were immensely grateful for it. It was the last present from your mother, an item without price. But as the days turned more violent, so did the people.

Matt had been a friend of yours, for he shared the same passion as you had. Only had he used his camera for much more disturbing purposes. Not only the murderous ones, but the stalker and creepy pictures. He hadn’t had any of you, only the ones taken with your knowledge and consent. It was still a fright to see how wrong you can deceive someone as, and how easy it is to pretend you’re someone you’re not. It made you question if all of the moments with him were a façade, or if that was actually him, under all the hatred and rage. Whatever it was, it had been destroyed as soon as a weapon was held parallel to you, shaking from a murderous rage not even you would be spared of.

A set of photographs, five to exact, appeared only this week, along with your camera. Nothing was damaged, but it was clear it had been used by someone with no knowledge of cameras. What they did know however, is how to remove fingerprints. You had asked Stiles to give the stolen item to his father, if he could find something to identify the person who had, not only access to your house, but also was able to put it in place without you noticing. Whenever you weren’t at home, your father was, and having someone hurt your father wasn’t a risk you wanted to take. The sheriff had found nothing, but also suggested to stay with his son.

The photos were taken from outside, always the same position and time. At the front of your house, late into the evening. You could see your room, all open, for the roller blinds were closed in fear of the unknown. One however, was a picture of your front door, seemingly at day. There was no shadow to see, nor any clothing or a hand. Nothing! But worst of all, it was accompanied by a little note on the bottom of the photograph.

Don’t feel too safe.

The person was trying their hardest to write in a way that made it seem like that was their actual handwriting. It looked neat, too neat. The e’s were clearly the odd ones out, for they looked messy and awkward in comparison to the other letters. So whoever wrote the note, and by default also took the photos, was changing their handwriting.

Did she know that person’s handwriting if they tried to conceal it, or was it an attempt to confuse her?

“We’re here.”

And so would be the nightmare to your fright.

They were getting closer, the steps a mere second away from putting their hands on you. You could feel their eyes, the malice in their words. You hadn’t felt safe, even when everyone tried to convince you otherwise. While eating dinner with Scott and his lovely mother was absolutely amazing, the comfort couldn’t reach for your own house. Your room was lonely and dark, the shadows lingering even with the light. You hadn’t want to, yet you still found yourself at the Stilinski’s doorstep.

You rang the bell, pulling closer the jacket meant for rain, not cold. The sun was long gone, accompanying you for your walk, and then taking its own way. The moment was frozen for a second, before the door swung open, and Stiles came to be in your sight, with visible excitement until his eyes fell on you, deflating.

“You’re not the pizza I didn’t order but still kinda wanted.”

“Sad, I know. Now, could you find it in your heart to let me in?”

He sighed before answering dramatically. “If I must.”

He stepped back into his house, the door open for you to follow. You stepped in, the warmth tingling on your cold skin. Your took off your shoes, before closing the door and following Stiles. He was in the kitchen, preparing something. His head turned, his eyes focused on you. “You can already go in the living room.”

You nodded, before leaving for the said room.

It was cozy, with vanilla and spiced candles lit. There were heavy blankets, pillows softer than a dream. The movie that was playing called for your attention, the characters familiar to you, no thanks to Stiles. Star Wars was playing, and you smiled at the scene playing in front of you. A young Anakin Skywalker, telling his love of his hatred for sand. It was a rather amusing scene, for all the wrong reasons. But you felt more happy with a rambling Anakin, than to see him lose everything he cherished. Darth Vader was iconic, no question, but the pain he endured to be him, wasn’t worth it.

You turned your head once Stiles walked in with one mug in his hand, probably for you, as there was already a Star Wars themed one occupying the table. Once he sat next to you, he handed you the warm mug, a blue one with stars and the moon on it. “It’s hot chocolate.” You looked at him, saw him take a sip of his own hot chocolate. You nodded, blew away the steam, and took a sip. It was warm, sweet but the perfect amount. It danced on your tongue, neither burned or froze it, and you had to ask him how he made it later. It warmed your hands.

You could get used to this. You took another sip, sat in peace with Stiles and watched Anakin and Padme. How wrong you were to wish for things that would never be yours, you would have to see.

Stiles took the mug from you, before you could drink even more. “Stiles, what-“ But continuing to speak felt impossible with a tongue so heavy, and a throat so dry. Each of your muscles felt sleepy, your eyes drowsy and weak. The pull to close them was strong, and felt so good to give into. Your limbs felt weightless and a thousand pounds, one simple touch enough to make you collapse. And god, was it easy for him to make you helpless.

Your head fell first, a soft cushion taking most of your fall. You couldn’t move, couldn’t look or speak. Everything felt hazy, your fingers so heavy and hard to move. Nothing was in your control anymore, nothing was for you to do. You were trapped in your own body, until your ears shut down too, and you were all but well. It was easy to pinpoint where you had fallen, the bones easy to feel. Your head was placed upon his knees, the rest of your body still where you had sat before control was whisked away from you.

If one were to see the scene, they would think nothing of malice. Just two people watching a movie, while one of them fell asleep. And with Stiles, this wouldn’t have bothered you, had he not drugged you. There was a question of why the fuck he would do that. Why he would be like this, but finding the answer felt far too away. Reaching for an answer felt difficult, and you just didn’t have the energy to think anymore.

The man above you was grinning, like stars just fell upon him. His hand fell into your hair, massaging your scalp as if you weren’t laying passed out in his lap. It had been so incredibly easy to get you in this position, to get your trust. It was even easier to pretend to be someone he was not. You believed him, and everyone else still did. And with you now exposed to his not very in character actions, he would need to make you act under his rule.

Luckily for him, he got whatever he wanted. Always.

[lured-into-wonderland]

Continued from [x] with @despairforme

“It is.” – she confirmed – “It has no caffeine, though.” – she explained – “They gave it to me at that other stall, but you looked like you need it more than I do. It’s then a pity you cannot have it. I also have a chocolate cookie to go with it, if that’s more to your liking.” – Nunnally smiled to the tall man handing him a small pinkish paper bag with that cookie inside. She was a bit uncertain why she talked to him. He truly looked irritated, perhaps because of that long line, although approaching strangers was not common for her. She was used to proper introductions; to knowing who she was going to talk with. But, somehow, that man awoke curiosity in her; and curiosity always triggered her better part. Or worse. He was much taller making her feeling so little, almost like a porcelain doll with her fair alabaster skin that was not really touched by the sun. In a way he was similar; his skin even fairer than her own. Was it why she approached?

“My name is Nunnally.” – she introduced herself compensating for the lack of proper introduction – “What is this line for? Whatever that is, it seems rather popular.”

“I cannot see above the crowd.” – she added as a sort of explanation, as if it was not obvious that she was smaller than the majority of people around her – “It’s a nice festival they have here.” – she smiled looking around – “It’s been a while since I was out in the place like that…”

“What about you, are you enjoying it?” – Nunnally was not sure if she was not bothering the man; imposing her presence within his personal borders. She would hate it. But he seemed friendly. Perhaps she can act like an average person. From time to time.