#sousterre

[walkingdetroit]

Cameras and Coffee with Scott Millington, 8/13/23.

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[elgaahmad]

🐮 Meuh ! . . #moo #meuh #meuhvache #moocow #vache #cow #sapi #mural #lukisandinding #grafiti #tunnel #onomatopee #onomatopée #kepalasapi #kurban #iduladha #sousterre #gare #chateudoex #switzerland #swiss #suisse #lifeisgood😎 (à Château-d'Oex, Switzerland) https://www.instagram.com/p/CfUrJ41oFRY/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[chaotic-nick]

Chapter Three: There's so much on (y)our mind(s)

Chapter summary: both of them are simping for each other it's annoying, really. Jk. Y/n finally attends one of the flats parties and Mike's asking what's weighing on his head.

wc: 6092

Warnings: Mike and Y/n finally sleep together huheueh

Other characters: the Levi squad appears ~finally ~

Note: thank you to @aizenhours for beta reading chapter 2 and 3 for this, here's to finishing this before April

Masterlist - chapter 4

Ackerman Manor, Shiganshina, Paradis

Sousterre, Paradis

The realisation of Y/n’s stay reaching its third month came to Kenny’s mind once he’d opened his eyes and heard Kuchel’s playlist from the open window of his bedroom. It made sense to him why that thought came hard, he’d been putting off the lunch that Uri and Kuchel suggested since she’d arrived. Her grandmother’s face and her mother’s attitude, that was something he would never imagine. Or be prepared for. Frankly speaking, he doesn’t know if he’d ever be in the mental state face the girl.

Or sit through a lunch when the ghosts of his past were across him.

Family duty is still a duty. That he reminded himself once he’d seen the thick folder hanging on the desk of his office.

 “Kuchel,” he called from the kitchen’s wide open windows, coffee mug up to his face and today’s paper tucked under his arm. She only spared him a glance, testing his patience this — late — morning.

“Kuchel.”

With another huff, she threw the comforter over the line with irritation and bent down to reach for the basket. Her hold on it told him how ready she was to chuck it through the window to land on his face. “What now?”

“Pyxis and Zackly’s waiting for an answer, are they gonna see her or what?”

“Let them keep asking then,” not as annoyed as she expected, Kuchel still threw the basket through the window with a lighter force to it. “Hold on I’m coming in.”

“You could’ve taken this with you!”

“Easier to throw it at you.” She laughed, running in through the door. “Like I said, let them keep asking.”

“She’s an Escarra. The only one with any seriousness in her life, too,” he grumbled into his cup. 

“I’m an Ackerman, you’re an Ackerman. What’s new.” Having a change of heart, Kuchel sat down and spoke in a softer to explain. As if it’d erase a wrinkle from his forehead. “She’s still a kid, let her be that. Do you know what she asked me, Ken? ‘Ms. Kuchel, can you please make me fried rice’, and a college student.”

“I understand letting her adjust here. And to this life.” He sighed. “Unless you’re being more of a mother to her than to your own son.”

Swallowing her anger, Kuchel’s face showed him that he’d gone too far with his words again. “No, Kenny. I’m doing what I promised we’d do. And taking care of her is what I only know.”

“Is the restraining order your idea?”

“No,” her eyes narrowed over the rim of her glass, “she hates her extended family. Saw the opportunity to cut them off forever, and took it.”

He sighed a low “Sorry.” Before turning to his newspaper, “How about January?”

“You lost me, what? January?”

“I talk to her in the morning, introduce the other families to her in the afternoon. January of next year before her classes start.”

“Mhm, she’s in class now,” she looked at the clock to confirm her guess, “Wonder how she’s doing. HA! I should visit her! You can come too unless you haven’t . . .”

A look above his second cup silenced Kuchel.

Suffering.

In silence.

That’s what she was doing in class. Face resting on her palm, and never questioned why her brain chose to tune in to their conversation rather than the class presentations.

“I mean listen, listen,” started Eld, he always started the unhinged conversations when Gunther focused his eyes on the game below the desk. “This is actually important, do you have condoms on you?”

“Now?”

“In your wallet.”

“Now, now?”

“Yes,” hope made him sit straight, watching when Gunther hovered over to reach for his wallet.

Only to open it and say, “Nah, I’m a virgin. Go to the free—”

“The banana flavours gave me an allergic reaction.”

In the first two weeks of classes, she was already sure she’d survive sitting behind them, quietly listening to their conversations. Today, when she woke up after a sleepless night and started the day with no effort to ‘behave’ herself, her cheeks hallowed out and a hand went up to her to cover her mouth.

The other hand gripped her pen harder, laughing to herself as their heads slowly turned to her. Both of them with agony written on their faces.

“Urusai, you two are . . .” came a new voice from the same row of seats.

Mouths agape and eyes wide open, they all turned to the front. The girl who offered to post lecture notes in the group chat and was voted to be their representative (when no one else raised their hand) turned to them in her seat. “No way, you understand us, too, Prez?”

“Ok wait, no. This is too much. How do you run out of condoms? No, how much sex do you have.”

Gunther shrugged, adding, “The amount he’s talking about is making it seem non-existent.”

“That’s not normal?” Asked (Y/n), bringing their attention to her. “You’re a sex addict?”

“No, that’s why it’s concerning.”

“Ahh,” Eld sat up in hopes that they’d stop talking about his sex life, “So uhh, we understand each other? Japan-raised, too?”

. . .

It was the first time that she walked out of the arts building without her gaze set straight or sometimes, searching for Mike in the practice fields as she avoided the rush of people. She was content with walking to the side, listening as they each explained why— of all people on the campus— they could speak Japanese.

“Eh, same old story.” Gunther began. Only asking, “You guys don’t know?” when their silence meant they anticipated an explanation beyond that.

“We just met . . . this is the ice breaker, ice breaker-ing.”

“Right, uhh. So, listen. There’s this place at the ocean sides of Paradis where most Japanese vendors would take off. That’s the history behind that, and then the world wars happened, and Japanese families fled to those rivers and acted like merchants. I’m fourth-generation Japanese” two finger guns thrown at them to emphasise, ”and I can cut your hair if you want.”

“Ha?” Turned Eld,  slowing down in his steps. “You weren’t joking when you said that was your fun fact? ‘I’m Gunther and I can cut hair.’ ”

“Woah, you really can change your voice,” gasped (Y/n), eyes wide in amusement. Biting back, ‘Can you do a hentai voice?’ No, they just met. That’s too of a wild version of her.

Gunther only shrugged, wearing a prideful smile. “That’s how my great-grandmother put food on the table when we started zero.” Turning to Petra, “What about you?”

“Embassy workers, they made me go to a public school so I can adapt to the language.”

“Eh, wish they did that to me,” said Eld, swinging his backpack’s strap over his shoulder. “Mine were in media, put me in the international school across the company and hired a tutor for Japanese. Double school.”

“Oh,” she nodded, then looked past them to see that Mike’s back was turned to her. “I went to an international school, too. Well, Indian-international.”

“You still know Japanese.”

“When you’re parents are gone for the entire day you learn it from your surroundings. I was an outside kid. I was playing chess with my sensei. And then they just adopted me in the community.” Outside home and always inside the archery dojo until Sensei took to himself to drop her home with Masaki was what she wanted to say. But instead, she only suggested, “we should sit together from now on.”

“And talk in English,” added Petra with a finger pointed at Eld, “you sound like a Tokyo boy. No offense,” moving to Mitabe, “you have a different dialect,” then pointed to herself, “I can’t talk normally for too long.”

“You’re already rusty?”

“Nah, nah, Gyaru-pet(ra) might take over when I’m too into it, jyan.”

Two weeks later, October -

Quiet. 

That’s how Eld would describe the two who sat by his side, (Y/n) scribbling to his left and Petra’s manicured nails tapping on her screen. Which he learnt was Twitter discourse later on. The quiet president of their batch was violent on a Twitter space, the perfect recipe for an online controversy one day.

Both of them shared the same aura of calmness. Their faces were far opposites from sharing any similarities. It was Gunther who nailed the perfect description for it. ‘Serene’s for Petra’ and ‘(Y/n) is melancholy’. 

‘Both shouldn’t be crying, it’d break your heart.’

For a while, Eld agreed. Surely the two of them would have a coming age of moment sometime in the four-year course of their college lives.

And every day when he walked into class and took his seat in between the two of them, they grew comfortable with each other. Every word that came out of their mouths crossed a letter off of Gunther’s description.

“Someone already caused you so much pain. Might as well get back at their times two— Twice the pain. Destroy him little by little, get me?” Petra furiously nodded her head in agreement, carried away by (Y/n)’s reasoning again. 

“Who hurt you?” A question that was ignored when (Y/n) brought her thumb and pointer finger together to form a triangle against her face, highlighting the area between her nose and eyebrows. 

“This area will hurt the most. Like one time, wait we’re talking about your confessions, ne?”

Eld’s troubled mind was roped in, deciding that there was no use trying to make sense of the first page he listened to, “One time a football player only wanted to ask me out just so he could say he dated a Gaijin. And it was rare to see two G’s in one. Gyaru and Gaijin. How low. If we were raised in the same prefecture, I just know I’d tell you to wait for him at the vending machines.”

Great one resorted to violence, and the other enabled it. Annoying how no one would buy his story when he showed them their pictures. What was it that the adults always said?

“Tell me who your friends are, and I’ll tell you who you are.”

“Eld’s talking to the wind again, ne.” Pointed (Y/n) out, pursing her lips together to, “woooo, I’m the wind god answering your call.”

“He’s like that in the dorms, too, heard his grocery list last night.” 

“Uh-huh.” She kicked at nothing, trying to make the cats around their spot look her way. “Make sure you have a shaver for . . . sexy escapades.”

“Or a year’s supply of condoms for sexy escapades.”

Gunther deemed the topic interesting enough for him to put his switch down and spoke, “But, really,” with a finger pointed at Eld, “I think what kind of anime talks about the person better.”

Shrugging, he turned to Petra first. “What do you li—”

“Hentai, ehe,” was the peace sign she threw an effort to distract him from the confession. No, she’s not one to confess. She just talks into the air and hopes to traumatise whoever listened.

“EH? You watch it? I just read doujins and manga—like the explicit ones, too! All online, I can’t have it physically yet,” cut (Y/n) off. “I do watch, like, anime-anime, like shoujo. Shounen. Anything, really.”

“Really, now.” He raised an eyebrow. ”What’s your favourite?”

A deadpan expression on her face and in unison with Gunther’s voice, “Your mom.”

Their heads were thrown back, laughing at the sync of their minds while Petra patted 

Eld’s back. “I think it’s too early on to be sharing a single brain cell, here we are though.” Noticing the hesitating figure of a familiar face looking at (Y/n) from afar they poked at her side.

Contorting her torso to face them, “He’s looking at you. One of the varsity players.”

Unmoving her eyebrows rose up in excitement, “Oh! That’s Mike! . . .Zacharias? Mike Zacharias?” She said not needing to see who it was as her fingers curled against the wooden table for her to abruptly sit up straight and grab her bag from its place. “Please excuse me.”

“MIKE!” She called for him, nearly running into other students.

“Hey,” he huffed up, holding so many questions in his mind when their gap closed. The smile that he hoped to see on such a solemn face was there, could be the people she finally met. “What’s up?”

Her hand guided his hand to grab the plastic container of food. “I made too much last night and I figured, why not? Just . . . this is my container, not yours. Wait,” bowing her head in search of the other container, giving him time to look at the table where she sat at.

They were . . . interesting. And he could only hope that they weren’t as invasive as his only group of friends.

“Now, this is yours— really yours.” She grinned giving him the lunch box of sandwiches and snacks in the other compartment. “You don’t have to give me the container back or anything.”

“Thank you!” Nodding his eyes kept her from leaving the conversation, even though she was turning to the side.

“Uh, you have practice, right? We can just text or . . .”

“Kinda miss having you by my side, just existing.” Before his mind could process the semi-confession, he moved them to the side and leaned onto the barbed wire of the fields. “There’s a party and if you by a miracle don’t injure yourself again—”

“Oh, great! I’ll definitely go this time. I’ll see you there, right?”

“Shoot me a text, I can wait for you outside.”

(Slightly) Jumping in her spot was something he never expected nor imagined, “Yes please, I’d be so lost.” 

“MIKE YOU CAN TALK TO HER WHEN YOU INVITE HER—” a whistle, and something his teammates said that had them laughing.

Her body turned to the side, and she waved. “Practice well I guess, and I’ll see you Saturday,”

“Right, right. You too.”

“What’s so great about college parties? Besides the alcohol and stuff. Is it a big deal or—?” Was her first question when she returned to their table, debating on throwing her bag on Eld’s chest, who laid comfortably over his and Gunther’s combined jackets.

No, he’s suffered just enough today.

“It’s the alcohol and stuff, but frats. Cool kids of any university. Sororities, too.”

Joining them at their feet, “That’s all?”

“I’ve been to a few in the first month, it’s not that much,” Petra began, “You go be with Mike. That was him, right? Then while you’re seeing all these people with the music here and there, just observe. And then compare it to when it's Halloween in Japan.”

“Specifically Halloween?”

“Alright, too much. Just after-school club activities. Ah, mine was going to claw machines, I miss those.”

“I went to an international school.”

“Then compare it to something wild there.”

“Uhm, hmm? Can’t think of any wow,” throwing one last glance at Mike whose attention was on warm-ups added another mental image of him in her mind. “Well, guess I’m going huh.”

Pi Kappa Alpha  Paradis Chapter

Navigating around the chapter and trying to look straight ahead in the sea of sweaty party-goers somehow brought in a weird feeling of home. Home being Japan in general. And this party was a replay of the many concerts she and Fumiko went to during summer fests to watch their vkei bands. It was funny how the vow she made of going to crowded places was broken in the first semester of her first year.

Still though.

She’s not and will never attend another party like this. Even if it was one that was hosted in Pardis, parties were a reminder of her friends. Friends were home. Unfortunately, she was painfully— almost medically homesick.

And she didn’t want to embarrass herself by crying somewhere in the corner because of it.

A cold liquid being flung near where she was hit the back of her shirt followed by a panicked “sorry,” from a sorority girl, eyes wide with guilt. The target was by (Y/n)’s right. Assuming what the situation was like, her eyes searched the kitchen in front of her.

There he was, hand wrapped around a cup that swished with whatever alcohol was in it.  Or poured into. “Mike!” Arms crossed and turned to the other pledges he towered over.

Turning to reveal the panicked expression on her face, he nodded over his shoulder to them. “(Y/n)!” Said Mike in the tone she called his name out in, inspecting if anything had happened to her. “You okay? Anything? Shit, sorry for losing you in the crowd, I was starting to worry about you.” 

“I’m alright,” she said with hands waving as if that would calm him down. Hovering her hand over the row of water bottles, her eyes held a look of question. Opened one after he picked one from the boxes under the table— just to be sure. “I just wanted to say bye before going home.”

“Already?” Then he remembered what she’d said when he invited her before. “Was it too much for you? It is for me, so I just escape outside.” He tried, briefly turning to one of the open doors.

“Ahh, no.” Leaning her back against the wall, she watched the crowd she pushed through enjoy themselves, cringing when she saw a few share drunken kisses. There was a brief debate about whether she should tell him how different it was back home. Again though, she assumed that she was tired of Mike hearing all about Japan and settled to saying, “Station closes at eleven, so that’s that. See you on Tuesday?”

Waving his hand, she stood up to pat her pockets to make sure she had everything with her.“ Wait,” he mumbled. Phone. Check. Wallet with one hundred. Check. Her train pass was missing.

Mike jumped in his place as he looked up and saw the grimaced expression on her face.“Okay, at least let me walk you there.”

“Thank you,” discarding the bottle on her way out, the night’s breeze finally cooled the layer of sweat that was on her neck despite the air conditioning inside. “I need another train pass. Lost it while I was in there.”

“You the type to have emotional attachments to little things or what?”

Angling her neck to meet his face, she realised how red his face was with the glow of the streetlamps on the side of his face. “What if the train pass was actually huge, but you’re just super tall.”

In his flat tone, “Ha Ha Ha, that’s so funny. You are such a creative genius, (Y/n).”

“Thank you, thank you. It’s difficult being me.”

. . .

Just as she accepted her fate of walking home, hope made itself known when an empty train rattled the tracks. “But that just went.” She reasoned with the ticket lady who’d been throwing an attitude before she could even begin the question.

“If you’re adventurous, try brisk walking to the next station it’s going to, dear,” the smile (Y/n) wore out of politeness had never faltered so quickly, brows furrowing at the woman. Was that a joke? Or a disguised weight loss advice, which, truthfully was suited to come from someone at that age.

The hands that rested on the counter turned to fists that kept her patience in check, still the lady on. “Trains stop at ten-thirty on weekends. Keep that in mind next time,” she bared her teeth, showing the red lipstick stains in a poor attempt at a smile.

Fists falling to the side, (Y/n)’s “Thank you,” said through gritted teeth was barely heard. ‘Bitch.’ was mouthed as she turned to walk back to Mike who insisted on waiting before she boarded a train.

“What’s up?” He asked following her down the steps, one hand out of his pocket to catch her by her wrist if she tripped on the narrow steps. How she did this twice every day was a mystery to him.

“Late.” Unsure. She looked around. Thinking of a solution to this. 

“If you want,” Miche slowed down his steps when he caught up to her, “you can sleep on my bed.”

Deep down she already wanted to squeal a thank you, latch on his torso and squeeze him. The careful side of her, however, made her eyes the size of a dipping sauce bowl and turn to give him a look that would make Mike say those words again.

No. Not again. He didn’t want his words to be the death of him. He’s already made a fool of himself the first time she saw the chapter.  His eyes matched hers in size as he slowly explained in a rising tone, “Not in that way, I’d drive you home but I’m already under the influence. Sleeping at the chapter could be your last resort? If you want to? Like, I’ll sleep on the floor you can take my bed! All of it.”

She stared at him longer. Relishing his panicked expression and how the tips of his ears turned red before sighing. “I’m hungry, I’ll think about my options after I have something.”

“Yeah,”

“Didn’t you eat anything before?”

“Nah, first-years help out in setting up the place. . .” he opened his hand, putting a finger down as he recalled what they were told to do. ”Letting people in. Checking if they’re actually invited. Nightclub duties kind of thing. Takes the whole night actually, not to mention-”

“Mike!” Behind them another empty train passed, reminding her of the dilemma she was in. “Let’s go eat.”

“I smell like shit, resto’s gonna kick us out.” And also that issue.

Reaching behind her to pull on the back of her shirt, she showed him the alcohol stain that landed on her. “Yeah, same. I was caught in a crossfire.” Put both her hands on his back with a ‘tack!’ to it and began pushing him in a direction she didn’t know,  “But I’m hungry as fuck— let’s go.”

“I’ll pay you back.” He mumbled.

“Don’t need to,” then stopped to walk beside him, “let’s stop at a pharmacy when we find one, ‘kay? Need sleepover stuff.”

“Sure.” For once, Mike was glad that he wasn’t spending a night at the chapter tolerating a party. And was instead stuck with her. Discovering how higher her energy levels are at night. He giggled with an exaggeration to it, bumping his hips to her torso, “Your first college sleepover, what are we gonna do?”

When she looked at him with mischief that matched his Mike was sure that the high of living on his own began to wear off. He was becoming his old self again who liked being with only one person— how strange, really.

“We’re gonna braid each other’s hair and talk about boys, and then do each other’s makeup.”

“Cool, cool, cool. Always wanted to feel pretty.” 

Ichido Ramen Shop

There was a swirl of too many emotions at once that simultaneously tried to hug the image of a bowl in Mike’s head. On the table was a bowl of noodles swimming in golden broth with vegetables— fresh and chopped that decorated around it. It was something that came to life from pictures of instant packaging.

This was ramen. Looking up in question, he was met with (Y/n) staring at him. She said, “The green square is seaweed called Nori. I’ll eat it if you don’t want it.” in a tone that sounded more like she demanded it. “First time?”

The bowl of a new dish was ignored for the sight he couldn’t remove himself from. (Y/n) emptying most of the chilli powder’s contents into her bowl. Concern made his eyebrows furrow together, “Can you eat that?” His answer was her shaking more of the chilli into her bowl until its surface was covered, even the noodles weren’t visible. “(Y/n). Dude. That’s like, next-level spice. Are you okay?”

“No, it’s not.” Handed him a fork from the tissue box in between that doubled as a utensil holder ”Eat before it gets cold.”

He wanted to tell her so many things. Things brought by the red-black bowl of steaming greatness. Ask her the stories that came with the bowls of ramen she’s had in Japan. “Where do I start?” And, if he was the first person in Paradis who she had a bowl with.

Not that he’d expect to be the first one, but it’d surely make his heart flutter if that was the answer. “We can start with a picture. Hold the bowl and I’ll take a picture for you.” She said after swallowing more than what she could take. Reaching for her phone, a waitress that had been watching them began to walk towards their table. “This your first?”

“We can take a picture for you, miss. Both of you?” Said the girl whose beaming smile narrowed her eyes to slits.

“Ah!” Jumping in her seat, (Y/n)’s eyes widened, the phone being held in both her hands. “Nihonjin desu ka? (Are you Japanese?)”

And then a transformation from a reserved (Y/n) to being more lively. Her eyes wide with delight and a smile stretching across her face was an image that made Mike’s mind stop functioning. To have it burned in his brain was its want, not caring that the noodles he had swirled around began to slip off his fork and fall back into the broth, creating mini splashes that hit his hand.

“Hold your bowls up and try to sit together!” She said, stepping back.

. . .

“Wow,” he said, swinging the plastic bag of her impromptu shopping spree at the pharmacy. “You should speak Japanese more, you sound so . . . it sounds crisp, yea. That’s the word.”

“Thank you,” her face scrunching up at the sight of the chapter still coloured with lights and the faint sound of music was noticed by Mike, before it turned into a puzzled one. “I’m in Paradis! Why would I talk in Japanese? The fuck?!”

A shared look as the beginning of hearty laughs sat above their lungs, Mike throwing his head back and a hand on his chest when (Y/n) snickered. Their laughs turned to cackles when he nearly tripped on his own. “Oh wow, I love being ‘round you, makes me feel so light.”

“No,” she nodded, feeling the ache in her cheeks, “It’s me who should say that. I actually feel like my high school self. No, high school was hell. I just feel very me. Very (Y/n) around you.”

“You too?! I was realising it from, like, way back!” Slowly, Mike walked backwards. Hands behind his head, not wanting to break the eye contact between them. “Won’t your boyfriend be mad?”

“Huh?”

“Won’t your partner,” Ah. Yes, that’s what their teachers always taught them. He was proud of himself for noticing it before it was pointed out. “Won’t your partner be mad?”

“Never had one.”

“Like never ever never?”

“Yeah,” she chose her next words carefully, “funny thing was when I went in the pharmacy they pointed at the family planning section. They probably thought you and I were a thing.” Though that didn’t make him giggle.

“You never had a boyfriend? Ne.Ver?”

“Never. Ever.” The change in his face only pushed her to ask, “Is there an age quota for that?”

“No, I mean like, to each their own.” Teasing her he bent to her level, bangs covering his eyes. ”Wow, but why?”

Knowing what direction she’d push him in, Mike moved to the side. “Why like . . . never had a boyfriend.”

“Exactly!” Pulling her to her side, closer to him to serve as his armrest. “You’re pretty—”

To serve as his armrest or to hide the blush reaching down his neck when he confessed it.

“Me? Pretty? That’s new. Wow. Thank you, Mike.” That was another door to her personality that he unknowingly unlocked.

“Never got called that?”

“It was always cute, rabbit, kitty. Not Pretty.”

“Rabbit, I don’t get it. You look more like those tired cats in morning cartoons. Like you don’t care if the world is . . .” switching from using the crown of her head as an armrest, his hand came down to ruffle it. “But wow. You have the looks? Really?”

”It was only crushes, most of them were on seniors who left that year. Never did anything relationship-y. Was scared it’d pull me even lower.”

“You did tell me that part you’re—” the expression on her face when she looked up made him slow down to properly choose his words. In a careful tone he continued, “— the next to graduate on both sides of your family, so all of them are watching me and then you under so much academic pressure in high school.”

“Oh, the school played a role in it, too, don’t worry.” Stretching her arms, the chapter right in front of them and the smell of sweaty bodies mixed with combinations of alcohol made her nose scrunch more. “Can we walk around more?”

Only a heavy hand, gently landed on her head to turn her around. “Let’s go.”

 . . .

“You take the extra pillow, I’ll roll one of my blankets to put in between us.” He suggested from where he stood. Back against the cabinets, fully convinced that he’d comically trip and land somewhere inappropriate. “You comfortable there?”

She was unmoving above his bed. Hands folded above her tummy, eyes fighting the urge to sleep. “Yes,” moved to make room for him, ”and thank you.” 

(Y/n) was nothing more than a friend. A pretty one that was yet to realise that, unaware of the world. Even the red look on his face as he dragged his foot one after the other. Dropping the rolled blankets between them, her face turned to him with a look that made him still in place. “You aren’t gonna sleep yet or . . .?”

Awkwardly bent down to the bed’s level and hands on the mattress, his mind was quick to remind him that his face would plant over his if he dared trip. Or take another step. He prayed. One that would make the god it’d find question if it was really a genuine one. He prayed that he wouldn’t be so stupid and lang to her face, stealing her first kiss. “I am,” he answered with a slight tremble, “Gotta change though.”

Cool, cool. That’s right. He can do that.

Turning his back to grab his change of clothes. “Is it weird to say that I feel safe with you?” 

Opened his cabinet’s doors even though she couldn’t see him— or how his face was completely consumed by red. “Mhm, honoured even.” 

“What if you wake up and I’m crushing you?” She asked in the most serious tone he’s ever heard from her.

“Then I’ll roll another blanket to put between us.” 

“Is it another Jurassic park blanket?”

“No,” slowly he sat at his side, back turned to her. “It’s space-themed.”

“Thanks for letting me stay the night.” She sighed into the pillow surrounding her head. “Night, Mike.”

“Ye-yeah,” between the first night of moving in and this, he was already sure that it was this night that’d give him dark bags.

Only the street light outside illuminated his room through the cracks of his window and a concerned Mike who wondered if she usually slept still or if she was— “Still awake?” 

A muffled, “Yea,” over the sweatshirt’s sleeve that she put over her mouth. 

“It’s the party,” he sighed, feeling a surge of guilt for putting her in a situation like this.

“I’m surprised you can sleep through these, or this many people under one roof.”

“You know, give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be awake from my own snores.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” He let himself rest his back, pushing the rolled blankets towards her. The relief brought out another yawn from him. “You know what’s hard to believe? That you don’t have a boyfriend at all. Never.”

“Again?” She giggled. “Never. Don’t plan on having one until I graduate.”

“Yea, yea. I’m sure once you go to the library you go out having one.”

“I wanna study there.”

“So you can find a boyfriend? See, knew it.”

“Aha ha, no. I don’t have anyone to study with there.”

“Should’ve told me sooner,” he said. “I study there almost every day, actually.”

“Pfft—”

“Really, it’s too loud here on some days. So, yeah. Library’s the way.”

“I see.”

“You can join me there . . .” he quickly followed with, “If you want to.”

“Yes, yes and you can be my boyfriend connoisseur.”

“Deal!”

College of Arts, Pardis University

For Eld who was used to the Tokyo commute— even considering himself a survivor of it after he moved abroad, the frat party that weekend took so much from him. He denied it for the entire day and only admitted to it when he slept through today’s last alarm.

“Hey!” Mike who became a familiar face dared greet him through his helmet, waving his arm up high.

Both of them grumbled a “Morning,” all that he and Gunther could do was nod. Continuing their way to class.

Like them, Petra was quiet too. Her head cast downwards at her desk and eyes wide open in an attempt to keep herself awake. “Hey,” said the two taking their seats in front of her.

“Did anyone eat breakfast?” And then her. “I wanna get breakfast, let’s go.?What time does class start?”

Petra’s head which was weighed down by regret for leaving (Y/n) behind in the kitchen, shot up. Nearly yelling, “Where did you go?”

“Oh yeah, you disappeared somewhere. I was at the staircase almost asleep.” Eld dared brag with Gunther holding up his phone, ready to show him pictures.

“He actually fell asleep on their staircase.”

Swatting a hand at them to shut up, Petra pushed again. “I was worried you were uncomfortable. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. Mike and I—” pausing once she saw their tired faces turn to scandalous looks“— ate ramen”

“And then I had the best sleep of my life.” 

“DUDE!”

“You need to tell us—”

“How did it lead up to being the best sleep of your life, hmm?”

. . .

They could count the days of how long they’ve been friends, instead, they only sat at their spot outside the arts building. There was nothing special about a table identical to all the other ones around it, but throwing their bags in and sitting at a specific angle, it’s an amazing view of the lacrosse team.

Lean in a little bit closer and you’d hear the senior students yelling profanities at the new students. Even questioning their skills.

“So you slept next to him,” Petar confirmed again. “Next. Not with?”

“Yeah. Next to him.” Emphasized (Y/n). “Please, it’s not that big of a deal, really.”

“Frats are drama cesspools,” threw Gunther. “Dunno, that’s what my older sister told me. That’s why I never joined.”

Eld who was already busy with next week’s assignment set his technical pens down, stretching his hands. “Yeah, my dad was a frat bro. The way he pushed me into almost joining his old fraternity seemed off.”

“Oh,” Nodded (Y/n), asking herself if she was about to regret that decision. “Does it help if I say that I see him as . . . average-looking?”

“Jesus Christ,” breathed Petra. “Poor thing you really need your glasses. He’s got that— that look. It’s just there.”

“Which one? Dude only looks between angry and excited.”

“You know,” Eld said, picking up his pen again. “This feels so much like a shounen manga.”

“The time I woke up in a frat house and found the blond demigod attractive.”

A slap to the poor table, “HAH! You called him a demigod, he is attractive to you.”

“Dewa nai.”

“You say that now, but deep down in your heart there’s something there.” Petra teased, high-fiving Eld as they wheezed together, heads nearly meeting their folded legs. 

“Knock knock it’s me the one who loves you,” laughing progressed to slapping each other’s shoulders in amusement. (Y/n) only sighed as she fought the voice that told her to look past their heads and see what Mike was doing.

They were late. 

While they assumed that she’d like him after a few more parties spent together and laughing together over the shoujo-esque confessions she’d make . . .

(Y/n) already knew that she liked Mike.

And she accepted that she liked him.

Tagging: @barbossa2319 @ririthu @nathalunalune @1252291 @shrekisshrimpthesimp

[julie-vanille]

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[chaotic-nick]

Chapter one: The one named (Y/n)

'And so the heir is disappointed with her inheritance', Miche is introduced at the end

Wordcount: 8300 - no warnings in this chapter

(M/n): Mother's name.

Masterlist

Note: This sat in my gdocs since the end of November of last year, I literally woke up and chose to why not post it now.

Happy Reading

• • •

Ackerman Manor, Shiganshina, Paradis

(Sousterre*, Paradis)

Had it been any other day of sulking at Levi’s departure to an expensive private university— one that his biological father offered to pay for to make for the years lost, Kuchel would have probably turned the walls of her room grey from the amount of sadness she’s felt. Her baby boy, all grown up. And didn’t hide the happiness of leaving his mother's nest. In fact, how Levi moved on from staying in his room all day to walking out the door one last time, was a shameless display of him being so happy that he was free. Should she be angry? Or happy? Kuchel would rather save it for when she’s out drinking wine with her friends. Though the phone call made on her work phone was already enough of a suspicion. She had made it clear that no one should ever call her for the first two weeks of this month. Let her lament in peace.

The answer wasn’t a ‘hello’ in any of the three languages she spoke or a greeting at all. Spoken in a hushed tone and almost hurried that the caller’s words were almost too incoherent to grasp. It was one that made her eyes grow wide, it could’ve rolled down her face. And not register given how serious it was. After the call had ended, with her bare feet and half of the unworn cardigan flew along the corridor as she dashed to where Kenny’s office. So what if it was a date day with Uri.

And curse him for putting his office across the house. Brothers are personal demons from hell.

Family responsibilities aren’t like clients. They don’t make appointments. It’s given to them even before they were born in this world.

And only to people who are able to carry them out without breaking a promise made a generation ago.

Kuchel stopped at the door of his office to catch her breath, Hand curled around the door frame to balance herself. “Kenny!” From how composed he is, she knew that Ilse had called him first. With information like that, even Kenny’s demeanour would be reduced to a panicked state. One where he’d take his hat off and throw it to the nearest chair and his hair would resemble a bird’s nest.

“I know.” He dismissed, slamming the age-old printer choking out the papers he needed “Printing Ilse’s reports.”

Nodding, Kuchel entered the office to sit across him. Have what Kenny won’t eat given that he’s in work mode now. Then looked at Uri who was in deep thought reading something off his laptop. “And you Uri?”

“He said he rather have me look at her inheritance than someone else.” 

Kenny spoke into his hand, his glare boring into his desktop. “In this case, inheritances, where the hell did that old bastard get his money?” Turned his phone to show the picture of the (L/n) girl, one that Ilse took at their house. Disinterested and what Kuchel guessed was a Gi, wrinkled from a day’s worth of practice. Was the news brought to her out of nowhere like them? “She’s seventeen.”

That’s all he could say? Not the fact she didn’t look like her mother, but rather a direct copy of her grandmother. Young and void of any hope like the world had snatched everything from her. But why? The last time they ever talked to (M/n) she happily spoke highly of her husband. Was the poor girl another victim of academic depression?

Kuchel remembers the happiness in (m/n)’s tone in telling them how he lets her work to put her teaching degree to use while he worked enough to take them around the world. 

Seventeen. Seven-teen. She’s seventeen. Seven. And. A teenager. Don’t teenage girls squeal when they get inheritances?

Unless the said husband is rich enough that reading the details put her in more boredom than euphoria. Or were rich enough that it was pocket change to them? “Ilse couldn’t talk to her. Is apparently to quote, ‘colder than her mother.’”

“Seventeen and already a college student.” She pointed at the box where it said she was more concerned about moving all her books with her. “Right here, Ken.”

Uri joined them at the table with his laptop in hand. The amount of cash endowment scared him. “Must be the difference in curriculums. Assuming she enrolled in an international school, she could also be late . . . ”

“It’s like that?”

“Depends on the school, but International schools really build a foundation. The name itself is an advantage to the students when they graduate.” 

Kenny scoffed, “Told you to put your son there.”

Wanting to bite back, Kuchel only smiled understanding that this isn’t just a family responsibility. If they played the role properly, the girl could think highly of them. If they become the villain in her story— dated tell her what to do, they’d be enemies. Years and years of a genuine friendship down the drain just like that. “Anything I can do, Ken?”

“If you’re done sulking about your Levi— go.” But him not acting like the oldest sibling, is starting to get on her nerves.

“You wouldn’t know what it’s like having a child.” She spat, in unison, he dropped the manila folder tearing at the sides with the same energy of her tone. ‘Assets’. 

“Her grandfather secured assets around the area, you do what you have to do.” He didn’t need to explain it to Kuchel or Uri. Besides a university degree, and before guiding her the how’s and ways of the strings in this world of business, they’d have to teach her the norms of Paradis’ elites. The folder containing assets worth more than their lives combined, he couldn't stop the warning stare he gave her. “Kuchel—”

“I can do this. I was a manager, don’t forget.”

“Can’t really with Levi existing.” His side of the head was lightly slapped by Uri who read over the many zeroes.

“Kenny!”

“She’ll arrive with her family in two more months. You do all the talking.” At least he was self-aware of how his looks would scare away the teenager. NO, more like think that she was recruited into a syndicate of some sort.

Biting back the urge to throw an insult at him, she was glad that there was a stray hair tie in the pocket of her cardigan to gather her hair to the side. “Anything else I should know, Ken?”

“Not sure myself, but,” he grumbled into his hand. Still, it was hard for him to wrap this around his head. All this new information about a person that’s been dead for two decades. His amount of experience in handling cases that tried to outdo each other nerver prepared him for this. “She doesn’t know she’s rich to this extent.”

“Of course (M/n) wouldn’t tell her,”

“Both of them don’t know.”

Without a second thought, Uri said, “Secrecy Act. Passed in 1965.” Pointed at the textbook he took from Kenny’s shelf. “It was controversial when it was passed, too.”

Yatanomori Kyudo Dojo, Japan

In his years of existence in this world, Takigawa Masato was finally old enough to be given the special lane when buying snacks for his students at the dojo. And a discount. Discounts help a lot when all his students are tired. The table he put at the very corner for the end of the day was soon decorated with more colours of snacks in different packaging. Some had . . . toys in them? Weird. Well, at least it made them happy.

But not old enough to know that it was her who was being a menace to everyone her age in the gym. (Y/n) (L/n), his first student when he retired from competing to enjoy his golden years in the gym. Masaki’s friend. She took pride in being the first one who crawled away from the three-year misery of high school and enduring sleepless nights. Coming in after a month-long absence for the first time in twelve years with fists on her waist. “I have officially graduated.”

Yes, she was the only one who attended a different school. With a peculiar uniform, too. But she made an emphasis on it when everyone who was studying confessed their envy to her. “Oh wow, bullseye. Wanna know how I did it, Kamura? It’s because I’m out of school.” Or “My bow turned after I shot my arrow. Like the page on my exam paper. You know, the last exam I wrote.”

Had he known that taking in the little girl who cried for her mother, rushed to the hospital when she went under labour, would be wreaking havoc with the mere power of her words in his gym . . .

    . . . Takigawa would’ve made the Judo teacher take her to his gym instead. Or what if she brought in trouble at the Judo gym instead?

All that he could do was sigh at his poor student’s faces, looking at him with help written in their eyes. Once she goes to university, no, once the three of them step out of the gym one last time, the gym will be as quiet as the happenings in his life.

Dressed in casual wear today, Takigawa was content with watching the three hone their skills to a greater level. (Y/n) coming in to tell him that she won another amateur competition and added more to her savings account for when she moved out of the country. Her back was only straight when she was ready to shoot her arrow. He was concerned that one day she slouched enough that her face was imprinted on her study table.

Fumiko, still yet to find her style in Kyudo,  came in today with the idea of replacing the calligraphy charts with a new one. Only to run back home to get her uniform after seeing (Y/n) and his grandson practice. “Sensei, don’t lock up. We’ll do it. We’ll clean it up, too.”

An afternoon where he was feeling the tranquillity that came with age, watching the three students he took pride in. His other students bade their goodbyes, unsure if they’ll ever find time to shoot arrows with them after their exams. “Sensei,” she ran to him when the table was empty of the snacks he put. Flinching when Masaki yelled at an arrow for missing the bullseye. “Sensei. Sen-seeeei. Eh? Masaki, your grandfather fell asleep sitting.”

“Mm, (L/n).” He was definitely not old enough to be doing that. How pathetic that would make him be. Taking out folded bills that were in there for who knows how long, he placed it in her hand. “The three of you should clean up after he runs out.”

“And buy yourself a snack” he added, when (Y/n) scanned his face, making sure he wasn’t “— I am not sleep talking, (L/n).”

“Hai.” She looked back at them and decided to sit just behind him, hoping she'd appear as though she was watching them.

“You are the only foreign student I’ve had.”  How does he make conversation with a girl he considers his own grandchild? His daughter only gave him one. And it was a boy. He loved Masaki, but seeing him turn out like he was . . .

“Does it still count if I’m Japan-raised?”

“That is an answer you only know.”

Ah. He's a got a question. A good one. “Do you see yourself carrying this on?”

“Sensei,” he braced his heart for a poetic answer. Maybe it’d make him cry. Or his heart could swell with pride. “That’s a question for someone who isn’t hungry.”

This kid. Perhaps having a grandson wasn’t too bad.

Laid out together on the plaid blanket Masaki brought out under the tree, (Y/n) nodded. “This is the meaning of life,” she said. One hand with milk tea. The other with a chocolate bar. So what if Fumiko said it was going to give her diabetes and then kill her. In her way of life, (Y/n) believed that she deserved nothing but bliss in the five months before moving to a country she refused to call home for university. She’d laugh at her parents every time they told her that she’ll come to love it.

Her parents could’ve let her go with her friends to Malaysia. Let them live together in a mixed dorm. Or let her at least try writing the entrance exam in Cyprus. Them saying ‘yes’ to those would’ve taken to an unimaginable height of happiness. 

But this—

This is something she can never buy.

Fumiko’s outburst made her look at what she laughed at. Masaki’s juice, which he’d been trying to open since they came back from the convenience store, was all on his uniform. “Argh!” Saw the camera recording him, covered it with his hand and told (Y/n) with an expression like he was about to cry. “Really?! I just washed this!”

“Wash it again, Masaki. The world has too many problems already.”

Throwing her phone in the pile of their things, she leaned on the tree. “So that’s it?”

“Yea, we wrote our exams and we’re now on a two-month waiting list. Indian or not, you can’t 

back out from your boards— that’s what we call it within the school. Name’s too long to even 

remember.” (Y/n) offered tissues knowing that the fabric of their uniforms soaked it up. Something to console him.

“Can I study at your house? Help me with eigo, (Y/n)-cchi. I’ll do all your gym duties . . .”

“Mom said you can sleep over, too. And tell us before when like . . . like anata taberu or nai (your gonna eat or not) (ethnicity) food. It’s what I have at home most of the time.”

“Thought you were from Paradis?” Asked Masaki.

“Paradisian-(ethnicity). Japan raised and,” pointed at herself with her signature grin. “And a graduate of an Indian International School. Would you believe that?”

“You’re not Japan-raised. You’re Takigawa-raised. The old man has a soft spot for you—  he made me run four rounds . . . after I spilt all of my calligraphy ink on his gi.” Joked Fumiko, still laughing at how he could turn his gi orange like that. “Masaki, youMasaki you can study with us if you want. You’ll just have to sleep in the separate bedroom and yeah, her mom makes a different type of rice than what we have. It’s more separated.”

“I would. Could ask for math tips, ne from your dad if he wants to. But like it’s my grandfather. He’s the problem.”

She feigned a sigh. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Really?”

“What do you want me to say? Besides, can’t you two go to Tokyo with a Kyudo scholarship. 

Not to brag, but our picture’s in the city hall for a reason.” She followed with, “Kyudo is all I know after graduating now. It’s become my way of life.”

Together, the two stopped, shared a blank look and then averted their eyes to her to say, “You’re comping around, (Y/n)!”

“Makes me good money, too. I can’t leave my manga here. What if dad sells them all. Worse, he sends them to his side of the family because I don’t need it.” The two have heard enough stories from (Y/n) to know that she despised her biological family enough to call them ”— bottom feeders. They’ll accept anything because it was from Japan. And then, sell it for less than half what I got half I got it for.”

“You are flying back, right?”

“On semester breaks, of course! Mom said I should maintain my Japanese residency card.”

“Must’ve been sad seeing your international friends disperse, huh?”

“Hai-hai. I’d rather say goodbye to them than be in a toxic school environment, get me?”

“True, you . . .”

“Shut up Masaki.” (Y/n) and Fumiko shut him down without sparing a glance his way.

“What did I do?”

“Exist.” Said (Y/n) and Fumiko together, giggling at how perfectly timed it was.]

She has until the first week of July to live the days of a chapter she’ll soon close. Spend as much time with the two of them at the dojo, or even study with them. Play with her childhood dog who’ll soon enter its senior dog years— having to accept this was the hardest thing she had to do. When there was the fact that she could never score anything beyond fifty that she needed to accept. 

Maybe she could convince the two to help her pack seventeen years of her life in those boxes provided by the shipping coming or else they wouldn’t send it out of Japan. What about her Kyudo bows? And the kimonos? Adding them to an existing pile of stuff would increase its weight by three.

. . . putting them all together would cost more.

Or she could leave them all here.

And end up somewhere in the house repurposed as a kitchen rag. She tapped Masaki’s shoulder to ask the question of whether old kimonos had any use when a rental car stopped in front of them. 

Rolled its windows down. And a woman peeked out. “Ano, sumimasen . . .” (Uhm, excuse me) from the hesitance in saying to those, to her accent. Partnered with the frightened look on her face.

Yep, a migrant worker. And probably one who’s never driven on the right-hand side of the car before.

“We’re English speakers, miss.” Said Masaki, standing in front of the two. Just in case, he’d always say. “How can I help you?” The woman showed a photocopy of a home address he’s memorised.

Were they being deported? No. Her parents contributed so much to the prefecture. Helped everyone. What reason would they need to deport the nicest people he’s met.

Or was it just  (Y/n)?

“May I ask what business you have with them?” There she was. Blank. Eyes staring straight ahead. Woah, is that how she sounded when she spoke English? No not that. Why isn’t she showing panic like he was? “Miss. I’m the daughter of whoever you’re looking for.”

“I see,” she made a human centipede out of herself, stretching from her seat to the back of the car to open the door, hoping that she still looked cool to a bunch of teens with a lot of angst. “You can tell me the directions and I’ll drop you off there,”

“Miss, if it’s my dad you’re looking for he’s—”

“Can we ride with her home, we’re sleeping over at her house.” (Desc of how Masaki wasn’t listening and interrupted her. And then they all go in the car with their things and bows)

(L/n) residence. 5:00 pm

This was not a ‘Just in Case’ situation that she and Masaki prepared for. After Ilse had suggested that she drive the girl home— as a tactic to get a feel of her personality, the three cramped in the back of her car. She knew straight away that the one who spoke to her was that Granddaughter Zackly talked about. Looked into the mirror every time they stopped at the red light, to take keywords to describe her. Though the smell of sweat convinced her to roll the windows down with the excuse of wanting to feel Japan’s air. 

‘Fresh blood’ as Ilse introduced herself to the mother of the household at the threshold. Cradling a newborn and a seven-year-old running out to greet (Y/n) to hug her waist. And a five-year-old running with a pair of scissors directed at them. Following them inside, Ilse’s mind swelled with pride, the news of this was surely bringing them joy.

Make the cold heir thank her.

But of course.

She waited all of her college life to do this and made a dramatic show of setting the papers out of her briefcase in the coffee table (Y/n) cleared up. Zackly was confident to send her all the way to Japan, and she’ll be confident in telling them, with all her chest, that, ”According to the Secrecy Act of 1965, any will be made by a person . . .``This” this was all textbook knowledge drilled into her now. Memorised. It came out like flowing water, perfectly memorised and into their ears.

“Right. Correct if I’m wrong but today marks twenty years since mister Escarra, you’re father, has passed?”

Guilt made (Y/n)’s eyes go wide. How could she not remember that day? His picture was at the entrance of the house. Along with her other late grandparents. But really? Was that why mamma was sick? “Ye-yes, miss Langar.” The least she could do is take her brother from her mother’s arms and let her have a better view of whatever those papers are.

Join Masaki and Fumiko at the kitchen table in completing the puzzle with her other brother. “For twenty years, all the assets, businesses and investments have been kept safe as instructed by mister Escarra because he doesn’t trust any of his sons. And you were the breadwinner of the family after his death?”

“The only one.” How her mother could confirm that with a smile never fails to fuel her blood towards three of her good for nothing uncles. Sending her, the youngest, to Japan to work for their vices. Ilse seemed to understand the situation too. Hiding her pity with another look at her papers.

“Unfortunately, your last name’s not Escarra anymore,” with both her hands taking the red passbook engraved with their family initials on it with a chequebook and extending her arms toward her. “This is all yours now, (Y/n). In his letter of authorisation everything, he owns goes to the daughter of his only daughter. That or it all goes to the Government.”

Her mother pried her younger brother off of her, giving her a reassuring look to take passbooks. “But why?”

It’s not a just in case situation, but rather a situation bizarre enough to start a shoujo manga series with. Complete with a twelve-episode anime adaptation and all. English-dubbed too. “I have no use for this.” Said (Y/n) that made her mother’s breath stuck in her throat.

So what if her left arm was pinched for being bold. Her father’s an aeronautical engineer, a teacher and paid extra by a gym for teaching them Karate. What more has she yet to buy when both of them have taught her the value of being content with what she has. Perhaps they thought she was joking, carrying on with their conversation as if her question wasn’t serious.

“Zackly— is he related to you by blood?”

“Godfather. He knew of this, Miss Ilse?”

“He sent me here to tell you.” Also, was her briefcase never-ending? She was pulling labelled folders one after another. As colourful as they might have looked, it didn’t make the grim situation feel any better.

“Funny, he was here to be my witness. Could’ve told me years ago when her father and I were starting out. It was a struggle, really. No one in our family knew, and we had a baby . . . ah, what a story.”

Then looked at (Y/n). Oh? She’s the buffer to the awkward conversation then. Great.

“Miss (Y/n) the news.” The latest folder she pulled was, again, handed her way. With an orange post-it note labelled ’assistance’. “And the Ackerman Family is ready to help you adjust to this life, they want to pay you back for your grandfather helping them.”

Beside her, (M/n) beamed at the familiar face in the family picture. “Kuchel!” 

Ackerman Family. “The woman of the family always wanted a daughter of her own.” This mysterious lawyer cut the part where she was living in the moment with her friends asking for directions. Only to ‘change’ her life. And the ‘Santa Claus’ named Zackly who she only saw during summer vacations in Paradis at breakfasts and lunches . . . knew it, too?

What kind of reaction did they want from her? This was too much. Really. Even her home felt suffocating with all these talks of money.

Tying the strings of her top properly, (Y/n) bowed. “Miss Ilse, I left my things at the dojo. And I—cleaning duties as the only one without school.” And turned her back, the impact of her knee hitting the table, shook the papers. One worried look was thrown at the two, and they were scurrying out.

She didn’t intend to look at her grandfather’s picture at the altar longer. Grumpy was an expression he proudly wore in the only picture she’s seen of himself, a white shirt gone grey from the many years of use kept safe in her mother’s drawer. “What’s wrong, (Y/n)-cchi?”

What’s wrong is that she never talked to him. It was his fault he died before she was born— or before her parents met, and now he's entrusting so much of this responsibility to her.

July: Paradis International Hotel

It had been a while since Kuchel dressed herself up, almost forgetting how she scurried around the walk-in closet attached to her bedroom and connected to her bathroom. She didn’t need to reminisce about Levi being so attached to her that the same closet was his playground while she showered, but that’s motherhood. What Kuchel did notice was that she kept her makeup simple, and didn’t bother changing into a different bag when she passed by her shelf at the entrance of the bedroom.

Kenny’s relentless teasing didn’t bother her either as he walked her out of the house and to the car waiting to take her to the hotel where the family stayed for a week before driving to Shiganshina to spend the rest of their summer vacation. Come to think of it may be the car she had chosen to drive her there seemed flashy.“Good luck,” he dared say with his mouth curved to the side as if he was taunting her, bent down to the level of the open window.

Instead of a thank you, Kuchel happily held her finger up, flipping him off. Basking in his look of shock until the car drove further until he was only a dot in the mirror.

She didn’t realise it, but her mind was only on the Escarra girl until she reached the hotel’s ground floor cafe. In comparison to the hotels she’s been in, this was . . . really meant for tourists. Affordable in terms of exchange rates and expensive for the locals. 

Travellers like her family. At least that’s what Ilse said and what she remembered from (mother’s name)’s stories

Kuchel was now lost in thought with a finger tapping the glass of ice-filled water, if this was the hotel she was sent to meet said heir, then the girl was raised in privilege. Simplicity yes, maybe even made to mingle with other people in a much . . . as hard as it was to say it, from the lower class. There were plenty of versions of what this (Y/n) could be like.

Decorated with brands, oozing with arrogance because she attended an International school all her life. Travelled between countries in the summer and around Japan during winter breaks. The one who basked too much in material things and drowned after taking her first step in the real world.

Or the type of arrogance that was quiet and came out in words directed at the working staff.

In nervousness from forgetting what Kenny asked her to say, she looked down on the arranged papers. Playing pretend in reading over them.

“Excuse me, Miss Ackerman.” Kuchel expected everything on the higher side— shocked that the girl t-shirt was that of a manga character, washed down from the many uses and covering her shorts. Her hair appeared long from being swept in manyinmany directions, something that Kuchel’s seen in most teens her age. Only a phone in hand, nothing else, not even jewellery.

So, Ilse wasn’t joking when she described the girl as the average of averages?

With how aloof she was, she could easily pass as Levi’s sibling. How cute. Sitting up straight, Kuchel hitched her glasses up and directed her arm at the chair, telling her to sit.“I assume Ilse explained everything?”

Feminine in her movement, using the sports jacket to cover her lap. Sitting straight, “Yes, ma’am,” and still a child when her eyes landed on the croissant and the hot chocolate on Kuchel’s table.

“Do you want one? I can order you one. Hot chocolate?”

That seemed to have won her over. Nodding (Y/n)’s attention was on the stack of papers. “Thank you.” 

Clasping her hands, the nervousness melted to excitement. A smile that Kuchel hoped was warm to (Y/n). After all, this was still a child, slowly waddling in the sea of the adults. “To start off, formally of course. Good morning miss (L/n). Nice to finally meet you. Do you know 

anything about us Ackermans?”

“My mom told me she used to babysit you? You were also friends?” Of course (M/n) would teach her that being rich meant genuine friendships. Just how blind was she to her power?

“Among many other things. Your grandfather and my father were mahjong partners since elementary school. Before he died he was so keen on telling us to maintain a lifelong friendship 

with our family. Take care of them, he said.”

At this point, (Y/n) didn’t know what was harder. Processing fourteen years of her school life all going into a book of memories as quick as to how her mood changed when she was with her friends. Moving to a country where Kyudo wasn’t even acknowledged? The stress of both her families trying to plaster themselves as people who cared for her— with the goodness in their hearts and because she was the only girl, she should be treasured! Really, all they wanted was money.

She concluded that her prediction was right. Paradis would make her depressed. Add more to what she was already depressed about back then.

And all these talks of inheritance and businesses of a grandparent she never met, it was all too much. Really.

To her, who was isolated from growing up abroad and in the privilege her parents strived hard to provide. The concept of having to fake concern for her extended family didn’t matter. Like trash, she threw them out of her mind, deeming them as the people who would ruin her inner peace.

The family was her three brothers that came later, her parents and the senior dog. She should be asleep in the gym under sensei’s care as of now.

Masaki and Fumiko? They were the type of family that grew up together, honing their skills in the Kyudo dojo.

Thin paper, staples at the upper corner. It carried the smell of the forms banks asked you to fill in and was slid to her. Lowering the plate that she held up to catch the crumbs, Kuchel explained, “The list of names includes your paternal side if you sign that you allow all of them to have a share of the inheritance at the time of a premature death.” Her eyes snapped back at Kuchel with the most distressed look on her face. Death? Death! Was that discussed in stuff like these?

“Excuse me,” Kuchel didn’t see the look of horror, focused on getting a staff’s attention. “You happen to have a permanent marker? My client needs it.”

“Let me check, madam.”

“Thank you,” then back to (Y/n), uncapping the marker. “As well as your maternal side. They’ll be informed of whatever you want Ilse to tell them.”

“Ah, more drama then.”

“You’re not close with any of them, are you?”

“They only love us when they need to exchange yen for dollars.”

Handing her the permanent marker, “Then they’ll love you more.” Kuchel wholeheartedly believed that it was the teenage angst speaking when (Y/n) said those words. Though the tough how the marker’s tip pressed hard on the paper that it’d bleed through the other pages, striking a name after giving it a single read, the horror on (Y/n)’s face moved to her.

All that they’ve done to her was probably enough not to bother looking their names over again. Just one strike over these people. That’s it. What was comical was that (Y/n) hummed the Doraemon tune as her foot tapped under the table.  “I think I’m done.”

Like a hitman listing off his victims’ names.

The first smile that Kuchel saw on her was when she handed the paper back to her. “Can I ask for a restraining order on those names?”

“This is all of your family, (Y/n),” she gave it another read. Yep. All of her family indeed. Not sparing anyone else.

Just her three brothers and her parents.

“Yes.”

“I can get you another copy of this— think about it?” A nod ‘no’ shook Kuchel to a realisation that mentoring (Y/n) may be a bigger challenge than she and Kenny assumed. 

Maybe the kid— scooping a spoonful of whipped cream from the bowl and onto her cooled cup of hot chocolate, was happy that she could finally cut off her family legally? “What are you studying, dear?”

“Communications.”

“Are your papers finalised?”

“I wrote my exam last year when I was vacationing here. All I have to do is walk in for the 

admission interview.”

“That’s possible?”

“I’m considered a foreign student.” She shrugged. “So, I guess. You get special attention for being an international student.”

“Tell you what,” the papers all sorted into their folder and slid back into her bag. “My son started his semester; If your parents are too busy, I can help you.”

“Really?” That was a more youthful smile, one that Kuchel couldn’t resist. Her hand was faster than her mind in reaching across the table to pinch her cheek.

“Yes. Are they busy?”

“Jet lag and my brothers are still babies so, yes. I don’t want to bother them anymore. I should 

tell mama!”

According to Uri, who was made the official financial advisor by Kenny and signed by Zackly, buying an old property and restoring was far cheaper than renting a dorm where the university was. Definitely not in the dorms rented out for cheap with roommates you’ll never meet. No discussion was needed, all of them coming to an agreement that someone as innocent and aloof as (Y/n) shouldn’t even be anywhere near the dorms.

It was a rundown house that her mother chose, telling the construction workers to build shelves on one side.

Then moving in, the family spent as much time as they could before they flew back to Japan. Her father told her the many ways of a toolbox and its contents in the morning, then he’d tell Kuchel that he spent his entire life protecting her and that he trusted them. In the afternoon, (m/n) thought of her survival dishes, regretting that she kept (Y/n) out of her territory that was the kitchen for the longest time.

Pictures of them taken in the house and celebrating the start of (Y/n)’s journey as an adult was posted on the wall at the entrance of the house.

A tearful goodbye at the airport when they loaded their bags on the airport’s carts to continue their lives in Japan with Kuchel coming along for moral support. When the van door was closed, (Y/n) only wiped her tears, already accepting that from the moment the van drove away she was starting a chapter in her life. Alone. 

 Honestly, she was handling the whole goodbye scenario much better compared to her parents.

“Thank you for coming with us, miss Kuchel.” A bow. Always so respectful. She was adamant that she stays respectful despite Kuchel’s words telling her that there was no need for it.

Again, Kuchel squealed on the inside fighting the urge to pinch (Y/n)’s cheek.

“Anything, really.” Kuchel wouldn’t say it out loud yet, but spending more time with the girl made her feel like she was a part of the family, Rather than a duty.“Wanna eat somewhere? Or—”

“To be super honest. Like, really honest.” Gone was the sadness in her eyes just like that, excitement showing through the puffiness. “I wanna go to Ikea, never went there when I was in Japan, It was in the capital. Also need to decorate my place! And the brown bear, too!”

“You still haven’t unpacked?”

“Mamma told me to wait for them to leave so I can go all out without worrying about my brothers 

or dad. He’s sometimes a-know-it-all, really.”

“Already embodying that solo life.”

“Yes!”

In the quietness that enveloped them while the van took them to their destination, agreeing that eating at Ikea was the first thing they’ll do, Kuchel wondered if (Y/n) had any sense of . . . dressing. She wore another washed-out shirt and jeans again. And her shoes.

Covered in dirt, maybe even from Japan. She explained that there was some sentimental value to it. Even so. Was this how she was going to dress in Japan?

There were still two weeks before university started. Three days were spent resting from the emotional weight of having to say goodbye to her family, where (Y/n) realised that not moving around the home would accumulate laundry and specks of dust. In the next four days, she’s done nothing else but memorise train routes and play adult with how she wrote out a planned spending expense while waiting for her packages to arrive.

“You’re not gonna build your furniture yet, dear?” That was the first thing Kuchel asked when (Y/n) opened the door. In her arms were vegetables fresh from the market and a bag. 

“Ah, I was digging around my closet,” she explained, navigating through the house. “Here.”

“Oh.” There are two things that (Y/n) was still getting used to. Might even take the entire first year of her college life to accept it.

One, living alone. How could she possibly do all her laundry and clean floors while waiting for the water to boil? Still though, (Y/n) realised sooner that living alone may have been a strong adjustment, but being able to play her music out loud? Everything somehow was easier.

And two, “It was sitting in my closet for who knows how long. Never used it.” The material things that came with being rich. 

“Thank you, Miss Kuchel.” A bow, while her mind told her that the bag was probably more expensive than the wallet she saved up for back in tenth grade. Having the box in her hands made it feel surreal.

Inviting herself to take care of the matters in the kitchen, Kuchel explained, “It’s a Louis Vuitton Alma if I remember my history correctly. Perfect for when you just need to go to your uni to pass a paper or whatever.”

“Miss Kuchel,” (Y/n) joined her in the kitchen. “Can you make me fried rice?”

She needed to remind herself that the kid was asking for help. Still, her heart pounded with a joy that made her hum as she moved about in the kitchen. “If you want, (Y/n), we can go to the grocery store? Get you a few things so you’re rested?”

“Yes, please.”

Sitting on the floor of the living room with leftover fried rice from yesterday as the sky cast orange into the entire house, telling her that it was time to turn the lights on. “Ack—” looking down to see what stubbed her toe on her way back from turning the lights on, it was only the study table. Following it was its . . . fellow unbuilt furniture, all laid out on the floor. 

Collecting dust.

Also, as innocent as they may be, they’ve stubbed her toe too many times.

Asking Kuchel, who (Y/n) already knew would ask Kenny would mean being a bother to them. There wasn’t any update on when her books will arrive from Japan, though it’d be nice to have the shelves all built and ready to house them, right? 

Curious, she pulled out the instructions manual from inside.  If I could pass my board exams, this. This is fine— really fine . . .   She thought, then flipped to the first page that stopped her from chewing. Eyebrows met together with the more pages she flipped. Murder me, Why must one demand so much from me. This is too much. It’s enough that I was born into this world,

She was never the one to keep things for the next day, or until it was needed to be done . . . somehow, but . . . the instruction manuals changed that way of thinking. Perhaps the course of her life, too.

 It laid there long enough, that dusting the boxes became a part of her routine. Even stubbed her toe when she was getting ready forgetting for her first day of uni. “You still haven’t unpacked! Nice I’m looking for dorms to move into.” Greeted Funiko from the other side of the screen. Unlike the two of them, she already spammed the group chat withiwth pictures around the prefecture— “Just in case you missed home.”

“Where’s Masa?” 

“Probably at the temple?” (Y/n) suggested, the bag that Kuchel gave her was at the end of the counter. A brief wonder if she should switch the contents in her bag to there.

“Ooh, I have to tell you—” A bubble of Masaki’s name appeared at the corner, cutting Fumiko off.

“I’m here, moved into my apartment!” Ignoring them, (Y/n) looked into her backpack. Checking things off. Should she already bring the monster of a pencil case with everything in it? Or just the black pen?

“Eyy, Kyudo boy’s gone Tokyo boy.”

“Shut up, Fumiko.” The attention shifted to (Y/n) who stayed in the frame, but looked somewhere else. “You never told us what you were taking.”

“I didn’t?”

“Yeah,” Masaki angled his phone to show the bow displayed on his wall, his pride and joy. The reason why he was studying in Tokyo, to begin with.  “You were always comping even after you were told about your . . . blessings.”

“Old habits die hard? Oh,” seeing Fumiko’s private message on screen, she stepped back. Arms raised. Turned around to show her first-day outfit. “Taa Daa.”

“Grandma.” Masaki scoffed. He would’ve gotten punched by the two had they all been together.

Who’s grandmother wears an all-black outfit? Only her shirt was white and tucked into her pants, perfectly contrasting her blazer. Her bag is almost morphing into the outfit. “It’s (Y/n), only she could pull it off like that.” Making her smile, and flapping her sleeves.

Adjusting her ID lace strap, she realised that she could only spare a few more exchanges of words. “I’m wearing my docs— courtesy of comping. And I—”

“—haven’t told us your course.” Both Fumiko and Masaki nearly yelled.

Her reply was yelled back at her poor phone with the same vigour. “Communications!” Earning her two reactions. Fumiko’s tired eyes beamed with joy, making her look more awake. ‘I knew it!’ Said her face while Masaki, who was always set on being a Psychology student, kept quiet. 

That was the first time he’d heard of such a course.

“Not  . . . music? Thought you’d go for sports-related stuff or economics. You told us you loved that, right?”

“Yea, the teacher made it lovable. Sports? Nah, I don’t have this body forever, get me? And as for music . . . it’s a hobby much like Kyudo.”

Fumiko laughed heartedly, bringing the phone for a change of scenery. ”Ask her to run around and she’d ask you ‘why?’. Communications is such a good course, (Y/n). It feels you! Do they have Kyudo there?”

“I think so, but.” She looked at the clock above the door frame and got off her seat. “I’m leaving everything I did in Japan there.”

“Ahhh what stays is high school. . .”

She smiled, waving her hand. “ . . . stays there. I’m off now, send my regards to Sensei!”

As predicted in the middle of the orientation after they started explaining the grading system, she walked out with an ache behind her knees and a weird pang on the left side of her head that burnt behind her eyes. The type of pain that only an academic setting would give her. The crowd of her fellow freshmen who already made large groups of friends running out all at once worsened her hesitation to continue with the day. One nearly pushed her to the side when their shoulders bumped.

Feeling another gust of wind cool her nape, sweaty from having kept her hair down and making her lower back shiver made (Y/n) think about pulling out her collection of sweaters in the back of the closet. Paradis was colder than Japan, regardless of it being a summer month.

Frats chanting the names of their chapters left and right on the way to the main campus where the general classes were and sorority girls who briefly stopped to look at her with plastered grins while they made an exaggeration in ‘inspecting’ her head to toe took everything in her not to burst out laughing in their faces. (Y/n) wasn’t going to do anything that might ruin her entire college experience.

This is Paradis a place where her blood is from, not Japan. Her territory. Where she could call their atrocities out and gain even more popularity. She’s thought of going home when another wave of welcome songs came from them— both boisterous and out of tune came, ‘No, I survived school for fourteen years to back out now.’

Standing at the entrance of the classroom with her hand on the door handle she blinked, as the realisation of being the earliest person in class dawned. Her feet already hurt from walking around to find Room 845, why did she only realise that class won’t start two hours from now?

 . . .  if memory serves her right, there was a Japanese Cafe near the train station. Homesickness introduced itself, giving her hope that there may be something in that cafe that’d soothe the feeling. 

And off she went out of the building with a grumbling stomach.

Enduring as it may be, having to deal with that kept her mouth sealed shut in the back of the classroom. The drink she asked for takeaway became more unappetising to look at. Right feet began to tap at a fast rhythm one after another, continuously shaking her shoelaces. And the notebook she bought from home was beginning to be filled with miniature senseless sketches to keep her occupied. Muji pens weren’t a good option either. ‘Pilot.’ Scribbled (Y/n) in a shopping list she’s made for later. If she still has any more energy to spare.

Feeling an intense stare on her, she slowly turned her head, grimacing at the pain in her neck. ‘Salonpass’ for later too. Or maybe something stronger? Tiger balm?

Oh.

Hello.

What an attractive person.

Really.

One who made vibrant sports shorts paired with his grey hoody look so— what’s a fancy word for hot?

“Hi?” Her tone sounded like it inquired more than greet him. In all her years of beating up who dared make fun of her at school for being paradisian and was convinced that no one liked her at all, she felt her skin become hot under his stare. ‘I mean if I had eyes like his, maybe I’d stare at people like that, too.’

Too fixed on staring intensely back at him, she missed how his knees collided with the chair right in front of him when he sat up straight. Not once breaking eye contact with her. Raising both his hands to put them together in a triangle changed what looked like a blank expression to him to confusion.

Illuminati?

“Pi Kappa Alpha.”

Na . . . Nani? And he looked so proud of himself too. The fuck. Must’ve been the weird kid at school who claimed ownership at the playground. She didn’t want to say it as she averted her attention to the Professor who made a show of opening the door with her leg, being that she was one, but ‘nerd’ fitted him.

At least she already has a story to tell the two when she gets back. Whatever that meant to blondie. Still feeling his stare on her, she turned her entire body to the side, scanning the front area or the middle area for unoccupied seats.

Fate wasn’t on her side. Were all the boys in Pardis like this?

No, were all the boys in uni the same as the boys in high school? Only this time they were awya form their parents . . . and so, they become . . . walking axe bottles.

And for now, (Y/n) could only hope that his level of weirdness only stopped there and he wouldn’t try talking to her. Or chasing her after class. She didn't want this day to be a rewind of her many first days in her school. 

Which was throwing someone twice her size like that on the ground is a land mine of many things that can go wrong. Again, what happened in high school stays there.

A cough from him as he too turned away from her. “S-sorry.” Shaking the bangs he moved away to hide the embarrassment in his eyes.

Translations/ Explanations

Sousterre: French word for 'Underground', to reference where Levi lives in the canon verse

Kyudo: Japanese Archery where the bow is longer

'Boards': The final exam a student in an Indian school writes in their 10th and 12th year. The hardest exam a student writes before graduating.

Comping: Reader is an athlete who uses her skills to earn pocket money before learning of her inheritance.

Escarra: The last name of reader's maternal grandparents.

Taglist: @soaringmirror @ghost-party @ririthu @rowsn @sinnerofthewalls @we-are-so-close @sukosie @blondeboyfriend @killerbananas @bee-ackerman @petitachi @stigandr-the-cat @axoxtxhxh @hoestarave2 @soaringmirror @ack3rlady

[dominiqueottphotography]

Parisian depths, 2018 ------- Felt like spending an afternoon in the guts of my city! Damn is it creepy all alone down there!! The smell and darkness made me feel like i was the last man on earth! 💀💀💀 J'ai décidé de passer une après-midi dans les entrailles de Paris. C'est quand même assez flippant tout seul là en bas! L'odeur et l'obscurité m'ont donnés l'impression d'être le dernier homme sur terre! ------- #sewers #paris #photography #alone #underground #darkness #smell #nosunshine #apocalypse #survivor #creepy #canon #égouts #obscurité #sousterre #seul (à Paris, France)

[peanutwarrior-blog1]

Metro Opéra c'est la jungle 😄 #metro #transport #jungle #verdure #sousterre #metroopera #guyane #film #movie #paris #paris jet aime #parismonamour #pariscartepostale #pariscityvision #pariscitylove #pariscity #city #monument #statue #voyagesdetective #parisphoto #photography #photographie #parisphotographer #parisamour #iloveyouparis #centre #phototheday #simplementparis #unlimitedparis (à Métro Opéra)

[el-nigloo-loco]

/// Claustrophilia #06 /// [France - 2K16] /// IMPORTANT NOTICE: These quarries are open to the public. No thug-life bullshits here, THIS IS AN OFFICIAL VISIT. /// Nous quadrillons toujours la campagne du Maine et Loire en quête de ses joyaux engloutis, cette fois en direction du lieu-dit des Mousseaux situé sur la commune de Dénezé-sous-Doué. En termes de tourisme, l’ambiance de ce hameau est nettement plus aride qu’à Doué-la-Fontaine, mais ça ne l’empêche pas de dissimuler une cavité réputée unique en Occident. La ruelle est déserte, le gros des juilletistes s’agglutinant autours des plus prestigieux Châteaux de la Loire ou des exploitations viticoles de renom. Nous en ferons les frais un peu plus tard, nous le savons, mais pour l’heure nous profitons du calme quasi idyllique régnant à l’accueil de la Cave Aux Sculptures. Alors que nous réglons le droit de visite, je ne peux détourner mon regard de l’escalier abrupt s’enfonçant, à tout juste quelques mètres du comptoir, vers l’inconnu… mais chaque chose en son temps. En guise de préambule à la visite, nous sommes tout d’abord dirigés vers un bâtiment annexe, pour une projection d’une vingtaine de minutes ; Occasion de planter le décor d’un outre-monde loin d’avoir livré tous ses mystères. Enfouies à proximité d’une cure, ces caves furent [re]découvertes au XVIIIe siècle par un ecclésiastique qui, effrayé par les saynètes y hantant le tuffeau, ordonna sur le champ leur occultation. Presque par hasard, elles se révélèrent ensuite avec pertes et fracas à deux ethnologues de la région en 1956, avant d’être classées à l’Inventaire Supplémentaire des Monuments Historiques en 1969, puis de devenir propriété de la commune, laquelle les a depuis ouvertes au public. Ce réseau a effectivement de quoi déchaîner les passions les plus contradictoire puisqu’il renferme un statuaire composé de près de trois-cent figures lesquelles, dans un style naïf, tournent en dérision les institutions politico-religieuses d’époques révolues. Mais, si la cour royale & le clergé ont clairement inspiré l’œuvre satyrique se jouant ici-bas, elle n’en demeure pas moins truffée de zones d’ombre que les chercheurs s’affairent à éclaircir depuis les 70ies. Pour commencer, quel est le contexte historique, social et culturel exact de ces sculptures ? Naturellement, la recherche est avant tout menée au cœur du souterrain lui-même, par analyse des vêtements et accessoires perceptibles dans les scènes coutumières représentées, des rares dates gravées ça et là, des fours et du puits cachant probablement des détails caractéristiques, des graffitis d’époque… Mais, si certains éléments de l’ouvrage peuvent être datés, cela n’est pas nécessairement applicable aux sculptures elles-mêmes. En complément de ce travail méticuleux les archives ont naturellement été sollicitées, mais n’ont livré que trop peu d’indices. On y trouve plusieurs fois la mention « Cave des Mousseaux », mais cette donnée demeure trop vague au vu des nombreuses cavités ayant toujours existé sous le village ; Village qui, de surcroît, gît au cœur d’un ensemble troglodytique pour le moins gigantesque. La mention « cave sous le clos de vigne de la cure » s’avère en revanche plus intéressante car, citées à plusieurs époques avec leurs propriétaires ou habitants, elles limitent clairement le champ des recherches à une zone géographique donnée et une tranche temporelle s’échelonnant entre les XVIème & XVIIIème siècles. Petit à petit, l’enquête progresse, mais il subsiste un secret resté opaque au fil des décennies : Qui sont les auteurs de ces sculptures et quels étaient leurs desseins avérés ? Question d’autant plus hasardeuse que, durant les invasions & conflits, les sous-sols du Maine et Loire servaient régulièrement de refuges aux autochtones. A ce jour, n’existent que des hypothèses plus ou moins crédibles, dont aucune n’a pu être historiquement prouvée. Parmi les principales : - Albert Heron, coordinateur des fouilles en 1974 / 1975, évoque un temple païen où deux très anciens cultes étaient célébrés: Un culte de guérison et de fécondité autour du puits: certaines figurines représentent la progression du cycle de la vie, tandis que d’autres illustrent des infirmités et sans doute des activités de rebouteux. L’eau, contenant du souffre, pouvait alors avoir des vertus thérapeutiques… Un culte au dieu de la vigne et du vin : Etymologiquement, Dénézé-sous-Doué découle du toponyme gallo-romain « Dionisiacum », formé du nom d’origine grecque « Dionysos » et du suffixe « Acos », qui signifie littéralement « domaine de Dyonisos »… - En 1967, au vu des premières découvertes, Raymond Mauny [Professeur à la Sorbonne] va évoquer un ancien souterrain refuge du XIIème devenu carrière d’extraction au XVIème qui aurait ensuite été occupé soit par un Conventicule Hérétique à fins d’initiations, orgies et sacrifices infantiles… soit, plus raisonnablement, par un paysan-carrier Rabelaisien désireux d’exprimer ses fantaisies loin des vicissitudes fanatiques de la fin du Moyen-âge… - Selon Annie Brethon & Daniel List, qui furent conservateurs du site pendant vingt ans, l’interprétation des figures pourrait suggérer le travail d’une confrérie de tailleurs de pierres, soucieux d’immortaliser dans le calcaire les événements politiques de leur temps. Il s’agirait alors d’un témoignage non officiel d’art populaire, destiné à une poignée d’initiés durant le tumulte des guerres de religions, et resté dissimulé jusqu’à nos jours. La dévastation qu’a essuyée le bourg de Dénézé, alors en pleine expansion, entre 1567 & 1569 pourrait corroborer cette hypothèse de loge souterraine préservée grâce à la complicité collective, où une communauté originale de carriers & maçons devait pratiquer un rite initiatique secret, comme au sein de nombreuses confréries de métiers. - Dans des sphères plus festives, un certain nombre de chercheurs défendent la survivance de traditions héritées du carnaval et, plus particulièrement dans ces contrées, de ce que l’on appelait les Diableries de Doué ou « Jeuz de Doué ». Ceci expliquerait pourquoi on retrouve parmi les personnages sculptés un certain nombre de symboles carnavalesques d’antan : la procession, l’allaitement, le souffle, les plumes d’oiseau… Au début du XVIIème siècle, l’Eglise et la Monarchie – après avoir fait preuve un certain temps d’indulgence à l’égard de l’érotisme et de la paillardise – restaurent la Chambre Ardente et l’interdiction de représentation des Mystères. Les réinterprétations grotesques de la Passion, les spectateurs s’adonnant à des actes obscènes, les acteurs et musiciens déguisés en diables ne sont alors plus les bienvenus. Les « Jeuz de Doué » désormais interdits, il est concevables que l’ont ai continué à les célébrer dans des sphères plus clandestines et que l’on ait, à cette occasion sculpté les fresques des Mousseaux. - Mais la montée de l’obscurantisme ne s’est pas faite sans contestations, et ce au sein même du Clergé. C’est précisément le fer de lance d’une autre théorie qui place à l’origine de l’ouvrage l’art populaire lié à la vie paroissiale. Il ne faut pas oublier qu’en ce temps où était remise en question l’autorité de la religion catholique, bon nombre d’hommes d’églises furent également condamnés au bûcher pour pratiques et prises de positions jugées inappropriées… Il ne faut pas non plus négliger le fait que la mystérieuse cavité est située sous un presbytère… - À l’aube du XVIIIème siècle, les Francs-maçons ont crée une loge à Doué la Fontaine. Celle-ci se fit rapidement remarquer par son activité soutenue et l’ambiance de franche camaraderie animant ses rencontres. Des témoignages relatent qu’on y jouait de la musique et s’y exerçait à la comédie. Quelques uns de ses membres résidaient néanmoins à Dénézé et, aux yeux de certains chercheurs, il ne serait alors pas farfelu d’imaginer des réunions cérémoniales alternatives & sous-terraines du côté des Mousseaux. - Au cœur de la cavité, une date gravée en particulier suscite toutes les interrogations : 1740. Celle-ci nous projette peu de temps avant la Révolution Française, époque à laquelle les curés de paroisse se sont révoltés contre l’autorité religieuse. Ils devinrent les prêtres jureurs de l’époque révolutionnaire et si, contrairement à leurs homologues du XVIIème ils n’ont plus réputation de libertinage, ils ne manifestent pas moins une grande souplesse vis-à-vis de la gente féminine… - Au XIXème enfin, époque de grande restauration des lieux de cultes, il n’était pas rare que les apprentis tailleurs de pierres apprennent à reproduire gargouilles & autre créatures liturgiques dans les carrières d’extraction de pierres… et contrairement à ses voisines du Douessin riches en Falun, la commune de Dénézé est l’une des rares à recéler du tuffeau ; minéral tendre dans lequel il est aisé de tailler. Tout cela contribuait à instaurer un univers fantasmagoriques au sein duquel bon nombres de sociétés secrètes émergeantes aimaient se réunir. Parmi elles, notons « La Marianne », dont les rituels d’initiation inspirent certains gestes ici sculptés. Ces groupements occultes étaient étroitement surveillés par la police de l’époque, et certains rapports de cette dernière décrivent déjà étrangement le spectacle se jouant encore à ce jour sous les pieds des Denezéens… Peut-être qu’aucune de ces hypothèses n’est exacte et que la réalité est bien plus terre à terre… Peut-être qu’il y a une part de vrai dans le mysticisme de chacune d’entre elles… En attendant d’en déceler plus, nous vous laissons deviner laquelle séduit le plus notre psyché & forger votre propre opinion, mais sachez que le conservatoire du site est à l’écoute de toute contribution utile. Nous voilà finalement en bas des quelques dizaines de marches aperçues à notre arrivée. Surprise : le réseau n’a absolument rien à voir avec ce que je m’imaginais. J’envisageais un petit dédale tortueux… il n’en est rien. Toute la zone a été dégagée & aménagée afin de mettre en valeur la foultitude de statues taillées en ronde bosse. Des gradins permettent, sous forme d’amphithéâtre, d’appréhender le lieu dans son ensemble ; galvanisant au passage l’imaginaire le plus béotien. Les moins prudes peuvent approcher, sans entraves, les figurines afin d’en découvrir l’incroyable variété. C’est un parti prit très courageux & appréciable compte tenu de l’attitude du touriste lambda, mais surtout des outrages que le temps a déjà fait subir à bon nombre d’œuvres : Eaux de ruissellement et d’infiltration, remontées capillaires, phénomènes d’évaporation et de condensation / de dissolution et de cristallisation, pont thermique généré par le plafond chapé, alternance froid / chaud imputable aux saisons, et autres activités photosynthétiques… ont considérablement altéré la roche, au point de faire disparaître certains motifs. Ca et là d’antiques photographies en N&B sont d’ailleurs apposées pour permettre au visiteur d’entretenir quelques repères physiques concrets. Si cette excavation a d’ores et déjà été réhabilitée / viabilisée de fort belle manière, le patrimoine aussi énigmatique que fascinant qu’elle renferme n’en demeure pas moins très fragile, et il n’y faut guère plus que quelques secondes d’errance pour en prendre pleinement conscience. L’œil se perd dans les méandres de fresques sublimes et barbares où des rictus odieux côtoient des faciès séraphiques, où les oripeaux de costumes somptueux tranchent avec la grossièreté d’une nudité primale, où des hordes de créatures malingres et faméliques grouillent dans l’ombre de titans plus harmonieux et sculpturaux, où l’iconographie religieuse se désagrège inexorablement en idoles renégates… D’une telle contemplation, il est difficile de ne pas ressortir avec un sentiment privilégié, tant elle relève à la fois de l’inédit et de l’atavique ; un peu comme si l’on avait assisté à l’avant première du « Häxan » de Benjamin Christensen en 1922, ou comme si l’on avait l’occasion de feuilleter des planches jamais parues de Philippe Druillet. De retour à la surface, l’esprit aventureux pourrait aisément ressentir l’émotion quasi nostalgique d’un choc consommé qui ne pourra plus vraiment connaître d’équivalent… du moins s’il n’avait pas repéré, s’enfonçant loin au-delà des parapets & éclairages artificiels, des galeries où bien des mystères restent encore à exhumer. A nouveau, un site incontournable du Maine et Loire, que nous ne pouvons que vous recommander. Le prix d’entrée est absolument dérisoire et l’accueil est plus que chaleureux. INFOS : https://www.facebook.com/lacaveauxsculptures Full Visit available soon on URBEX MOOD. JOIN US IN DECAY !

[pmigneault]

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