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sodapill · 4 years ago

Text

days like television

words: 3.9k

relationships: denji & hayakawa aki & power, implied akiangel

ao3 link

a/n: here’s something i wrote exploring the dynamic of the hayakawa household from denji’s pov!

cw: mild emetophobia, smoking, ptsd

These days, Denji finds himself greeting every morning with a face full of cat fur.

Nyako has taken a liking to sleeping in his room, and she’s got a strict routine that he’s expected to follow. Breakfast doesn’t begin at the reasonable time after Aki doles out their portions, but rather whenever Nyako demands it, usually before the sun has peaked past the horizon and always when Denji is dead asleep.

Her favorite method of waking him used to be persistent yowling, but recently she’s adopted a new strategy—settling the length of her pudgy stomach over his head and cutting off his air supply.

It’s devious but effective, and as Denji’s body kicks into fight or flight from lack of oxygen, he can’t help but think they’ve raised a spoiled brat.

Power claims that’s how all pets are, but Pochita never refused the pathetic scraps of food Denji managed to scrounge up for their sporadic meal times. Nyako is the odd one for being a normal cat with normal needs.

It’s a good thing Denji is “nothing if not adaptable,” a phrase Aki used once that he’s since latched onto. Whether Aki meant it as an insult or not is irrelevant.

Occasionally growing a chainsaw for a head has made him realize he can adapt to pretty much anything. The hardest part of it all was learning to live with other people, and Denji sort of manages that. What difference does a daily smothering make in the grand scheme of things?

He’s gotten used to pulling a purring Nyako from his face so he can trudge to the kitchen and open a can of cat food. It’s considered one of his chores anyway—and yeah, they have a chore chart now.

That was all Aki, of course. Fed up with the stacks of unwashed dishes and dirty clothes strewn across the living room floor, he’d cooked and then withheld a delicious hotpot dinner until Denji and Power both agreed to work out a schedule. They’d decided to cycle cleaning throughout the week and set Saturday as laundry day. That way there was no excuse for Power to walk around in her underwear under the guise of not having anything to wear. It was her idea that the penalty for missing a chore be losing a finger, and Aki added it to the chart like that wasn’t something he’d ever have to worry about.

Denji didn’t want to give either of his housemates the satisfaction, so he’d gotten used to doing chores.

Begrudgingly.

Make no mistake—he can get used to anything, but he doesn’t have to like it. He’s learned to tolerate doing dishes like he tolerates the acrid smell of second-hand smoke filling his lungs whenever Aki feels like having a cig indoors. Bad smells never bothered him when he’d lived in poverty, but the weight of smoke in particular is stomach-turning.

As he’s forced to crack open a window and watch Nyako slink a similar retreat onto the sill, Denji considers how all this luxury has possibly made him a bit spoiled too.

After all, not everything he grows accustomed to is outright shitty.

For all her annoying living habits, Power proves to be a low-maintenance roommate. Her moods fluctuate so wildly, if she finds anything to complain about in the first place, she’s over it by the next turn of the clock. She also takes bizarre pride in completing her chores, dragging him or Aki around the apartment to boast of what a good job she’s done.

She pouts if they don’t praise her enough—but whatever. Denji is used to it.

Her constant chatter becomes less annoying the more time they spend together, until he realizes the apartment is too quiet on the rare occasion she’s not there. The sound of her exchanging meows with Nyako reminds him he’s home, and even her cackling laugh soon registers as comforting background noise.

Similarly, Denji now recognizes the shifts in Aki’s tone well enough to know if he’s actually in trouble, versus if Aki is scolding him for the sake of propriety. Denji watches for other tells when pulling pranks with Power—an indulgent shake of the head and a tug at the corner of Aki’s lips means they’re in the clear.

It's easy to pinpoint exactly what shade of melancholy he’s drifted into just by counting the number of consecutive cigarettes he pulls from the pack. Two is contemplative—four, somber. Anything past that means they’ll have to arrange for takeout that night.

Aki is consistent, and when he starts drifting in and out of rooms like he’s lost something, his fingers trailing the walls as if navigating in the dark, Denji knows he’s actually looking for a distraction. In those moments, Denji makes an effort to act extra obnoxious, riling Power up in turn until Aki has no choice but to pay attention to them and forget whatever bad memory he’d gotten hung up on.

Gathering facts about the people he lives with isn’t a conscious choice. It’s instinctual, like how his body expects food on the regular. He’d put up with a constant state of starvation for his entire adolescence, doing odd jobs on an empty stomach like it was nothing. Now it ruins his entire day if he doesn’t get at least three meals. What’s crazier, his body punishes him when he takes advantage of the unrestricted access to food.

Aki’s cooking is good. So good in fact, that for a large span of time, Denji is constantly shifting into “eat as much as possible” mode, left over from when food was scarce. This results in several post-meal puke sessions, made all the more miserable because Denji’s body is pretty much invincible, right? He’d thought whatever devils were made out of meant they were above this shit. Ending up with his face inside a toilet bowl has forced him to rethink his previous assumptions.

It sucks waiting for his body to adjust alongside his brain, but Power and Aki do their best to make it more bearable. The first time Power kneels beside him on the cold tile, he’s sure she’s there to laugh at his misery—it wouldn't be the first time. He’s bewildered when instead, she places both palms on his back and rubs them vigorously up and down in what must be her version of a soothing caress. She doesn’t laugh or even complain, and only when his stomach is empty and he’s slumped against the wall in exhaustion does she get up and fetch Aki, who steps into the bathroom with a soldier's solemnity to deposit a mug of hot tea into Denji’s hands.

It happens enough times where Denji doesn’t bother to ask questions, filing it away as one of those things that fits into an unnamed category of half shitty, half not so shitty—like movie nights.

The three of them have vastly different tastes, Aki with his mind-numbing art house flicks and Power’s penchant for talking animal movies made for literal children. Denji doesn’t know what genre he likes most, but it’s definitely not either of those.

It’s an unspoken rule that they have to watch each one all the way through. Aki is the type to sit in complete silence because talking “ruins the integrity of the film,” whatever that means, and Denji’s running commentary annoys him to no end.

Denji and Power make bets each time on how long it’ll take him to snap or huff out a laugh.

On the rare occasion it’s Denji’s turn to choose, he splits the difference and puts on something from the best seller section at the video store. With this method, they all have to suffer through garbage, but occasionally he’ll stumble across a good movie—one he doesn’t mind staying quiet for. He watches Aki and Power rather than the television screen, their rapt attention filling him with an odd sense of pride.

Denji categorizes those nights as not so shitty.

After a while, he gets so used to the good and bad mundanities of domestic living, he can’t even imagine what a change in routine would look like.

Then they go to Hell, and instead of cat fur, Denji is more often violently jerked awake to the sound of Power’s screams.

She’s more dependent than ever before, clinging to Denji at all times like an extra limb. When the sun begins to set outside their windows, she startles at every sound, working herself into a panic while her nails dig half-moon circles into his arms that he’s sure would leave permanent scars were he fully human.

Looking after her turns out to be even more work than getting up at the crack of dawn to feed Nyako—but for some reason, Denji can’t bring himself to resent her for it.

He takes on the responsibility of comforting her with a resilience he never knew he had, going as far as holding her hand each night while she struggles to calm down enough to fall asleep.

Power isn’t the only one Denji has to keep an eye on.

At first, he doesn’t notice the way Aki will sometimes stop cold in the middle of cutting vegetables, gripping the knife handle hard enough to whiten his knuckles as a shudder of something awful passes through his body. He’s good at hiding it, and when Denji catches the tail end of one of these attacks, Aki brushes it off like it’s nothing.

It’s only after Aki suddenly sinks to the floor in the middle of a conversation, his hand clutching at the place where his missing arm wouldn’t reattach, that Denji realizes he’s overlooked something important.

Phantom limb syndrome, Aki explains, is an ongoing side effect of losing a limb wherein the brain gets mixed signals from the area of severance and translates them in the only way it knows how—as pain. He rambles off some more medical science that goes completely over Denji’s head, but from what he can gather, this affliction is severe, unavoidable, and sometimes life long. There’s no cure, but as with other chronic conditions, the goal is learning to manage it the best you can.

The thought of Aki suffering in silence makes Denji want to deck him as much as it makes him want to find a solution for his pain. He juggles these warring impulses until Aki clenches his jaw and looks away—and Denji understands that Aki won’t spend any extra energy looking after himself by choice.

So Denji and Power force him to.

They keep a hot pack in the cabinet above the microwave, and when Aki shows even the slightest sign of falling under the grip of pain, they warm it up and force him to sit with it pressed to the aching muscle. They know it’s particularly bad when Aki doesn’t bother hiding how much it hurts, and in those moments they take turns massaging his shoulder.

Aki refuses to speak with them during, so Denji and Power talk to each other, treating the situation like it’s something they’ve always done.

Denji doesn’t comment on Aki’s silence. He’s come to understand that there are some things they don't need to say aloud. When you’ve lived with a person long enough, you can share a thought with just a gesture, or pick up on ideas that you can't put into words

Power doesn't need to tell him she appreciates his company on her bad nights. Likewise, he doesn’t need to voice why he doesn’t mind taking care of her. He couldn’t even if he tried.

And when Denji questions Aki on why he’s wearing a glove indoors, Aki only has to shoot a single warning look to shut him up.

Later that night, Aki welcomes the Angel Devil into their apartment.

One arm between the two of them—Denji thinks that's pretty funny, but he doesn’t say so. Instead, he hangs back as Power slinks around their guest like she’s investigating a new play thing.

Angel endures her attention for a short time, then flicks Denji a cool look and tucks his wings in, settling on the couch without a word.

Aki hovers in the foyer, glancing between the three of them like he’s waiting for a fight to break out. It’s such a dumb look on him that Denji takes it upon himself to make the first move.

He plops down on the arm rest and asks Angel outright if he’s ever tried using the thing floating above his head as a frisbee.

Angel rolls his eyes and informs Denji that his halo is sharp enough to slice through metal.

“Sounds like a challenge,” Denji shoots back, and he’s sure Aki’s surprise mirrors his own when the corner of Angel’s mouth lifts into a smirk.

“By all means, be my guest,” he says, inclining his head in invitation.

Denji moves to take Angel up on his offer, but Aki comes back to himself and catches Denji’s hand in a tight hold. He then spends several minutes lecturing them both on how hard it is to get blood stains out of upholstery.

The rest of the night is...well, it’s still weird. But Aki so obviously wants it not to be that they all pretend for his sake. While he cooks dinner, Denji and Power keep their surprise guest company.

Angel is surprisingly talkative when prompted, though he always seems to veer their conversations into the morose. At one point, he stares glumly at Nyako snoozing on the counter and warns them to watch her closely.

“Cats don’t actually have nine lives,” he remarks, “I learned that the hard way.”

Denji doesn’t say anything when Aki lays out enough food to feed a small army, all special dishes that he’d never cook for Power or Denji even if they begged. He digs in without a word, and it’s a good thing his mouth is stuffed, otherwise he’d be gaping at the way Aki carefully feeds Angel, every so often lifting a glass of water to his lips.

They follow up dinner with ice cream—which must be Angel’s favorite as Aki spoons him two extra helpings—and then Power is tugging at Denji’s arm, urging him to come take a bath with her.

He relents under the assumption that Angel will be gone by the time they’re done washing up. But about half an hour later, Denji exits the bathroom toweling off his hair to find Angel is still there, sitting close to Aki. They’re angled towards each other, Aki’s arm thrown over the back of the couch and the fabric of his long sleeve shirt brushing the tops of Angel’s wings.

They both look up at Denji when he enters the room. Angel’s expression appears bored as usual, but Aki’s is strange, his face relaxed in an unfamiliar way.

Denji opens his mouth, then decides better.

Aki stands, helping Angel up with a steady gloved hand to his back, and it takes everything Denji has in him to stay quiet as Aki mumbles an awkward goodnight, shepherding Angel down the hall and into his room.

Denji immediately makes up an excuse to run to the convenience store so he can check the balcony outside Aki’s room from street level. Sure enough, Aki and Angel are leaning up against the railing, heads inclined as if they’re speaking in low tones.

Denji watches Aki light himself a cigarette. He offers the box to Angel, who says something that actually makes Aki laugh, the sound ringing clear even from a distance. Placing a second cigarette in Angel’s mouth, Aki holds his own steady between two fingers, bending forward to meet the smoldering end to Angel’s unlit one. A pinpoint glow of orange flares in the dark space between their faces like a morning star.

Denji turns away, stuffs his hands in his empty pockets, and decides he’ll swing by the convenience store after all.

By the time he gets back, Angel is gone.

Aki is once again sitting on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen with a stupid smile on his face, and Denji has to say something.

It turns out Aki can punch just as hard with one arm as with two.

After that, Denji pays closer attention. Without intending, he starts to notice the way Aki sometimes looks at him and Power—though he can’t focus long enough to figure out what those looks mean. They’re gentle and wistful in a way that makes Denji want to pull at Aki’s cheeks and mold a better expression.

He tries it once, but that puts Aki in a foul mood for hours so he doesn’t do it again.

Things get even more confusing on a night where they’re all sprawled out on the carpet. The movie Aki puts on is so boring it knocks Power out in minutes, her head pillowed in the crook of Denji’s arm. He starts drifting off soon after.

It happens as he’s on the verge of sleep. His mind is muddled to the world around him, but for a second, he imagines he feels Aki place an ear to his chest.

Denji is sure he dreamt it until he walks in on Aki in the same position over a napping Power, his cheek pressed to her collarbone and his brows furrowed in concentration.

Denji backs out of the room and thinks there’s something he’s missing here.

The next time Aki is in the kitchen, Denji tests a theory, loudly announcing that he’s going to take a nap before stretching out on the couch. He feigns sleep long enough to rethink his entire strategy—when he finally hears Aki pause his task and tread softly across the room.

Denji struggles to keep a straight face as Aki kneels beside the couch and lowers an ear to his chest, keeping it there much too long for someone trying not to get caught. Eventually, he heaves a great sigh and pulls away, returning to the kitchen like he’d never left.

So, yeah. There’s the whole listening to their heartbeats thing.

Another quirk to add onto the list of Aki behavior that Denji doesn’t understand but has to accept.

Aki is still Aki. He still shouts at them when they break things, still cooks their meals and tolerates their company—though, maybe tolerates isn’t the right word anymore.

Denji is flipping through the pages of a porno mag when one of the ads catches his eye. A smiling woman in a bikini holds up a machine with a handle on top and an open space in the middle. He thinks it might be some crazy sex thing, but he has Power read the description, and she tells him it’s for making a dessert called “shaved ice.”

Neither of them know what that is, but the ad makes it sound like the best thing ever—

“—and it can be ours for the low price of two-thousand yen!” Power shouts, smacking the magazine against his arm.

Denji tears out the ad and goes to pester Aki into buying it for them.

Aki bitches and moans about wasting money on useless shit, but after getting it out of his system, he puts down the laundry he was folding and snatches the page from Denji’s hand, dialing the number with a sour expression. He’s curt over the phone, reading off his credit card details like someone has a gun to his head. Denji wishes he could see the face of the unlucky salesperson on the other line.

“Denji.” Aki says, and Denji tilts his head before realizing he’s not being spoken to. Aki pauses, and then directs a puzzled frown his way. “Last name?”

Denji shrugs.

Aki blinks at him, the furrow between his brow smoothing as if in stunned realization. After a bizarre stretch of silence, he readjusts his hold on the handset and glances away, mumbling out, “Hayakawa. Hayakawa Denji.”

When he eventually hangs up, his gaze stays trained on the far wall like he’s lost in thought. Denji decides not to test his luck by sticking around, but Aki catches his wrist as he goes to leave.

“What?” Denji grumbles. “I said thank you, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t, actually,” Aki replies dryly, but there’s no real reproval in his tone. “That’s not—just hold on a minute.”

His faltering words give Denji pause. He shakes off Aki’s hand but stays put.

“Listen,” Aki begins, messing with the pile of clothes he’d left aside. He unfolds a shirt, holds it out, and then folds it again, all the while not meeting Denji’s eye. “If you or Power ever needed— If for some reason I wasn’t here...and you needed something for documents…”

“Why wouldn’t you be here?” Denji asks, and thinks of their work. “If you’re traveling we can call you.”

Aki turns to him then, something unreadable in his thousand-yard stare.

It’s like facing a door labeled, “do not open.”

Aki sighs and looks away. “Forget it.”

And Denji does forget—until a fews days later when a package arrives at their doorstep postmarked to one Hayakawa Denji.

Placing the box on the living room table, he studies the characters of his given name, covering and uncovering them with his palm. He’d never noticed how incomplete they looked without a surname to go before. The sight turns rusty gears in his head, almost like he’s on the verge of understanding an important truth.

Power bowls him over in her excitement before he comes to a conclusion.

They leave the setup to Aki, who confiscates the shaved ice maker and reads the instructions with the two of them hovering over his shoulder. It turns out to be very simple, just a matter of filling the upper compartment with ice and turning the lever. The machine wobbles below Aki’s hand, so Denji holds it steady, watching with fascination as snow-like flakes collect in the bowl underneath. The novelty wears off a little when he dips a finger in to taste and finds it flavorless like regular ice, but Aki bats his hand away and pulls out a bottle of blue liquid.

“Flavor syrup,” he says, scanning the label. “Hawaiian Blast—what’s that supposed to be?”

Whatever it is, it tastes delicious drizzled over the ice flakes, sweet and refreshing like no dessert Denji has ever had.

Power gobbles up the first serving faster than Aki can make more, and he’s unsympathetic to the excruciating brain freeze that earns her.

She flicks the lever and turns to Denji with a conspiratorial grin. “Think it would work with blood?”

“Great idea,” Aki says, chin in hand. “Why not make this perfectly innocent activity fucked up and evil?”

Power sticks her vibrant blue tongue out at him.

Denji hates getting cut open on principle, so he appeases her by mashing up strawberries with condensed milk into a gory looking topping they can all enjoy. Even Nyako gets to lick a drop off his finger.

Aki takes his first bite and gazes into his bowl like it’s a window into a far off time and place. “I haven’t had this since I was a kid.”

“Old man,” Denji snickers.

Power echoes him at double the volume, falling back and kicking her legs in the air. The motion disturbs Nyako, who clambers off her lap and settles at Aki’s feet

“Oh, shut it,” Aki says, but the hint of a smile softens his tone into fondness. He scratches at Nyako’s ear. “At least you’re on my side.”

Shaken by her cat’s betrayal, Power stammers out, “‘Tis only pity! Nyako feels nothing but pity for humans, just like her master!”

“Is that so?” Aki raises a brow and—to Power’s great dismay—makes a show of lifting Nyako into his lap. “Lucky us then.”

“Yeah,” Denji says, a brilliant grin working its way onto his face. “Lucky us.”

#chainsaw man #csm #denji chainsaw man #power chainsaw man #aki hayakawa #akiangel #peimou writings

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onthevirgeofdestruction · 4 years ago

Link

Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole).

Words: 4,014 Warnings: Depression, Dissociation, Abuse reference, Drug Trafficking Reference, Food, Horrible Internet Recipes Characters: Roman, Thomas, Virgil, Patton Universe: Dreaming While I Wake Genre: Angst/Family

Chapter 19

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

Roman woke up to canned laughter on TV. Virgil was watching the old black-and-white Addams Family show. It surprised Roman it wasn’t too campy for Virgil even if it was clearly his style. Virgil perched on the couch arm on the other end of the couch on his phone, but he was looking up to the show more than his phone. Roman didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep. Probably because he’s still sleeping like shit. Maybe it caught up to him. Maybe he was just sick enough of everything that his brain finally gave up. If only that power could be utilized at night. He was mad he had to wake up, though. He wanted to stay asleep forever. But he may as well be here to suffer just the same. Just staying asleep was probably too good for him, anyway. Roman rubbed his face, forgetting about the gloves. They pulled at his skin a bit. Whatever.

Roman exhaled and stared ahead. He was feeling kind of numb. Out of energy? Out of fucks to give? His brain’s finally given up on him? Why didn’t really matter. It didn’t feel like much mattered. Stuff probably did. He had to remember there were things that did. It was something that is caseworker told him to do; he remembered that. When it felt like nothing mattered, he had to make things matter again. It was hard, though. Lita was curled up at his feet. Lita mattered. He couldn’t run with her anymore, but that didn’t matter. The Sanders mattered. They were nice. He felt like a burden on the Sanders, but maybe he could make that thing not matter. Nope, it mattered that he was an awful burden still. Remus mattered. That was always something Roman could hold on to.

Oh, oh! It was Friday. Friday meant that maybe Mr. Hartley might have a way to contact Remus. That mattered. That mattered so much. Roman shifted as much as he could without twisting his torso to check the clock. There was still a while to go. Roman sighed and settled back down on to the couch. Why can’t he just go back to sleep?

“Ah, nice to you, bright eyes. You’re looking slightly less pale,” Thomas said, leaning over the top of the couch.

“Hey,” Roman said weakly and waved, barely glancing at Thomas.

“Still not feeling great?” Thomas asked. Roman shrugged, he wasn’t feeling much of anything. “It’d be really helpful if you told me how you were doing,” Thomas said patiently.

“I don’t feel anything,” Roman supplied. “So, y’know,” Roman shrugged again. Thomas looked concerned at him for a moment.

“How are your ribs?” Thomas asked. Roman still didn’t know, so just tilted his head and made a dismissive motion with his hands. “How about I help you in to the backyard? You can play fetch with Lita and get a little sun. You’ve been cooped up too long,” Thomas offered. Roman blinked a few times, processing that.

“Whatever,” Roman conceded. He supposed he didn’t really care where he was.

“Virgil, could you reach around and knock on the window when Patton comes in?” Thomas looked over to Virgil, who nodded after a pause. “Thanks,” Thomas came around the couch and helped Roman up. His body really didn’t want to move, it seemed, since he felt stiff and creaky, but the more he moved the easier it was.

Thomas helped Roman on to a chaise lounge in the backyard. Roman stared ahead to the fence and the garden in the back. He heard Lita’s dog tags jingle, and she excitedly shoved her nose into Roman’s dangling palm. Roman pet her head idly for a moment until she started running around the yard. Roman’s eyes followed her around the backyard until she ran up with a tennis ball. He took it and threw it kind of weakly, but she barked and chased after it all the same.

“It’s nice outside, isn’t it?” Thomas commented.

“Hm?” Roman made a noise, not really following what Thomas said for a moment. Then he processed it and noticed the temperature. It was nice and warm with a little breeze. “Yeah,” Roman agreed. Lita ran back up with the ball and Roman threw it a little better this time.

“If you could do anything, what would you pick to do right now?” Thomas asked, leaning against the house.

“See Remus,” Roman shrugged.

“We’ll see what your social worker says. What would you do with Remus if you had all the time and resources in the world?” Thomas leaned against the top of the chaise lounge.

“Roller coasters. Maybe a water park,” Roman responded after a pause.

“Do you like theme parks?” Thomas asked. What was this, 20 questions? Lita made a lap around the yard again.

“They sound fun,” Roman said dismissively.

“Have you ever been to a theme park?” Thomas watched Lita run in circles and trip over her own leg with a chuckle.

“No, I’ve just heard about them in school,” Roman shook his head. “I’ve been to a pool that had a giant slide and that was fun, so I bet roller coasters are, too. Remus likes heights and jumping off of stuff. Liked, I guess. I guess I don’t know what he likes anymore,” Roman said a little dourly.

“Did you jump off things a lot when you were younger?” Thomas asked lightly.

“All the time. Mom always got so mad at us,” Roman laughed weakly.

“When did you last seem him?” Thomas asked, leaning against the chaise lounge.

“The first family we were with was the only one willing to take two kids. They split us up after they kicked us back for being too much,” Roman explained.

“You haven’t even gotten to visit him since they separated you?” Thomas sounded concerned.

“Yeah,” Roman muttered and wrung his fingers a bit. “It was never a priority. Or they broke their promises. Or it was too far. Or it was too much effort. Blood relations aren’t important. I didn’t earn it. I’m not worth it. I’ve heard a lot of reasons. I stopped asking. We used to talk on the phone before I wasn’t allowed to use phones anymore,” Roman watched the breeze ruffle the leaves. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. What’s a hobby that sounds awesome to try?” Thomas changed subjects. Maybe it was 20 questions.

“Um. I don’t know,” Roman said honestly. Open-ended questions were always hard for him.

“What stuff do you like?” Thomas leaned down and picked up the tennis ball Lita dropped too far away for Roman to reach and handed it off to Roman to throw again. Roman chucked it farther this time and Lita went wild chasing it, nearly ramming into the fence.

“Art… and doing stuff with my hands or things that are active, I guess,” Roman said after a lengthy pause of strained consideration.

“What stuff are you good at?” Thomas asked. Roman froze. There was a knock on the window. Saved by Virgil. Thank god, he nearly said ‘fucking up’. Roman blinked and shook his head for a moment in sheer relief.

“Patton’s here,” Roman provided, pointing to the door.

“Keep your gloves on, please,” Thomas said and went back inside. Lita came happily trotting up again and hopped up and panted happily on his lap. Roman smiled slightly and pet her. He tried to scratch behind her ears, but with the gloves, it was more like weird rubbing, so he stuck to petting. Patton came out on to a patio munching on a muffin a few minutes later.

“Hey kiddo!” Patton smiled brightly.

“Hey,” Roman waved slightly and kept petting Lita.

“Feeling kind of out of it, huh?” Patton asked, walking up to Roman.

“Kinda,” Roman stared at the sky. He was a little more here than earlier, but still kinda… eh.

“You want to come sit in the grass with me?” Patton asked, holding out his hand. Roman looked to Patton and took his hand. Lita jumped off his lap, and they walked off the patio into the yard. “You can take off those snazzy gloves,” Roman slipped them off and Patton helped Roman down into the grass. They both sat there quietly for a moment. Feeling the grass was actually pretty nice after wearing those gloves all day. “What did you do this afternoon?”

“Um, I read in Thomas’s office and played games. Sorry,” Roman muttered and trailed off.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, you were doing what we asked you to do. Thomas said you wanted to do some homework. Did you want to work on it together after dinner?” Patton said sympathetically.

“I’ve, uh, got it,” Roman muttered.

“We asked you to take a break so we should help you catch up, it’s only fair. I swung by the school to pick up the rest of your homework for this week,” Patton said.

“Oh, goody,” Roman deadpanned and Patton chuckled.

“What kind of food do you like? You don’t normally say you want anything specific,” Patton asked, leaning forward on his hands in the grass.

“I’m really not picky,” Roman shrugged and worried a blade of grass between his fingers.

“I’m just wondering if you have a favourite food,” Patton said, tilting his head and looking over hopefully to Roman.

“Not really,” Roman shook his head.

“So, what would be your last meal if you got to pick one?” Patton asked, holding up a finger.

“Something fancy, probably. Lobster is fancy, right?” Roman picked at a grass blade that came off between his fingers.

“So there're no foods that make you excited?” Patton asked curiously. Roman shook his head. Not anymore, anyway. “Maybe we need to find your new favourite food, then! We can try out fun recipes online,” Patton offered.

“You don’t have to do an effort for me, I’ll eat whatever,” Roman held up the grass blade he was picking at and released it to the breeze.

“I know you’ll eat ‘whatever’, but it’s fun to try new foods! I was trying to pick what to make for dinner tonight,” Patton explained.

“Virgil usually has a preference, you could ask him,” Roman motioned with his thumb towards the house.

“He normally does,” Patton chuckled in agreement. Roman considered what he thought Virgil might like for a moment and got an idea.

“I saw this recipe for enchilada lasagna he might like. Us mortals should be able to eat it with sour cream,” Roman offered. Plus, he was curious if any of those foods in the videos he’d been watching lately were any good or if they were just for show.

“Oh, it’s a spicy one?” Patton snickered curiously.

“Not inedible. He’ll probably still want to put hot sauce on it,” Roman mimed using a hot sauce bottle, with a slight grin.

“Let’s go see if we have ingredients for it. I’m not sure about enchilada sauce,” Patton said, sounding like he was thinking hard.

“My grandmother would yell at me from beyond the grave if I used canned enchilada sauce when it’s cheaper to buy tomato sauce,” Roman laughed, moving to get up.

“Oh, did you used to cook with her?” Patton scrambled up quickly to help Roman take the pressure off his feet.

“She watched us often,” Roman said dismissively.

“Was your grandmother the one who taught you how to cook?” Patton held open the door for Roman to head back inside.

“My mom and grandmother both learned quickly it was better to keep us busy, so we helped them cook often. We were too young for lots of it, though, I finished learning at the library,” Roman said, the pair of them heading into the kitchen.

“That’s very proactive of you! So, what do we need for this?” Patton asked as they entered the kitchen.

“Enchilada stuff. Meat, black beans, cheese, tortillas, onion, peppers, bell peppers, tomato sauce,” Roman supplied.

“Oh, sorry kiddo, we don’t have tortillas,” Patton frowned.

“They’re flour and water. Do you not have flour and water?” Roman smirked, leaning into the vegetable drawer in the fridge.

“Oh, really?” Patton said curiously, digging in the pantry.

“What meat do you want to use?” Roman asked as he procured the needed vegetables.

“What do you think is best?” Patton asked.

“Chicken thighs, probably,” Roman pulled that out from the meat drawer as well. “Do you have canned peppers? There’s none in here,” Roman stuck his head out of the fridge to ask Patton.

“We do, I’ll get them,” Patton said and withdrew a few cans and brought them to the counter. “Grandma won’t be mad about canned peppers?”

“My grandmother grew her own peppers, but she supports the use of canned,” Roman smiled fondly. “Whatever was cheapest was the best option. She was on a fixed income. She planted seeds from the ones she got from a friend. She was always proud of her ‘stolen garden’,” Roman put the things from the fridge on the counter.

“Wow, your grandma was awesome,” Patton smiled.

“She was determined,” Roman dug around on the spice shelf for the spices they’d need.

“So are you! Let's get you a chair so you can get off your feet,” Patton said, grabbing a chair from the kitchen table and putting it next to Roman.

“What’s first?” Patton asked brightly.

“Seasoning the chicken,” Roman provided. He kneeled on the chair so he could still reach the counter but get off his feet. They were already hurting. Patton let Roman do most of the cooking. It was understandable, he didn’t know the seasonings and only Roman knew how to make tortillas. But he ran around the kitchen getting Roman things and chopped up the vegetables to he could make them. He even let Roman cook the filling, which he could have taken over for. But Roman really liked being able to do something after doing nothing for days, so he said nothing, even when his knees got kind of sore.

Roman sat down on a kitchen chair in with an exhausted exhale after Patton slid it in the oven to finish cooking. Roman leaned forward on the table tiredly, hoping the monstrosity would taste good. Patton sat down with him with an odd-looking smile.

“It smells amazing in here. I’m sure you did your grandma proud,” Patton said brightly.

“I’m pretty certain she would say this is an abomination, actually, but she’d laugh while she said it before ranting about how deeply and horrifically wrong it is,” Roman smiled and shook his head. He was acutely aware of how wrong this ‘meal’ was, too. But the morbid curiosity about Virgil’s capacity to eat garbage was louder than his good sense. The ingredients were all good, so it was relatively low risk, dinner wise. Unless they got mad at him for making garbage food, maybe. God, did his knees hurt after all that kneeling. He stretched them carefully under the kitchen table. “She always liked what we did, even if it was terrible. She had crayon drawings from when I was 3 framed on the wall.”

“She sounds very sweet,” Patton smiled softly.

“You would have probably gotten along with her,” Roman leaned on the table. “Are your grandparents still alive?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m afraid they wouldn’t get along with your grandma, though,” Patton said pensively.

“How do you mean?” Roman furrowed his eyebrows.

“They’re just very old fashioned,” Patton said dismissively. “Would you like some orange juice? You’ve got to be a little hot from all the cooking,” Patton said, getting back up.

“Um, yeah, that sounds good,” Roman mumbled as he continued to stretch his legs under the table. Patton grabbed Roman a glass of orange juice before pulling out dishes to set the table. “Sorry for having you do all this stuff for me,” Roman apologized quietly.

“I offered, and I’m doing it because I want to,” Patton smiled and started setting out dishes. Roman sipped his orange juice and watched Patton as he set out the dishes. “Are you feeling less out of it?” He eyed Roman with interest.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Roman said, not realizing it until now. “Thanks, I think?”

“You came back yourself, there, champ. I just helped show you how,” Patton winked.

“Is hanging out in the grass and making dinner really how to do it?” Roman asked, leaning on his hands and tilting his head.

“You just needed some grounding. You’ve probably been thinking lots about the past and getting stuck there. Grass, sunshine, chatting, and making dinner just helped pull you back to the present,” Patton smiled softly.

“How do you know so much about this stuff? Aren’t you an animal doctor and not a people doctor?” Roman asked curiously, stroking the perspiration on the glass.

“I was in therapy for a long time, kiddo. It really helped me out when I was in a bad place. My therapist gave me lots of tools to help focus on the present and being a good person,” Patton said, leaning forward.

“Does it have something to do with why my grandmother wouldn’t like your grandparents?” Roman asked carefully.

“You’re a sharp kid. But you’ve got plenty on your plate right now. I think it’s better for you to focus on good things at the moment since you’ve been struggling lately. Like the enchilada abomination in the oven!” Patton chuckled, motioning to the oven.

“A-, uh, my grandmother-” Roman caught himself. “-would really like you. Maybe she’ll come to make fun of this freak feast on November first,” Roman smirked at the folly of man in the oven.

“Do you celebrate the day of the dead?” Patton perked up.

“She did. Mom kind of did. I’ve never really done it without her. Dad didn’t like it. I just think if anyone would visit, it would be her, I guess. I know it’s kind of dumb. Really dumb. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Roman mumbled and nervously fidgeted with his hands.

“Stop right there, kiddo. It’s not dumb. It’s okay to miss your grandma and hope she visits. Nobody else has the right to tell you your dumb for your beliefs, okay? If you want to set up something on November first, I’m happy to support you. Maybe Virgil wants to join. If I remember correctly his dad was from Mexico. Even if he doesn’t, there’s no harm in trying, just because it reminds you of her,” Patton reassured him. Roman nodded silently.

“Patton, will you be honest with me?” Roman asked after a pause, nervously picking at his nails.

“Of course I will,” Patton nodded and looked a little nervous, but smiled nonetheless.

“Would you rather have gotten someone else less fucked up? Are you just settling on me because it’s the nice thing to do?” Roman asked quietly.

“Roman, please don’t use the F word. I don’t like that language,” Patton frowned.

“Sorry,” Roman muttered, dropping his head.

“I’m not settling on you, Roman. Thomas and I went going into this ready to love and support anyone who came to us. I think you’re a great kid and I think we get along just fine. I’m sorry if my emotional reactions scared you or made you think I didn’t think you were worth it. Sometimes it’s hard to deal with stuff that hits so close to home for me,” Patton admitted.

“You didn’t also sell drugs, did you?” Roman asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow at Patton.

“No! No, I just didn’t have a great time with my grandparents and there wasn’t anybody to stand up for me,” Patton explained, shaking his hands. “I was upset about it not seeming like anybody ever stood up for you, because you keep blaming yourself for things that objectively don’t need blame taken for. I freaked out because in a million years I never expected to hear about a teenager making drug deliveries because his guardians refused to take care of him. Especially about such a sensitive kid like you who always tries to put other people’s feelings first,” He motioned to Roman.

“I, uh… sorry. But I started running for Jet at 12,” Roman muttered. Patton’s eyes widened and he kind of looked like he wanted to scream, but he didn’t move or make a sound. Roman still leaned away nervously. “Sorry. I was 13 when the Halls… uh,” Roman paused. Patton took a deep breath.

“If you want to say it, you can,” Patton said, taking a deep breath.

“This, um, maybe ‘hits close to home’,” Roman rubbed his arm. “Um, it was about wanting more money from us and it got so bad my caseworker was fired. Jet’s might have, too. I never called him to find out. I kinda took the excuse to cut ties. After things got bad he got bad, too. I don’t blame him or anything, but still…” Roman trailed off.

“Do you still have his number?” Patton asked curiously, looking less like he would scream, but now and much more sad.

“Um… yeah. Just in case I needed to make some fast money. It was a burner, so the number is probably long since disconnected from him. It’s more of a reminder now. I can’t bring myself to throw it away,” Roman admitted, not able to meet Patton’s eyes.

“As long as you’re not using it to hurt yourself, I suppose,” Patton muttered, not sounding like he actually believed what he said.

“Sure, I won’t give myself a paper cut with it or whatever,” Roman said, kind of baffled by the implications.

“No, I mean looking at it to remind yourself that in a time of desperation you did something you didn’t want to do and judge yourself harshly for your choices,” Patton explained.

“Uh, yeah,” Roman said meekly. Patton’s lips tightened, and he hummed suspiciously.

“When you’re a kid and you make bad choices, it’s important that you learn from them but you can’t hate yourself for them. When you’re young, you don’t have a lot of resources and you don’t have all the information. Parents are supposed to protect you from all that stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised Jet made it seem like it was harmless at first. He was older than you and offering help, so wanting to trust him was natural. Nobody was there to take you, or even Jet, out of that situation, and that wasn’t your fault. That was your guardian’s fault, full stop. You should never have been in that situation in the first place and you can’t blame yourself for what you did while trying to survive if you really were trying not to hurt people. And I can’t imagine you did, kiddo. I just don’t see it in you,” Patton said firmly, and Roman could barely take hearing it.

“Pat, dude, it’s not going to look good for you if I’m crying when Mr. Hartley gets here,” Roman joked while sniffling. He rubbed his eyes and put his head down on the table.

“I’m sorry, kiddo, but I think you needed to hear it,” Patton said. “Do you want…” Patton paused and Roman nodded into his arms on the table. Patton got up from the table and put his arm around Roman while he tried to pull himself together. The oven timer went off and Patton let go with after lightly rubbing his back to go pull the monstrosity out of the oven. Roman sipped his OJ and wiped the tears threatening to escape again. Virgil walked into the kitchen and looked oddly at Roman for a moment.

‘Smells awesome. But what the fuck?’ Virgil signed.

‘Patton was being an asshole,’ Roman signed back with a weak smirk.

‘I always knew it,’ Virgil side-eyed Patton facetiously. ‘Seriously, you okay?’

‘No,’ Roman signed and shrugged.

‘Valid,’ Virgil fingerspelled. ‘What’s for dinner?’

‘An abomination unto god,’ Roman fingerspelled slowly. Virgil’s smirk widened into a mischievous grin.

‘I always wanted to eat an unholy abomination,’ Virgil signed back and sat at the table next to Roman.

Personal Taglist: @bunny222 @elizabutgayer @prinxietyforever @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno @the-sympathetic-villain @croftersjam15 @ollyollyoxinfree

the taglist repository:

High school: @dragonwithproblems @starlight-era @averykedavra @potatsanderssides

Roman Angst: @k1ngtok1

Hurt/Comfort: @callboxkat @nonasficcollection @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123

Roman-Centric: @smileyzs @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd

Fostering AU: @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll

literally everything sanders sides: @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @ananonsplace

#tsss #sanders sides #tsss fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #tsss fanfic #ayri writes #dreaming while i wake #roman angst #ts roman #ts patton #ts virgil #ts character thomas #depression #disassociation #food #dog #chapter fic #fanfiction

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lonelypond · 5 years ago

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Can’t Get Started, Ch. 5

NicoMaki, RinPana, Love Live, 1.7K, 5/6

Chapter 5

Summary: The morning after the night before...

Nico’s phone went off. She grumbled and reached for the...nightstand? No, Nico opened her eyes, couch, phone on floor...right, Maki...Maki, barely wrapped in a robe, gorgeous hair twisted up in a towel, mostly asleep and giving off levels of sexy cute like Nico would kill to be able to pull off on or off screen, had stepped out of Nico’s bath and into Nico’s dreams forever. So Nico, recognizing exhaustion when she saw it, had tucked her...girlfriend into her bed alone with just a quick temptation of a kiss, claiming she was too awake now to go back to sleep. Maki had had too crazy an evening to object so Nico took a blanket to the couch and settled in. It was more comfortable than some of her sleeping arrangements on location in the early days of her career.

More angry buzzing. Oh right, phone...Nico grabbed it, saw Nozomi’s pic, and swiped, “What?”

“Let me in.” Nozomi sounded too amused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m in the lobby of the Peninsula and you need to give me the private elevator code.”

“How the fuck…” Nico sat up.

“You’re all over the Chicago Red Star’s social media. You’ve made a whole bunch of new fans.”

“Why are you even in Chicago?”

“I’m crashing a wedding.”

“No.” Nico liked short answers.

“Look, if you’re letting random strangers sleep in your hotel room, I have to meet the girl you’re trying to impress.”

“Nico is not trying to impress anyone.”

Nozomi snorted, “Liar.”

“Why aren’t you in…”” Nico couldn’t remember where Nozomi and Eli were currently orbiting the art scene of.

“Detroit, Nico. It’s practically right next door.”

“You’re into cars now?”

“No. Taking pics of black women entrepreneurs for a serious magazine spread. And Eli’s consulting with some local art and dance studios. She loves it there.”

“Tell her Nico says hey. And to keep you at home.” Nico closed the call.

An immediate text.

N: THE CODE, NICO-CHI, OR ELSE (ง ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)ง

Nozomi would find a way up and be banging on the door sooner than Nico would be able to think of a plan to divert her. So Nico typed in a string of numbers.

And opened the door to Nozomi sweeping in and hugging her, “You looked so happy in all those pics, Nico-chi. I just had to see why. Usually candids show the grumpy gremlin I’ve known for years.”

Nico broke Nozomi’s hold and stomped through the foyer. Nico had ordered an array of breakfast pastries after Maki’s arrival. And there was a coffee maker. As Nozomi was likely to continue to ignore Nico’s invitation to leave, Nico was going to need coffee. Maybe she could send Nozomi to the Orrington before Maki woke up. Nico glanced at the clock, a little after nine, hangover victims should be wandering through anytime now. And the bride. Nico grinned, RIn had looked like she was having the time of her life last night. Nico had certainly gotten Maki’s best friend on her side, so her sudden ascension to the spot of the Chicago Red Star’s most famous fan was worth it.

Nozomi, unwrapping her practical army green parka to reveal a gray wrap blanket skirt and a bright purple cowl neck sweater, settled into the table, “Why yes, Nico, I will take a coffee.”

"Hmmmppffff…" Nico sputtered, loading a pod.

“Nico?” Nico froze, that wasn't Nozomi’s voice, that was sleepy cute confused Maki bumping into the doorframe, her robe falling a little open. No pajamas. Suspicion confirmed. Nico heard clicking, saw Nozomi’s hand moving, and leapt to grab the phone. Delete. Empty trash. Then, as soon as possible, take out the non digital trash that masqueraded as her best friend.

“If you ever ever do that again, I will kill you. Literally.” Nico hissed, her tone frozen lake cold as she stashed Nozomi’s phone before smiling at Maki. “Good morning, Maki!”

“You’re not green anymore.” Maki giggled.

Nozomi spun to stare at Nico, her turquoise eyes mischievous, “Oh, this is too cute, Nico-chi. It was worth the early flight.”

Maki jumped slightly, refocusing on the person sitting at the table who wasn’t Nico. “Hello?”

“This” Nico had her arm around Nozomi’s shoulder, ready for a chokehold, “is the person Nico mentioned last night, the unavoidable pestilence that Nico can't shake, Nozomi Tojo." Nico took a big breath, not minding if she sounded smug, "Nozomi, this is Nishikino Maki, Nico’s girlfriend.”

Maki blushed, glancing away, fingers discovering a knot in the rock star worthy bedhead. Nico wanted video.

Nozomi stood, shaking off Nico, extending a hand, “Very pleased to SEE you.”

Nico kicked, Nozomi yelped, Maki looked confused.

Nico stepped smoothly between Nozomi and Maki, shoving Nozomi’s hand aside, “Nico is making coffee. Want some? There’s a bakery's worth of breakfast too. And since your clothes were wrecked, one of the early rising Red Stars messengered some gear over.”

Maki blinked, yawning, then frowned as she woke up enough brain cells to process Nico’s statement. “I’m a Seattle Reign fan.”

“Nico will make a note.”

Maki smiled, nodded, and leaned over to kiss Nico on the cheek.

Nico glanced back over her shoulder, Nozomi was making coffee, eavesdropping, and ogling with equal skill, “But, put on a t-shirt for Nico, okay? And maybe sweats. Until we get you to your wedding gear.”

“Wedding.” Maki straightened, her jaw setting, amethyst eyes hardening, “I have to talk to Rin. Where is she?”

“Whoa.” Nico put out a hand, “what’s the rush?”

“I um…” Maki looked angry, but while her hand gestures indicated agitation, no coherent sentences were being produced. “After how Hanayo…”

It was going to be a bathrobe only breakfast Nico realized so as she sat Maki down in a chair, she mostly blocked Nozomi’s view. Fortunately, Maki was now disgruntled enough to be fully awake and had retied her sash, actually closing the robe.

“Ooohh, I should have crashed the bachelorette party.” Nozomi brought the coffee over, carefully avoiding any glances toward Maki’s cleavage as Nico was still glaring death threats, “What happened?”

“Blue Zoo.” Nico stated simply. Maki picked up a donut. She definitely needed calories if she was going to have to remember last night.

Nozomi whistled, “You’ve found a very interesting crowd, Nico-chi.”

“Nico didn’t go.”

“Smart.” Nozomi nodded, suddenly sober, “that would have really dented your rep.”

“Nico knows.”

Maki felt like yelling that someone should have warned her, but Nico might have kinda did and Rin had certainly been worried almost exactly the right amount and Kotori...Maki put her head in her hands, cue memory induced hangover throb, “What do I tell Rin?”

Nico and Nozomi exchanged a glance, then Nico spoke, gently, “If you want Nico’s advice, talk to Hanayo, not Rin.”

Maki’s head fell to the table, and after a yelp of pain, there was a reluctant ‘yeah.’

“Maki Maki Maki” Rin bounced into the room, with enough energy to power a hyperdrive, her short hair out of the shower wet, “Nico is the best. You should get married too. We had so much fun. I can’t wait for your bachelorette party,”

Maki tensed and Nico wondered how close they were to an outburst, but Maki just lifted her head, eyes sad, and ran a hand through her hair, “No. No parties. Ever.”

Rin froze, her face sliding into disappointed worry, “What did Kayo-chin do?”

Maki’s eyes met Nico’s, desperate. Nico reached out for Maki’s hand, and Maki squeezed so hard Nico couldn’t hold back the wince. Then a huge inhale and Maki slid the baked goods toward Rin, “She got drunk and very silly.”

Rin frowned, sitting and biting into a donut, “Handsy, right?”

Maki nodded, not sure what else to say.

Rin sighed, but then she reached over and ruffled Maki’s hair, “But she loves me, Maki, she really does. She just gets stupid sometimes.” Donut gone in two bites, “I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“We got arrested.” Maki stated so solemnly Nico wanted to send a sympathy card.

Rin’s eyes went wide, then she started pounding the table and laughing, “Oh my god, that’s the best. I want to see the mug shots.”

Maki shot up from the table, furious, “I can’t believe you.”

“But Maki, that’s so funny. Kayo-chin in JAIL.”

Maki growled, “Good bye, Rin, I’m going back to LA.”

Rin kept laughing, “That’s okay, I’ve got Nico now, she’s not a criminal.”

Maki remembered she had half a donut in her hand, crumpled it, and dumped it in Rin’s wet hair on her way out the door. “You and Hanayo deserve each other.”

Rin, looking as pleased as a person could, leaned back in her chair as she brushed most of the crumbs out of her hair, “Guess I’ll have to tell Kayo-chin she needs to apologize so Maki doesn’t glare through the whole ceremony.”

After a pause, Nozomi glanced at a bemused Nico before deciding to contribute to the chaos. “You’re crazy. I like you.”

Two thumbs up from Rin. “Come to the wedding. You’ll love me. We got the best cake maker in the whole Great Lakes region.”

Maki shouted from somewhere, “YOU CAN’T INVITE ALL OF CHICAGO TO YOUR WEDDING.”

Rin jumped to the door, “YES I CAN.”

“GO HOME!”

“YOU’RE MY RIDE.”

“BITE ME.”

As Nico and Nozomi watched in a state of awe, Rin came table-ward, grabbed a scone, broke off a piece, sat back down, tossed the carb in the air, caught it in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed before declaring. “Maki’d be lost without me.”

Nico grabbed the rest of the scone out of RIn’s hand, “Nico believes it. But now you can rely on Nico.”

“Good.” Rin nodded, serious, “Me and Kayo-chin’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Nico saluted. Nozomi shook her head. Maki could be heard shouting “We are the Reign, the Mighty Mighty Reign.”

“Maki’s gonna start a fight.” Rin zipped out of the room.

After a long pause, a raised eyebrow, and maybe an aura addition of slightly impressed, Nozomi went back to chat mode, “So, what’s new in your life…” Nozomi sipped her coffee, obviously waiting for Nico to fill in details.

Nico grinned and bit into breakfast.

A/N: This gets us back in the zone. So I hope you enjoy.

Also, you're getting another chapter...sue me ; )

#NicoMaki #RinPana #Love Live #Yazawa Nico #Nishikino Maki #Tojo Nozomi #Hoshizora Rin #Can't Get Started #etc

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crowsent · 6 years ago

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Aspect Of Winter

Let me preface this by saying that I will be biased. Any and all words coming from my mouth, typed onto this screen with my ratchet fingers, will be heavily inclined to sing good praises of this book. For two main reasons. One: it’s a gift from a darling friend of mine. Two: it’s fucking gay and my queer ass rejoices.

But that aside, READ THIS BOOK. READ IT. MAKE YOUR LIFE RICHER AND READ THE BOOK.

It is so damn good. But! Before I bust out the magnifying glass of unnecessarily big words I definitely googled to sound as extra as I physically possibly can, here’s a brief synopsis of the book.

It follows the main character, Feayr, a high-school senior who, for the sake of literally everyone, goes by Fay. For some reason, he has magical powers that enable him to essentially wield winter like his own personal mallet where everything in the world can be a nail. He’s also hella fucking gay.

Because of his powers, Fay doesn’t really feel like he fits in with normal people. Cue Janus University. It’s a magical school for people with magical potential and is essentially Fay’s ticket to having a life and a place for himself surrounded by other people like him. So he leaps on that train of opportunity with all the grace of a dying elephant and kicks off the story.

There’s magic that’s done in a very unique way, unlike Harry Potter, or Carry On, or some of the other books with magic that I’ve read. Very fresh and new. Lots of mythological creatures as well from all over the world, not just ones with Hellenic or Gaelic origins. There’s a fuckton of shit to read and enjoy and consume like the word devourer I am.

Read the book. Please read it. It is so good. I wanted to cry a few times. Read it.

Now. Onto the magnifying glass! Beware spoilers!

First thing about the book is the syntax. Easy to read, easy to understand, no less compelling. It also helps that Tom Early, the author, has such a great sense of humour. I had to put the book down to keep myself from laughing because holy shit. There are some great moments in this book. So much so that writing down all my favourite quotes would take more than one post.

It helps that Fay is hilarious in his own right. My queer ass just understands him so much. I relate to this man on so many levels and if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in the room and then myself. He’s so awkward and adorable!!!!! But. Honestly. I kind of feel bad for him.

One. His school has dick bitch homophobes who constantly tell him that he’s not worthy of anything. And, honestly, that hit hard. I’m fortunate enough that I wasn’t harassed like that in my earlier days. I’m a little more hardened now, and more than willing to throw hands, but if I heard that when I was younger, I would break.

It’s so sad seeing Fay struggle with his sexuality and try to carve a place for himself in a world that obviously fights back against him. Personally, I think that him wanting to go to Janus is a parallel to him wanting to be accepted as he is. A way to find someplace to belong, with people like him, so he would feel more normal and less weird. But that might be a stretch.

And while Fay has this awkward, shy side to him, he also has something much darker. Infinitely darker. Like. A piece of his soul dark. Kind of suspected it in the scene with the dullahan where the thing tries to take his soul but gets turned into an ice statue and shattered into a million bits instead.

That interaction paved the road for all the future dark things that Fay has the potential to do. And the things he DOES do, later on near the end of the book. It ties in nicely, subtle enough that the scene with Aria fucking floored me, mouth reaching for the floor, eyes wide like dinner plates. But it wasn’t out of the blue. There were enough hints that got my head gears whirring like the cogs of a dying clock. There were pieces for me to put together and holy shit did I fit them together. There’s so much that I sat there for a good few moments muttering “what the fuck” while I pictured Fay ripping off Aria’s wings.

It is such an intense moment in the book.

But the thing I love most about Fay is that he acknowledges his shortcomings. He KNOWS that he lets other people fight his battles for him. He knows that he doesn’t do a very good job of communicating his feelings to other people (like with Tyler and that whole spiel about him dragging Tyler into the magic world) and here’s the best part.

HE TRIES TO FIX IT. He sees what he lacks, and does his fucking best to fix it.

First encounter with the homophobes and Fay freezes, lets them have their words and their jabs, and walks off meekly with his head down. Some reflection later, and he FREEZES one of the homophobe’s lips together and walks away with his head high. Fucking proud and happy.

And after Tyler pointed out that Fay wasn’t communicating that good, Fay does what any good boyfriend (and person) should do and ACTUALLY COMMUNICATES. I fucking can’t. I am incapable of canning. This boy is so precious.

Of course, an equally precious child is Sam. I lowkey aspire to be her. One, the no-nonsense attitude that she isn’t afraid to show everyone. Two, the fact that literally everyone in school knows she can kick their collective asses and she knows it. Three, she has such a fun personality with her own little quirks that I just die on the inside.

If I met Sam when I was in highschool, I would be fucking gay for her. And in the books, Fay mentions, on multiple occasions, the crowd of men AND women flocking to Sam. Just a nice touch that I adore.

Sam is essentially both brains AND brawn. She’s fierce, she’s smart, she managed to make a simple spell that makes a Minor Orb of energy into a damn fucking shield she’s not afraid to use as a means to bash heads in.

And she’s an artist. Who draws. A lot. And I just. Sam feels so real to me and I am so taken with her character.

Of course, she has her flaws too. One that stood out to me was the fact that she can’t seem to back down from a fight. Sure, sounds like an inconsequential thing, but it was a crisis of character for her when she lost BECAUSE she didn’t back down.

She had an entire thing about her mom not being proud of her because she wasn’t good enough and I just choked.

Of course, there’s Tyler. A jock-type who happens to be bi. Reminded me a lot of Cooper from One Of Us Is Lying. Except. Tyler’s not exactly in the closet. He knows what he is and is proud of that and honestly fucking bet.

He doesn’t take shit from anyone too, and isn’t afraid to hold his ground if he needs to. Like. He stood up to Sam in a parking lot early on in the book. At this point, it has already been established that Sam is hell incarnate and is not afraid to kick someone’s teeth in. Sam can do a no hands running leap over a fence!!!

And Tyler stood his ground and looked her straight in the eye. Mad respect for that scene, honestly. The way it’s written makes it so that Tyler doesn’t back down, but he also doesn’t disrespect Sam.

More mad props to Tyler is that Fay is his first relationship with a guy. And he powers through. Sure, he’s nervous, but he still asked. Honestly, more than I could say for myself. It takes a great deal of courage to ask someone out, even more so if it’s the first date.

Tyler is goals tbh. He willingly follows Fay into battle knowing the risks because he doesn’t want to lose Fay. He struggles with his parents getting a divorce, has a lot of his own personal issues that can and will tie my tongue with how much he just continues moving forward. And just.

This man. This man. I have so much respect and feelings for this man. He’s kind and considerate and I just can’t.

While these three are the main characters, there’s a bunch more that Early gives life to.

Aiden, for instance, only appears for a few scenes but damn is he complex. At first, I was all: hot guy. Accent. Foreign. Hot. Holy shit. Then, after the attack on Fay’s home, I switched to “what the fuck?” “what the fuck????” “bitch what the fuck!??!?!??” And THEN, he became more like a rival than an antagonist and just. I can’t.

Good characters are honestly my driving force for reading literally anything, but the plot and mechanics is strong in the book as well.

As I mentioned earlier, the magic is unique. There’s the words but it’s not actually said in the book what those words are. But it doesn’t even matter because you see the characters and how they respond. How the magic responds to them,

There’s a whole scene where Sam and Fay try out spells, figure out what they do, and what’s compatible with them. Spells have compatibility. I really enjoyed the fact that magic in this universe seems alive, ancient, and more than just a hand wave. It feels like it’s part of the caster.

Sam’s minor orbs, for instance, is different from Fay’s. Fay’s looks like a damn snowball, while Sam’s doesn’t. Same spell, different casters = different lookin spell. Wards too. Sam’s ward is standard. Fay’s turns everything that hits the ward into ice. Again, same spell but because the people casting them is different, it changes. It’s a nice touch and makes the world itself come to life.

Fight scenes aren’t prevalent in the early half of the book, but holy shit does things go from 0 to 100 real quick. Aria’s first fight was brutal and I just practically vibrated with excitement when that happened. Motherfucking art.

The entire book is filled with scenes like that, actually. Made me stop, rethink my life decisions, praise every god that I managed to exists in a universe where Aspect of Winter is a thing. I love it. Can’t wait to read the next book (when I get my hands on it) and can’t wait for the third book to come out.

One scene in particular hit me with a mountain of questions and elicited a chorus of holy shits. Felt like I was about to sing Heathers Fight For Me. Right at the very end. I can quote it because it was seared into my very brain.

Bit of context.

The thing with Fay’s very soul bearing some part of winter? Yeah, that was how he managed to chill everything, and make his own ice sculptures whenever he wants. The thing that killed the dullahan. That thing that is such an integral part of him.

It was sealed.

No more ice magic.

Fay described it as feeling EMPTY.

So, you’d think that after being sealed away, the ice wouldn’t manifest anymore right? Whatever thing is inside Fay would stay there and not be a danger to him or to others anymore, right? Fucking wrong. The very last line of the book read as follows:

“Behind me, the stones on the beach were covered in a thin layer of frost.”

Like. Bitch!!!!!!!!!!!!! Either the seal broke, or it wasn’t strong enough.

(Didas is also a shady bitch and I don’t trust him but I don’t think he’ll endanger the lives of everyone quite so easily.)

Either way, winter is fucking coming and I am fucking terrified.

#book review #reading ramble #my shit #aspect of winter #seasons rising

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seperis · 7 years ago

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the dune mantra doesn’t work

The single most valuable piece of advice I ever received was from Te when we were chatting one night; she told me write what you fear.

I just didn’t realize it then.

I thought she meant like, for art’s sake, authenticity, so I’d be a better writer, so I wouldn’t avoid topics, so I’d make better stories...and it’s only now I think it wasn’t about being a writer at all. It was about being me.

I’m afraid my depression won’t change. I won’t cycle back out, I won’t get better, I won’t get worse. I’ll just be here, in this featureless, doorless, windowless room with nothing worth existing within it, until the day I die.

I’m afraid the anxiety attacks will keep coming. I won’t be able to breathe and I’ll be trapped in my bed or on my couch and do nothing worth doing, until the day I die.

I’m afraid of my own medication and I don’t know why, but I can by sheer accident work myself into an anxiety attack trying to take a half dose of fucking Zoloft. I’m afraid when it gets better that means it’s going to get worse; I’m afraid when it gets worse it won’t stop. I’m afraid it will be July and August last year where I thought I was going crazy in my mom’s spare bedroom when I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t stop crying and no one could tell me what was happening to me, what was wrong with me, what to do.

Depression and anxiety run in my family; until last year, I’d never had anxiety. I’d just had a well woman check, my stress was fine, there were no triggers, but I felt my depression coming back, and I did the responsible thing and talked to my doctor and we decided I’d go on anti-depressants; I have a life I love and I really wasn’t interested in giving that up.

One month later, on my walk to work, I abruptly couldn’t breathe. They thought it was asthma and that, I could deal with; that’s a thing. I’d had two bouts of pneumonia years ago, it’s been on the table for years. As it turned out, it wasn’t that.

One month after that, I was sitting outside reading at work and when I got up to go inside, I felt short of breath; when i got to my desk, I used my inhaler and settled back for it to work; it didn’t. Half an hour later, I was in the doctor’s office on breathing treatments that didn’t work; there was nothing wrong with my lungs.

For four fucking months, I couldn’t take a walk alone. For two months before that, I didn’t want to walk anywhere at all, alone or not. For a month during that time, the only time I left my apartment was for work. For a week, I couldn’t get out of bed in my mother’s guest room.

I told them: it can’t be that. I don’t have triggers, I don’t have that kind of stress, I’m not repressing some fucking trauma here. I was just living my life, nothing changed, nothing happened, not until this. There’s got to be a fucking reason.

My doctor, my practitioner nurse, and my psychiatrist all said the same thing: we don’t know. Sometimes, it just happens. The brain just does that.

This is my life; it’s going to chase me, I’m going to run, and sometimes it might catch me and it will never, ever stop. Worse, what’s chasing me is me; I’m never, ever going to get away. This is my life until the day I die, and that’s a long fucking time to run. I’m so tired already, but it’s not like I plan to stop.

So yeah, I figured it out; write what you fear. Give it shape and form on the page, look at it and see it and then do it again, and again, and again; it’s not that you won’t get it right the first time, it’s that there are a lot of ways to be right. I’ve written a hundred thousand words and there’s no end in sight; on a guess, this is going to take a while.

So right, let me be clear here: this doesn’t take away its power. I’m still afraid and still incredibly angry--I could write a goddamn novel expressing how fucking angry I am with fuck as noun, verb, adjective, adverb, gerund, and prepositional phrase if I’m feeling ambitious--and I’m still running. When it catches me again--and it will--I’m caught, no way around that. Luckily, I didn’t count on that happening; it won’t go away because I faced it down with resolution, willpower, coffee, and a keyboard. This is life, not a story.

But the stories I write? I make the rules, and there, that just might work. Sure, that doesn’t sound like much consolation, but actually, it kind of is.

...okay, but you know something weird? Could be wrong, so don’t hold me to this, it’s not like I”m objective here, but...every word I write, I feel a little less tired.

This has been a PSA from someone who just clocked forty thousand words of a deeply unsettling and rather pornographic roadtrip across the greater Midwest by a serial killer/rapist and the psychiatrist he kidnapped who testified against him in court, was later convicted of manslaughter via drug dealing and then double murder by creative lobotomy during a medication related psychotic episode and now has some issues and panic attacks because sometimes, you’re really fucking literal giving your fears form and sometimes, you decide to combine it with hand feeding, piercings, sex, and creatively recreational murder.

Right now, I’m not tired at all.

#you want me to tag this?

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brutefemme · 5 years ago

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Well... here we are again.

Did you miss me?

I guess I’ll always come back here. I’ll always be just a sad girl on the internet, and honestly, I’m here for her. (Although, I do use they/themme pronouns now.. wassaaaaap post-binaarrrryy!) I always come back here when I need to speak in a way that feels good; a way that I constantly ignore because I still think people don’t care (but here’s the secret: it doesn’t matter if no one cares. It only matters if I do.) Also, I haven’t had a working laptop in over a year because Apple really has all of us by the balls. I digress. I’m rambling to avoid as per usual. My mouth is always too fast while my fingers are painfully slow. My mind is a cosm traveling in no direction in particular. Well, maybe it is traveling in a direction... inward, toward itself.

I have a lot to say. No one is surprised.

It usually takes me a while, but I always find what I’m looking for by looking back. I would say it’s a cool little trick, but it’s not -- it’s kind of fucked up.

Ehhh, I’m working through it.

I did run into this post though and really fell into it.

So... five years ago to my five years ago. Here we go.

Hey Kirsten,

You actually did change your name finally. You found it so beautifully too, like it was made for you. You’ve emerged into this new world you’ve built for yourself as kali diwa, and it fits in every possible way. It was right after a free POC Yoga class at the East Bay Meditation Center (Yes, you still do yoga, yes, you only do it with other brown folx around, and yes, seriously fuck yes, you live in Oakland. And bitch, you fucking love it.) where your teacher chose to honor Kali Ma, imploring her to burn all things that no longer serve you. It struck a chord, a strong vibration of both nostalgia and enlightenment, then you went home to watch Bourdain go to the Philippines again and that fool showed you exactly what you wanted to see: Kali - the ancient Filipino martial art that is intrinsically tied to the resistance of your homeland and your blood. How you could say no when revealed itself to you. And the best part? It’s yours, fully.

You’re in Europe now, you as in 2015 you, and I know you feel so many things right now, but it’s okay. These are lessons you need to learn. You’re always exactly where you need to be at all times. You say that a lot now in 2020 and people kind of hate it, but they also love to hear it so... you’re gonna keep saying it. It’s a good reminder. This trip will be unpacked over and over and over again. So keep those eyes wide and that heart open - it will show you truth.

After Europe, you come home with nowhere to go, but back to LA. You lived in a hostel again, which you didn’t want to do after living at that atrocious AirBnB situation, you know the one where there the host used a completely different name than what was given to you on the website, where you were told to tell people that you were “just a friend staying,” where there was no doorknob when you moved in, where the upstairs roommate had to walk through your room to get to theirs, where you only had a broken hot plate and lived off of sardines, and the windows had a privacy film on them that was made entirely of scotch tape, and that weird landlord that smelled homeless wouldn’t stop asking you if you were a lesbian (FYI, you kind of are so that fool clocked the shit out of you -- also never do that again). But after that, you lived with a slew of equally, if not more, horrible roommates that made you really question what the fuck you’re doing in LA, being unemployed, doing comedy, and generally just end up feeling like a loser.

It’s okay. People find you and it's very kind. You end up dedicating a few years of your life to Philz, yes that Philz, New Manhattan Philz. It’s amazing until it’s not. They sell out hard. You didn’t even know what a Mint Mojito was before you started (which makes sense, there would be no reason for you to have ordered it before) but bitch bet you know what it is now.

You finally dump stop talking to Colin, but then you tie yourself to some weird men. It’s gonna suck, but you do this a lot. You needed to, they were important to your growth and how you relate to your self worth. You’re also just horny as shit so, fuck it the fuck up. You really lean into being sexually liberated in a different way. It’s still really hard and confusing.

In a year, you’re gonna spend Valentine's day realizing that you’re falling in love with yourself. Amidst the chaos of your love life, you find you.

You find good homes that teach you so much care and kindness that it makes you want to scream. You and Yadira (one of the best roommates you’ve ever had) spend a wild summer together and then both end up living in the Bay - she inspires you to move back. She literally just texted you back right now so you can FaceTime tomorrow. It’s sick.

You spend a year listening which doesn’t make sense now, but it will. It saves you, creates a new world for you that actually feels good and real. People hold you here, hold you how you needed it then. It’s as full as you can muster and it feels good until it doesn’t. So you do what you do best, you move.

I know right? Again? This is the part where you go back home. It’s the best decision you’ve made so far.

Honestly? Honestly.

You come home to go back to school. City College of all places. Wild, I know. But you know education has always been a pillar in your life. One of your favorite feelings of all time is actively feeling your brain take in new information. Learning is like magic and you want to experience it constantly. Also it’s free, which makes it socialist as fuck. You dive deep into social justice, a place you never thought you’d be, but honestly after Europe, after that last year in LA, it all makes so much sense. You are supposed to be here. The classroom is a fucking stage and you live for it. Nothing makes you hornier than a good debate and the sound of your own voice. Everything just feels better when you do it with your mouth. You join the sexual health educator program, end up being a healthy relationship counselor (I know - healthy relationships - this is where you do that learning thing), and working in sexual violence. It’s like Law and Order SVU, only not at all. It’s healing, it feels like good work as a survivor. You realize that comedy was never your girl, sex was. (Honestly, it’s both - it can be an “and” statement; you’re very complex. You also say that a lot now, again still annoying, but good reminders, so people can’t really get mad at you… right?) You also dive deep into gender stuff, racial stuff, all the good things. You start to become full.

You feel yourself becoming a whole human being and then the world rewards you with a sweet lil queerbb. You’ll like them, they’re from Hawaii and came back to SF by way of Portland. It’s gay af and you’re into it. It’s kind, the healthiest relationship you could muster in puppy love. You feel how young it is, how it’s mostly about sex and suddenly, it doesn’t feel as good. It didn’t have the longevity to match you. You break it off kindly, and you’re thankful for it. A gentle experience for your first relationship ever, at 25. But then you spiral a little. The queer scene in Oakland is good but also a complete mess, but so are you. You go back to Spain, it feels like torture. You run into that pub crawl dude you fell in love with (read: made a fool of yourself in front of by getting ostentatiously drunk and throwing yourself onto him. Remember? It would have had happened like… last week) and it is sufficiently awkward. And you cry. You cry literally everywhere.

26 is the year that you definitely just lean into tears… and it won’t stop. *insert thumbs up emoji*

You get a therapist, you lose a best friend, and you find yourself again and again and again. You only take what serves you.

You realize that sex, your favorite girl, has deceived you for years. She has told you that this feeling is the one you crave, but it’s empty, housed in the desires of men and nothing for you. You have had enough. You have had a taste of what healthy sex can look like and nothing else is as sweet. It’s unfair. After 12 years of having sex, it’s only at 26 where you know that this is true. It’s so fucked up. So you stop.

Really.

It’s the most rewarding and devastating journey you’ve ever taken and it’s still. so. fucking. hard.

You create bonds with people who live close to your soul in a way that has never felt as real as it does now. You find connection everywhere and it’s electrifying. You feel powerful all the time.

Once, you had a full moon ceremony in your backyard in Oakland (this is what you do now because you’re so annoyingly and unbelievably queer) and your friend Tiara, who you instantaneously knew you needed in your life, looked you in the eye and said “You’ve spent your entire life being fire, it’s time to become ocean.” It changed you. You listened.

You have your dream job, working in the gayest place on earth, besides Disneyland, cause you already did that one. You work in a queer sexual health clinic, fully tied into the make up what makes San Francisco great, but also so fucking complicated and it feels good. Your job is driving a huge RV bus and swabbing buttholes all over town. It’s brilliant. You’re on the precipice of change. You feel more alive than you ever have in your entire life. You feel in control.

Everything has felt so special and complete, growing every day. And you’re just so goddamn thankful. You feel lucky, which I bet is super weird to hear considering you drunkenly just considered having sex with that short German guy in a suit who wants to be Barney Stintson. (Do you regret that? Yes. You do.)

And in the face of all this gratitude, the world is still so unbelievably hard.

We are in a bizarre time where you’re currently stuck in a pandemic quarantine with the funniest roommate and some kid who walked on to your bus one day to get his asshole swabbed. You just spend your 28th birthday in lock down. It was weird, and beautiful, and kind. You cried like you always do on your birthday, but it might be one of your favorites. It was complex, just like you.

And you currently feel like your body is betraying you in ways that you did not at all foresee. And it fucking hurts.

You’re reckoning right now. You’re doing a lot of reckoning with things you thought were done, things you thought you’ve laid to rest years ago. Things that felt fine, but they surfaced in spaces you didn’t expect. It’s unkind, but you don’t have to be. You are full like the moon. Just because you can’t see her wholly, does not mean that she isn’t always full. You are always full.

Authenticity is the key to being taken seriously. Remember that one, you’re gonna need it.

Love you, boo boo

kali diwa

P.S. You don’t bone as hard as you did before, but there’s more days to be had... it’ll find you.

#thoughts

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theafrodeity · 6 years ago

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Church Belles - Part 3

I glanced at the chrome clock on the wall once again. Only five minutes had gone by since the last time I had checked. Why does time move so slowly when you’re not having fun? Also why did we still have clocks with Roman numerals which delayed how long it took your brain to process time by at least another 2 seconds. The sheer irony of it all! I shifted around in my seat and grunted audibly. Ok, maybe I needed to calm down. “Sena, was there something you wanted to add to that?” Oko raised his bushy eyebrows at me. “No, I think we’ve gone over all our concerns. I’ll draft a letter of agreement and send it over to you by Friday.” My response was shrill as I tried to hide my impatience and irritation. “Sounds wonderful! Me daa se[1].” Mrs. Koranteng beamed, slamming her red talon-like acrylic nails on the conference room table. “Ok, let’s go over their sales numbers again so I can be sure I understand it.” It took all of my will power not to roll my eyes.

Had it been any other day, I would have been thrilled to be in Mrs. Koranteng’s presence. She was such a powerful force in Ghanaian second-hand goods trade, president of the Makola Market Women’s Association, and the main distributor of most household brands in the country. Her diamond rings almost blinded us as the rays of sunlight reflected off of them. Everything about this woman glistened and screamed opulence, from the stone beads bordering her gigantic kaba[2] sleeves, right down to her white teeth which contrasted her smooth glowy dark skin each time she gave me that wide I-have-fuck-you-money grin. Our most valued client, no doubt, and I was impressed by how quickly she had turned her inheritance from her late husband into a fortune at 42 years. Her constant show of affection and warmth masked how meticulous and ruthless she could be in negotiations. Growing up in the busy streets of Kumasi had toughened her up into becoming a master haggler. Her hands were slightly callused, perhaps remnants from an early farm life. Still she was comfortable with patiently letting the experts talk in circles before interjecting with tough questions or a final well thought out plan.

Today’s meeting was no exception. We were providing legal counsel for a new chain of supermarkets Mrs. Koranteng’s company, GyeNyame[3] Inc was acquiring and had presented a very detailed proposal. However, I quickly realized that this meeting might drag on longer than expected since Mrs. Koranteng did not want to spend a single pesewa[4] above what she considered to be a fair price. Then suddenly she glanced at her phone, smiled to herself and changed her mind. “Actually, I have to leave now but let’s schedule another meeting soon. I’ll review them with my accountant tomorrow. Thank you so much Mr. Quartey and Ms. Kondoh.” I could have hugged her in that moment but instead Oko and I shook hands with her and walked her to her Porsche. On the way back we speculated about whether the message on her phone had been from the young actor she was rumored to have been dating. Oko was a cool boss; very down-to-earth with a calm confidence. If he weren’t already married, we could have made a great couple because there was such an ease with our conversations and we rarely ever disagreed about anything. I glanced at my phone and noticed 5 missed calls from Carla. I was late for our bi-weekly nail appointment so I said goodbye to Oko and dashed down the hallway to head out to lunch.

Thirty minutes later, warm bubbles were caressing my feet and Akua the owner of Luxury Nails & Spa was diligently filing my finger nails. “You can’t keep me in suspense any longer. What happened?!”. Carla’s dramatic tone made me chuckle. She was sitting in the chair next to me. Her curly hair was cropped low and dyed blonde. She was wearing a loose colourful graffiti t-shirt which hugged her bra-less C-cup bosom, over ripped jeans shorts. For a second, I let the envy wash over me as I glanced down at my crisp white long-sleeved shirt and grey pleated skirt. Carla sold decorative pieces and modern African print clothing at the Art Centre and sang at the Jubilee Jazz bar to an audience of wealthy politicians on weekends for a living. She was able to afford a nice home and got to wear whatever she wanted during the week, while I worked 60-hour weeks in a skirt suit and still lived with my parents. However, I felt fortunate to still have one of my childhood best friends to hang out with routinely. Like the dating scene in Accra over the age of 30, female friends were also slim pickings as they all disappeared into domestic life after marriage. Somehow, fun edgy Carla insisted that she was living vicariously through me and kept pestering me for details about my date with Fiifi.

“What do you want me to say? We had a nice dinner and some wine and talked about life.” I avoided her eyes.

“Girl! I wanna hear about dessert though!” I burst out laughing at her ridiculous imitation of an African American accent.

Chills cut through my belly, the kind you got on a roller coaster ride, as flashes of the night before came back to me. I was hunched over the back of the sofa and my black dress had ridden up above my waist. Fiifi paused for what felt like a lifetime behind me before pulling my panties to the side and holding on to them like an equestrian gripping on to the reins of a prized thoroughbred. He whistled at the sight of my naked derrière and I felt a cool breeze against my exposed skin. Without warning he grabbed my waist and pushed up against me. The delicious pain shot through my abdomen, my thighs, then down my leg as I felt the first short thrusts. He started off with a slow rhythm, then gradually picked up speed until he was slamming into me. The clash of my wetness and wobbling behind against his muscular thighs created a slurping slapping melody that drove us both wild. “Please” I whispered urgently through gritted teeth. I wasn’t sure what my pleas were for but he seemed to understand because he smacked my ass in response and it sent fresh ripples of ecstasy through my body. He let go of my waist and gathered my braids into a pony tail pulling them towards him and arching my back. I screamed as the thrusts got deeper and felt a little ball of fire growing in my stomach causing me to hungrily push back against him. My vaginal walls instinctively clenched around his throbbing member trying to absorb every ounce of sensation from each movement. Out of nowhere he stopped and bent over to kiss me. I moaned and kissed him back hungrily.

“Seriously, you’re not gonna tell me?” Carla was jabbing at my shoulder now, snapping me out of my reverie. Akua had stopped filing my nails now and was waiting to hear my response too. “Fine, we might have made out a little bit.” I conceded, still flustered. Akua returned to her filing, evidently bored.

“Sena!! You’re so bad. You guys are like a thing now. When’s the wedding?”

“Hehehe. Oh we’re taking things slow. He literally just got divorced.”

“Good point. Things could get complicated. I think you should just try and have fun. You’re always so uptight.”

“Here we go again. Not all of us have sugar daddies sponsoring us low key.” I teased, knowing full well that Carla preferred women. Still she had gotten pregnant five years ago with a former minister who helped set up her shop.

“I wish! I get a few tips here and there but Amina is starting kindergarten soon and that means I need to step it up and make some more money.”

“Wow, she’s grown up so fast. Are you going to reach out to Jessica?”

Jessica, Carla and I had been dorm mates at St. Maria’s High School. Jessica had always intimidated me with how strictly she adhered to the school rules and how often she would scold Carla and I for being late to mass or for not making our beds before class when she was appointed school prefect. Somehow, she and Carla had gotten along fabulously even though Carla was the biggest deviant in our class.

One night I had snuck out of class during prep time, our mandatory night study session, to take a nap in our dorm room. Light sucking sounds greeted me in the darkness as soon as I opened the door - the silhouette of two young women rolling around on Carla’s bed playing out before me. Jessica and Carla panicked when I let out a cough thinking it was our house mistress. They later begged me not to tell a single soul and I had remained tight-lipped for over a decade. Nevertheless, Jessica had never forgiven me for walking in on them and had only grown more distant over the years as if it were somehow my fault for discovering their secret.

“She’s Sister Jessica now, don’t forget.” Carla corrected me. “Yes, I have an interview with her on Friday. Wanna come with? I might need backup.”

“Err…ok. If you insist. I’m still not sure why even you need to go through an interview process to enrol your child.” Carla knew Jessica and I didn’t quite get along. We had even less in common now that she was a nun and the headmistress of a catholic preparatory school.

“Oh I think it’s just a formality. Any excuse to see me, I guess.” Carla and I both giggled knowingly.

[1] Means Thank you in Akan.

[2] A festive traditional blouse for women

[3] A popular saying meaning “Except with God”, a longer translation meaning something can only be accomplished with God’s help

[4] Lower unit of Ghanaian currency, no longer in use.

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researching01 · 6 years ago

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Pokémon: 25 Things That Make No Sense About The Universe (That Fans Ignore)

New Post has been published on https://headacheshelp.com/awesome/pokmon-25-things-that-make-no-sense-about-the-universe-that-fans-ignore/

Pokémon: 25 Things That Make No Sense About The Universe (That Fans Ignore)

What can be said about Pokemon that has not been said already? This pillar of pop culture has stormed into the mainstream with most people under the age of 30 knowing what Pokemon is by now. Countless articles, fics, and art have been stimulated over the years, indicating our love for this classic series. Now that we have Let’s Go, Pikachu and Eevee we can relive the original games and find the changes they made to them. Everyone is aroused about the upcoming mainline Pokemon title, so I thought it would be a good time to revisit the first gen games.

Many of us grew up playing the gen 1 games; during recess, on our work transgress, after school. We all hold fond memories of this ground-breaking game. People are always talking about their first starter or what they called their contender, but there is one thing that they do not usually talk about when it is necessary to gen 1. However, hindsight is 20/ 20 and we can spot some issues in logic or gameplay that may not ought to have obvious at the time. Some things only do not make sense no matter what. Sure, this is a fictional world that does not exist, but tales should still make sense. Nitpicking may be considered rude, but the internet operates on nitpicking and memes at this phase. We observed just a few weird the matters that you may not have spotted in Pokemon gen 1 games.

25 It’s Not A Dragon…Apparently

We all know what dragons look like. Sure, they may be physically different and not all of them have wings, but we know. They have wings most of the time, are big reptiles, and most spit flame. Charizard fits all of these descriptors, but he’s a fire/ flying form? Those are literally the descriptors for being a dragon. So you’re telling me that Sliggoo, Vibrava, and Alteria are dragons but not Charizard? They did this for balance but severely, it stimulates no sense.

2 4 Bad Parenting, Kangaskhan

So Kangaskhan parents are always seen with their little baby in their front pouch. While this is super cute, they keep the baby in the pouch during battles too. This means that when you combat one, that newborn is get a face full of whatever you merely attacked with. Not only is this unsafe, but it does not make sense. No animal parent would keep their kid on them during a fight. They’d set it on the sidelines or tell it to run and hide.

2 3 The Rival Should Be The Protagonist

Your rival in Red/ Blue is your motivator. They taunt you and fight you, all to encourage you to keep playing and getting stronger. However, Blue/ Gary should be the protagonist. Their grandfather likes you better and doesn’t even recollect their name. You kick their behind constantly. You destroy their Raticate and other Pokemon. You let them be the Pokemon Champion for all of two seconds before you take that from them. These are all excellent motivators usually seen in protagonists. You are the villain.

2 2 How Are Human On Top?

In our world, humans are the dominant species because there are a lot of us and we have advanced weapons on our side. But in Pokemon? With gods strolling the earth that could aim the world in moments? With literal dragons, ghosts, and beings that can literally drain the life out of you with a gues, it is mind-boggling that humans are number one. Sure, we have numbers, but do we really know how many Pokemon are out there? We know that there is only one Mew and Mewtwo, but how many Pikachu are out there?

2 1 Is Being A Champion As Hard As They Say?

As a Pokemon trainer, defeating the gym leaders and attaining it to Victory Road is supposed to be a true test. A trial of your mettle as a trainer and what separates the wheat from the chaff. However, when you show up to Victory Road, there are loadings of people there. All these other trainers just chilling. There is security checking people for badges, so surely they defeated all the trainers. But it’s supposed to be hard to defeat the leaders? What’s the truth, Gamefreak?

2 0 He’s Trapped In There Forever

Vermilion Gym, home to Electric-type gym leader Lt. Surge. This was my favorite gym leader battle during my playthrough but while playing I had a thought; how does Lt Surge get out of the gym? There is a tree blocking the style into his gym which you need cut to get past. The problem here is that Lt. Surge’s Pokemon do not have any moves that could get past this tree. In the real world, an axe will do just fine, but this is not the real world. He’s literally simply trapped forever in the gym.

1 9 Professor Oak The Professional

Professor Oak is a highly respected scientist and authority on Pokemon. He is loved by many even if he is a bit quirky. When you fulfill him, he gives you one of his three Pokemon and gives you the Pokedex, asking you to discover them all. However, when you meet new Pokemon, the Pokedex tells you about it. Either Professor Oak lied and already inputted all the data on each Pokemon or the Pokedex scans them somehow. However, why does he need you to do that if he is an expert on Pokemon? He doesn’t even pay you.

1 8 The Sleepy Townie

When you visit Viridian City, you may come across a certain troublesome figure. A man lays in the road blocking your route. Game-wise, he is there to stop you from leaving Viridian City early without giving Professor Oak his parcel. As for why he is lying in the road, he says he has not had his coffee. Yeah, I also simply lie in the road when I haven’t had my morning coffee, too. Totally builds sense, GameFreak, totally makes sense.

1 7 Bill Is A Questionable Scientist

Ah, Bill. This guy, found on the Cerulean Cape, is a Pokemaniac who is working on Pokemon teleportation. When you find him, he has merged bodies with a Pokemon while experimenting and needs you to help him turn back. You go to his computer, press a button, and bam! He’s all good. This guy made the Storage System, so why is something so complex as teleportation easily undone by a literal infant? Seems too simple to me, to be honest.

1 6 Stocking Up Is Hard

Retail stinks. Customers can be difficult, coworkers may not pull their own weight, and you can’t always get what you order. It seems that the latter rings true in the Pokemon world as well. In certain Pokemarts, you can’t get certain items. For instance, if you head to the Viridian City one, there are very limited furnishes. Despite this being a popular place for wannabe Pokemon trainers to stop by, you cannot buy Max Repel or Hyper Potion. This is a weird quirk that doesn’t make sense.

1 5 Fossils? In A Museum? Nah…

In Mt. Moon, you can find two ancient and rare fossils. In front of these fossils is a Super Nerd. This Super Nerd makes a deal with you to take whichever one you do not pick. This is great for you, since you get an Omanyte or Kabuto, but also, I have questions. What does that kid do with the remaining fossil? Surely, we should give them to a museum? Is it just a paperweight for him? They aren’t exactly super concealed, why didn’t person take them earlier? Why didn’t the kid take them both and volume it before you got there?

1 4 Job? What Job?

Leaving your mother at the ripe age of eleven, you ultimately give your mom some liberty. But here’s the issues to; what does your mother do while you’re off gallivanting in the wilderness? Does she go on dates? Do some freelancing? Take a vacation to the Alola region? What your mother does shall remain a mystery to us all. But who cares as long as she sends you fund and is there to greet you when you get back, right? Where does all that fund even come from?

1 3 Kadabra Does What Now?

So Kadabra, according to its Pokedex entry, it use’ powerful alpha waves’ which has resulted in headaches and reverse the time on clocks. Is this damaging to the brain? Will this cause health issues if you expend too much day with a Kadabra? As a Pokemon trainer, you have to spend time training your Pokemon to help them reach their full potential, but are there regulations for Kadabras? Should there be? Seems pretty dangerous. Not dangerous like Groudon dangerous, but still dangerous.

1 2 Pokemon Aren’t CD Players So What’s With TMs?

TMs are the route for Pokemon to learn new moves. They learn this new move, like Fly, and immediately forget a move of your selection. First of all, how does this happen? They do not have built-in CD or DVD players and you do not have one in your inventory. I know they are digital, but in the context of the world of Pokemon, they are real animals. Second, they genuinely forget a move straight away? One they have known their whole lives? I can be forgetful sometimes, but this is a whole new level.

1 1 Sleepy Snorlax Blocks The Way

Outside Celadon City and south of Lavender Town on Routes 12 and 16, you will find two Snorlax having a little sleep. These sleepy sons are there to get in your route and generally be a nuisance. The only style to wake them up and get them to move is to get a Pokeflute from Mr. Fuji in Lavender Town. Now, you can take the long way around but frankly, I got Pokemon to catch and Team Rocket members to wreck. I gotta hustle. How has no-one else tried this? Why didn’t Mr. Fuji come down and move them himself?

1 0 I Wanna Know What’s Inside A Pokeball

Pokeballs have long been a point at the end of the debates amongst trainers. We capture these live animals with them and keep them there until we need them in battle. But the thing is, what does the inside of a Pokeball look like? Is it a room perfectly suited and custom designed for each individual Pokemon? Does it just vaporize them and keep their data until you summon them? The only thing we know is that the Pokeballs brainwash your Pokemon to construct them obey you, which is messed up.

9 Cubone, What Are You Wearing?

So the thing with Cubone is that Cubones have a rough time. Because of hunting by humans, Cubones wear the skulls of their moms. As macabre as that is, adult Marowaks exist so surely not all Cubones should wear skulls. Surely the skulls should only appear once the mother has succumbed. It is a tragic tale but it does not make sense to apply it to the entire species. It would have built more sense to induce that an isolated incident and have the others have armor that only looks like skulls.

8 Danger? In The Pokemon Universe? No Way

So the rite of passage in the world of Pokemon is to head out at age 11 alone and run catch some wild animals. Who cares about observing shelter, having fund, or seeing your family? As long as you’re out there combating some ferocious brutes it doesn’t matter. There are literal divinities walking the earth and these people think it’s safe to just kick their kids out right into it. I’m all for a tough life lesson but this seems a bit much.

7 Fishing In A Puddle

Fishing can be a very cold and pleasant hour. In real life, it can be boring as heck but fortunately video games attain the activity a bit more fun. When fishing in Pokemon, you will most likely encounter a Magikarp. These useless fish was located in oceans, rivers, lagoons, and even puddles. One of these is not like the others. Magikarp are kind of huge, so they would not survive in puddles on the street. Unless the potholes in Pokemon are just really big.

6 We Demand Pokemon Rights!

When we have a team of Pokemon together and train them in battle, they respond to our words. They do what attacks we tell them and when. They react to what we do and construct real bonds with us. They are sentient beings with emotions and thinks. Heck, some of them can even go to school and work. Does this mean that they have rights? Can they own homes? What do their diploma or resumes mean? We actually do have them trapped but these facts bring questions.

5 Locks? What Are Those?

On your Pokemon journey, you’re bound to do a lot of exploring. There are mountains to explore, woodlands to navigate, and ponds to intersect. Even people’s homes aren’t off limits. You can literally merely walk on into some rando’s house and bother them. These people are just living their lives and have to put up with some kid busting into their house and asking questions. Also, all the houses only have one room except yours. Are you living the high life?

4 Physic Do Not Work Like That

HM0 2 is a move called Fly which, like the name suggests, allows the Pokemon who learns it to fly. You can use this move to get from Pokemon Center to Pokemon Center or to your home or the Pokemon League. While this move is useful, it should not work for all Pokemon. Pidgey is literally 0.3 m tall and weighs less than 2kg but can supposedly carry you for miles( lies !). Then there’s Doduo. This guy doesn’t even have wings. Sure he has bird features but that doesn’t mean he should fly.

3 As Rivals, Team Rocket Stinks

Now, Jessie and James are my favorite part of the anime and Yellow but they aren’t in the OG gen 1 series. Team Rocket members are useless. They are easily defeated by children and then they tell said children their plans. They even try to recruit them into this firm by disguising themselves and then opposing. On the Nintendo site, they even held Evaluation of the results of Team Rocket members, who largely received C or below, which is now being embarrassing.

2 I Don’t Know My Parents

As if the rival’s tale could not get any sadder. The guy lives with his sister. That’s it. No parents or other family. Just his sister. And they seem the same age? What happened to his parents? Why don’t they live with Professor Oak? Why doesn’t he live with them? Where does Professor Oak even live? In his laboratory? It’s a good thing they live nearby their grandfather or else it would be too tragic. Poor guy, what a rough start.

1 You Gotta Work For It

Speaking of Magikarp, it seems weird that it only has one evolution. It is not uncommon for Pokemon to have only one evolution but think about how evolving Magikarp works. You get a Magikarp and then have to train hard to get it to level 20 before it will finally evolve into Gyarados. Others have two evolutions, so it feels to me like Magikarp should have an awkward teen phase. He is a lesson in patience, but he doesn’t have to be.