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actualbird · 2 years ago

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merry xmas eve kuya zak!!!! sorry in advance if this is filled wiht typos i had my very first bottles of soju and san mig light tonight haha.

hope ur noche buena was fun <33 hope this year was good to u and i hope the next year is gonna b good to both of us

also if ur willing to divulge what was it first drinking experience like??? what did u drink and with whom and what did u feel the day after etc etc idk now that im tipsy i wan know how othe rpeople experience it

neway thank u for being here in general ur blog and ur fics brought me so much joy and im glad u made every wip and published fuc and every analysis and every silly and not so silly but sad headcanons

lotsa love !!!!

that one marikenyo In Ur Inbox All The Time

wahhh merry christmas, inbox-marikenyo :DDD!!! i saw this ask on christmas eve but during then i too was also drunk off a few cocktails and promptly passed out a little bit later orz

i had a great noche buena!! i kept falling into a food coma because i kept eating so much, as the lord intended <3 JHVSKJHFVSD. i hope you also had a great christmas eve and are having a lovely christmas day today ^w^

and as for ur q, my first Real drinking experience was at a party i went to on my last year of college actually in 2020 right before the pandemic hit omg, kinda "late" by some people's standards. i say Real drinking experience, cuz prior to that party i did drink sometimes, but never enough to get drunk!

at that party though, i was with my girlfriend and it was the party of her college org and i was continually handed drinks. i Definitely Got Drunk.

what did i drink? no idea. a mutual friend of my gf and i was mixing the drinks and i never ask whats in stuff, i just drink whatever tastes sweet enough or is drowned in enough soda that i can stomach the bitterness of whatever alcohol content is within.

how was i when i was drunk? the same way i am when i get drunk nowadays: absolute disaster jahsfvasfhasvkfjh. i tend to get loud and lose all my filter when im drunk. also clingy. two things i remember clearly at that party are

1 ) my girlfriend went to the bathroom and i sat on the floor texting another friend about how i missed my girlfriend So Much and i love her So Much. later, when my gf had to leave early before me, i loudly announced "IM GOING HOME, MY GIRLFRIEND IS GONE SO I DONT WANNA BE HERE ANYMORE"

2 ) i was talking to the mutual friend who was mixing the drinks and he was talking about how he plays billiards. i remembered how billiards gloves looked like (it's like a normal glove but two fingers are out in the open) and i said something along the lines of "oh my god so you wear the WHORE GLOVES. why are billiards gloves so fucking SLUTTY"

thats pretty much how i am when im drunk up to this day ajhfvajshf but i seldom drink enough to get to That point, basically only at parties since like, im not the one paying for the drinks LMAO. when i drink lots, i get drunk. but when i drink little, i just get sleepy.

and when i drink enough to get drunk, the next morning always has me regretting Every Decision Ive Ever Made because i always...always....forget to drink water the night before....people around me try their Best to hydrate me while im drinking, but i get stubborn and forgetful and when im handed water i just put it down instinctively and look for something sweeter and usually with alcohol in it and im caught in a vicious cycle that ends with a fuckoff terrible hangover

but it's nothing a soft boiled egg breakfast cant fix HAHA

hope that answered ur q :DDD!! and thank you for the well wishes and the kind words ;v; im really glad that the stuff i make here can bring joy, and i really hope i can make more things in the future

sending u all the love too, inbox marikenyo!!!

#asks #inboxmarikenyo!anon #i can start tagging u as this na if ever bumalik ka sa inbox ko HAHA merry christmasss!!#cw drinking #cw alcohol

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sa7abnews · 3 months ago

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Du pain et des jeux: the domestic power of the Olympic opening ceremony…

New Post has been published on https://sa7ab.info/2024/08/06/du-pain-et-des-jeux-the-domestic-power-of-the-olympic-opening-ceremony/

Du pain et des jeux: the domestic power of the Olympic opening ceremony…

Nekomimi is a slugger reader… Is it the best of times, or the worst of times, for a city to host the Olympic Games? The titular two cities of the novel refer to London and Paris, and we may look on the opening ceremony of the London 2012 Olympics and compare it with events in Paris last night. The 2012 opening ceremony to the London Games is held up as a masterful piece of modern propaganda, enthusing and reinforcing the nation and forging a concrete and proud image of a modern Britain. The show was very much aimed at a domestic audience – some of the symbols would be unknown to foreign observers, or they may wonder what all the fuss is about the National Health service when other countries also have health services. Britain had been somewhat lost in terms of its identity, with widespread rioting in British cities the previous year blamed partly on a lack of civic pride. In hindsight, the opening ceremony is also looked upon fondly as a high water mark, a moment of pride and calm before the country descended into a decade of political turmoil and farce which was to follow with Brexit. Since 2016 Britian has had very little to be proud of, the country is divided, the economy is in the doldroms, the Tory government was both incompetent and corrupt, and the humiliating spectacle of their government has been on show for the world to see. But for a brief moment, in the afterglow of the 2012 opening ceremony, it really was Great Britain, united, proud and confident. In contrast, France saved its political turmoil for precisely this moment. Following the unexpected and inexplicable decision of Emmanuel Macron to call a legislative election on June 09th following his party’s drubbing by the far-right in the preceding European elections, the country is currently ungovernable. The common refrain is that they were elections nobody won; it would perhaps be more accurate to say they were elections everybody won but Macron. Following a campaign characterised by vitriol, slander, litigation and over fifty physical assaults on candidates or party staff, we now have a situation where the left have the most seats, the far-right have the most votes, and no-one has a parliamentary majority. Underneath this there is a desperate leadership scramble and power struggle on the left, the centre and the right. The situation is febrile and calls for calm heads and compromise and coalition-building. Nobody is prepared to offer any. France is without a prime minister and has no prospect of finding one in the forseeable future. Macron’s PM Gabriel Attal boasted of his party’s performance and promptly resigned, only for Macron to refuse his resignation. The four parties of the New Popular Front have struggled to agree on a candidate; two weeks after the election, they still had no agreement but they now have five parties. Even if they do manage to agree it’s almost a moot point: Macron has stated he will not appoint a PM from the Left and that the PM must represent the “majority”, drawing howls of outrage from the left, the centre and the right with the only major figure to come out in support being Marine Le Pen. Critics point out that you can’t portray yourself as the defender of democracy and then just ignore the results of election. Meanwhile, PM or no PM, the Left has already started passing legislation, their first order of business being to reduce the retirement age to sixty, which is apparently top priority. Oh, and the far-right have already been stuffing ballot boxes in the National Assembly in an attempt to rig votes. In the middle of this utter circus comes another circus: the Olympic Games. With most of the population nonplussed or actively resenting the Games, they have become a personal embodiment of Macron, who is also actively resented. Paris is currently a police state, access to streets barred by QR codes and electronic surveillance, its iconic landmarks cordoned off behind hoardings, the army on the streets with automatic rifles and their special Olympic mission patches. Macron is desperate to show France in a good and stable light on the world stage, has denied that France is in political turmoil. and even if it is, it’s not his fault (it is, of course entirely his fault) He has pleaded with the French public not to make a scene in front of the world. So of course the CGT, the largest trade union, have called for a general strike, there has been co-ordinated sabotage on the country’s rail network and a foiled neo-nazi plot to attack the Olympic Torch relay. Even God was getting in on the action, sending approximately every rain cloud in France directly to Paris to dampen the opening ceremony. The ceremony itself has been described as tacky, gaudy, uncoordinated and even boring by overseas viewers, leaving perhaps the final and ultimate act of sabotage to the creative directors. And yet. And yet. Just like the London Games, this show was for domestic political consumption, and it went down a storm. There was a pointed and overtly political thread running through the whole haphazard mess. The values of the Republic �� liberty, equality, fraternity and latterly sorority – were emphasised, perhaps drilling home that this republic was almost lost a few short weeks ago. The far-right were incensed at the performance of French singer Aya Nakamura, a French-Malian despite her Japanese stage name. The kitschy Europop soundtrack seemed to consciously re-approriate what has become the unlikely theme music of the far-right. The prominent feature of drag queens, especially the borderline blasphemous re-enactment of the Last Supper, sparked confused howling from traditionalists, a mixture of outrage and humiliation that this is the image France decides to show to the world. But most importantly, it was a spine-tingling, resonant spectacle. The events of the last six weeks no longer matter, and nor does some foreigners thinking their stage show was tacky or offensive. A grumbling, discordant public is suddenly enthralled and in unison, pacified by dazzling lights and national pride. We might, in saner moments, wonder why countries bid for the Olympics at all. They’re massively expensive, a huge white elephant for the host nation. Half the events are in sports no-one cares about and the other half are beset by drugs scandals. This is why. The Olympics, the whole sheer ceremony and spectacle of it, are an immensely powerful political tool. It is no coincidence that some of the most evocative moments in modern history feature the Games as a backdrop, most notably the 1936 Games and their use as propaganda by the Nazi regime (Goebbels is hopefully spinning in his grave watching the Olympic torch, instituted by the Nazis to draw a line of direct succession from ancient Greece to Aryan Europe, being carried by people of mixed races and drag queens) “Bread and circuses” (or perhaps more appropriately in French “Du pain et des jeux”) refers to methods used by Roman dictators to keep the population under control. What is often missed is the public quite like these methods. Just as in London, or Russia, or Beijing, they provide a moment to reset and co-ordinate society with a new mission statement. The term “sportswashing” is often used to apply to Middle-Eastern petro-states using sport as a vehicle to lend legitimacy to their regime, but it works here too. From a self-inflicted position of weakness and almost universal scorn and hatred, Macron suddenly looks presidential again. After almost tearing itself apart over the last six weeks, France has a (kind of) coherent vision of itself it can buy into again. We still don’t have a government, but maybe that’s not important right now. The fighting can wait. Let the Games begin.

#News &x26; Politics

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faeriekit · 10 months ago

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Danny was back to work the next day, because, you know. What else was he going to do to make money.

The dead people came in and out of his apartment on the regular for weeks afterwards, and some followed him to and from work, but oddly enough they stopped appearing on his table on from Danny's impromptu kidnapping stint.

Strange, Danny thought, actively mixing different colors of mortuary paint on with a palette knife as a corpse peered over his shoulder, But not overly so.

Stories started appearing in the newspapers—things Danny had no context of beyond Rich People Get Arrested! and such scandals, but the reports were enough that Mr. Graves and the day shift mortician could not stop talking about it between funeral preparations for the Honorable Judge Yerkins, who had passed away a few nights ago.

Weird, but alright.

Mom and Dad published a brief article on the various manifestations and known behaviors of “The Gotham Ghoul” in their state-wide paranormal magazine, despite Danny being unable to get a good picture of the dead people digging through his clean laundry basket, or microwaving his leftovers on repeat thirty second bursts until they burnt, or using up the last of his lotion when Danny wasn’t looking, or lockpicking his stuff again despite being asked not to touch the things in his bedroom.

And Danny was just fine with his life as it was, teaching the dead people how to make macaroni and cheese and how to dial Mom if they got bored and needed human company, when one of the dead guys came through the window with a whole child under its arm.

Danny gawked, spoon in hand. The corpses that had been moments ago peering into the pot quickly bolted in every direction. “What is that?! Did you steal someone’s kid?!”

The corpse whistled one long, cheery note, and held the squirming child out in front of him. “Baby!” the body rasped, which was not one of its usual vocab words.

“Let me go!!” the boy protested, which was fair.

“That’s not a baby! That’s, like , a preteen!” Danny protested, and then realized there were more important concerns to be verbalized. “Why did you steal a preteen?!”

“Baby!” the undead man protested again, and shoved the boy even closer to Danny. The boy tried to make a valiant escape, but, uh. Preteen versus the walking undead was a pretty one-sided fight.

The preteen said a very bad word. Danny gawked.

“…Alright,” Danny said, fully out of deescalation techniques and getting more exhausted by the second. “If you put him at the table, you can watch him eat macaroni. Kid, are you allergic to macaroni?”

The kid said another swearword, which Danny probably should have expected, but the dead guy also promptly sat the preteen down in a chair and loomed over the kid, which was more ominous than anything else.

Danny sighed. Danny finished the macaroni. Danny plated himself a bowl and a bowl for the teenager, who was in a really weird gymnastics unitard with a cape and mask, which. Okay. Looked kind of cold, considering the season. Danny also gave him a spoon, which seemed less encouraging of stabbing behavior than the fork he usually ate macaroni with.

The kid ate his macaroni and glared the whole time. “Are you evil?”

“…No,” said Danny. What was with people and thinking morticians were evil? He just got paid by the hour, man.

“Then why are you getting followed by a whole bunch of Talons, then?”

The dead man’s face scrunched up. Danny’s expression probably matched its, to be honest. “What’s a talon? Like a…claw?”

“No.”

“Alright…? Do you want any garlic powder with your macaroni?”

“No,” the kid said, as if horribly offended. “…Can I have some chili powder, though?”

“Yeah, whatever. It’s your dinner.” Danny went and got it for him, and after a fierce dousing, he and the kid went back to eating under the oppressive weight of the dead guy determined to hold the kid prisoner.

The kid finished his macaroni, which led to the dead man bodily lifting up this kid and dragging him over to Danny’s bedroom, which was not behavior to encourage, and now Danny was going to have to wash his sheets again.

…Or stop the dead guy from putting the kid in the blanket nest in the closet, apparently. “THE COUCH. Do not hold kids hostage in my bedroom closet! You’re not supposed to be in my bedroom closet!! You can hang out on the couch or you can put him back where you found him!”

The corpse blew a raspberry. Horrible new behavior exhibited!! Danny was 100% going to cut back on their unsupervised TV time.

Danny pointed into the living area. “Couch. Now. Or I’m deleting your spotify playlist with all the Lady Gaga on it.”

Apparently this threat was enough. The body testily swung the boy it had been previously trying to suffocate under blankets up under its arms, pointed itself towards the couch, and stalked off.

And you know what. If the dead guy and the kid proceed to wrestle their feelings out on the couch as various dead people peered in from darkened corners. Well. Danny probably should do something about it.

The thing he decided to do was put on Love Island and call it a night. “Budge over,” he demanded.

The dead body budged. It made the boy budge. The three sat on the couch and watched reality television reruns until a Little Women adaptation came on.

“You alright with that?”

The boy shrugged. His eyes did something weird under his mask. “I’salright.”

“Cool. Tell me if you want me to change it. You are getting kidnapped in my house, after all. Least I can do is make sure the TV doesn’t suck.”

“Can you tell this guy to let me go, then?” the preteen huffed, leaned on even further by the dead guy. “He’s getting a little too comfy with me.”

Danny frowned. Flapped a hand. “Personal space,” he demanded.

The body didn’t budge.

“You’re making him uncomfortable. Move.”

The body rolled over, and rolled its eyes; moreover it proceeded to only trap the kid with a single leg and nothing more.

No more complaints came beyond a plaintive: “Do we have any popcorn?”

The preteen was taking this really well, honestly. Danny was kind of baffled. He’d never been this calm when Vlad kidnapped him for an Attempted Stepfather/Stepson Weekend. “...Sure, kid.”

Movie night was cool, and the living and somewhat-living people had popcorn, and the oddly-dressed preteen was very knowledgeable on what made this a horrible Little Women adaptation considering Alcott’s original intention, actually, and Danny was mostly down for just waiting out however long it took for the dead man who stole this child to get bored by the whole idea and walk off when there was a knock at the window.

…Danny looked at the window.

On the other side of the window was a man in all black armor, and—ah, dammit. It was the bat dude again.

The preteen perked up even as the undead pinning him down hissed at the intruder. Danny was mostly done with the whole situation.

So. He meandered over and cracked open the window. “Didn’t I tell you not to show up here?”

The weird white lenses in the man’s mask barely blinked. “Didn’t you die?”

“Yeah, dude, all the time. That’s not the point, though.”

“That’s my ride!!” the preteen hollered from behind him, which made a little more sense. Danny was mostly baffled.

Danny twisted around. “Your ride’s a…heavily armored dude with little earsies on his mask?” Danny asked the preteen behind him, who made more of an effort to leap up off the couch. Unfortunately, the dead guy sitting basically on top of him still had a good grip on his cape. The boy bounced back onto the couch with a snarl.

“The ears are for bettering public opinion!” the kid shouted back.

…Danny examined the earsies with more scrutiny this time. “I don’t think they’re working,” he admitted.

“Your opinion is noted,” the man said. And then pushed Danny out the way of his own window and crawled inside his apartment.

What the hell.

On the other hand, the deeply armored dude with no sense of personal boundaries seemed perfectly willing to wrangle the preteen out from underneath Danny’s most popular and outgoing corpse friend, so maybe Danny shouldn’t interfere. They seemed fine. Mostly. Everyone was holding their own. On the other, other hand, though, it was about to be Danny’s bedtime, and he had to actually make it to the grocery store tomorrow morning. He’d promised to teach all the lingering dead people how to make oobleck after shift.

Tall, dark and brooding came back with the preteen boy in tights under one arm and the dead man (in Danny’s Chicago Aquarium tee he’d gotten as a gift when he was nine, now worn as a crop top) hauled over his other shoulder. Danny…stared.

“What are your babysitting rates?” asked the armored man, deathly serious.

“…A hundred an hour,” Danny made up on the spot. “But I work nights. No availability. Sorry.”

The man grunted. He hardly moved—his fingers twitched to stop the preteen from pickpocketing his electric yellow belt pouches, but he moved no more than that. “I will reach out to you about weekends. …As you were.”

And then the man. Just. Dove out the window. Preteen and corpse and all.

…Danny locked the window after them. It probably would never stop anyone from bothering him ever again, but at least he tried, you know?

#i'm very pro danny accidentally adopts a whole bunch of talons previous installments

The next day, the body was back.

The green was gone from its eyes, but the awareness wasn't; it spent about an hour watching people go around outside Danny's apartment, which was new behavior. None of the corpses that shadowed him had shown any interest in garden-variety humans before. Now it sat at the window and watched families come home from school or head to their afternoon shifts.

That went into Danny's notes.

After that hour, it taught itself to flush the toilet repeatedly, rearranged the contents of Danny's half-assed linen closet (again) and then stood hovering over the safe where Danny had stashed the ectoplasm.

"...Okay," said Danny.

The dead body croaked. It was a new sound, but there was no context for it. Danny just kind of...wrote it down and hoped for the best.

The day after, Danny woke up at a very reasonable ten forty eight in the morning to find stray corpses feeding each other spoonfuls of ectoplasm in the kitchen.

At that point he kind of had to throw out the notes on how much each one was dosed with, because what the fuck.

"Really?!" Danny shouted, spooking the bodies into fleeing behind chairs and doors and back into his closet again. The only one that didn't flee was Danny's ringmaster corpse of the hour, of course. "You really couldn't wait??"

It stuck out a withered black tongue out at the mortician, who was, really, the victim in all of this. A victim to his parents' whims and a victim to the dead people who followed him around all the time.

This was how Danny found out that, when it doubt, the corpses could just tear through solid steel if they were motivated enough. The finger-marks were so deep and so embedded that they actually looked more like rough claws in the metal.

Great.

Danny ordered a new locking cage for the fridge on Prime and darted off to work. One of his regulars was on the table, though, so Danny just ended up doing what he would have at home— sewing up a gash in its neck and reattaching dead fingers back onto dead stumps.

On the third day, in which four of Danny's frequent fliers had learned from the first how to flush the toilet (and therefore raise the water bill immensely) Danny got a ring from a dark voice he (almost) recognized.

"Is he here?"

Danny squinted, jerking the phone further under his ear as he whipped up some scrambled eggs. The dead girl leaning over his shoulder leaned a little closer to watch the egg froth up. "Is who here? Who is this?"

"This is Batman. Is— the body requisitioned from your facility currently at your place of residence?"

Danny fully let go of the whisk. It landed haphazardly in the glass bowl he'd been stirring in. "What on Earth is a Batman?" he asked, incredulous.

"I visited your workplace previously."

Oh! "Yeah, the cop's friend. I remember now." Danny pulled the whisk out of the liquid eggs and held it out to the body. The unusually animate cadaver mostly prodded the whisk wires and paid no attention to him. "No one's here but me, though. Not that it's your business...?"

"And there are no non-living bodies currently in your apartment?"

Danny ignored the flushing noise in the other room. "I don't know, dude. They practically live in the walls at this point. Don't come over unless you have a warrant."

The call ended with a click.

His omelette turned out amazing, by the way. In case you were wondering.

On the fourth day, the ectoplasm was gone, because the corpses had apparently all taught each other how to lockpick the container in the fridge.

"Okay, some of that was meant to be my dinner. No more lotion at the funeral home now, okay? Now you all can be ashy forever. I'm so serious," Danny complained to the only visible dead person in the room.

The dead person held up a cracked egg. It was probably a gesture of peace, but now there was egg on his vinyl flooring to deal with. And. It wasn't exactly all that comforting in the end.

On the fifth day, Danny awoke to the sensation of a hand jamming itself through his neck until it punched into the mattress beneath him.

Fuck.

#the end :)#I'm very pro Danny accidentally adopts a whole bunch of talons #Batdad is determined to have his dead kid and his living kid bond or so help him Alfred #dp x dc #I'm very pro Danny accidentally adopts a bunch of talons #faer fic #talons!au #dead people #tw graphic #tw death #tw dead bodies #tw gore #tw rotting #talon!dick #talons

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tryingmydarndest · 4 years ago

Text

Thank You (Luka Couffaine x Reader)

Summary (Part 1/probably 3): The author goes on a bit of a tangent about how Y/N goes on a bit of a tangent about Viperion. Who may just have a little, big ol' crush on them?

Tags: -not enough actual relationship -fluff -but like, a weird sprinkling of angst that I didn't plan on right at the end???

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Inspired by this fic by @seriously-sirius-black <3. Luka? OOC? Idk, probably, I don’t write fanfic. But I am actually kinda proud of how well Alya turned out. Writing this made me realize how much of a mom friend I apparently headcanon her as. I wrote this gender-and-as-everything-else-neutral as I can make it (lemme know if you see ways I can improve, tho idk how much more fanfic I'll even be writing). Also, I freakin' RAMBLE and overuse italics, but ya get what ya get and ya don't gotta fret. Ooh, important note for future parts (if i write them) - this is a kinda!au where the miraculous users keep their miraculous. also if I had a nickel for every time I get awkwardly specific about the placement of both of a character’s hands I’d have TWO nickels. Happy reading!! <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Part I - Paris's Cutiest Heroes

The look currently on Marinette’s face as she sputtered out a response was priceless, “Cat Noir? Cat Noir!? What makes you think I’d find Cat Noir attractive at all? And- and- HIM- the cutest superhero! Ridiculous!”

“Utterly ridiculous?”

“Nice one, Alya”

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” you gave Alya a high five on your way to your seat next to Juleka and Rose on the couch facing Marinette and Alya. A sunny Friday after school was the perfect place for Kitty Section and their entourage to hang out. Unfortunately without Ivan and Mylène, seeing as their anniversary called for a private celebration. After pushing a couple couches onto the deck of The Liberty, Alya had predictably started talking about Paris's resident hero team. Today, she chose to ask everyone who they deemed the cutest, and she made sure to jump on Marinette's... interesting response, “And girl, he has the same silky golden hair and dreamy emerald eyes as Adrien Agreste. What’s utterly ridiculous is you freaking out and dodging every time we bring up superheroes!”

The designated snack-boy, Luka, walked out precariously carrying three bowls of goodies for everyone, “Alright, I got more popcorn. Sorry, but looks like we’re out of cheese flavoring, Y/N”

“Oh... that’s fine. I honestly wasn’t expecting it since I forgot to ask,” your free hand not reaching for the bowl rubbed the back of your neck, “but thanks for remembering.”

“Oh, um yeah- Always," is it creepy to remember something so specific? Someone as nice as Y/N wouldn't be interested in some creep. Ugh. Luka took a seat with his own bowl after passing Alya and Marinette theirs. He ended up next to you on the floor, leaning against the arm of the couch, dangerously close to touching your legs.

Rose reached for the popcorn as she interjected, “You know, Alya does have a point. So Marinette, why don’t you just tell us who you think the cutest superhero is, if you don’t like us guessing?”

Somehow Marinette’s face went even paler as she spoke, “What- I mean, I don’t- I haven’t thought- Wha- what about Y/N? Why aren’t you interrogating them?”

Alya crossed her arms, “Because Y/N says the same thing about the same hero every day. Just watch. Ahem, Y/N, care to weigh in on the cuteness level of our lovely Parisian superheroes?”

You looked up from the bowl you had stolen back from Rose with wide eyes, "Hey! Okay, no, that is not fair! Besides, what is our criteria for 'cute'? I mean... Are we going just by physical characteristics? Is costume a factor? What about the animal they're representing, could our opinion of that make this whole thing unfair? And cuteness is so subjective anyway... Why are we even reducing these amazing and honorable superheroes to just their looks? I mean we could be talking about skill, or their powers or power lev-"

"-And your answer would be exactly the same. Seriously, are you done trying- and might I add, failing- to talk yourself out of this one yet? Or should I just read the article you wrote for the Ladyblog?"

"You said you deleted that!"

Luka had perked his head up at your initial fumbling response and turned to you when he spoke, "You wrote an article? That's pretty cool."

You rubbed your face to try and distract yourself from the burning embarrassment, "Umm, yeah. But it was terrible and extremely not. worth. publishing." You hoped the glare you sent the girl in question was enough to scare her into deleting it on the spot, or to at least lie about it, "So Alya kindly deleted it, right?"

Sitting up with a smug look and crossed arms severely lowered your faith that she'd keep quiet. "A good journalist archives everything. Especially something as juicy as one of her besties going on for five thousand words about how dreamy the great Viperion is," dramatically fake-fainting into Marinette's lap, Alya could barely finish before bursting out in laughter. Of course, quickly followed by the others joining in to varying degrees. Juleka and Rose happily giggled to themselves, Marinette looked more relieved that the heat was off her, and Luka seemed to be shocked, or maybe just holding back to see how you were taking this.

Horribly. Horribly embarrassed would describe how you were taking this conversation. You sat there stock-still as you hoped that none of the others could hear your heart's desperate attempts to pound its way out of your chest. That's certainly all you could hear, at least until Alya's voice brought you out of it, "Hey, it's fine," she made her way over to sit next to you as she continued, "We all have our little hero crushes. That's why I bring it up all the time, to show you that it's totally normal! I mean, we all know how I could go on about Carapace for days," Alya gestured for the others to continue, and used her other hand to try and comfort you.

"Well, I find Ladybug to be just absolutely adorable and so kind.... oh it just makes me so happy knowing she's keeping all of Paris safe," Rose added softly.

Juleka brushed a strand of hair aside as she spoke, "Rena Rouge is super mysterious, pretty rad in my opinion."

Alya was rubbing your back like the mom friend she is to try and help encourage you, "See? Super normal, so go ahead and release all this pent up Viperion energy that I know you have. Maybe it'll encourage Marinette here to finally join in the fun!" Alya stuck her tongue out at her best friend, who responded promptly by smashing her face into a pillow.

You just sighed, "I mean- it’s- it can't just-'' were you supposed to just get over it all just like that? Well, at least the embarrassment was wearing off, maybe you could just entertain her for a bit, "Well- um, you see.... HisHairJustLooksReallySoftAnd- you know what. Nope. Can't do anymore of this. Yep- that's all you're getting out of me!" This time when everyone started giggling, you were able to comfortably join them. It was a nice feeling.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A nice evening chilling out with your friends was always welcome, especially with the rising number of akumatizations making that less possible. But the night had come to a close. Alya and Marinette went home, Juleka was walking Rose back herself, and Luka and you had volunteered to clean up. Luka stopped drying the cup in his hand for a minute as he looked at you, “Um, I know it might not be my place, but I want you to know that you don’t have to be embarrassed about the whole... Viperion thing.” God, how am I supposed to take the news that MY crush has a crush on.... Sort of me? Am I supposed to count it as me at all?

“Oh, um. Yeah, thanks. I think I’m over the embarrassment now that it’s out. I don’t know, it’s just that a lot of people think it’s weird since he’s kind of a new hero,” how are you supposed to explain this to him? That you kept such a non-issue secret from him, especially without getting suspiciously defensive about it. “And then people use that to try and say that I only like him for his looks..... And that’s not it! I don’t know, it’s kind of.... A lot? To explain, that is.” This was not going well.

“Oh... Well, what is it? That you like about him, I guess.”

This was so not going well. But he was waiting for a response so... “Uh, well I guess it did kinda start..... that way.... but then I started doing research. I learned about his power and saw videos of his fights. He’s really good! Especially for being so new, which kinda goes into why his power makes me like him so much.” Shit. Rambling, I’m just talking and talking and I need to stop. But how am I supposed to change the subject now? And now Luka’s sitting down, and he seems so invested. Why does this have to happen to me?

“What do you mean by that?”

Luka’s voice kindly shuts your little thought-spiral in its tracks. What were you saying? Oh, Viperion’s powers! You can talk about this, you know this. Just keep talking, at least he seems interested in it, “Well, you know how he can go back and redo the last couple of minutes?” Luka nodded, “Well, we always see the time that worked out. Us civilians get to keep going from the one time it all went right. Just imagine all the times he failed, all the times he couldn’t get it right. It could be dozens, maybe even hundreds of times! He must get so discouraged at some point, I mean I know I would.... I guess I didn’t really think about it at first, but.... but, I doubt I could keep that determination, and I’m so glad Paris has a hero who can, and does.”

Silence. Why was it so quiet? Oh no, he thinks I’m weird. He must think-

“All of this from ‘his hair looks soft’?”

“Hey! You can’t tell me not to be embarrassed, then make fun of me! That’s against the rules!”

Luka chuckled as he said, “Against what rules, exactly?”

“The Rules Of Best Friendship, duh!”

“And who exactly said you were my best friend?”

“Well... your loss, I guess. Now you won’t get an invitation when I plan Rose and Juleka’s wedding,” you brushed off his offended glare as you took the seat next to him.

“She’s my sister.”

“She’d take my side.”

I’d take your side, too. I will always take your side. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

A/N the sequel: I am super bad at finishing things, but I really wanna keep motivated to finish this (like I have a full, probably 3 part, plan for this). If you guys want to help, shoot me a message and I'll send you a link to the google doc I'm writing this on. Feel free to leave a little comment (pls be kind, obviously) and see my writing process! Idk, would any of you guys be interested in that? Would you just get annoyed at having already read the thing before I post it?

#luka couffaine x reader #luka couffaine #mircaulous ladybug #miraculous fanworks #miraculous fanfic #miraculous luka #miraculous lb #the tales of ladybug and cat noir #luka couffaine fanfic #luka couffaine imagine #im gonna hate seeing this show up when i search luka x reader #but imma have to deal with it #mmmmmmm #we love anxiety here #<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

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slytherinnbitch · 3 years ago

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Day 51: You're gorgeous

"Hello," Malfoy greets as he comes to a stop infront of the table. All the others stop their conversation to greet him but all Harry can think that Draco Malfoy is fucking gorgeous.

"Uh thank you, I guess," Malfoy mutters, his skin flushing a faint red and Harry realises he just said that outloud. Well, fuck.

He gives him a rights lipped smile and gestures him to sit down, fortunately the only seat available is the one beside Harry. Luck is in his favour tonight, it seems.

"How was your day?" Harry inquires after Draco settles down beside him and Draco launches into the funny situations he encountered, clearly leaving all the worse details of being a Healer.

"Let's just say I'm very grateful Hogwarts has direct floo connections to London, else I might have exploded tonight." Harry makes a exploding gestures with his hands and Draco starts to laugh at him.

"That can't be right, tell me what happened." Draco says at last and Harry tells him all about how some of his students thought it would be a nice idea to duel with one another in the middle of the night, "Practice, practice was what they called it when I caught them red handed," Harry grumbles and that's when Draco starts hooting with laughter, bringing the attention of the rest of their friends on them.

When Draco explains what got him laughing like an uncouth, and it sets Hermione, Ron, Blaise and even Pansy laughing while the others chuckle in a more acceptable way.

"Okay, I'll bite why is it so funny?" Harry asks at last, after the fifth time all of them are set off laughing after looking at each other.

"Potter, I think you forgot what all you for up to, moreover the fact that you did the exact thing in first year when I challenged you to a Wizard's duel." Draco reminds him and yes he gets it now, the fucking irony of the whole thing. He tries hard not to give in but in the sense, Draco's smile is really infectious and Harry can't help but join him.

...

"I think I'm too pissed to aparate," Harry slurs and leans against Draco.

They are the last ones left, the others have just left and Harry contemplates passing out at the bar itself. What can go bad, other than some reporters finding him and publishing rubbish about how the way turned Harry into a reading alcoholic but that's everyday stuff as is so who cares.

"Come back to mine then," Draco offers send Harry can't help but look at him with a different kind of hope. Draco, observant that he is, catches on to it pretty quickly.

"Not that one, idiot. You can sleep in the spare room and if you feel the same in the morning and actually remember this conversation, I won't be against that idea of yours," Draco says and then the bastard has the fucking audacity to wink at Harry as if he didn't just short circuit Harry's brain with a single sentence.

They walk by side by side, holding hands but nothing more, no matter how much Harry tries to get handsy.

At the threshold of the spare room in Draco's room, he says, "If you wake up before me and still feel that same, door's unlocked." With that he leaves Harry to fall promptly asleep tho dreams of a sexy, blond Slytherin.

In the morning, Harry wakes Draco up with chaste kisses which soon turn to something else entirely and the whole morning is somehow gone....

Day 50: Blairon fallout || Day 52:

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fortheloveofhoneys · 3 years ago

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Article written by Norm's sister in law

In the heart of Hollywood, an un-Hollywood celebration of Norm Macdonald

At the Fonda Theatre, a block down from the Walk of Stars from Hollywood and Vine, the marquee read: “Celebrating Norm.” On the two windows adjacent the entrance, N-O-R-M was spelled out vertically in black letters.

· Joyce Napier

· CTV National News Ottawa Bureau Chief

Updated May 6, 2022 8:19 p.m. EDT

Published May 6, 2022 8:14 p.m. EDT

That was it. In a neighbourhood where just about every message is promotional, shamelessly blasted into your face, the event at the little theatre existed out of time. Which was utterly appropriate. Norm was famously a purist; he didn’t make his name hyping his funniness, he made his name by simply being funny.

It has been eight months since Norm Macdonald quietly left us. He chose to die privately, his cancer undisclosed to all but a tiny family circle. In an era when people write soul-baring essays about a torn rotator cuff, he kept his condition a secret from just about everyone – from his friends, from his million-plus Twitter followers, from the vast audience of fans who to this day spend the wee hours surfing his talk show appearances on YouTube.

As the New York Times pointed out after he passed, Norm loathed today’s confessional trends. He offered the public his comedy and nothing else.

And on this day in early May, a few hundred people gathered, in the words of Conan O’Brien, the day’s emcee, to make some sense of his death. As though that is even possible.

The audience was arranged as Norm would have wanted. Family members sat up front. Three rows back sat the gravitationally famous and somewhat sad-looking Bill Murray. At the table next to him the woman who tended bar at a Vegas golf club Norm liked. When Molly Shannon, an old SNL friend, spoke onstage about how Norm used to write “Don’t do crack” when people asked him for an autograph, she yelled, “That was me! He wrote that to me!”

The woman who took care of Norm’s ancient cat Kitty while he was on the road was there. A bunch of chronically unappreciated writers, from SNL and onwards, who worked on some of Norm’s shows and who clearly regarded him as a comedy antihero, were there. The woman who actually tried to teach Norm Pilates was there. Adam Sandler, who used his fame and Hollywood power to boost the careers of his old comrades when they hit tough times - including Norm - was there, masked and quiet and somber.

David Spade did a very funny bit about Norm texting in the middle of the night, waking him up, asking some inane question about professional basketball, and then, when Spade eventually replied, going silent: “Crickets for the next two weeks.” Norm frustrated just about everyone with his text-then-ghost routine, with the exception of his mother, whom he always answered promptly.

Conan O’Brien told the origin story of one of Norm’s famous comedic moments. Forced to do a last-minute second segment during a late-night gig on The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien, Norm took a fifteen-second joke about a moth visiting a psychiatrist he’d heard from Colin Quinn and stretched it into a five-minute essay on existential dread. The joke went down in comedy history.

Jim Downey, the immensely influential comedy writer whose writing dominated Saturday Night Live for decades – the fellow behind Tina Fey’s definition of Sarah Palin – was given a standing ovation when he took the stage. Downey helped Norm score his Weekend Update gig in the Nineties, beating out Al Franken. He then helped write all those OJ Simpson jokes, and was fired from SNL, along with Norm, for it.

Downey talked fondly about Norm’s habit of constantly lying about his past. So did everybody else. After the speeches, the old comrades asked Norm’s brother Neil, my husband, which of their favourite Norm reminiscences were true, and which ones weren’t. Neil obliged, to the best of his memory. Not that it mattered. As Norm said about his book, a lot of it wasn’t fact, but it was all truth. Which makes a weird kind of sense.

Downey, like most of the other speakers, talked about Norm’s fearlessness. That was a popular theme. Norm’s fearless skewering of OJ. Norm fearlessly roasting the very concept of a roast by telling corny fifties jokes from an old book of gags during a roast of Bob Saget, who back then grinned in delight as the audience sat in confused silence.

Actually, Norm so fearlessly refused to compromise or pander that he died without achieving the spectacular wealth of most of the people there to memorialize him.

To be clear, this was not a televised event. None of the people who spoke at the lectern was paid to appear, and these are people accustomed to being paid very well for taking a stage. All of them, like Norm, made it out of the merciless comedy-club circuit on sheer talent, and all of them have been reminded in recent months that of how short their moment is.

One year ago, Norm was still with us. So was Gilbert Gottfried. So was Bob Saget. So was Louie Anderson.

The event ended with the projection of a black and white photo of Norm, looking like Samuel Beckett, as his voice, modulated and unweakened by cancer, read an excerpt from his so-called autobiography, “Based on a True Story.”

He talked about his gambling, and the price he paid for being so damned unbending. But, he said: “I’ve been lucky. It’s true I lost it all a few times, but that’s because I always took the long shot and it never came in… The only thing an old man can tell a young man is that it goes fast, real fast, and if you’re not careful, it’s too late. Of course, the young man will never understand this truth.”

And then it was done. We’d celebrated Norm. It was poignant, it was funny, it was lovely, and he’s gone.

Oh, wait: there was an Easter egg. It turns out Norm left an hour of new material behind, recorded in his apartment during the lockdown. It’ll be a Netflix comedy special soon. So, we have that. Which is precisely what Norm wanted.

#rip norm macdonald #Norm Macdonald #Joyce Napier

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joezworld · 4 years ago

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Bismuth

Bismuth - a harmless metal when consumed by humans, is known to have significant hallucinatory effects when introduced to a mechanobiological system such as a locomotive.

Due to its non-fuel state, non-intentional bismuth contamination is rare, but has been known to occur, especially in instances when impurities from lead refining, which include bismuth, are introduced to locomotive fuel sources such as open coal bins or wood piles.

Introduction to diesel locomotives is more complicated, and typically involves being within close proximity to steam locomotive that is burning bismuth-contaminated fuels, at which point the aerosolized mineral can enter their air intake systems. In some cases, fuel contamination can occur, however most known instances of fuel contamination have involved intentional dosing of fuel stocks with either bismuth or bismuth-derived pharmaceuticals (BDP).

The stomach-settling use of bismuth in humans has meant that most locomotive contaminations occur after a well meaning relative or friend introduces a BDP such as Pepto-Bismol into the locomotive’s fuel or water system.

Of course, intentional/recreational ingestion is a known activity, however all reputable sources (J. Small Berries et al) indicate that the hallucinatory events are notable in their inconsistency. The resulting "bad trips" often deter repeat usage.

- An excerpt from: The ABCs of Locomotive Health Care (10th ed., 1984) - J. Bigbooté, J. Whorfin; Yoyodyne Publishing Laboratories, Grover’s Mill, New Jersey.

------------------------

April, 2000

Nobody’s quite sure how the bismuth got into Sodor - presumably it arrived in the shipment of coal from the mainland. The railway bought coal from a broker in London, and their usual shipment of high-quality coal had been lost - quite literally, as nobody could find it - and therefore the broker had scrambled to find more. A Polish metal refinery was found to have some surplus coal, and it was sent on without informing anyone on Sodor of the change.

It arrived at Tidmouth docks on a cargo ship and was promptly sent out to the big stations across the network - Wellsworth, Knapford, Tidmouth, Barrow, and Crovan’s Gate.

The coal trains ran late at night so as to not be in the way, and it meant that most engines would take on the new coal around midday, as the last of the old stocks in the coaling stages was used up.

It took about an hour or so for the last of the old coal in the engine’s tenders to be used up if they were working hard.

This meant that, as the engines rested in the yards after their noon trains, a lot of things started happening...

Tidmouth

Mid-sentence, Gordon’s eyes began to roll into the back of his smokebox. He was still speaking, but he slowly began to stop producing any intelligible sounds. His words turned into a mushy babel of slurred syllables and stuttering clicks as the men began frantically wondering if a locomotive could have a stroke.

Nearby, Thomas giggled dreamily. The pretty pink unicorns that had suddenly appeared on his bufferbeam were prancing about in a most amusing fashion.

---------

Crovan’s Gate

Percy had been undergoing a pressure test when his smoke started turning yellow.

The men had dropped his fire and immediately began an inspection, but not before Wendell was totally enveloped in the thick yellow cloud.

Percy felt like his boiler was inflating and inflating, as though the pressure test would never stop. The men eventually stopped what they were doing as he began ranting and raving about being turned into a zeppelin.

On the other side of the workshop, Wendell was speaking in hushed, manic tones to no-one. Whoever this “Lion” was seemed to be quite concerned for his wellbeing, even if he thought that they were overreacting.

--------

Arlesburgh

The evil diesels were after him, he was sure of it. Look! There was one there! And another! And another!

Well not today! Try and catch this example of Great Western Metal!

The men slowly backed away as Oliver ranted and raved at absolutely nothing. Duck and the Scottish twins watched from a safe distance, and decided not to get involved.

-------

Barrow Sheds

James was past being concerned about the yellow smoke - the little pixies fluttering around his smokebox said that he didn’t have anything to worry about at all.

Delta, sitting next to him in the cloud of yellow smoke, was much more concerned, but not about the smoke itself.

"Jamie, something's wrong."

"What makes you say that?

"I can hear Jefferson Airplane.”

"What's Jefferson Airplane?"

"I don’t know."

-------

Barrow Yards

“Why are you not fixing this?! Don’t just stand there! DO SOMETHING YOU MEATBAGS!” Bear roared at the workmen from within the yellow cloud. He’d woken up deeply congested, and didn’t understand why they were saying he needed to be out of the cloud of yellow smoke - it wasn’t like he could breathe much to begin with, and Henry was in trouble and he clearly needed help and these men wouldn’t do anything!

“Holy shit Bear I can swim” Henry said from whatever la-la-land state he was in.

“That’s nice dear, NOW ONE OF YOU FIX HIM OR I’LL KILL ALL YOU STARTING WITH THE WEAK ONES!”

On the other side of the yard, the men stared at the Hymek, which was bellowing and screaming at a staffing agency billboard on the side of the tracks while Henry belched yellow smoke over the both of them.

-------

Wellsworth

The rails had turned to jelly some time ago. The crossties had begun speaking in the language of the beast. The sky was a deep blood-gray, and the clouds wept for their lost raindrops. The engine watched as his smoke curled away into letters of an unknown alphabet. He was concerned as to how the menaces had managed this, but he wasn’t going to let them win by acknowledging that anything was wrong.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could just make out the signal aspects behind a curtain of iridescent sounds. That was a little bit too dangerous in his opinion, and he resolved to inform the twins that their pranks should not involve signals.

Across the yard, Bill, Ben, and BoCo watched in horror as Edward puffed out of the yard. His pupils were two different sizes, his tongue lolled out of his mouth, he was mumbling and chittering in an indescribable fashion, and his smoke was thick and turning a worrying shade of yellow.

But he was still pulling his train as though nothing was wrong.

-------

Farquhar

The apocalyptic wasteland spread out on all sides. The sun burned and burned until the land was scorched to a godforsaken ash. The river Els was filled with blood. Roving gangs of madmen patrolled the ruins - their war machines littered with the bones of their victims.

Mad Tobias the Brown, last of the North Shed, protector of the Anopha Stone, keeper of the soul of Saint Pedroc, guardian of the survivors, rattled through the wastes with his precious cargo of human lives.

A cry rose up from his faithful warrior bride Henrietta as she sighted a roving gang approach from the south. Their war wagon was the converted husk of an old railcar that he once called a friend, but that was long ago. Now she was merely a convenient vessel for the beasts.

The war music sounded in the distance, and he set off - a confrontation was inadvisable with his charges aboard. His smoke scudded off to one side in the stiff wind as he charged - he would have to pass them at the old loop if he wished to be avoid being trapped in the Stone Mountain, and speed was key to avoid their wicked bone hand-and-a-halves.

As he approached, he bellowed a warning cry to intimate his foe. The corpse of the railcar stared back at him in a rictus grin, but its crew recoiled - as one should when facing off against him.

Daisy and her crew watched in amazement as Toby and Henrietta, wreathed in sickly yellow smoke, roared towards them with the midday workmen's train. They screamed through the passing loop and disappeared into the distance, incomprehensible epithets trailing in their wake.

Inside his cab, Toby's driver had long since given up trying to stop his engine, and was now trying to reign him in so that he didn’t come off the tracks before the fireman could finish dumping the fire.

Inside Henrietta, the guard pulled back on the handbrake so hard that the lever came off in his hand. It didn't work.

Terrified workmen bashed at the radio with their lunch pails, trying to make the Norwegian Death Metal stop playing, but it was no use. The radio kept bellowing out tunes even after its faceplate was smashed in, and began to get even louder.

Toby was eventually brought to a stop near the Kyndley family's home, but Mad Tobias the Brown didn't stop yelling until the last of the coal ash was cleared from his smoke box three hours later.

------------------

It took most of the day for the bismuth to work itself out of everyone's systems. Nobody at the railroad was quite sure what was wrong, but considering the dull yellow smoke, it was easy to guess that the coal was bad.

The broker was summoned to the island, and when he admitted that the coal was from a random colliery in Poland instead of the high quality American anthracite that the railroad had paid for, he was quickly sent packing - along with the coal!

A new coal merchant was found, and an emergency supply was bought locally to cover the gap, bringing the saga to an end.

Nobody likes to talk about it - except Daisy, who has no trouble mentioning the tale of Mad Tobias the Brown whenever she wants to bring Toby down a peg!

#drugs #drugs drugs drugs #ttte bear #ttte thomas #ttte gordon #ttte henry #ttte edward #ttte james #ttte percy #ttte wendell #ttte oliver #ttte bill and ben #OC: Delta #Comedy #Have a nice trip!#ttte toby #ttte henrietta #fic

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rudysrings · 5 years ago

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Twin Pogues of the OBX - 1

A/N + Summary: SO I’m currently obsessed with the Outer Banks right now, and I had no idea that there was so much hype about it until I hit tumblr after watching the show. It kind of got me back into writing for a bit so I thought I would go ahead and publish something that’s been sitting in my drafts. It’s essentially a fanfic that goes through the entire show from the perspective of the reader, who is John B’s twin sister. Let me know if it piques anyone’s interest, because I don’t want to keep pushing out something that people hate lol.

Warnings: Mentions of sex, cursing, slowburn

Word count: 3056

Masterlist

ON WITH IT!

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were tired of listening to the waves. It made you sick to your stomach. It didn’t help that the Chateau was so close to the water that it was all you could hear at night. The waves crashing on the shore. The waves colliding with each other. The waves fighting to topple boats that made the mistake of trying to take on a storm too big for them.

You listened for your father in every wave. You hoped you’d at least hear the ghost of your father.

Unlike John B, you had no hope that your father was alive. At first, you didn’t bother voicing that thought, but as time went on, and John B continued to have delusions, you started getting more and more vocal about your opinion. Your dad was dead. Period.

And it was time that John B accepted that, too.

The two of you may have been twins, but you were as different as two people could get. John B was, for the most part, quiet, reserved and mild. You, on the other hand, had a fuse shorter than the short end of the stick you had pulled. You were hot headed and often misjudged situations too quickly. John B was the calm before your storm. You preferred to call yourself passionate. You smoked, John B did not. You slept around with far too many tourons. John B did not. John B was a dense motherfucker. You could read the room the moment you walked in. The only thing that really bonded the two of you was your love for surfing, your love for the pogues and your love for your dad.

Now that one of those things had died, or simply “vanished,” as John B would say, all that was keeping your two member family together were the pogues and surfing.

The last few months had been hell, and all you wanted this summer, was to have a good time, all the time.

Speaking of which, you and the pogues had decided to break in the summer with a little rule-breaking. Kiara wanted to check out one of Gary’s new beach-house developments, which was being built right over a turtle habitat. You all shrugged at the suggestion and agreed.

You threw a can of beer up, JJ catching it instantly, wrinkling his nose when he looked at the label. “This is the shit stuff, Y/N,” he complained.

You rolled your eyes. “Next time I’ll boot-leg champagne for ya, sweetheart,” you drawled.

JJ winked. “That’s more like it.”

Rolling your eyes, you tossed two beers to Pope, which he promptly dropped and bent down to grab, dusting himself off, embarrassed.

You rolled your eyes, watching as he threw one to John B, who was far too drunk to hold onto it, dropping it on the deck of the house, causing it to burst.

Before you could comment on Kie’s overly concerned “Please don’t kill yourself,” to John B, you heard voices yelling “Hey! What are you kids doing up there?!”

“Shit,” You said, looking for your hat.

“I second that shit,” said Pope nervously.

John B swiftly made his way down, grabbing Kie’s hand and leading them out, Pope on their heels.

“Guys, have you seen my-”

Suddenly, you felt something slip over your head, and you smiled up at JJ, who patted the top of your head and pushed you down the stairs and out of the house, all five of you laughing as Gary and his men chased after you.

As John B jumped the fence, he held his hand out to help Kie over, doing the same for you once she made it. You rolled your eyes, slapping his hand away and smoothly making it over yourself.

Pope, as expected, fell over onto the ground as he jumped, JJ shoving him further jokingly. You glared at the boy, and he held his hands up as you helped Pope up, pulling him by the hand into a sprint.

JJ held his hand out of John B’s beat up old van, pulling your laughing body in. Pope closed the door as John B gunned it, but you opened it again, teasing Gary, who was struggling to catch up with you guys.

You tossed him a beer, which he tried to catch, but failed as he stopped running, his hands on his knees.

JJ laughed as he too leaned out of the van, “They don’t pay you enough, bro!” He yelled to Gary.

Your hair blew in the wind, strands of it tickling JJ’s cheeks.

He spat overdramatically, coughing, “Hey, uh, Y/N? You mind not choking me with your hair?”

You simply gave him a playful punch in the gut, taking a seat in between Kie’s knees, who was sitting on the bench behind John B.

Kie took your long, wild hair in her hands, taming it into a french braid. JJ watched with a goofy smile on his face, his conversation with Pope getting too boring.

John B drove down to the docks, where you guys took out the HMS Pogue for the rest of the day. You tried to slap the book out of Kie’s hands, holding a freshly rolled blunt out for her to share with you, but she glared at you, turning back to her reading. You noticed Pope doing the same thing.

JJ grabbed the blunt from your hands, lighting it.

You leaned an elbow on his shoulder, tutting. “Didn’t realize we ran with a bunch of nerds…”

Before Kie and Pope could retort, John B turned around, releasing a pile of freshly caught fish onto the deck of the boat and you cheered. “Nice, John B. We eatin’ good, today.”

“Yeah we are. You’re cooking.”

“I’m what?”

John B smiled smugly, “I did the catching, you do the cooking.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, “Fine then I’ll also do more of the eating.”

“I never agreed to that,” John B argued.

You turned to him, “And that’s because you’re a greedy, cocksucking parasite and-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. We’re here to have fun, you guys,” said Kie, her hands out to the two of you.

“Man, I’d really like to go one day without you guys at each other’s goddamn throats,” Pope groaned.

“Forget the fish, there’s a party tonight. First summer party. We gotta be there,” said JJ.

“Hell yeah, I’ll take a touron dick appointment over fish and chips any day,” you put your hands on your hips, looking at the rest of the pogues.

John B rolled his eyes at your blunt words, while Pope and Kie shrugged, agreeing.

Everyone looked to John B and he sighed before saying, “Yeah, I’m down.”

You all cheered, running over and piling on top of him, laughing.

The party was one of the best you had been to yet. While Kiara got on her soapbox about plastic and the boys were looking for girls to flirt with, you were on the hunt for someone who could make your night count.

As you waited in line at the keg to fill up your cup, the guy behind you spoke up. “You look too good to be hanging around the cut.” He flirted.

Your blood boiled as you turned around to get in this guy’s face. You stopped short once you saw what a nice face it was. You weren’t shallow, just… horny. “Am I now?” You smiled slightly.

He nodded, “Oh yes, too good for North Carolina even. The likes of you belong in Hollywood, babe.”

He had neatly trimmed blonde hair and striking blue eyes. Guess you had a type, after all, you thought fleetingly.

“Wow, can I get a name, kind stranger?” You flashed your teeth.

“It’s Asher ma’am, and you are?”

You shrugged, handing your cup to the guy near the keg, who handed it back within a second, full. You put your hand on Asher’s cheek, tapping it as one would a small child, “Oh, sweetheart, you gotta earn that.”

Asher’s eyebrows rose, walking with you down the beach. “How might I go about that?” He asked, suggestively.

You smirked. “It’s not how, honey, it’s where.”

And that was all you needed to let this guy rock your world that night.

You woke up alone the next morning in the hammock outside the Chateau, having crashed there after the party. Groaning, you rolled over until you fell on the ground, struggling to pick yourself up. John B appeared out of nowhere, helping you up.

He handed you some water, which you downed immediately, his hand on your back.

“You alright, kid?” He asked. You nodded, “Yeah, I just need a shower like yesterday,” You moaned.

John B nodded, slapping your shoulder. “Next time don’t drink so much, eh?”

You rolled your eyes, flipping him off as you walked inside. You were heading to the bathroom when you passed John B’s bedroom. You noticed JJ, half-naked and leaning over some blonde on your brother’s bed, his forehead practically touching hers. He noticed you instantly. Some emotion flashed across his face before he glared. “Dude, come on. Get outta here,” he said and you smirked.

“Get some, JJ,” you encouraged, barely dodging the pillow he hurled at you as you shut the door.

As you walked into the bathroom, you couldn’t understand why your stomach lurched when you thought about what JJ was probably doing with that blonde in John B’s bed. You shrugged, it was probably just the alcohol.

That afternoon, you and John B had an appointment with social services, who basically confirmed that you two would be put in foster care after they confirmed that your uncle wasn’t home to look after you two tomorrow.

As John B expected, you didn’t take it well. To your credit, you kept it together in the social worker’s office, but you practically had a meltdown the moment you stepped foot outside.

“How can they just fucking take us away! What did we even do wrong? It’s not our fucking fault Uncle T decided to split! Can’t they see that we’re better off on our goddamn own, John B?!”

John B shrugged. “Not much we can do, Y/N. It’s the law.”

At that, your breaths came even faster, “But it’s not fair, John B! What if-What if they split us up?” You were almost hyperventilating now, pulling your own hair.

John B furrowed his eyebrows, pulling you into a hug. “They’re not going to do that. I’m not going to let that happen, Y/N, you hear me?”

You pushed him away from you, “We’ll see, John B.”

The two of you caught a break. Hurricane Agatha came in the same day DCS was supposed to do your assessment. Your mind immediately went to the sick waves that would be forming. You tugged on John B’s shirt, pulling him away from the TV, “Call DCS and call them to reschedule. And then grab your surfboard.” Your grin stretched across your whole face, your eyes probably wild.

John B looked confused, then concerned. “You can’t be serious. There’s a hurricane?”

“Dead serious.” You crossed your arms. “Like you can resist these waves.”

John B shrugged. “Yeah, I’m in.”

The two of you ran out to the ocean, the dark clouds and harsh winds not fazing you, Pope having bailed on you guys, claiming that these weren’t surfable waves.

As you surfed the waves, constantly getting wiped out due to their sheer size and speed, you couldn’t help the thought: Did a wave like this kill Dad?

John B tried to surf a few waves, but he lacked not only your skill, but also your tenacity. He gave up and simply watched you from his seat on his board.

When you noticed a clearly fancy boat being tossed around in the waves, you pointed it out to John B, who squinted, trying to make it out. He agreed that it was strange. Who would go out in a storm like this?

The next morning, after surveying the damage that Agatha had caused, John B suggested that you guys go fishing, given the likeliness that there would be a whole lot of fish to catch in the marsh today.

Happy to put off cleaning up for a day and high on the fact that DCS wouldn’t be able to catch a ferry down here for at least a couple of days, you agreed.

After practically kidnapping Pope from his dad and picking up Kiara, the five of you drove down to the marsh, Pope steering.

Giggling, you pulled JJ by the hand up to the bow of the HMS Pogue and handed him one of the beers that Kiara had brought. He smirked and held it up along with you as he shouted for Pope to go faster. Pope groaned. “We’ve tried this like six thousand times.”

You shook your head. “I’ve got this. It’s gonna work.”

And it did. Kind of. You and JJ were downing your beers, Kiara complaining that it was getting in your hair. You looked over at JJ from your peripheral and smiled slightly at his silly face, mouth open like a fish as he attempted to get all of the beer that was being hurled out of the bottle.

Until the boat lurched to a sudden stop, catapulting you and JJ into the air. You felt your entire body flip as you fell into the water with a loud crash, water surrounding your ears. You broke the surface immediately, blinking against the sunlight. “Fuuuck,” you groaned.

You felt JJ reach you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “You good?” You nodded at him, resting your hands on his shoulders as you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

John B called out, “You good, Y/N? JJ?”

“I think my heels touched the back of my head,” JJ groaned.

You swam back to the boat, JJ right behind you. “Pope, what did you do?” You asked.

Pope looked as confused as the rest of you guys. “Sandbar. Channel changed.”

As you made it onto the boat, JJ pulled himself up, too, saying, “No shit.”

As your clothes were soaked, you slid your shorts and t-shirt off, leaving you in your teal halter bikini.

You didn’t miss how JJ’s eyes dragged up your figure, his ears turning pink when he reached your eyes and realized you noticed.

Biting your lip to keep from laughing, you turned to Pope, who had his eyes on something in the water.

“Guys...I think there’s a boat down there,” He said.

John B scoffed, “Shut up.”

Kie smiled, “No way.”

But Pope didn’t let up, “No, no, guys. I’m serious. There’s a boat down there.”

You all leaned over the side of the boat and sure enough, there was a large shadow, vague, but obviously in the shape of the hull of a boat.

“Holy shit. He’s right; let’s go!” You said, jumping into the water.

As you swam towards the shadow, you heard Pope muse, “You think there’s a dead body down there?”

You couldn’t stop your subconscious from immediately thinking Dad.

You almost threw up at the thought of stumbling across your own father’s drowned corpse.

But you knew that if that was the case, you would handle it far better than John B. You swam faster, trying to get down there before him.

The five of you made your way to the boat, your eyebrows raising against the water as you saw what kind of boat it was. This was a rich guy’s boat for sure. You recognized it as the boat from yesterday. You all took a peek inside, but couldn’t make out a body. You sighed aloud, bubbles releasing in the water.

As you guys resurfaced, you all laughed.

“That’s a Grady-White,” JJ laughed in shock, “A new one of those is like 500 Gs, easy.”

You guys climbed back into the boat. John B gave you a look. “That’s the boat we saw when we surfed the surge. Maybe it hit the jetty or something.”

Kie looked confused. “You surfed the surge.”

You smirked. “Well… I surfed the surge. John B mostly just watched.” Your brother rolled his eyes but he didn’t correct you.

JJ was getting on the boat when he heard you say that and his entire face lit up. “Yeah, that’s my girl, pogue style,” he said, giving you a high-five.

You grinned back, your stomach involuntarily tumbling at the words my girl.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself. Kie noticed, shooting you a look.

You blushed, looking away.

Pope asked, “Wait, wait, do we know who’s boat that is?”

John B opened the hatch on the deck of the boat, looking for the anchor inside. “No. but we’re about to find out.”

JJ shook his head, “Dude, it’s too deep.”

“Only for the weak and feeble, JJ,” John B said.

“Well, I’m not resuscitating you. I’m just making that clear up front.”

You worried that there could still be a body down there. Your father’s body. John B couldn’t see that. Plus, something about the thought of diving felt like a challenge. You took the anchor from John B’s hands. “I’ll go,” You said.

“What the fuck, no Y/N,” said John B.

JJ grabbed your upper arm, “Yeah, not a good idea,” he said.

You shook him off lightly. “I’m doing it,” you insisted.

JJ shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t mind resuscitating you,” he joked.

You rolled your eyes, “You wouldn’t even know how.”

JJ smirked, “Yeah, but I have experience with-”

Pope interjected as you walked to the edge. “Diver down, fool,” he shook his head in slight disappointment. But then again, when was Pope not disappointed in you?”

JJ came over to you. Looking you hard in the eyes, he gave you a questioning look. You steeled your eyes. “I’m ready.”

He smirked, “You better be.” He gave you a shove on your shoulders, pushing you backwards off the bow of the boat and you could hardly hear him say “Diver down,” and John B say, “The fu-” before the water hit you, swallowing you whole as you quickly sunk with the weight of the anchor.

Masterlist

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feral-pansexual · 4 years ago

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💥 Katsuki Bakugou X Hungover! Reader 💥

This wasn't written by me, but by my good friend brother, SlavSunflower on Twitter. He doesn't have the means to publish himself, so I offered to put it here.

Written in 1st person POV.

Requests | Masterlist

•━━━ ⛥ • ⛥ ━━━•

Y/N wakes up coughing on Katsuki’s bed. Y/N’s head hurts and they can’t remember what happened last night. All they remember is going out with Katsuki and Eijiro for drinks and waking up in Katsuki’s bed, nude.

“Oh shit, where did my clothes go?” they frantically think. Gathering the blanket over their birthday suit, they search around for their clothes, nowhere to be found. Frustrated and tired Y/N falls back asleep in Katsuki’s bed. A few hours later they are awoken with a gentle shake, they blink and rub their eyes tiredly.

“Hey wake up party animal! I thought you said that you were gonna go all day and night long with me...” Katsuki says with a huge smirk and gives you a gentle peck on the lips.

Y/N’s face turns hot and presumably bright red. Y/N’s had a huge crush on Bakugou since the sports festival and now they’re in his bed, presumably after a night of passion and being kissed the morning after by the man himself. What do they do? Do they admit to Katsuki that they don’t remember a thing or do they play it off like they remembered what had happened? A moment of panic passes before Katsuki speaks up.

“You blacked out didn’t you, nerd?”

“Yeah, I don’t even remember drinking, to be honest, care to give me the spark notes Katsuki?”

“See, now, this is why I didn’t drink last night, I went to drinks knowing what I’d do to you, and I wanted to remember it all. Ok, so, you and Kirishima spent about an hour downing shot after shot before Kirishima stands up to dance and promptly falls down, asleep. After that you walked over to me, may I add that you almost absolutely failed to walk the ten feet towards me? Then you leaned on me and drunkenly asked if you could drive me home, to which I told you that I wouldn’t let you kill me that easily and took you on the train back here, and you kissed me, I couldn’t hold back so I took you to my bed, and I’m sure even an airhead like you can guess what happened next.”

Somehow Y/N’s face managed to get even hotter and presumably redder. Working up the courage to speak, shyly twiddling their index fingers.

“I’m not sure I can, would you like to show me Katsuki?”

~Fin~

Note: Sunflower says you're able to request from him as well! Anything but female specific readers is fine.

#bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader

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deja-you · 4 years ago

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The RMS Titanic (and other ships that pass in the night)

t. jefferson x reader

part eight | the divine romantic comedy

summary: you know your relationship with Thomas will only be a fleeting memory, but you allow your lives to collide nonetheless.

word count: 1k

masterlist | series masterlist | previous | next

You think about the way Thomas’s fingers dipped into your very essence and untangled himself from you. Slowly and quietly.

You had always thought your lives were put together like the Gordian knot. An intractable problem. Impossibly tangled together. Thomas wasn’t so shrewd as to brutally slash apart your relationship like Alexander the Great had done with the aforementioned knot. He was gentle and deliberate in the way he pulled the two of you apart. So gentle that you hardly noticed when he was a part of your life one day, and the next day he was gone.

The loneliness would linger, but you had heard it said that time heals all wounds. It had now been five years since you had last seen Thomas. You weren’t certain that all your wounds had been healed; at the very least they had been bandaged up nicely. You didn’t think about him anymore. No, now your time was taken up with your career.

After graduate school, you had been hired by a rather large publishing company and had quickly risen through the ranks. It wasn’t uncommon for the company to send you to around the world to talk to aspiring authors about their potential books and manuscripts. All of this led to tonight, where you stepped off the plane in Paris, the City of Lights.

And oh, it really was the City of Lights.

It was well past midnight when you had gotten your suitcase from baggage claim, but when you exited the airport, the thousands of streetlights in the French capital were alight, casting dancing shadows onto the street. It was serene and quiet, something out of a dream. Van Gogh said something once about the world looking more beautiful in the night, and he was right. There was a short taxi ride to your hotel were you promptly unpacked and collapsed onto the bed from the long day of travel.

The next morning passes in a blur; most of it is spent sleeping off the jetlag. In the afternoon, you meet with your client at a café he had picked out. You had written to him a few times, but this is the first time you meet Lafayette. He’s lively and easily excitable. The conversation flows easily until he glances down at his phone and curses under his breath.

“I completely forgot, Ms. L/n,” Lafayette says in a sincere tone, “but I promised I’d drop off something for a friend.”

“You have to go?”

“Oui, it was so foolish of me—” he pauses and looks back at you. An idea occurs to him, and you’re trying your best to figure out what’s going on in his head. “Actually, why don’t you come with me?”

“What?”

“It’s not far from here, and I just have to drop off a book. It won’t take long, and besides, I don’t think we were finished discussing my manuscript.” Lafayette pulls out his wallet and places a couple bills on the table for the waiter.

This is the first time you’ve actually met Lafayette in person, so you really should be more wary about this stranger’s invitation to a secondary location. Lafayette isn’t just anyone, though. He’s a close friend of President Washington and an upstanding member of Parisian society. Lafayette seems to sense your apprehension.

“It’s only a few blocks away, we can walk. I think you would like my friend, he is American as well,” Lafayette says.

With a little more hesitance, you accept, and Lafayette leads you across the 8th arrondissement. The streets get wider and cleaner, and eventually Lafayette stops at your destination. A large townhouse (it’s really more of a mansion in the middle of the city) looms above you. Lafayette just walks up to the front door and announces his arrival through the intercom system. Moments later, a staff member opens the door and leads the two of you into the house and down hallways until she deposits you into an open sitting area.

“The ambassador is working in his study, he’ll be with you in a moment. He’d like for you to make yourself comfortable.” You notice for the first time that the staff member is speaking English in an American accent.

Lafayette reclines against the expensive furniture. You sit on the edge of your seat, taking the opportunity to analyze the room. The room is typical French architecture, high ceilings covered in ornate crown molding and large windows. All of this beauty has been mostly neglected by the owner who has cluttered the space with books and books and books.

Everywhere you looked – on the floor, on the tables, sprawled across chairs and couches – were books. All kinds of different genres, but mostly philosophy and classics. The titles were in a numerous amount of different languages; English, French, Italian, German, Latin, and was that Greek?

A small, worn copy of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poems caught your eye. You stopped yourself from picking it up, but you could feel your heart beginning to beat a little faster. You turned to face Lafayette, ready to ask him dozens of questions.

“Who exactly did—”

“Lafayette! Did you bring that copy of The Divine Comedy?”

You recognized his voice before you saw him, and all the pieces clicked together. Thomas Jefferson rounded the corner, walking at a quick pace. His collared shirt was untucked under his dark green sweater, his glasses were balancing crookedly on the bridge of his nose, and loose curls hung in front of his face. He looked at place in his home, but he clearly wasn’t prepared to entertain anyone at the moment.

Thomas doesn’t even notice you when he walks in the room. He has a stack of papers in one arm and his eyes are glued to the pages of the book in his other hand. Thomas leans against the doorframe while he waits for his friend’s reply, completely oblivious to the guest in his sitting room.

“Yes, I have it here,” Lafayette says plainly, patting the book that is sitting next to him.

“That’s fantastic. What do I—”

He finally closes the book in his hand and looks over to where you and Lafayette are seated. Thomas’s dark eyes meet your gaze, and the book falls out of his hand, loudly connecting with the floor. You give him a weak smile.

“Hello, Thomas.”

“Hello, darling.”

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist :)

@farihafangirls @drreamhugs @id-do-it-for-free-babe @einfachniemand @sillyteecup @ohsoverykeri @lanaisjefferson @hamildork @veritasnvirtue

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trustsalvatorewriting · 4 years ago

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wasteland, baby! | kol mikaelson - chapter twelve

Summary: Kol makes a deal with the Hollow to revive the first woman he ever loved. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go as planned.

Trust’s Note: Please like and reblog! I hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 2,288

❝ what does one do with life when one expected to be dead ❞

"HOW DOES IT FEEL? To be alive, after all these years." Kol asked, eyes barely meeting Aniya's as they sat on a park bench. They had agreed to spend the day watching for strangers, any person that wouldn't mind having a sprinkle of amnesia in their lives. After a while the silence had gone deafening, and Kol decided to speak.

Aniya looked back at him, somewhat shocked that he had bothered to ask about her condition. She shifted in her seat. "Truth be told, I do not know what to do with the life I hold in my hands. It's as if someone has handed me the moon."

"Didn't you ask for this? To be immortal?"

"No. My father did." She said, looking down at her hands. She and Vihaan had questioned his beliefs once, and only once. It was the day that their father held their hands over a fire, and asked who would save them if not the gods. "And what of you? How did Esther create the spell that turned you into vampires?"

"She didn't create it. She found it, after Henrik was attacked by the wolves one night." He'd said it so casually, it might have gone over the average person's head; but Aniya had known him all his life. "Mother dearest murdered my ability to practice magic that night. About a decade ago, she stuck me in the body of a witch, but I was promptly killed by Finn shortly thereafter. Such a shame. The body was quite handsome."

He paused, then added, "Of course, not quite as handsome as me. But it did do the job."

She lifted an eyebrow slightly. "You would give your immortality to be a witch again?"

"You may have given your life for immortality, but I never wanted this. I was perfectly fine dying at the fine age of thirty years old," He sent her a smirk, and she rolled her eyes. She turned her attention back to the humans walking in front of them. Across the street, an old man and his wife, wrinkly and discolored, hair the color of salt and pepper.

"It is a wonder how humans learned to live so long. Perhaps my father wouldn't have forced us to into those rituals if he knew humans could become so... weathered."

Kol laughed then, and Aniya found herself smiling at the newspaper Kol had set down on their laps. After a moment, he asked, "You truly can't read?"

"I've learned a bit," She admitted. Henry had helped her, using a few pictures books he'd created and never published. Elijah had repeatedly offered her private tutors, but the situation had never been ideal. Even compelled humans would ask questions eventually, and there was something discomforting about allowing a stranger to see her weaknesses. She'd been a gifted witch once, a prodigy; and she had lost to something as simple as American tongue. "I do miss runes though."

"You'd be the only one," Kol responded. She narrowed his eyes at him in annoyance, and he simply shot her a smile. He turned his attention to the humans. "So, we've sat here long enough. Who will we put out of their misery and erase twenty years worth of memories?"

"How about one of the weathered ones?" She suggested. "They've been alive quite long. Surely they won't miss a decade or two."

Aniya had given eighteen years of her life to a set of rituals. Given her life for the sake of her parents. A few memories in exchange for a taste of her old life -- it was a small price to pay. Regardless, humans were never meant to live so long. They were in pain now, surely. Growing weak and inching closer to Death with each passing moment. To walk the streets and see the youth, see all they had lost.

Perhaps she would be putting them out of their misery. Granting them the ability to forget all they would never have again.

She stood from the bench and made her way towards an elderly man only a few feet away. Kol leaned back and watched the girl smile brightly, encapsulating the man in a short conversation about passing birds.

"I can't remember the last time I'd seen a creature so beautiful." She knelt down, though the bird hopped a few steps away. Her brown eyes dimmed for a moment, and Kol felt a heavy weight on his chest as he watched the little bird move away from her. As if it were repulsed.

"Yes," the old man nodded in agreement. His voice was aged, in a way that even Kol found himself pitying him. "Your generation is so glued to those phones. Rarely even feed the birds anymore."

"My generation," Aniya squinted her eyes. She was very much his elder, and Henry had tried to show her how to use a phone only a few days ago. Unfortunately, the very concept had gone over her head. "Yes. I agree. My brother, though, he used to care dearly for these creatures. Often found him climbing trees and feeding them leftover scraps."

She spoke fondly of her brother. It was hard not to. No one had a heart quite as big as his. No one dared to. The world was never made for one as beautiful as him, and yet there she stood, desperate to gain her strength and revive him.

"What was his name?"

Aniya hesitated. Her mother had always said names carried power. "Victor. My name is Annie."

"It suits you," He commented. The man's blue eyes sparkled with kindness, and she felt her stomach drop. "I hope he takes care of you."

"You needn't worry. My brother was quite the protector," She shrugged off his comment, eyes quickly shifting to the street in front of her. She pushed herself off the ground and focused her eyes on a nearby lamppost. "And what of you? Do you have family? People that care for you?"

"My wife, Betty. She cared dearly for me," The old man chuckled. He pulled out a small leather rectangle, and Aniya lifted an eyebrow at the gesture. Carefully, he unfolded it and revealed a black and white photo of a young couple. A blonde woman with molded curls and a young man beside him, in a perfectly tailored suit.

The man slipped the photo out and turned it around. At the bottom right corner was a jumble of letters. Aniya leaned forward to see the lettering, and after a few moments, the man said, "Betty and Edwin. Our wedding in the fifties."

Aniya's faced soured and she looked away, as if she'd just tasted something terrible. From across the street, Kol lifted an eyebrow. She took a breath. "Where is she now?"

"Died of long cancer twenty years ago. I miss her everyday." He said, his voice tainted with nostalgia. Aniya bit the inside of her cheek, a pit in her chest crawling up her throat. Edwin carefully tucked the photo back into his wallet.

"And you love her to this day? Your love for her, it never died?"

"In my experience, love never dies."

"How do you love someone you're sure you'll never have again? How can you bring yourself to love something so unbearable?" Surely he would give in. Surely he could bring himself to forget her. How much she would give in return for amnesia. In another world, she might've belonged to Henry and Henry alone.

Edwin shrugged. "I'll see her again. It's only a matter of time."

It was then that she felt something snap. A switch in her mind, flipped, and exchanged for something much colder. Ice rushed through her veins as she stared at the man, and her mind was made up.

Kol would one day see his Davina once more. Edwin would see Betty, and the world would continue to spin, as she stood paralyzed and alone. Even Henry would leave her eventually. She had only one insurance, one promise that would never leave her: Vihaan.

"I truly am sorry." Aniya placed a hand on the man's shoulder and whispered a spell beneath her breath. The man's eyes glazed over, and static ran through her veins. She took a step back and raised an eyebrow, ignoring the sense of euphoria that overwhelmed her. "Raise your left hand."

He obliged.

"Drop it. Raise your right hand."

He obliged. She had control of him.

"Give me your wallet. Go to Lafayette Cemetary and ask for Keres." The man, stripped of his willpower and sense of self-control, handed her the small leather object and walked away in a daze. Aniya swallowed and shoved the rectangle into her pocket. To her left, she felt a slight breeze, and Kol stood by her side.

Kol watched the man wander away, a brow lifted as Aniya gulped. "You hesitated."

"I'm ripping away an innocent man's free will because we made the mistake of getting married. My apologies if I'm not all that ecstatic about our situation," Aniya muttered. She huffed, shutting her eyes tightly as she turned on her heel.

"Well, lucky for you, we only need two more. I found a poor bastard in the cemetery last night. I'm sure no one will notice he's gone," Kol announces proudly, hot on Aniya's trail as she walked away from him.

"We shouldn't be preying on the innocent, Kol. Especially not men who are mourning their loved ones!"

Kol huffed and sped in front of her, raising his hands to stop her from crossing him. She sent him a warning look, and he sighed. "This one deserves death. Trust me."

She had been given no reason to trust him. In the weeks since she had come back, not once had Kol given her proof that he was worthy of it. Frankly, he's gone lengths to prove the opposite; but somehow, as she stared into his aged, tired eyes, she found herself wanting to believe him.

And so, she nodded, for once giving into his antics. "All right. I suppose we'll just have to find a few more and send them to Keres. I'm sure it won't be that much trouble."

Regardless, she couldn't seem to ignore the heaviness of her chest — the guilt she carried, knowing she had just sent a man to be stripped of his free will. Her parents had tried desperately to rip her of these emotions, trained her to see human lives as game pieces. Ones that she would have to dispose of once they no longer suited her. Her father had told her to embrace the electricity that ran through her veins when she practiced dark magic, but what was meant to surge of power had become nothing but a parasite. This power had turned her into nothing but a monster.

"Kol?"

"Yes?"

"What did your siblings and father exchange for immortality?"

He stopped walking then, his feet glued to the sidewalk. For a moment, his amusement faded, but it was quickly hidden away with a smirk. It occurred to Aniya that she might have hit a nerve. "I'm a vampire, darling. Haven't you caught up on the mythology yet? Watched a few scenes from Twilight? I've heard Robert Pattinson is quite dashing."

"Well, yes, but I'd like to see the truth. I'm not sure how much of that I'm going to find in pop culture." She crossed her arms over her chest and took a step toward him, looking up at his aged, tired eyes. "Show me."

"You're a stubborn little thing, aren't you," He murmured. He sighed then, leaning back against a nearby lamppost. Aniya came closer as he shut his eyes, and black veins crawled from beneath his eyes down to his cheeks. His eyes opened, revealing a pair of blackened irises and red, irritated scieras. Kol bared his teeth, displaying his sharpened fangs. When Aniya didn't flinch, the monstrous features crawled back into hiding, and Kol's curious face remained.

Then, she smiled, almost satisfied with her discovery.

"Was there any particular reason you wanted to see that, or were you just exhausted from staring at my gorgeous face for so long?"

"Is this typically how you flirt with women in the twenty-first century?"

Kol shrugged then, straightening his back and heading back in the direction of the Abattoir. Jealousy seemed to spike at Aniya's chest, as she walked a few paces behind him. How wonderful it must have been to be loved by something that hates all else. To be loved by what was perceived to be a monster.

She pulled the wallet out of her pocket, running her fingers over the faded photograph. She wondered to herself what might have happened if the Hollow has awoken Vihaan, as opposed to her. He might have been stronger. More willing to sacrifice the lives of several humans in exchange for the life he once had; but then, she wondered if he would have been more willing to give up on a marriage that had so clearly died. He would have been willing to sacrifice it all to ensure that she was back on Earth.

"I'd like to have this mission finished by the end of the night," Aniya revealed, her fingers tugging at the ring around her neck. "We'll find the nearest elderly person, and send them to the cemetery. You'll have your memories returned by midnight, and I'll have the evening to myself."

"You're going to see your human."

"Is that so bad?"

He hesitated. "I suppose not."

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chenziee · 4 years ago

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hello, can i request lawlu and frobin from outsider pov? thank you

Thank you, anon, for giving me an excuse to write this xD I hope you don’t mind some absolutely ridiculous, silly first dates with non-consensual meet-the-family.

This fic is the continuation to my Lawlu fic [Good friends (don’t) kiss] that I have wanted to write since publishing the original fic. It is absolutely NOT necessary to read the prequel to understand this fic :)

Enjoy~

Boyfriends (do) kiss

The innkeeper sighed as he leaned against his broom, looking around the mess that his cozy little inn had become. And the day began so innocently; quiet and slow like any other day. But now there was a charred table and burn spots on the floor, several broken chairs, with cutlery and shattered plates scattered all over. And that was him being lucky. He had been kindly informed some places hit by a similar disaster ended up with broken walls or windows—or both.

It all started a few hours ago when a couple of pirates came in. It was nothing to fret about; once in a while those sea rats would dock at this island and have a meal, then they would run off. None of them tended to stay very long or cause any trouble because of the small navy base just outside town, and even if they did start something, they were usually dealt with quickly. This was no backwater island with no police or competent security, after all.

So, when the two pirates entered, the innkeep paid them almost no mind. That is, until one of his regulars who had been eating his lunch at the counter whispered, "Hey, aren't those two…" He let his sentence fade out, only gesturing frantically in the direction of the two young men, making the innkeep frown and finally take a good look.

They were sitting at a table pretty much at the centre of the room, as if uncaring if anyone noticed them. That alone was not exactly normal in a marine town where pirates tended to keep low and hide in dark corners. The louder, seemingly younger one of them was stuffing his face with gusto, even stealing all the bread off of the other's plate while laughing and teasing his companion, who ate at a much slower pace.

The other one wasn't laughing along, having a much calmer and quieter demeanor, but there was an undeniable, if small, smile on his face. There was also a really familiar, yellow Jolly Roger contrasting against the back of his long, black coat but the innkeeper couldn't for the life of him place it. Narrowing his eyes, he wrecked his brain for where he had seen it, and for just who these people were.

And then his eyes fell on the straw hat hanging on the younger one's neck and it clicked.

Fucking Straw Hat Luffy and Trafalgar Law were casually having lunch in his goddamned inn. He really hoped they weren't going to be planning some big raids while at it or he would have to call the marines. Which he absolutely didn't want to do; there was always so much paperwork involved.

Praying to all that was holy that it wouldn't come to that, the innkeeper observed their interactions, watching for any suspicious movements. After all, two of the Worst Generation captains starting a fight with each other would be just as bad as them planing coups or navy base raids, as well as it was the last thing this old building needed.

Thankfully, it seemed like they were getting along just fine. They were both smiling, speaking quietly with each other and… holding hands? Ah no, that was just Trafalgar handing over the salt. Good. That would be awkward. The touch did seem a little bit too long for a casual contact though.

Just then, the door to the inn opened and in came a couple, a man and woman. Or a giant robot and woman? The robot had his arm placed gently around the woman’s shoulder so it looked like they were together at least.

“Oh! Robin, Franky, are you here to eat, too?” Straw Hat called loudly, waving at the newcomers enthusiastically, and only then did the innkeeper make the connection—they were two members of Straw Hat’s crew, the ‘Iron Man’ Franky and the ‘Demon Child’ Nico Robin. The innkeeper really didn’t like where this seemed to be going.

“That’s right, Luffy,” the cyborg said, equally loud, when the couple reached their captain’s table. “How’s the food here?”

“It’s great! Their bread is amazing,” Straw Hat replied and the innkeep made a mental note to relay the compliment to both his cook and the the town’s baker.

Nico Robin chuckled. “Torao-kun looks like he doesn’t agree.”

Trafalgar made a disgusted face before he looked at her and spoke up, “No, I don’t. But this bottomless pit ate all of my bread anyway and the rest is pretty good.”

“Of course I ate the bread for you, you hate it,” Straw Hat stated matter of factly before he grinned and leaned towards the other captain to give him a long kiss on the cheek, a gesture that earned him an embarrassed click of the tongue from the other pirate.

Oh. Suddenly, the innkeep remembered the newspaper article from three days ago, the one which had claimed the two were dating and which he had discarded as ridiculous and promptly forgot about. Maybe it wasn’t so ridiculous after all.

“You two are super cute,” the cyborg announced, making Straw Hat laugh and Trafalgar roll his eyes.

“Wanna join us?” Straw Hat gestured to the two other, currently empty chairs at the table. “We could make it a double date,” he suggested then, glancing to his boyfriend who only shrugged in response, apparently not caring either way.

The other two, however, shook their heads, and Nico Robin spoke up, “It’s your first proper date. You should enjoy it, just the two of you.” She smiled warmly at the two of them before she glanced up at her own huge companion and placed her small hand over his large one which was still resting against her shoulder. “We’ll get another table and we can meet for deserts later?”

“Sounds good!” Straw Hat and the cyborg agreed, both grinning, while Trafalgar only nodded silently at her suggestion.

The innkeeper couldn’t decide whether he was glad the four of them weren’t going to be a concentrated in one place, smack in the centre of the room no less, or if he was annoyed he would now have to keep an eye on two tables with high bounty pirates.

He barely managed to take notice of where the mismatched couple of the Iron Man and the Demon Child—who looked more like an elegant, beautiful lady than either a demon or a child—when someone at the counter called him over. He wondered when this young man got there; he hadn’t noticed him coming in or sitting down. Maybe because he was so preoccupied by the cursed sea dogs.

“Thank you for waiting, sir. What would you like?” the innkeeper asked the man with blond, wavy hair and what looked like a burn scar over his eye. There was a black top hat with a pair of goggles around it lying in the counter next to him.

The man smiled, putting a ten thousand beri bill on the counter. “When Trafalgar Law asks for a drink, can you add this into it?” he asked, pulling out a small bottle.

The innkeeper blinked, staring at the bottle for a moment before slowly looking up to meet the stranger’s eyes. “Are you asking me to poison a man worth 500 million beri?”

“It won’t kill him.” An unhappy, maybe even angry expression appearing on his face before he continued, voice lowering dangerously, “It will just make him regret every decision he had ever made that led to him being here.”

The innkeeper scowled, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded the man. “There will be no poisonings in my inn, lethal or not. I don’t care what your issue with him is but settle it somewhere else.”

“Damn,” the blond cursed, pocketing both the bottle and the bill. “Guess I’ll have to light his face on fire after all. Thanks anyway.”

As soon as he was done speaking, he turned around in his chair to glare at the table where his apparent nemesis was now ruffling his boyfriend’s hair while Straw Hat giggled, trying to push his hand away. When he finally succeeded, he didn’t let go; instead, he laced their fingers together and mumbled something that made Trafalgar look away in obvious embarrassment.

Suddenly, something bright caught the innkeeper’s eyes and when he looked what it was, he gasped. “Sir, you’re on fire!” he cried in alarm.

The blond startled, looking at his hand as if he only just realized it was engulfed in angry, crackling flames. “Whoops. Sorry,” he simply apologized, shanking the hand until the flame died down to nothing. After a mere second, it was as if there was no fire at all. “Glad to know Ace is angry, too.”

“Sabo! What are you doing here?” Straw Hat cried a moment later, jumping up and basically bouncing in place, and the blond cursed at being spotted.

He waved at the pirate awkwardly. “Hey, Luffy. Just—” he paused, seemingly wrecking his brain for a plausible answer— “passing by.”

That was the worst excuse the innkeep had ever heard, and that was counting all the excuses men have ever given to their angry wives who came to pick them up after a night of drinking.

But Straw Hat grinned, nodding happily as if it made perfect sense. Trafalgar Law, on the other hand, eyed the man suspiciously. “Your brother probably came to check up on you, Straw Hat-ya. Since the papers wrote about us,” he said flatly, making the blond glare at him.

Wait. ‘Sabo.’ Straw Hat’s brother. The Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army? That Sabo? This day was getting seriously ridiculous. What was next, a Celestial Dragon?

He barely managed to finish the thought when the entrance door burst open and in came two old men and a goat. The innkeeper couldn’t believe his eyes. They weren’t Celestial Dragons but at this point they might as well be. The goddamn Hero of the Marines Garp and former Fleet Admiral Sengoku had just walked into his inn and he felt like he might faint. Between four infamous pirates, number two of the revolutionary army, and two legendary marines, it would be a miracle if his inn was still standing by the end of the day.

“Luffy!” Garp roared, stomping forward.

Straw Hat flinched in response, immediately raising his arms in a attempt to block the fist that was coming at his head from above. “Gramps! What are you doing here?”

“Dating a pirate? You brat, you’re a hundred years early to pull something like this!” Garp growled, hitting Straw Hat once more.

“Ouch! Why does it hurt even when I use haki?” Straw Hat whined after taking a step back at the impact, his chair clattering to the floor. “And what do you care who I’m dating?” He went to punch back.

Garp side stepped him, grabbing his arm and stopping it from hitting some of the innocent customers who were scurrying to get out of the inn. “Because it’s a fist of love,” Garp said, as if that explained anything.

The innkeeper really wanted run away like his customers did but he was frozen in place, watching the scuffle happening. This was honestly the most bizzare pirate versus marine fight he had ever witnessed, possibly the most bizzare one anyone had ever witnessed. Neither was trying to beat the other, there was no attempt at capture or escape—if you didn’t count Trafalgar quickly backing away from the screaming duo in the direction of cyborg Franky and Nico Robin, who both looked entirely too entertained. At least Trafalgar’s face said he was about as happy about the turn of events as the innkeeper himself was.

A second later, in a flurry of flames, the revolutionary at the counter jumped forward, standing in between Straw Hat and Garp. “Gramps, wait. You should be beating up him,” he said sharply, pointing at Trafalgar, who was by then lounging in the chair next to Nico Robin, coffee cup he was offered by the woman in hand.

“Leave me out of this,” he called back, raising his free hand in a vaguely threatening motion, the air swirling around under his palm with in devil fruit power.

“Yes, leave him out of this!” Straw Hat snapped, throwing a punch at Sabo instead.

The bartender watched in horror as the punch went through the blond, spitting flames all around and setting a table on fire. At least the man quickly put out the flames but the damage was done and the table charred black.

Garp’s attention turned to the revolutionary then, his hand landing on his shoulder and squeezing until Sabo hissed in pain. “Hello, Mr Revolutionary. Do you care to explain?”

“Why are you so angry, we told you we didn’t want to be marines right from the start!”

“Baa!” The innkeeper’s gaze followed after the sudden sound, dropping from the scene of disaster to his knees where Fleet Admiral Sengoku’s goat was gently chewing on the wash cloth he had hanging from his belt. At least someone in here looked like they couldn’t care less about whatever it was that was happening around them. The innkeeper let go of a long, deep sigh, and stroked the goat’s head.

“Thank you,” he said to the goat earnestly, to which the animal only blinked and continued chewing.

Raising his eyes to look for the goat’s owner, he found the man slowly approaching the remaining three outlaws, dropping in the last available chair at their table—after turning it around to get a better view of the fight at the centre of the room. The three visibly tensed up at their new company, but Sengoku only looked at them blanky before raising the packet in his hand.

“Want a rice cake?”

The pirates stared at him, the cyborg moving forward a little to shield Nico Robin from the old marine.

Sengoku, however, only crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, looking as uncaring as could be. “Relax. I’m retired. I have no obligation to keep up with any new wanted posters so I have no idea who you people are. I’m just here to enjoy the show.”

It was a transparent lie, there was no way the man didn’t know he was sitting at the table with a former Shichibukai and a woman who had been hunted by the world government for twenty-something years, and the innkeeper couldn’t help but stare at the scene before him with an open mouth. Was this seriously, seriously happening? In his inn?

When it became apparent that Sengoku wasn’t a threat to them right then, the strange couple and Trafalgar slowly relaxed and the marine smiled, gesturing with his packet again. Finally, Trafalgar reached forward, grabbing a rice cake and tentatively taking a bite.

Soon, he was followed by Nico Robin who pulled out two, handing one of them to Franky who thanked her with a quick kiss before he took it from her hand. For a moment all four of them simply munched on their rice cakes in silence, watching while Straw Hat, Sabo, and Garp bickered and wrecked the whole goddamn inn while at it.

The entire thing was so ridiculous, so completely absurd, that the innkeeper wanted to cry.

It took them almost an hour after that to finally file out of the inn, leaving behind only absolute mess and destruction. At least Sengoku had assured the innkeeper in passing that the Navy would pay for the damages while he had ordered a tea.

He really hoped the marines wouldn’t complain about it since he would be forced to bill them eight people worth of food on top of all this, as the four pirates didn’t even pay for their own food or drinks.

Pirates, he thought to himself, finally tossing his broom aside and opening a bottle of rum instead.

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chiaki-translation · 4 years ago

Text

4th Anniversary Quiz Voiceline Answer Translation

My bad, I actually missed the hint, oops... I think someone else out there posted the hint though, so if you’re really interested, do look at them. But I missed the lines so I can only post the answers for now, enjoy~

Disclaimer:

A3! is owned by Liber’s Entertainment

Sakuya: A quiz for Director! In the upcoming guest performance, I will be playing as a part of a certain family. What position will I have in that family?

Answer:

The correct answer is... The middle of the 4 siblings! Speaking of brothers, you’ll end up remembering Tsuzuru-kun right, I’ll do my best in the upcoming performance!

Masumi: When I have free time between my lectures in university, I’ll try to do something to kill time... I want you to get it right, what is it.

Answer:

The answer is to find a place to nap. I used to sleep at the terrace bench, but I started to feel annoyed by people’s gaze, so I started looking for other places.

Tsuzuru: Then, it’s time for a question from me. When I went home at the beginning of the year and met my younger brothers, I was asked something... Do you know what it is?

Answer:

Something that my little brother ask from me... The correct answer is, Shounen Manga. Even if it’s not much, I did give them New Year’s money then, so he said that he will save up and buy them next time.

Itaru: Director-san, good work~ Sorry to make you come all the way here, I’ll give you my questions immediately. What was my average ranking on the social game event from last year?

Answer:

The correct answer is... 52nd place~ I’ll do my best for my Oshi event, otherwise I’ll use it as practice and balance it steadily, that’s my style.

Citron: Tadaah! It’s Citron Quiz dayo~! Do you know what game I’ve been into lately? If it’s Director, I’m sure you’ll get the correct answer in one try.

Answer:

The corrrect answer is... ‘Harabanjo Game’ dayo! It’s the best board game that doesn’t cost any money~ Of course, the banker’s role goes to Sakyo!

Chikage: Director-san, sorry to call you out when you’re busy, but can I get your answer for my quiz. I travelled to a lot of places for work, but even then, there are a lot of places that I haven’t visited. A place that I want to visit... Then, where will it be?

Answer:

The answer is ‘Space’. I have been admiring it since a long time ago. Speaking of which, I think I told you that I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little... Do you think I was lying?

T.N. WTH CHIKAGE HAHAHA, HOW WHY WHAT HUH HAHAHAHA

Tenma: When I went back home last time, my Dad gave me something else instead of a New Year’s Gift... Director, what do you think it is?

Answer:

The correct answer is, my Father’s car. There are a few left in Japan. It seems to be a rare car too. He said that he will pass me the key when I got my Driver License. I guess, I’ll go and get a Driver License this year.

Yuki: Then, a question from me. What’s the latest photo I have in my smartphone. For starters, try to guess it without any hint.

Answer:

The answer is... ‘A Picture of Kazunari and Taichi’. They managed to get hold of my smartphone before I knew it and it seems that they took some selfies without permission. Geez, what a nuisance right.

Muku: Actually recently, there’s a shoujo manga that has been very popular in shoujo manga club. It’s a hot topic that’s even adapted to anime and dramas... Do you know about it, Director-san?

Answer:

The answer is ’Kimi Koi Rhapsody’! Recently, there has been more media coverage about it, it even become a small boom when we read it again at the Shoujo Manga Club.

Misumi: A question for Director-san! I recently exchanged the points that I have accumulated with ‘Onigiri Pay’. So, what is it!

Answer:

The answer is... a mug cup! A present for Madoka! I’m sure there’s nothing but teacup at home, that’s why I want to give a fashionable one for him~

Kazunari: Director-chan, get ready for your question~! I have something that I have to bring with my when I go to my university’s atelier, what is it~ Let’s see you guess without any hint for now~

Answer:

Correct answer is, Summer Troupe’s commemoration photo~! Everyone’s smile and the memories contained within it become my strength. As I thought, Summer Troupe’s the best!

Kumon: Question! I recently remember a 4 words idiom that’s so cool! Can you guess what is it! Hehe, maybe it’s a little bit too hard~

Answer:

Then, time to announce the answer! The answer is ‘Ryuujoukoshi’~! I don’t really understand the meaning, but don’t the Dragon and Tiger look cool together!?

T.N. I don’t know what’s the meaning of the phrase either. But the phrase uses the Kanji of both Dragon and Tiger on it, which is the reason why Kumon said that.

Banri: Then, I’ll give Director-chan my question promptly. What home appliances did I buy recently. It’s a very simple question right?

Answer:

Then, time to reveal the answer. The home appliance that I bought recently is... ‘Humidifier’. It’s going to be dry season soon, have to take care of your throat right.

Juza: A quiz for director?... How about this. What’s the new menu available in Yosei university that I go to... A quiz is something like this right?

Answer:

The answer is ‘Mille Crepe’. It’s not as sweet as I thought, so I ate it with additional whipped cream. The other stalls seem to be thinking of new menus as well.

Taichi: A quiz for Director-sensei! I saw a news recently, I’m happy but I also have a complicated feelings about it. So, what kind of news is that.

Answer:

The news that gave me a complicated feeling is... the announcement of Akapoyo-kun FPS game project! I like games, but... I don’t want to see Akapoyo-kun shot or get shot~

Omi: A quiz huh. Let’s see, previously, I went to a futsal match with the Soccer Club, it was interrupted halfway due to something. What happened, do you know about it, Director?

Answer:

The answer is, a cat and its kittens entered the premise. That day was a hot one, and they ended up rolling and purring on the field for about 10 minutes.

Sakyo: In the last few months, which room has the highest power consumption in the dorm... Do you know? For your information, I don’t include the shared spaces.

Answer:

The answer is Room 205. Kotatsu, electric blanket, and air con... Furthermore, it seems that he turned on the ‘Nabe Pot’ every night. I understand how he feels, but he needs to be more conscious of saving.

Azami: Ah, Director, it’s a bit sudden, but won’t you answer my quiz. There’s a place that me, Kumon, and Shifuto have been into these days, do you know where it is.

Answer:

The answer is... Escape game. When we did it by chance that one time, the two of them got hooked into it. But, the two of them couldn’t clear it at all, and I ended up coming to help them.

Tsumugi: Director, good afternoon. It’s a bit sudden, but a question from me. Recently, I was told something by my favourite flower shop that I frequent, what is it.

Answer:

The correct answer is ‘Won’t you do part time in my place?’. It was quite fascinating, but I’m satisfied with the dormitory’s garden. I will gladly welcome a role as a florist though.

Tasuku: When you go to a guest performance, there’s something that they will ask the guest to be in charge of. It seems that you’ll be able to get it right away... Do you know the answer?

Answer:

I was told, ‘Your body grows thicker again’. Was that too easy...? If that’s the case, my bad. I thought of other stuffs too, I thought this one is the easiest to understand.

T.N. Huh, wait, my bad, I misinterpreted the question? Apparently, he refers to himself, oops.

Hisoka: Quiz... Ah. I was recommended to do a part time job recently, what is it, is this good enough?

Answer:

Then, I’ll reveal the answer. The part time that was recommended to me is... Detective’s assistant. I never thought that this kind of part time job exist. Whether to do it or not, I’m still thinking about it. Rather than me, I think Kumon fits the role more though.

Homare: It’s been decided that they will publish my column in a certain magazine collaboration project. I thought of a title for that column, but what do you think is it?

Answer:

The correct answer is... ‘Battle in the Fine Deep Snow’. It’s about the snowball fight that we have with everyone the other day. You can clearly see the different vibes of each troupes, it’s really interesting.

Azuma: When I went to buy sake last time, I came across one with a beautiful floral design for the packaging. Then, what kind of flower do you think it is?

Answer:

The correct answer is... ‘Tsubaki’ (Camellia). It seems that I’ve given you an easy question, how was it? By the way, I haven’t opened that sake, let’s drink it together next time.

Guy: I’m sure Director knows who frequently visit my store among the troupe members, but who came the most recent... How’s that question for you?

Answer:

The members who come the store recently is Arisugawa and Fushimi. Fushimi was about to be late for work and he met Arisugawa when he was telling the Director to take charge for dinner.

#a3! game #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3! event #a3! translation #a3! 4th anniversary

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