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vivitheanimaxen · 8 months

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There's no particular prompt for this scene exactly, but one of the defining moments of the au is when Tango starts learning English. So.

When Tango had first been tangled up in a human net and thrashed into the shore, he'd honestly thought that it would be a death sentence. He'd cursed his fascination of human tools and boats and other things, and hoped that death by human would be relatively quick and painless.

When he instead found himself hauled from the sand and wrapped in wet scratchy-- something on some sort of moving thing, and eventually dumped into a featureless white tidepool, Tango figured that this was some fate worse than death.

The humans kept poking him and sticking things to his skin and scales and rubbing some sort of stinging oily paste into all his cuts and they'd even trapped his wrist in some sort of hard shell. And the food they kept giving him made him feel all dizzy, though it did numb the pain.

It didn't take long for Tango to realize that the humans were trying to help him, once his head wasn't fogged by pain and tainted food and the instinctual need to fight anything that might be threatening him or his pod. He had no idea why, but it was the only thing that made sense. The shell around his broken wrist was similar in function to the splint Doc had made Etho wear around his own arm when it'd been broken. The trio had stayed with that Doc and his 'hivemind' pod until Etho had been healed enough to hunt with Bdubs and Tango again.

It also didn't take long for Tango to get bored. After the possible threat of being killed-- or worse-- was gone, his head was filled with nothing else to occupy him. He'd taken to watching the three humans that regularly came into the closed off aboveground cave that his tidepool was in.

It was easy to tell them apart. There was the blonde one, who was always the one to check on the bandages and his splint; there was the loudest one, who's arms were always bare up to the shoulder; and the last one-- or sort of the first one, since that was the human who had found him on the shore after the storm.

He didn't understand anything they said, but he could understand the tone. He could understand the laughter, the worried looks on their faces when they watched him struggle to do any proper swimming in the shallow white tidepool with his ripped fins. He could understand the question in the loudest one's voice and the concern in his face when he would nudge the human who'd found him when the other stared at Tango for too long. They were their own pod, in a way. Like how he and Bdubs and Etho were a pod.

Tango missed them. He hoped that they hadn't been separated like he had. Or hurt.

But Tango had picked up on a couple words that were repeated a lot. He thought they were names, with how each human responded to them being said.

Call Tango stupid for wanting to talk to them, but the humans hadn't caused him any harm, really, and he was lonely. Bored and lonely and missing his own pod and desperate for something else to do other than sleep or watch passively from his tidepool. He'd caught himself calling out, when he was left alone for too long. But Tango was just going to ignore the way his head was insisting on him trying to pace. There wasn't enough space in the tidepool.

Maybe the humans would teach him more words, if they just knew he wanted to understand.

He'd taken to mimicking the loudest human, whenever he was alone with Tango. The human was always making some sort of noise. Some of it was even musical. And no matter what language they spoke, it seemed that both mer and humans understood music. He'd gotten laughed at for it, but Tango would take any sort of interaction with another person, at this point. Almost.

The sounds that made up the human words were very foreign to Tango, but mimicry was a mer specialty.

He was almost sure he knew which name went to the human that had first found him, and there was really only one way to find out.

It was a good thing-- for this at least-- that that particular human spent a lot of time alone with Tango, talking at him and looking mopey. Tango would sometimes respond, but he was sure that the human couldn't understand anything he said. But hey, it was better than nothing.

The human was sat near the edge of the tidepool, his legs crossed and his chin in his hand. Tango was half-listening to him chattering away, weighing the decision in his head. If Tango thought about it any longer, he'd twist himself into knots.

It was like hunting, you had to strike quickly, or the fish would get away.

Tango furrowed his brow in concentration as he did his best to sound out the word. it was clunky in his mouth, like he had stuffed his cheeks with pebbles.

"mp-- mpl--" Tango puffed his cheeks for a moment, his gaze down for a moment while he struggled with the word, "Imp-Impul--ulse. . ."

The human had gone dead quiet, mouth agape in shock and eyes wide.

Tango tipped his head, letting himself slip back to the more familiar mer language, "I got it right? That's your name. Imp-ulse."

When the human, Impulse, didn't respond, Tango started to get a little bit worried. He reached out, nudging Impulse's leg with one webbed hand. Impulse jumped, which made Tango startle in return, shoving off from the edge of the tidepool to dart away with a flick of his tail. Tango totally didn't make some sort of undignified squawk. Nope. Squawking was for birds.

Impulse chattered out something else, a desperate tone to his voice as he shifted onto his knees and reached his own hand towards Tango. He probably hadn't meant to startle Tango, so he pushed back up to the surface to hear the words better.

Impulse gestured, his voice going inquisitive as he pointed at himself, "Impulse?"

Tango nodded, hoping that the gestures for yes and no were the same for humans as they were for mer.

There was more human speech, but Tango thought he got the gist of it, with the pointing and the repetition. Impulse probably wanted his name. So, he answered with it, enunciating each sound.

When Impulse tried to repeat it, the name came out more like "Tango."

Close enough for him. Impulse probably couldn't say his actual name. So Tango nodded, and repeated the names, pointing at who they belonged to as he did.

Impulse still had that look of surprise on his face.

"Oh come on. Did you really think I had jellyfish for brains? Put it together, human, do I need to do it again?" Tango huffed, flicking his fins in frustration as he folded his arms across his chest. He narrowed his eyes at Impulse, and when the human didn't respond quick enough, he let himself sink back under the water.

Well, whenever the human had gotten over his shock, maybe Tango could finally start communicating with the three of them. Right now he was tired, and his voice was unhappy with him for trying the completely foreign sounds.

Tango curled up on the bottom of the tidepool to watch and wait and listen. He just hoped nothing bad would come out of this. Humans could be incredibly dangerous when they wanted to be.

#dont mind me #viviwrites #emberfish au #tango tek #impulse #team zits au #language barrier #Tango attempts a human word!#aka the moment when team zis realized that tango is #in fact #a sentient person #and not like a dolphin or something #not to say dolphins aren't sentient but like #those vibes

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alexanaraxadel · 5 months

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I think the reason I like sam riordan so much despite him being a volatile schizophrenic mass murderer (<3) is because he reminds me of peter parker except... much much more unhinged and unstable, lol. but the core sweetness and goodness he showed (in the first 7 episodes at least 💀) had such peter parker vibes and I've always loved characters like that

#like those peter parker fics where he was kidnapped and experimented on by hydra and turned into a child soldier #those vibes #though i am terrified for where the writers are going to take his character in season 2 #also cate's character tbh i'm very stressed about it #let's rein in the supe supremacy a bit i'm getting nervous #please don't make them hateable lol #gen v #sam riordan

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taizi · 2 years

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For the dialogue prompts to break a reader's heart, might I request 6,7, and 8 (either combined or not- with your writing, it'll be good no matter what) for Natsuyuu (bonus points for NishiNatsu and/or Natori being best bro)?

If you're up for it, of course- if not, that's cool too.👌

HEARTBREAKING PROMPTS

6. "Am I going to die?"

ao3 // ko-fi

Shuuichi is on set when the news breaks.

A panicked college-aged intern is turning the volume up on the TV in the lounge, and Shuuichi looks up from his lines in time to watch a local station air some amateur drone footage of what looks like the apocalypse.

It’s a busy intersection downtown, which at this time of morning should be in full swing as people commute to work or classes. Instead, traffic has ground to a standstill, vehicles left abandoned as hundreds of people run from a frenzied mob.

The room is quiet, everyone slow to react to what they’re seeing. It’s like something from a horror film—found-footage is trendy, when it’s produced well, so for a moment Shuuichi thinks he’s looking at an upcoming Netflix original. He finds himself thinking the Foley effects could use some work.

Then it cuts back to two pale, shaken newscasters sitting stiffly behind their desk. The anchorwoman is turned in her chair, a hand covering the mic clipped to her shirt as she speaks rapidly to someone off-screen. The anchorman’s eyes dart as he reads silently from the teleprompter, and then he clears his throat.

“We’ve received word from our correspondents in Tokyo that the recent widespread reports of violent and erratic behavior are not a local event. The National Institute of Infectious Diseases has not yet confirmed if this is the work of a virus, but eye-witnesses on social media have made the comparison to—to rabies. Again, there is no official statement yet, but it is strongly recommended that you stay in your homes, and avoid all contact with individuals showing any of the following symptoms—”

“What the fuck,” Hana blurts. She’s still sitting at the table across from Shuuichi, where she’d been running lines with him, but her script lay abandoned now. “Is this a joke?”

“I’m checking Yahoo,” the intern says. Her nose is already buried in her phone. “I don’t understand, the streets were clear when we got here.”

“The streets were empty when we got here, because it was like three o’clock in the morning,” someone from the AD department retorts. “What I want to know is how something like this could have happened in a matter of hours.”

There’s a bit of a flurry then, of people checking their phones and computers, or getting up to stand closer to the television. Two men leave the room at a brisk clip to collect the cast and crew still milling about the set, and a woman Shuuichi vaguely recognizes as Hana’s agent uses the landline to call the security office in the front of the building.

Shuuichi’s heart is racing. He’s staring at the news broadcast, at the worried reporter standing outside a hospital, where flashing ambulances are lined up and paramedics are rushing up to the building pushing gurneys.

A digital banner stretches across the bottom of the screen, the scrolling text reading China has declared a state of emergency. All inbound flights have been diverted. The United States has declared a state of emergency. All inbound flights have been diverted. Great Britain has declared a state of emergency. All inbound flights have been…

“Urihime,” he says under his breath, “check in with Hiiragi now.”

Hana gives him an odd look but Urihime nods and disappears without a word. Sasago, hovering faithfully at his opposite shoulder, drifts closer to make up for her absence. Shuuichi forces his eyes away from the TV and digs his phone from his pocket.

There are thirty-some email notifications, a handful of texts—but most concerningly, a missed call.

Shoving away from the table, Shuuichi taps to redial, and holds the phone to his ear. He paces to the far side of the room, and can’t force himself to breathe until the moment the line finally connects and Natsume’s quiet voice says, “Natori-san?”

Oh my god, Shuuichi thinks, pressing his forehead against the wall, oh, thank god.

“Are you alright?” he demands. “Is everyone there alright?”

“We’re fine,” Natsume says quickly. “Um, everyone’s still asleep but me and Kitamoto. There’s been a lot of noises in the hallway, but Hii—I mean. I figured I shouldn’t open the door.” Shuuichi makes a mental note to kiss Hiiragi right on the face for strong-arming the most stubborn teenager alive into staying in the relative safety of the hotel room. “I, um, I tried to call you—”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t see it,” Shuuichi says. He rubs a hand over his face, struggling between the crippling relief that the kids are safe, and the visceral, terrifying reality that something could potentially still happen to them. “I’m on my way back now, okay? Stay put. Listen to Hiiragi. Don’t let the chaos twins do anything stupid.”

He means Taki and Nishimura, and he knows Natsume knows exactly who he means. He hears the kid murmur something, ostensibly to Kitamoto, and then the sound of movement, and then a door closing softly.

“I’m in the bathroom now. Natori-san, are you sure?” He sounds frightened. His voice is still quiet, but his words are coming faster now, all but running together as his anxiety rears its head. “I mean—we looked out the window a few minutes ago, and it’s—”

“Hey,” Shuuichi says firmly. “I know what it looks like outside. I don’t care. Keep away from the windows, and keep quiet, and wait for me. Tell your monster he has my full permission to sit on you if that’s what it takes.”

Natsume laughs a little. “He’s listening. He says he doesn’t need your permission.”

“For once, cat, I almost respect you,” Natori says with a light-heartedness he doesn’t feel. “Alright, Natsume. Wake your friends up, eat something. I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up, digs the heel of his hand into his eyes, and allows himself five seconds of silent panic. Then he turns around and strides for the door.

“Um, Natori-san, I don’t think you should leave,” Hana says, alarmed, as he grabs his coat from the hook and pats the pockets to find his keys. “The governor said—and the police—Natori-san, we’re supposed to stay inside!”

That gets some attention. There’s a sudden swell of well-meaning colleagues rounding on him, urging him to stay calm, sit back down, let Ha-ri make you some tea. Ordinarily, Shuuichi might have been touched by their concern, but now he just doesn’t have time for it. He glances at Sasago and then looks pointedly at the door. She inclines her head and sweeps out in front of him, causing the people in his way to stumble aside and neatly clearing his path.

Everyone is staring at him, staggered. Even the ones who weren’t pushed by an invisible force seem staggered. Natori spares a moment to bow his head and says, “Thank you for taking care of me. Good luck.”

He pushes out the door into the empty hallway. His steps on the polished tile floor echo, and another pair of footsteps follows him out.

It’s the intern, Ha-ri. She lifts her chin and says, “My little brother’s cat-sitting at my apartment. He’s only in Osaka in the first place because of me.”

“I’m headed for Tennoji ward. If you’re going in the same direction, you’re welcome to tag along,” Shuuichi replies, and holds the door to the parking garage open for her.

As soon as they’re outside, it’s clear they’ve left safety behind. There’s an overturned car on the street, burning steadily, and another parked on the sidewalk with a shattered windshield. It’s ominously still—the busy morning foot-traffic is conspicuously absent.

Sasago leaps to the roof of the garage and casts her blindfolded eyes up and down the street. Urihime joins her there, glancing down at Shuuichi.

“The kids are safe,” she says shortly. “Let me guide you, Natori-dono. The streets are a mess, but I remember which ones are mostly deserted. Sasago and I will clear the way. Count on us.”

They move quickly. Ha-ri keeps close and says nothing, hands white-knuckled on the strap of her crossbody bag, canvas sneakers treading silently on the asphalt. If she thinks it odd that Shuuichi turns down streets and alleyways seemingly at random with total confidence, she keeps it to herself.

The set in Chuo is only a few miles away from the hotel the kids picked in Tennoji. They were so looking forward to this trip, a whole week in the city with a movie-star chauffeur at their beck and call. Shuuichi left them to sleep in this morning, with plans to get some work done at the studio and be back in time to bring them lunch, but he wishes he hadn’t. He shouldn’t have left.

Sasago throws herself bodily in front of him before he can round the next corner, and Ha-ri stumbles into his back at his sudden stop. Urihime hisses through her teeth for them to get down! Shuuichi grabs Ha-ri by the strap of her bag and drags her down with him, their backs pressed against the side of a large vending machine.

Something shambles by.

Ha-ri gasps, and then muffles herself with both hands before she can give them away, her knees tucked in tight against her chest. Urihime and Sasago are crouched warily in front of them, a guard that only Shuuichi is aware of. And on the street, moving in odd, awkward clusters, there are…

People.

People with torn clothes and tossed hair, looking as though they just tumbled out of a car accident. A lot of them have blood on their necks, or their hands, or their mouths. All of them have milky-white eyes and a vacant expression, as though they’re sleepwalking through this nightmare.

The last thing Shuuichi expects is for the nearest one to turn its face toward the shiki. Shuuichi’s heart shoots up into his throat as the—the sleepwalker teeters drunkenly, staring straight at Urihime, who is visibly bracing herself for a fight. Thankfully, though, it seems like the sleepwalker is aware of yokai in the same way that animals are—a passing interest only, the spheres of their existence just overlapping in the fringes.

Shuuichi and Ha-ri stay absolutely still until the street has emptied. Even when Sasago quietly gives the all-clear. They just sit there, not speaking, breathing like they’ve run a marathon.

Then Ha-ri says, “Rabies.”

“What?” Shuuichi asks stupidly.

“The man on the news said it,” the girl replies. Her voice is wooden and grim. “He said that it was like rabies. And they—some of them looked like they’d been—”

She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t have to. Shuuichi closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the machine behind him. Acclimating to this brand new genre of shit-show he has no choice but to deal with.

“Natori-dono,” Sasago says with some urgency.

“Right,” he mutters, and pushes himself to his feet. He stretches a hand down to Ha-ri, pulls her up beside him, and they go.

They bump into a few other people, panic-stricken and running for whatever safe place is waiting for them. None of them linger long enough to exchange words. Most stores and kiosks they pass are closed and locked tight, security shutters lowered. Outside a little fast food restaurant is a row of delivery scooters parked on a rack; one of the scooters is missing, and there’s a broken lock lying on the ground next to an abandoned sledgehammer. Without pause, Ha-ri stoops and picks up the hammer.

The shiki save them two more times within fifteen minutes; the third time, Shuuichi doesn’t need the warning, and neither does his young companion. They fling themselves silently into a sidestreet, and Shuuichi shoves Ha-ri back even farther, into the shadow of a stoop, just in time to miss a handful of the sleepwalkers who seem to be chasing the taillights of a passing car.

“I think it’s safe now,” Shuuichi says, and starts to step back onto the sidewalk, but Ha-ri grips his sleeve.

“I have to go the other way,” she tells him, barely more than a whisper. Her eyes are wide, and with the huge glasses and full bangs she looks absurdly young. She’s only a few years older than the kids Shuuichi is responsible for. But there’s iron in her spine, and she lifts her chin the way she did back at the studio when she refused to stay behind. She ducks forward in a bow, and says, “Thank you for taking care of me until now.”

Fuck, Shuuichi thinks. Out loud he says, “Give me your phone.”

Bewildered, Ha-ri tucks the hammer under her arm to slide her iPhone out of her back pocket.

Shuuichi opens the messages app and texts himself. Handing the phone back, he grits out, “I know that kids seem to have a medical condition that makes them choose to be stupidly self-reliant at the absolute worst of times, but you have my number. Contact me if you need help. For your brother and your cat, if not for yourself.”

Ha-ri blinks rapidly a few times, taken-aback. Then she smiles for the first time all morning. She slips her phone back into her pocket, bows again, and says, “Be careful, Natori-senpai. Don’t let them bite you.”

Then she spins around and runs the opposite way down the winding alley toward the chained fence blocking the next street. She tosses her bag and the hammer over first, then plants one sneaker on the fence, heaves herself to the top, and disappears on the other side without a sound.

She’ll probably be fine.

“Urihime,” Shuuichi orders quietly.

With a displeased sigh, the shiki takes off after her. Sasago tilts her head toward the street, and Shuuichi follows.

He’s running on nothing but anxiety and adrenaline by the time he reaches the hotel. It’s tucked away at the end of a busy street, near a huge train station, because of course it is. There are dozens of sleepwalkers in the way, and Shuuichi’s stomach sinks like a stone.

But Hiiragi appears in front of the building, and points with her sword toward the small service road that leads around to the back, presumably for the unloading of delivery trucks. Then she disappears again, and Shuuichi realizes why a moment later. The window of a restaurant a few blocks away explodes into a loud shower of glass, and all the shambling bodies on the street react like wild animals, clawing over one another to rush toward the sound.

It’s potentially the most horrifying thing Shuuichi has ever seen. He very carefully compartmentalizes his reaction, because frankly there’s no time for it right now.

Once they’re in the building, weaving through eerie stockrooms and a gleaming, completely abandoned commercial kitchen, Sasago leads him past the elevator to the stairwell, and then herds him up four flights of stairs, glaring coldly when he dares gasp for air too loudly.

“Well, excuse me,” Shuuichi wheezes. “Not all of us can float.”

There are some alarming sounds on the second floor, and absolute silence on the third and fourth. Shuuichi doesn’t trust it for a second, but he shoves open the stairwell door when Sasago gives him the go-ahead, and beelines straight for his suite.

Ridiculously, he starts searching his pockets for his keycard. The door is ripped open a second later, and Hiiragi says, with just barely passable deference, “Natori-dono. Get inside now.”

The moment he does, he feels himself cross a barrier. It’s like stepping into a physical net of safety. It feels as though whatever is happening outside can’t reach him here, even though he knows that can’t really be true. He can hear quiet chatter from the next room, all those dear voices present and correct and secure.

He leans against the wall and closes his eyes. He just needs a minute.

When he opens them, he has company. On the step above the neat row of shoes lined up in the entryway, Madara is tucked into a fat little loaf, unnatural green eyes glinting. The symbol on his forehead is glowing faintly. Shuuichi doesn’t think he’s ever seen it sustained for longer than a few seconds at a time.

“Is this your work, cat?” Shuuichi asks, waving a hand to indicate that barrier he’s only peripherally aware of. His voice is hoarse and exhausted. The cat deigns not to comment on the state of him, which is a kindness he didn’t expect.

“If you don’t like it, you can leave,” Madara says plainly.

“I paid for this room, freeloader,” Shuuichi mutters, and braces a hand against the wall as he follows the quiet sound of conversation into the sitting room of the extravagant suite. It’s dimly lit even at half past ten in the morning, with the heavy curtains pulled across the windows, and the TV is on so low he can barely hear it over the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.

He barely catches a glimpse of Natsume’s wide-eyed expression before the boy is crossing the room at a run and colliding with him hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs.

It’s the absolute last thing on the list of things Shuuichi has to complain about. It doesn’t even make the list. He plants his chin on the top of Natsume’s head, wraps an arm around his shoulders, and takes a full breath for the first time since he saw that news broadcast.

Natsume is joined in short order by a tearful Taki, then Nishimura, then Ogata. Kitamoto slumps where he’s sitting, like whatever has been propping him up this whole time just collapsed underneath him. Shibata glares at Shuuichi with vitriol, because he tends to get his feelings mixed up when he’s thrown into high-pressure situations, but he buries his face in Tanuma’s shoulder before his mouth can run away from him. Tanuma, for his part, looks like he’s just barely keeping a panic attack at bay by nothing but sheer willpower and the need to be present for his friends. He pats Shibata on the back gently.

They’re all ruffled and pale, still in their pajamas, wrapped in the extra throw blankets from the closet and the duvets from the beds. It’s like a slumber party gone catastrophically wrong.

“It’s okay,” Shuuichi tells the room at large. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“What’s happening outside?” Ogata asks, voice warbling. “I called my friend Junko, but she lost signal. She told me that a bunch of people broke into her dad’s store. She said they were acting really strange.”

“We found a bunch of different news stations on TV,” Tanuma whispers. “It’s happening all over the country.”

“I can’t get ahold of my parents,” Kitamoto blurts. “Or my sister. Or Tsuji or Sasada. Or anyone from Hitoyoshi.”

“Are you okay?” Natsume says, pulling out of Shuuichi’s arms just enough to look up at him with stricken brown eyes. His voice cuts through the room easily, because no one is willing to talk over him. “Did you run the whole way here? Come sit down. Shibata, move. Satchan, can you get him something to drink?”

Shuuichi smiles as they scurry like little worker ants, and gratefully accepts the expensive bottled water from the minibar that Nishimura presses into his hands. He can see the kids visibly sitting on their questions, trying to be respectful, and he thinks they’re so good. They’re much better than he was when he was their age.

They don’t deserve whatever fresh hell is happening outside.

“Here’s what I know,” Shuuichi says, and lays everything out.

“You don’t know much,” Shibata says judgmentally. Nishimura digs an elbow into his stomach.

“What are we going to do?” Taki asks. "Are we going to die?"

"No, Tooru," Shuuichi says sternly, shutting that down as fast as he can. "None of you are going to die."

She’s frightened and clearly trying to be brave. She has a marker clenched in her fist, and it reminds Shuuichi of the way Ha-ri had hefted that sledgehammer.

All of their worried faces are turned up toward his. He’s the oldest person in the room, ancient at almost twenty-four years old. He’s responsible for them, agreed to be when their parents gave permission for this big trip to the city. It’s his job to make things right. Somehow, he has to make this right.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and opens the new texts, with an audience of at least four teenagers peering over his shoulders.

They’re both from Ha-ri. The first one is a selfie. She’s sitting on the carpeted floor of what looks like a bedroom, with her arm around the shoulders of a boy who looks exactly like her. There’s a huge orange cat draped across their laps and the twins are grinning wearily at the camera.

Made it, the text beneath it reads. And you?

Shuuichi finds himself smiling. He glances around the room and says, “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

The kids seem thrown off by the question, but only for a moment. They trade glances, communicating in that silent language that people only develop after spending way too much time together, and then Shibata speaks up.

“My parents are overseas.”

“So are mine,” Taki says.

“My mom is a doctor,” Kitamoto pipes up. He’s near tears, frightened that he hasn’t heard from his family yet. “She’ll be able to help.”

Nishimura slips away to shove himself into the armchair with Kitamoto, which is probably equal parts annoying and comforting. He takes Kitamoto’s hand and squeezes hard, and that tips the scales in favor of comfort, after all. Kitamoto leans against him and looks a little less frantic.

“My brother’s pre-med,” Nishimura adds. “And supposedly he’s back from university for the weekend. He wouldn’t be completely useless to have around, I guess.”

“Junko’s on our way,” Ogata says quickly. “She could meet us and come along.”

“There’s room at the temple for everyone,” Tanuma offers in his careful, thoughtful way. He sounds like he's half-afraid his friends might shoot him down, even now, in this worst-case scenario. He's ridiculous and Shuuichi would do anything to protect him.

Natsume lifts his ugly cat into his arms and hugs it tightly. His eyes are moonlike, round and hopeful. It’s obvious who he’s thinking of—Touko and Shigeru and their big, welcoming smiles, and their big, welcoming house, and how they always leave a light on for him.

No one has outright said it yet; none of them are eager to sound childish in the face of what is shaping up to be a global disaster. They’re trying to be very grown-up about it.

But the wanting is plain on their faces. It’s clear where they would all feel safest.

Shuuichi is thinking about Madara’s barrier, and the deft way the shiki handled the sleepwalkers every step of the way between Chuo ward and Tennoji. He’s thinking about all of Natsume’s questionable friends among the ghosts of Yatsuhara, and their unwavering loyalty to him, and how eager they are to prove their worth. He thinks that Hitoyoshi might just be the best place to go, if only they can make it there.

“Okay,” Shuuichi says. “Let’s go home.”

#📢ZOMBIE AU📢#im so predictable. its fine #natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #natori shuuichi #natsume takashi #my writing #prompt #natsumiyasblog #natsume zombie au #will i add more to this ?? potentially #ive been watching z movies all weekend ok let me live #thinking of dawn of the dead (2004) and how the nurse got home from a normal shift and woke up the next morning to a total shit show #those vibes #i didnt edit this at all pls forgive me

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mandyyvibes · 3 months

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clint barton reminds me of the lego guy from the lego movie

#honey where are my paaaaaaants #aw pants #yk #those vibes #i am so far up clint’s ass rn #just call me nat’s strap #FGHFFCVFSSFGGSFGJ

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sochilll · 1 year

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October 25 - Sweater

Day 24 Day 26 All Days (Prompt list)

Jared was straight. Jared was soooooooo straight. Jared loved women. He’d never even seen a man before.

The manifestations weren’t working. He was still gay. And Evan was wearing a sweater that was just a little too big on him and his collar bones were exposed and he kept having to push the sleeves up and Jesus Christ Jared was going to go insane.

“Why do you even have that?” Jared said, with way too much accusation in his voice.

“Huh?” Evan frowned.

“The sweater. It’s like eight sizes too big on you.”

“Oh.” Evan looked down. “It’s warm. And comfy.” He eyed Jared. “Why do you care?”

Jared shrugged and stared at his phone. “It’s just really baggy.”

“You wear baggy sweaters all the time.” Evan pointed out, pushing his sleeves up.

“Yeah well.” Jared said.

They fell into silence again. Evan was on his phone. He leaned his cheek on his hand which had disappeared inside his sweater sleeve.

Cute was not a word Jared used very often. But there was really no other word he could use to describe Evan currently. He was cute. Jared wanted to die.

“Why are you glaring at me?” Evan asked.

Jared blinked. He hadn’t realized he had been staring at all. “Sorry. Zoning out.”

“You looked very angry.”

“Maybe I am.” Jared grumbled.

“Mhm.” Evan leaned back on his hands. “You seem like you’re having… a not good day. I can go if you want.”

Now that was an offer. Freedom from this unique torture of looking at a cute boy.

“You don’t have to.” Jared heard himself saying.

“Okay.” Evan tilted his head. A few of his curls flopped over. “Are you like… okay though?”

No. Very much not. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

Absolutely not. “Yes.”

“Okay you just seem-“

“It’s you and that stupid fucking sweater!” Jared blurted.

Evan frowned. “It’s… what?” He was utterly confused. Fair. “Why is my sweater making you that angry?”

“I’m not angry. I’m just-it’s just-“ No. No. No. No. He was not going to say it. “It’s just that-you just look cute in it!”

Fuck.

Evan stared at him.

Jared wished he’d taken Evan up on his offer to leave.

“Did you just call me cute?”

“No.” Jared lied. If Evan was going to ask stupid questions, Jared was going to tell stupid lies.

“I’m pretty sure you did.”

Jared was staring at his phone but he could feel Evan’s eyes on him. “I think you misheard me.”

“You don’t have to get all weird about it.” Evan said, smile clear in his voice. “It’s not a big deal. I know you’re gay. So it’s like normal-like I get it. If sometimes you think I look good.”

Evan was being surprisingly calm about this. Actually, like, concerningly calm. Jared looked up. Ah, there it was. Evan was furiously picking at his hands under the table.

Jared stretched his leg out under the coffee table and kicked Evan’s his foot. “You don’t be weird about it.”

“I’m not.” Evan mumbled, still picking.

Jared slouched against the couch. “I’m not gonna like… do anything.”

“What?”

“I know you’re straight. I’m not trying to like-like I’m not gonna-“

“It’s not that.” Evan said quickly. “That’s not-I wouldn’t ever think-I wasn’t worried about that.” The picking returned. “I just… no one’s ever called me cute straight to my face before.” He smiled a little. “Or yelled it at me.”

“Oh.”

“It’s stressful. Especially when it’s someone,” The rest of Evan’s sentence was mumbled too bad to comprehend.

“Someone what?”

Evan let out a breath. “When it’s someone I also think… is cute.”

Jared tried to respond to that but he couldn’t think of a single god damn thing to say. He started about ten sentences in his head before ending up with, “You’re straight though.”

Evan looked up, smiling a tiny bit. “I’m not.”

“What?” Jared slapped his hand on the table. “Since-for how long?”

Evan snorted. “Since for about a year.” He shrugged. “That’s how long I’ve known anyway.”

“So you’re…”

“Bi. I think.”

“So you’re bi and you think I’m cute. And I’m gay and I think you’re cute.”

Evan nodded. “Guess so.”

“Okay. So why are we not making out?”

Evan flushed violently. “Because you don’t like me as a person the way I like you as a person.”

“That’s not-wait what?” Jared frowned. “I’m sorry did you just admit you like me? And then say the only reason we’re not dating is because you think I don’t like you?”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“You’re so stupid holy shit.” Jared laughed. “Bring your stupid sweater over here.”

“What? Why?”

“Oh my god.” Jared crawled around the table. “You’re the only person who can completely derail my brain just by wearing a stupid god damn sweater.” He said and then he kissed Evan.

Evan was smiling when Jared finally released him. His face was red and he hid it with his sweater paws.

Jared tugged his hands down. “Cute.” He said and the pulled Evan in again.

#y’all know that picture of ben in that red sweater?#those vibes #and also Jared trying to manifest straightness in times of strife vibes #deh #kleinsen #my writing

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