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lewkwoodnco · 5 months

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tis the damn season - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: estranged best friends to lovers trope my beloved!!! 😍 AHHH this is one of my fav fics I've written in a while. Poem below is Golden Boy by Cecil Miller, and the Spanish line is taken from a streetcar named desire by tennessee (idk how 2 spell) williams! this might be less proofread than normal + includes a few of my pre-infection hallucinations? lottt of angst, wc 5.1k!!

P.S. I think I'll be doing a part 2 to buy me presents! but not until a little later ahah and also the 12 days of fics are totally going to spill over hahah

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Lockwood stares out the kitchen window. Both inside and outside, there is a bleak stillness in the air that sinks in his bones like a plague. It's too cold and too early in the morning for anyone to be properly out and about. But the season always messed up his sleep schedule more than usual, and now that they had taken a break from their cases for the holidays, there was nothing to occupy his treacherous mind, and its return to taut requirings of Christmases past.

Slowly, the other residents of Portland Row start to stir. George grumbles about their spluttering heating system and having to plod through the snow to get the mail, and Lucy promptly falls asleep in the cup of tea she's just brewed for herself. They were all exhausted, and rightfully so, given that the holidays was prime time for people to start looking into properly clearing out ghosts to keep their homes warm and cheery.

He slips out just as George's complaints about the heater start ramping up, and his mind is so scattered that he forgets to put his coat on. It's a little more brisk than what was completely tolerable, strictly speaking, but it was only just for a minute. When he reaches the mailbox, he runs into Mr. and Mrs. L/N, old family friends who had helped him more than he deserved over the years. They made some polite conversation while he rifled through the bills and letters.

"Oh, Anthony, we wanted to invite you over to tea sometime this week. Y/N's home for the holidays."

His hand slips and an envelope slices his finger open. It was bound to happen, given his glum and careless mood, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint to suppress his cry of pain in front of them.

"Home...as in here? London?"

Ever since she had left for boarding school, there would always be some talk of her dropping by for Christmas every year. But the plans would never be fully solid, or some other pre-existing commitment would prevent her from making the trip. He was suddenly feeling oddly claustrophobic. He glanced up and down the street, as if expecting her to be hiding in some bushes.

Mrs. L/N seemed to pick up on his distraction, and her brow furrowed with concern.

"Of course London. Where's your coat, dearie? Aren't you feeling chilly?"

"...yes. Now that you mention it...perhaps it's best I head back inside."

He gave a stiff sort of wave and walked back, mind reeling. Eight years. Eight years since he last saw her. What the hell was he supposed to do if he saw her now? How was he supposed to feel?

Luckily, he doesn't get much time to panic because as soon as he walks in, he narrowly dodges a wrench being lobbed at his head. Apparently, eleven freezing days with improper heating was more than what George could bear. It's usually a rather quick fix, but maybe the comparatively more extreme frost this year had corrupted the system beyond Lockwood's capabilities, because two hours later he was still no closer to getting it fixed.

Some time later, there's a knock on the door. He yells for someone to get the door, but he's buried too deeply in the house for anyone to hear him. Grumbling, he dusts himself off and walks to the door himself, head buzzing with frustration. He's so preoccupied with what more he could possibly do to get the heating working again that he doesn't think to check the peephole first. So when he opens the door, he gets the wind knocked out of him.

"Anthony."

It was her; rosy-cheeked yet looking effortlessly warm. Her facial features had lengthened and rearranged themselves as compared to when he last saw her, but there was still something expensive to the twist of her mouth and the crinkles near her eyes.

"It's been so long."

Even her voice was rich, like honey. Now that she was standing in front of him, the stitch in his chest from the morning seemed much more familiar. It had been some seasonally grievious paste that had coated his lungs and stoppered his mouth that made him feel eerily weightless if he dwelled on it too much.

He didn't know what to do. Exchange pleasantries, or skip to the part where he slams the door in her face? Before he could decide, he hears some shuffling behind him, and almost instinctively opens the door wider.

"Y/N. These are my associates. George Karim, Lucy Carlyle...Y/N L/N."

"Right. Lockwood and Co., was it?"

The four of them glance at each other, exchanging fleeting smiles for a good half-minute, before George has the sense to usher everyone inside for a cup of tea.

The kettle's already on, and George hands out the cups of tea waring mittens, his glasses barely visible behind the scarf mummifying the lower half of his head. If she notices the cold in the house, she doesn't comment on it.

They make some polite small talk. She's pleasantly amiable and a perfectly gracious guest, and talks about her Christmas dinner plans. Lockwood is disinterested and surly and wants to talk about his fragmented sense of self. At one point, his responses start to become so clipped that he earns a poorly concealed kick from Lucy, accompanied by a stern look. Luckily, it doesn't seem as if she's noticed. She was looking at the white blanket of snow over their garden carefully, as if dismissing their presence.

"Your garden looks beautiful. I'd love to have a look around."

George and Lockwood exchanged a look. It was freezing outside, and the harsh temperatures were clearly not worth braving for the little of the flowerbeds they could see. George opened his mouth to tell her as much, in his own snide way, but he hesitated. Lockwood felt his heart sink.

The thing was, she had had a magnetic effect on most people ever since they were kids, a quality that made it difficult for any grown adult to refuse her or for any child to oppose her. It was the same reason why she was sitting in his house, drinking out of his teacups, eating his share of biscuits (George and Lucy had clearly conspired as soon as they picked up on her staying for tea). But he had been sure that if there was anyone who could pull away from this siren call of hers, it would be George. The very boy who was meaningfully looking at him, trying to express some uncommunicable panic.

"Er...Lockwood?"

And so, he ended up taking her out for a brief and awkwardly quiet stroll in their garden once she was done with her tea. They meandered through the garden path stiltedly, and every snow-dusted weed and sapling seemed to astound her. Still, she divided her attention sufficiently to continue the ocnversation.

"Homeowner and agency head at fifteen. Impressive."

"Thank you."

"I bet you're the media's darling."

He shrugs.

She turns to him, eyes generously pooling with faux concern.

"It can't have been easy."

It wasn't easy, not that she would know anything about it. He wants to be spiteful towards her, lash out at her. God knows she deserved it. But something holds him back.

"So...that was George. And Luce."

She jerked her head back in acknowledgement, but he could see the slight smile playing at her lips as she did so. He had forgotten how terribly exasperating she could be.

"What?"

She shook her head, but that only made her smile grow wider, and so she finally relented. There's a vulpine twist to her lips that Lockwood has no patience for. "Nothing. I'm sure they're lovely people, of course. But if I wanted to know who you were hanging with while I was gone, I would have asked you."

He shrugged. "I wanted to share a bit of my life now. They're just about all of it."

She hums pleasantly, stopping short in front of one of the flower beds. She bends down and picks up a freshly fallen violet, its deep indigo harsh and unrelenting against the fresh, pure snow, against the season of vacancy and death. She holds it up in front of Lockwood.

"Viola Odarata. Symbolises humility. Flores; flores para los muertos. Flores."

A part of him wants to sneer at her in painful irony. How arrogant of her to think she could waltz back into his life as she pleased.

"That what they teach you in your boarding school? Useless facts about violets?"

She shivers, even though the air is completely still with no breeze, and her lips part. Too late, he realises he's gone too far. Her smile slips a fraction, and she takes on an air that makes him feel obliged to apologise. He resists it, and for a moment he sees something flash in her eyes, but it's gone before he can place it.

"Forgive me, but you don't seem terribly happy."

"The Problem's raging worse than ever. Happy things don't come by easy these days."

"...I suppose. It wouldn't -" For the first time, Lockwood thinks she might be feeling nervous. Her humanity, manufactured or otherwise, draws him in despite himself. "It wouldn't have anything to do with me...would it?"

He takes in her carefully manicured appearance, her intentionally pieced together life made up of the dreams she worked towards and achieved. And all he had was a house that was more of a burden than a blessing on some days and this inchoate dread over a Problem whose end was nowhere in sight. But he doesn't know how to express this resentment, this jealousy.

"I'm alright if you're alright."

Sad, dispirited eyes look into each other, searching for the fulfilment they're sure the other has found. She speaks in a tight voice.

"It's okay with the both of us, then."

She suddenly reaches out, and gently holds his finger with the papercut with a firm but comforting pressure. His first instinct is to pull his hand back, but he doesn't, and as the long seconds pass, he feels increasingly vulnerable. The cut was no longer bleeding, and was even well on its way to healing over just fine, but it was irritated from where he had relentlessly picked at it.

"Looks fresh."

She traces the cut with her other hand, violet folded in her palm, with a feather-light touch. The surreality of the moment - of her standing inches from her, her breath tickling his fingertips, her warmth spreading through him - catches up to him and makes his breath hitch. It was unbearably intimate and made him feel like the exposed, raw wound he had been nursing for the eight years she had been gone. And how like her to return with pockets full of unfounded promise to stitch the tears in his skin.

And just as quickly, she lets go of his hand and steps back, and Lockwood feels as though cold air has been forced into his airways. She tucks the violet behind her ear, and drifts back inside. The tilt of her joints is so familiar that it stirs something in him. Something long gone, something he was gripping like a fist.

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When they return, Lockwood excuses himself to his room for a bit of air, ignoring how closely George is watching him. He sits on his bed and takes a deep breath. His nightstand has a few miniature picture frames on it, and in one of them the picture's been flipped around. It's a picture of him and her, taken a few months before she left. It's how he remembered her before seeing her today. Sometimes, when the urge grew too great, he would tilt the frame under his nightlight, and make out the barest outline of their figures looped together on the other side of photograph.

He didn't know what to make of her departure, all those years ago. One day, they were swinging on tyres in her parents' garden, and the next day, she wasn't at school. But as the years churned on, the string tying his heart to hers stretched and tore a slow and painful death from him, out of the cavity she left, and he never felt quite the same again. And as they continued to age, the wound became old news and scabbed over what was once raw and paralysing, but a part of him always wanted to know why she did it, to be angry with her for being so callous.

And now she was back, pulling him under by the ankles, ripping the gash open viciously.

He didn't know how exactly to deal with it, after years of thinking of her adjacently, daring only to keep her in his peripheral vision, where he was kept safe. Maybe it was all part of a larger problem; the twitch in his hand and his recurring nightmare.

He's ten years old again, at a train station he's never been to, and likely one that doesn't exist. It's hard to see just about any discerning features, except for the massive train peeking through the fog in front of him. He looks to the right, and sees her strong fingers wrapped around a railing, her standing in the door of the train. He can't be sure of much, but he's certain she's looking at him. He stretches the moment as long as it will last, because it's all downhill from there.

There's a terrible groaning sound, and the train reluctantly starts to chug along, steadily gathering speed. He walks alongside it, gradually picking up his own pace, until he's nearly sprinting. All the while, she watches him with amused eyes, secure in her place on the train. He's panting, choking on the fog, eyes streaming. But if he can just reach her scarf whipping in the wind, the train will stop, and she'll step out, cool and gleaming and impervious to the cloud of dust surrounding her and-

He wakes with a start. He knows how it ends.

She slips through his fingers every time.

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She stays for the rest of the day, and the four of them spend a cosy afternoon decorating their Christmas tree, carefully dodging the random mugs of hot chocolate littered across the room. While they were digging out the ornaments from the attic, she finds a box that he, evidently, had not tucked away deep enough.

"Remember these?" She holds up a flimsy, crumbling Santa Claus ornament made of construction paper. "We had so much fun making them."

He nods stiffly, subtly shifting the box towards a corner in the living room. It smarts his eyes to look at the hideous thing, as if its very sight was corrosive.

"Took me a while to find them, though. It must be a pain to dig them out every year."

He puts down the bauble he's hanging, and sighs. "I haven't...brought these out in a while."

Even her look of perplexity looks artificial. "Why not? Aren't there so many happy memories attached to these?" Her face falls ever so slightly. "Do memories of me not make you happy?"

Luckily, they're interrupted by Lucy placing a handful of miniature marshmallows into their hot chocolate. When she moves over to George, Lockwood wordlessly starts hanging their crafted ornaments, and she doesn't press him for an answer. When they're done, the tree looks a lot more crowded and chaotic than it normally does, similar to how Lockwood was feeling with her around. He looks at her, and isn't sure how he feels about the asymmetry of having her here.

Later, when she's about to leave, it starts snowing heavily, too heavily for her to walk home. So after a phone call with her parents, she decides to spend the night. Lockwood's in his bedroom when he hears a knock on his door. It's her, dressed in a spare set of Lucy's pajamas.

"I thought you'd be awake."

She wanted to know what he was doing, and what he was doing was wrapping some Christmas presents. Immediately, she obligingly offered to help, and she was too eager for him to outright refuse. Of course, he might have thought differently if he had known how abysmally little she knew about wrapping gifts. And so they stay up till the early hours of the morning, both of them trying equally hard to teach her the most basic of gift wrapping skills. As the night wore on, they got increasingly drunk on laughter over her heinously criminal attempts and Lockwood's limbs started to loosen up. At one point, he had given up entirely and placed his hands over hers, puppeteering the night's only decent gift wrapping while she smothered her laughter.

He doesn't remember much after that. When he next regains his consciousness, he's lying curled up next to her, with the late morning sun streaming through his windows. He watches her breathe, slow and steady, with a face so relaxed, amiable and familiar.

As her eyes start to flutter open, he panics and tries to look anywhere else, which isn't easy given how she's only inches away from him. They glance at each other, silently acknowledging their positions, and the silence hangs heavy in the air. He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to put as much space between them as he can with his arm wrapped under her. "When do you leave?"

She scrunches her forehead as she thinks. It's one of the few parts of her he instantly recognises and he gets caught off guard by a rush of affection, and a flash of an impulse to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Monday."

He pulls a face.

"We'd have the weekend together. Isn't that enough?"

They stay quiet, watching specks of dust float through the sunlight filtering through his partially drawn curtains. With how close they are to each other, they're not looking at each other's face, and it's unclear if she's asking him, or herself, or the dust they're watching. Was it enough?

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Later that evening, Lucy wants to take a walk along some of the emptier roads in the snow. She takes their trip as her cue to leave but Lucy insists she come along, so she does. The four of them had cycled as far as they could, and when they reached the too-slippery parts of the road, they had dismounted and left their bicycles in a corner. Lucy and George were wandering around a bit ahead of them, while they slowly shuffled through the snow. She had picked up some newspapers on their way there, and was looking through them as they walked, taking particular interest in the odd article on Lockwood & Co.

"You've certainly had your fair share of media coverage."

"Along with a decent helping of frenzied media sensationalism, I suppose."

"My apologies. I forgot I was talking to the Anthony J. Lockwood of Lockwood & Co. Now, is the arson bit complimentary, or would I have to pay extra?"

She was teasing him, and it was irritating. There was a reticent air about him and after some politely delicate probing, which he had been too preoccupied to entertain, she had resorted to amusing herself. Toying with him like a figurine, the way she did all those years ago.

"You wear your grief so beautifully, Lockwood. Like...like jewels between your teeth..."

She pauses, flipping through the newspapers interestedly with inky fingertips, which flickered like shadows next to the soft white snow.

"...and you have such a winning smile. Golden boy." She laughs, and the sound feels like icicles pressing into his skull. "Golden boy," she trills, "you were a bit of a child. The world was having its way with you. You tried to...er, something...golden boy!"

She smiles at him lazily, expectantly, as if anticipating some kind of applause. But Lockwood is in no mood for her childish whimsies.

"I'm fine. I don't have any grief."

She frowns exaggeratedly. "'Course you do."

"I don't."

She mumbles, turning back to her newspaper. "Fine, then. Not like I'm the one holding onto...some kind of...ache."

He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. How could anyone be this self-aware and yet completely oblivious? The strain on his self-restraint peaks and he buckles within himself.

"Why are you here, Y/N?"

She looks away from the snow. "Lucy said it'd be nice out here."

"No. I mean why are you here, in London? Here, at Portland Row?"

Her lips are pressed together, and there's something guarded in her eyes.

"I just...wanted to see how you were doing."

"Liar."

The word drops from his tongue in such an aggrieved manner with such vehemence that it makes her choke.

"How could you say something like that?"

He scoffs. "Please, let's not pretend you weren't dying to leave at the first chance. Not that you had the decency to tell me-"

"-I was ten!-"

"- having me go through the humiliating process of finding out on my own-"

"What do you want me to say, Lockwood? I'm sorry I left? I'm sorry you were alone? I'm sorry I was too selfish to give a damn about you?"

"-and you'll come back, choking on your silver spoon only to leave again and again and again until you're all alone-"

"You never wrote!"

"I didn't think you'd want me to!"

"I didn't know what I wanted!"

"Then what do you want?"

"YOU, you idiot!"

He stares at her, speechless.

"I was ten. And I was so foolish. How could I have thought of anything but you?"

With that, the last of her rosy, polished, alluring boarding-school airs fell apart. He looks at her and sees his own anger and yearning reflected back at him; anger and yearning he's hardly ready to face. Despite all their efforts to get away from the other, to move on, something between them held fast. Or perhaps it was that they were hopelessly, irrevocably intertwined.

"Of all the roads I could have travelled, you are at the end of every single one of them. Every single one of them, except the road I did travel. I'm here, Lockwood, because I thought I might have...I might have chosen wrong."

"So you think you can just stroll back now that it's convenient for you? I didn't know if I'd ever see you again, do you realise that?"

"What do you want me to do, Lockwood? You keep pushing me away. I feel like part of a past you're forever trying to run away from. So fine! I'll leave, then. I'll go back to the sorry hole I crawled out of, back to friends I don't care about, back to dreaming of the only person who's ever truly cared about me. Is that what you want?"

She doesn't wait for a response, and turns around and walks away from him.

"Y/N, come back."

She silently picks her bicycle out of the snow, dusting it off.

"You can't cycle in this."

Still ignoring his words ringing through the dead winter silence, she steadies herself and cautiously swings a leg over her bicycle. Lockwood starts to walk towards her.

"You'll fall. You'll hurt yourself. Y/N. Y/N!"

But she's already off, gliding soundlessly like a ghost through frigid air on icy roads.

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He's already regretting his words by the time he reaches 35 Portland Row. When he first walks in, the house is so deathly quiet that he's convinced she's left. But her bicycle is thrown down in the garden and he knows she's too averse to the cold to walk home in the snow.

He walks slowly, his measure footsteps echoing on the wooden floors of the house, and he eventually finds her in the living room, sitting with her back to the door, staring at the drawn curtains. The fading evening glow spilling through the edges is streaked across her face and there's a soft crunching sound. As he comes closer, he sees the bowl of ice glinting in her lap, like fractured light, with her face as blank as a canvas.

"Have you gone completely mad? You'll fall sick."

She doesn't even flinch, as if she hadn't heard him. When she speaks, there's a dreamy quality to her typically strong and clear voice.

"I didn't want to come back. This city is nothing I want. I was always going to escape some day. And yet..." she trails off with glazed eyes, as if trying to look through some distant fog. "...and yet."

"You were right." The run back had left him mildly breathless, but was also exactly what he needed to get rid of the buzz in his head, giving way to some much-needed clarity. "About the...heartache. I was just sick of it. You're miles away. I love you in your sleep. I still reach the end of road alone. But I loved you all the while and...somehow that made the pain of leaving you worth it."

"I'm restless. I'm lost. I'm selfish." She swivels her head with an unnerving smoothness, grin wide and grotesque, ice glinting between her perfect teeth. "I'm so alone, Lockwood. Just like you said."

He doesn't know what to say. He walks towards her and picks up her bowl but her fingers close around his wrist like a vice. The gleam in her eye makes him want to pull his hand back. He's too old to play her games and lose.

"That's a bad habit."

"I'm a bad habit. One you can't seem to kick even after all these years: tell me, Anthony, why is that?"

"Y/N, stop. You'll spoil your teeth."

It only makes her grind her teeth even more tauntingly. It's an awful sound. "Good. Let them fall out, one by one. It's what I deserve. Maybe I'll finally learn my lesson."

Her grip on his sleeve lessens, but she doesn't let go. She grips the bowl with her other hand even tighter, as if suddenly terrified.

"Leave me be, Anthony. Leave me...to my vices...and violets and...violence."

He reads her face. He tries to figure her out, to read her like the open book she once was to him. When he doesn't leave, she shovels more ice into her mouth, uncomfortably clacking with her teeth, and continues.

"I was racing ahead...into some glorious sunset, towards some fantastic rainbow, at the end of which was some miraculous snowdrop and a wish to soothe my nomadic soul. I didn't have time for the boy with the sad eyes two streets down from me."

"I convinced myself that you resented my escape from the Problem. I was 15 with the bitter taste of lemongrass in my mouth and a stitch in my chest when I realised I spent all those years missing you. I couldn't run away from it, not truly. So I pretend. I pretend you don't hate me and I pretend I'm not an awful person and I pretend there's a chance you'd want me as much as I want you. I came home to tell you how terribly fond I was of you. It was only at your doorstep that I realised I had run out of places to hide."

"I don't have time for love. Nor the capacity for it. But I am tired of trying to outrun it."

She closed her eyes. Her voice was barely a croak. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was leaving. If I could...I'd wish away the past eight years of misery." She opened her eyes. "Some nights, I can pretend they never existed. But I can't wish your happiness into existence."

Lockwood somehow finds his voice. "I thought this was the life you wanted."

"It is Christmas, once again, and my heart is lonely as an island...once again. What part of this could I possibly want?"

He lets go of the bowl of ice and covers her limp, frozen hand with his own. She speaks in a low voice, barely stirring the dust in the room.

"I'll never forgive myself."

He sits down next to her, his feather-light lips pressed to her temple. She feels drained, and exhausted, as if the spirit that had driven her for so long was finally fatigued. Her breathing was uneven and her lungs felt lopsided. But what a blessing it was to finally fall in the one place she knew her landing would be soft.

"One day. One day, I'll..."

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He pulls out a fresh violet from his coat, still damp from the morning dew.

"Call it even?"

She accepts the flower and gives him a sweet smile. He revels in this smallest of victories.

Their peaceful moment gets shattered by the deafening train horn, which unpleasantly reminds Lockwood of where they are.

She hesitates for a moment, but then extends her arm and holds his face. There's a troubled look on her face, like there's something indescribable she wished to communicate just at the tip of her tongue. But the compulsion passes, and she settles for a trembling brush of his cheekbone with her thumb.

"You're such a darling, Anthony. I don't care what any newspaper or lawsuit has to say about you. You'll always be a darling to me."

"Good, because soon enough you might just be the only one."

She grins, widely at first, but then it chips, and for once he can admit that the sight breaks his heart. She gives him a hug, and he holds her like she's one of the precious metals that adorn her jewellery.

"You'll come back, won't you?"

"Perhaps. See you another weekend."

When they break apart, she swiftly picks up her suitcase with white knuckles and marches to the carriage without looking back. The train horn blares for a final time. The doors shut, and the wheels groan to life. He searches for her face, and finds it, but the reflection of the train station lights hides her eyes. It's at this moment that a disconnected part of him realises he doesn't want to wait for another weekend. He wants her here, and he wants her now.

The train picks up speed, and Lockwood tries to match it. But he's not trying to run. He knows that won't work, it never does.

"Y/N!"

That gets the attention of most passengers, including her. This train accelerates much faster than in his dream, and he's got an awful stitch running down the side of his torso by now, but he's beyond caring at this point. When she sees that it's him yelling like a maniac, she presses her flushed face to the window, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Would you stay?"

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits @ahead-fullofdreams

#taylor swift #lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood imagine #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #tis the damn season #evermore #12 days of fics '23

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kekaki-cupcakes · 3 months

Note

Heeey

Hope u're doing well

Please can I request a connor stoll x reader one shot where the mom (the reader) is going out with friends after all the pregnancy period, and it is the first time Connor is taking care of the baby all by himself for the evening

Have a good day

Can't believe that this was the request that brought me out of my writing slump lol. I have so many requests that I'm trying to write for right now and I figured people would rather have a short blurb than nothing at all, so this is only like 0.8k words. Sorry babes, hope you enjoy. Xx

pizza night--- Connor Stoll x reader [parent fic]

»»————-　★　————-««

-First of all Connor would be literally the best dad ever.

-I mean, like, obviously your baby would grow up knowing far too many swear words and probably ties people's shoes together when they're not looking, but no ones actually surprised.

-You would be able to take the cutest photos of your baby asleep on his chest in front of the tv or dancing in the kitchen while dinner cooked [you know when little kids stand on your feet and you hold their hands to dance? He would do that].

-He’d also for the first time not steal from a lolly shop when he takes the baby and lets them pick out the lollies from the pick and mix tubs. He’d hold the baby up like Simba at the start of The Lion King. You know the scene.

-But that’s after the baby stops crying every night and can wear shoes that totally have little wings drawn on them.

-When you’re laying on the couch eating ice cream with sprinkles and Connor is cleaning up baby vomit or something and your friends start spamming the group chat to get your attention, you’d just ignore it to begin with.

-Who wants to go out when there’s a screaming two week old baby at home and you’ve got cramps absolutely everywhere? To go and talk about babies when you literally never want to explain why you chose the name you did and why the baby is wearing a Lightning McQueen onesie [Cecil].

-But Connor hears the pings of your phone and [after turning it off so as to not wake the baby] he decides that you're going to have a great night out with your friends who would have to promise no baby talk or strenuous exercise.

-So you’re all dressed up in comfortable clothing and flat shoes [no post pregnant person is walking around in stilettos, and you might be amazing, but you’re not that amazing], ready to go out for a night of gossip and drinks, or pizza and relaxing, depending on your mood, when you realize that this would be the first time Connor is on baby duty without you pottering around the house somewhere or napping.

-He promises that everything will be fine and if the baby doesn’t go to bed he’ll just call Clovis over.

-He then had to promise that he will not in fact put a spell on the newborn and will be very responsible and baby you don’t have to worry he’s been watching youtube tutorials on this stuff for eight months and seven days.

-On a completely unrelated note, you found out you were pregnant about eight months and seven days ago.

-So you’re pushed out the door into your friend's car and Connor realizes he should probably take advantage of the fact the baby is sleeping in the other room to prepare for what would hopefully be an uneventful night.

-He mixes together the milf formula and leaves it in the fridge before ordering pizza. Take out or baked goods that his siblings dropped off while they zoomed around the city going to and from whatever it was they were doing had become the go to for meals since baby duty became the main concern and most food burnt on the stove in minutes.

-Connor always orders meatlovers, but picks the sausage bits off and puts mushrooms on top.

-It’s the best.

-Unfortunately babies can’t eat the greatest pizza ever, so after doing the washing and tidying up the utter chaos of your three bedroom house [one for you and Connor, one for your kid, and the spare room for Travis. Connor had one at Travis’s apartment too], ringing the hospital to book in that check up appointment for a few days away, paying the pizza delivery girl, and sitting down for approximately four minutes until the baby began crying, he took the milk out of the fridge and went to the living room.

-Connor held the baby with one arm, wiping drool off the tiny onesie, and turned on the TV. Luckily for him, your baby loved watching the colors move and make noise.

-You were adamant about not raising an Ipad KidTM, but he figured Netflix was an exception.

-He looked down for the baby's reaction when pausing on each movie.

-A bored gurgle at Lightning McQueen [Cecil would riot], a blank stare at Taylor Swift’s new movie, and then a screaming fit when he played the trailer for The Hunger Games [probably not a good idea to begin with] and he moved onto better half of his favorite movies.

-He pressed play on an all time classic.

-Connor’s child needed to have impeccable taste, or he just might ignore them until they tried to take over the world.

-Too soon?

“Life moves pretty fast, if you don’t stop to look around once in a while, you just might miss it.”

»»————-　★　————-««

#sorry that last part was kinda #too soon?#I just had to add it though #the Hermes Cabin are literally my children though I would write anything for htem #pjo fandom #pjo #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #Connor Stoll x reader #connor stoll x you #hermes cabin #travis stoll #cecil markowitz #Luke castellan #the Stoll brothers #Connor Stoll x y/n

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sawtastic-sideblog · 6 months

Text

Dumbest thought of the day:

Prima ballerina Adam

Douche bag manager Hoffman (mans is secretly a dancer but life happened and now he's a bitter man who dances I secret)

Ballerina bff Amanda

(Only open if you wanna see my incoherent sleep deprived ramblings. I haven't slept in 2 days because insomnia and my anxiety has decided to 🎶 kick it up a notch 🎶 I currently have no filter)

Obsessed audience member that wants Adam...idk probably William or Logan...fuck it it's Ivan

Logan works in props

William (this is emmerson schenk whatever btw) works with the lights

Theater owners John and Jill (they hate hoffman and love Adam)

Buff head stangehand Strahm

Zeke is a principal dancer as well and they whore him out to film and other theater productions (they can spare him but not Adam because Adam puts asses in the seats)

Remember Addy? The middle aged lady that works for William Easton? Yeah she was prima ballerina back in her day but an injury to her out of the game. Now she's the dance teacher/instructor who adores Amanda and Daniel.

Speaking of William Easton he's the number one patron he's at every show and everyone calls him Uncle MoneyBags ™ because he dressed like Mr. Monopoly for Halloween ones fifteen years ago (Adam started it)

Brent Abbott you ask? He's just starting out in the big leagues. Adam has taken him under his wing

Corbett Denlon? Star of her class. Been dancing sine she was 3. She's at every performance she can get her parents to go to. The practice room she uses to rehearse is named after her late brother (who was also a student everyone adored)

And who is this up in the rafters changing the backdrops for scenes? Why it's Bobby Dagen the stage hand who is down bad for children's dance instructor and another principal dancer that gets lent out to other productions Joyce Young (in this universe Amanda and Joyce are cousins just go with it)

Where's our favorite Doctor Lawrence Gordon? (I know our actual favorite doctor is Lynn Denlon but for the sake of this post it's Larry (imagine cary elwes saying Larry from that one scene of men in tights)) well I'll tell you. He is the new front of house manager and he hates Hoffman and he went backstage to confront him but got distracted when he saw Adam dancing. Completely transfixed. He was smitten but has never talked to him in the 3 months he's Been there.

Zep is John's nephew. He's clumsy and spills his mop water on the daily. He's also the janitor/ maintenence man for the theater. He's been electrocuted many times. He's fine. His hair is permanently sticking up tho.

Remember Britt and Addison? Yeah they're the mean girls who constantly undermine everyone they dont like (mainly Amanda. They try to get into Adam's pants) (honestly they could hit me with a car and I'd say thank you)

Perez is Strahms BFF and costume designer

Cecil Adams? Of course he's here. He's the pervy stage hand nobody likes (think Joseph Buquet in Phantom of the Opera meets Ted Spankofski from Starkid's Hatchetfield series)

Art Blanc of course he's the theaters legal aid

Rigg is Amanda's dance partner. They're also like together but not

Kerry is there. She's Gordon's second in command.

Daniel Matthews was forced into dance classes by his mom when he got in trouble in school at 13. He's a natural. He still isn't the best but he takes extra lessons with Addy, Adam, Rigg, Amanda, and Joyce (everyone does one of one with him) and Brett helps him outside of the theater. (They're bffs)

Eric Matthews is head of security who is constantly watching Daniel. He's proud

Dan Erickson is here too. He's the accountant.

Jeff joined Eric's security after his son died so he could spend more time with Corbett

Lynn serves as the unofficial theater nurse. She's patched up many floor burns (trust me it fucking hurts when you fall on a stage/dance studio floor even with something to cover your skin think rug burn but from a wooden floor) and sprain ankles and a few broken toes, one time Daniel was a little over zealous and rammed himself into the mirror and broke his nose. She loves being the only unofficial nurse on the unofficial payroll (they're donations for new pediatrics wing of the hospital. John and Jill are grateful for her services but she won't accept payment so they donate to her new department she runs)

The theater is called "Gideon Theater" of course.

Other characters make up the orchestra but I'm too lazy to look them up rn. Up to your imagination but like Charles from 5 plays bass clarinet. The two from the pound of flesh trap are here too. I don't remember their names but the girl plays clarinet and the guy is percussion (I can see him playing xylophone the hammer bell things and crashing th cymbals) And the last surviving dude from the fatal 5 plays trumpet. I know their names my brain is just fried right now

Oh and Bobby's BFF I think he's named after spinach or some other leafy vegetable I can't remember but he's an investor in the theater too.

(Just because I don't have motivation to write this I'd love for people to write their own interpretation of this and tag me) (bonus points if we cross universes and Specs and Tucker show up) (I don't expect anyone to actually do this)

#this is what happens when i havent slept in 2 days #you get this #saw 2004 #saw franchise #adam stanheight #lawrence gordon #leigh whannell #amanda young #john kramer #mark hoffman #saw fanfic #tobin bell #if i had motivation to write this i would

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nyoomfruits · 1 year

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Heard you were hunting for plant fiasco story, and I will give you one but first, I shall fangirl:

OMG YOUR STORY IS SO GOOD I READ IT FIVE TIMES SINCE IT WAS POSTED 🥹🥹🥹🧡

Now for the plant fiasco: my current office has the unkillable ZZ plants scattered through the office to make it look less soul sucking, and we also have a in-house chill garden with vines and philodendrons all over the room and walls. My colleague knows nothing about plants and every time I touch one, like inspecting the leaves or something she tells me to stop because it might be poisonous 😅 so I decided to play a joke on her with our other colleague. Basically we booked out all three floors of meeting rooms in the building and left only the chill garden free so when she needed a meeting room for the day she had to book the only free one. Then we talked really loud with receptionist about the poisonous plants inside the garden (there are none) while the colleague was in there and had the meeting and could hear every single word. She was visibly sweating and looking around… And as we were talking, a leaf fell down from one of the plants on the table and I kid you not, she screamed bloody murder and jumped away, running out of the room. Everyone present was dying from laughing 😂 since then, we cannot have meetings in the chill garden 😅

Hope you don’t me vomiting my equivalent of plant fiasco on you but this was the most evil in-house thing I’ve done 😂🫣

okay first of all this is SO funny oh my god, i can't believe she fell for that??? also the PREP that went into this i'm mad impressed this is a jim from the office kind of dedication to office pranks and i love it

second of all. i couldn't stop thinking about how this was abosutely something charles from the fake dating au would do??? and then i accidentally ended up writing what's essentially an epilogue for the fic so uuuuh... here you go????

Max is just putting the pasta into boiling water, when he hears the front door open and close, and the sounds of someone taking off their shoes and coat. Seconds later, Charles appears in the kitchen, smiling widely.

“Hey, babe,” he says, making his way over to Max and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Hey,” Max says, stirring his onions, “how was work?”

Charles’s grin widens as he hops up onto the counter to sit next to where Max is cooking. “You know how it’s been a bit boring now Cecile finally stopped believing the coffee machine is haunted?” Charles’s eyes are sparkling with mischief.

Max sends Charles a knowing look. “What did you do?”

“Me?” Charles asks, all faux innocent. Max raises an eyebrow. Charles grins. “We kind of convinced her all of the plants in that one garden themed meeting room were poisonous.”

Max tries very hard to look unimpressed and stoic about it, but he can’t help but the corners of his mouth turning up. “You are evil, you know that?”

Charles hums. “And you love me for it,” he says, leaning forward and capturing Max’s lips in a quick kiss.

“Unfortunately,” Max says, laughing when Charles squeaks indignantly. Max adds bell peppers and zucchini to the pan and stirs them around a little. “I cannot believe its literally your last week at there and you’re spending it riling Cecile up.”

“I want to go out doing what I love most,” Charles says, swinging his legs a little and grinning cheekily. “Plus, the second I start studying engineering after the summer its going to be all work and no play, so I think I deserve this little bit of fun before that.”

Max hums, and stirs in a few tablespoons of Boursin. Charles tries to stick his finger in the sauce that’s forming in the pan and Max swats his hand away. “You know I’m proud of you, right? For taking that step?”

Charles rolls his eyes, but his smile is fond. “You’ve only told me like, a million times.”

“Well consider this million and one,” Max says, moving away from the pan to let the sauce simmer for a bit, stepping in between Charles’s legs. His hands come to rest on Charles’s knees, and he leans forward so his nose brushes against Charles’s. Charles goes cross-eyed trying to look at him. “I am proud of you,” he whispers, in that small space between them, and then leans forward and captures Charles lips in a soft, slow kiss.

He remembers their first kiss, suddenly. That kiss in Miami, that wasn’t real but felt like it. This one feels real and it is. Max will probably never get over that, how this is something he gets to have now, after almost a year of thinking it was only ever going to be a fantasy. He pulls away, leans his forehead against Charles’s. For a moment they just stand there, in their kitchen, breathing each other in.

Eventually, Max pulls away. “Hey, that reminds me,” he says, “You never told me about the office plant fiasco that made the finance department so mad.”

Charles frowns and then his eyes light up. “Oh, you’re right, I haven’t! God, that’s such a good story actually-“

“Do you smell burning?” Max interrupts him, and then turns to his pasta sauce with a panic, which is bubbling rather violently. “Fuck,” Max says, rushing over to stir it. The damage is done, and it definitely is a little burnt in places, but it should still be edible. At the same time, the timer beeps for the pasta, and Charles takes the pan from the stove to drain it, as Max finishes the pasta sauce.

It’s not until they’re in bed, hours later, Charles snoring peacefully beside him, when Max realizes Charles never ended up telling him about the office plants.

#also!!!! im glad you liked the fic thank you ;-;#lestappen #silly me (to fall in love with you)#drabble

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just-an-enby-lemon · 11 months

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Uuuh character thingy except I tried to put it into different categories

• I know u know this character

> Edward Nygma

> Carlos(from wtnv) idk his name

> Jonathan Crane

> Dirk Gently

• Blorbos from my show that I hope u don't know nothing about so u come with funny headcannons

> House (House MD)

> Jonathan Sims (TMA)

• Idfk what I'm writing anymore

> Cebolinha (yes from turma da mônica)

:3<

Okay let's go.

> Edward Nygma: He collects strategy boardgames. While it was Doctor Leland and later Oswald that tried to make an Arkham boardgame night he is both the one sugesting the games and (in Oswald's case cause there was not much he could do in Arkham) provinding it. He is also an insuferable player.

> Carlos: He learned embroidery from his granny and was really good at it. He mostly uses this talent to make beutifull paterns in his lab coats sleeves as a way to different his morning lab coat from his night lab coat from his fancy lab coat from his date labcoat from his sleep labcoat from his seductive labcoat (that has changed from seductive labcoat to the labcoat that seduces Cecil in specific) from his serius science labcoat to his just assisting the other guys in the lab today labcoat to his Esteban's PTA meetings labcoat from his secret labcoat and so goes on (he cannonically has a bunch of labcoats for different occasions and I love it for him). He does cute patches for Cecil and Esteban (he also did one for Aubregine, he never did for Khoshekh because like a proper cat he hated cute clothes) more rarely for his friends and since they adopted Steban he is learning to knit to make him a cute baby onesie of the uncomprehensive horrors.

> Jonathan Crane: When Jonathan worked on Gotham University he was a firm supporter of inclusion programs. He would never shame a student that was dedicated but simply didn't had the same tools as the others (be because they came from a school from a poor area with low govermental investiment or because they were neurodivergent or had to work all day and had no time to study or was facing personal problems stopping them from succed like an abusive househood or relationship or bullying or simply systemic discrimination) and would do all he could to help them. On the other hand priviledged students specially bullys always suffered in his classes and a lot of them became his text subjects.

> Dirk Gently: [blorbo it's been sooo long!!!] He is ace. I won't explain he just is. He also is nb and uses all pronouns. Todd knows neither of this things and tbh closested Todd likely doesn't even know what an nb person is until he Dirk and Farrah (and Amanda and Rowdy 3 and Bart and Mona) went to a protest against the rise of transphobic laws in the UK.

Now since the hc ended up being more about Todd I'll also say that Dirk loves sweets and eats the head of people/animal shaped things first so they die and won't be in pain. He also unfortunally eats the cookie first and preffers it from the white part when eating orios. Farrah rarely buys oreos because of that and when they have oreos she and Tood refuse to look at Dirk eating it. Also yeah I'm a firm defender of they lvie together at Todds house after they created their agency. I'm firmly divided between Dirk/Tood and Farrah/Tina or Dirk/Todd/Farrah as my ships for the show (besides Amanda/Rowdy3, best polycule).

• Blorbos

> House: He secretly loves gummy bears but he will never let people know because they might think he is soft and he is not. The only times HD eats gummys in front of the other doctors he slowly eats the members before the head so they will assume he has no feelings and let him be. And yes last time I saw this show was almost ten years ago this was a very blind hc.

> Jonathan Sims: Okay, this is a real blind hc because I want to listen to Magnus Archives (though I'm afraid I'll cry a lot) and won't risk spoilers. So this is a very simple one: he loves Animal Crossing and has the best island (but Nico every island is beutifull and what matters is the love the player has, nope, the best one is Jomathan, it has the horrors). Also my first instinct was to say he made all the other characthers in the Sims but that was a low pun.

• O Rei da "Lua"

> Cebolinha: He scams gringos to practice his infalible plan making talent. This six year old boy might never have succeeded in stealing a bunny plushie from the six year old girl with super strengh but he comited identity fraud and stoled a bunch of money. He is six so he has no idea how to convert or use the money but he has it. (Eu deixe em inglês pq eu acho mais engraçado do ponto de vista de alguém que não conhece o cebolinha).

#ask game #i'm super late but here it is #headcannon #hc #edward nygma #carlos the scientist #jonathan crane #riddler #Scarecrow #dirk gently #gregory house #jonathan sims #cebolinha #cebolinha was my favorite to make #eddie got a shorts one because i make riddler hcs all the time

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lili-loves-whump · 1 year

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Hi!

Could you write something about an often regarded terrifying Supervillain who is actually just a big softy and super protective of others when not in combat that owns a facility for heroes that have been abused by the agency and are trying to escape ,pls?

...

lili-loves-whump presents:

The Rehabilitation Centre

Supervillain ran a hand over their face. in front of them, Hero held up their fists and snarled. "Fight me."

Supervillain rolled their eyes, lifting their hands and sending Hero flying into the wall with a groan.

They ran away as soon as they turned their back.

...

The Centre was a soft cream colour, with five floors and a round garden that wrapped around the entrance. Supervillain smiled pleasantly and adjusted they suit. the doors flung open with a wave of their hand.

"Ah, Supervillain. Nice to see you."

Supervillain smiled politely. "Hello, Polly."

Polly put on her glasses and passed Supervillain a key card without looking up from her screen. "Cecile has been asking about you all day."

Supervillain nodded slowly and walked towards the elevator. It played a merry lofi beat, and Supervillain nodded their head in time with the tune.

The third floor was by far their favourite. The heroes there were independent enough to talk and laugh with them, but not so much so they realised Supervillain was, well... a Supervillain. The doors pulled open and they stepped inside, breathing in a faint whiff of peppermint and lavender. "Luna put have chosen the incense scent for today," they used, reaching forward to knock on door 314.

Cecile, or Hero #61, was probably Supervillain's best friend (or something more). They'd rescued her themselves, from underneath the rubble of an abandoned factory. She'd been covered in bruises and whip-marks, particularly on her neck, chest and back, and had shown classic signs of pet/house conditioning. She'd taken about a month to be able to walk, two to read and write comfortably, and four to interact and pay attention to strangers.

Supervillain was very proud.

"Celly," they hissed, knocking again. "Are you there?"

Silence.

"Celly?"

Silence.

Supervillain laughed. "I'm coming in, sleepyhead."

They waved their hands and the door flung open silently. Supervillain stepped inside and frowned. The room was a mess, much messier than they'd ever seen it. There eyes widened as they sweeped the room: the window was broken.

#aaah I wanna do a part 2 #lili loves whump #drabble #fantasy #oneshots #hero #caretaker #supervillain #hero x supervillain #hospital ig

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gmanwhore · 2 months

Text

Ok so. Ideas. Just for the Everything is a Lot album. Daymen is also here he is very important but his song is from The Normal Album.

Also. Daymen is killing off the remaining like. Sentient people who can make their own decisions. This town is full of dolls these are just the people he can't control.

6up 5oh Cop-Out (Pro/Con): Richie Robin

He/him

Richie is a short, scruffy man who tends to wear flannels. He does shave, but his stubble grows in quite fast. His work boots are well worn. He has very dark brown eyes that look almost black.

Richie is a former construction worker who was laid off after Dreamville was built. He can't seem to escape it, but it's also forced him into stealing to make his way. He is in general an honest and hardworking man. He gets along well with the Henderson siblings, and is a mentor figure to Daisy. He ends up living with the Kenty's to keep himself safe.

Richie is the first to "disappear", after Daymen finds out the robberies are his doing.

Skeleton Appreciation Day in Vestal NY. (Bones): Sharon Christ (she's already here she's kinda the reason this whole thing is happening. Like using this album)

She/her

A mid-height, worryingly thin woman who is completely white. Her eyes are fully black. Her hair goes down to her mid-back and is straight, and she wears a modest white dress.

Sharon is the wife of the town's mayor and priest, Daymen Christ. She is a very soft-spoken and caring woman and tends to stay out of conflict. She's incredibly easy to get a reaction out of.

Front Street: Jack Whiser

He/him

A tall, blonde man who is still wearing his varsity jacket. He does look quite put together, like you took him out of a photograph. He has sharp blue eyes.

Jack is fairly young, and is a notorious womanizer. He's agressive, loud and attention seeking, and never sees himself as doing anything wrong. His girlfriend is Olivia Yesman, and he hangs around Kingston a lot.

He is killed tenth, as he matches up with Daymen's ideology very well, but eventually begins to change and better himself. So he dies.

¡Aikido! (Neurotic/Erotic): Daisy Meister

She/her

Daisy has long, soft brown hair she keeps in a braid down her back, and tends to dress exclusively in sundresses. She's mid-height, but a bit smaller than you think. She has brown eyes.

Daisy is Daymen's assistant at work, and he has been trying to engage in an affair with her. Daisy is incredibly sweet and loving, but she can be incredibly clingy and touchy. It's hard to tell her no. She is incredibly emotional and not very rational, often having intense breakdowns upon rejection. She is actually courting Franklin and they seem to get along well.

Daisy is killed third after she gets engaged to Franklin.

White Knuckle Jerk (Where do you get off?): Layton Kenty

He/him

Layton is a tall, greying (his hair is naturally black) man who always carries himself with an air of elegance. He usually wears a butonup with a vest and pants with a crease in them. He also has very dark eyes. Tbh he looks like that one fanart of Cecil Palmer I saw once.

Layton is a huge charmer. He has a flair for the dramatic, and is very sophisticated but not snotty at all. He is actually a house husband, he takes care of the housework while Haley is out of town working. He is the kind of man who tells you that you absolutely have to stop by and have some tea with him sometime. He is very weak willed, especially when harsh punishment is required. His bravery is bolstered by his relationships though. Franklin is his and Haley's son, and he is good friend with Richie.

Layton is killed fifth, along with his wife. You see they were both deviants from Daymen's ideology of how a married couple should act.

Cover This Song (A little bit mine): Haley Kenty

She/her

Haley is a taller woman who has her brownish grey hair cut in a bob. She usually wears a suit with a knee high skirt, but she never wears pantyhose because it annoys her, she usually wears high socks. She wears horn-rimmed glasses and those glasses chains librarians have.

Haley works as an accountant in "the big city". She is a dreamy woman who is often described as having her head in the clouds, but she isn't stupid! She does miss things that are right in front of her face. She is very loud in conversations, especially when she's excited. She is also very chatty, but sometimes she forgets other people are in the conversation as well. Still, she has an iron will and can be counted on for anything! Franklin is her and Layton's son, and she is dear friend with Richie as well as the Hendersons.

Haley is killed fifth, along with her husband. They also were actually helping keep Richie off the streets and Daymen was just waiting for a better reason to kill them.

Thermodynamic Lawyer Esq. GFD: Olivia Yesman

She/her

Olivia is a short girl with wild, curly brown hair she usually has pushed back with a headband. She has green eyes that border on brown. She usually wears a t-shirt and a pair of pants, but when she dresses up she opts for a longer skirt.

Olivia is usually very reserved, and doesn't talk at all. She is trying to be a perfect candidate for being a wife. She always just smiles when asked questions. Of course, when she snaps she snaps hard. She pushes herself past her breaking point just to try and be perfect. Her boyfriend is Jack, but she is also sort of friends with Daisy.

Olivia is killed eighth after attacking Jack with a broken bottle.

Red Moon: Darling Henderson

He/him

Darling is a mid-height man with a very short beard. He has black hair and dark brown eyes. He usually wears a lot of denim.

Darling is a singer who lives with his sister in the far end of town. He's incredibly poetic, and he's usually inspired by the empty expanse of land outside of the town as well as some of the strange goings on in the town. He's not quiet on purpose, he's just good at keeping his mouth shut to keep himself safe. He mostly just talks with Dearly.

Darling is killed seventh after approaching Daymen about his sister's death.

Lysergide Daydream: Franklin Kenty

He/him

Franklin is a tall, gangly man who obviously never grew into his body. He does dress pretty nicely, and he wears wire-rimmed glasses he is always pushing up.

Franklin is just as dreamy as his mother, but he is also just an airhead. In fact, he seems to be the least sentient of all the sentient people here. He is going to medical school. He really likes Daisy.

Franklin is killed fourth, right after Daisy. Daymen just doesn't like him.

The First Step: Kingston Boledi

He/him

Kingston is a short, stocky man with incredibly messy brown-blonde hair. His clothes are a bit stained, and messy. He has grey eyes.

Kingston is the actual town doctor, but he is incredibly prone to slipping back into his bad habits. He's very friendly, but he also is just. He's too much a lot of the time. He's obviously falling apart, but he doesn't seem to care. Jamie is his sister, and Jack is his drinking buddy.

Kingston dies ninth. Because uh *checks smudged writing on hand* he was sinning by drinking a lot. Yeah.

Jimmy Mushroom's Last Drink: Bedtime in Wayne NJ: Jamie Boledi

She/her

Jamie is a very short lady who never dresses well. She has chin length brown-blonde hair that's just a little curly. She has grey eyes.

Jamie is plagued with anxiety. She was the town librarian, but she quit after a major panic attack. She went to her brother for help, and he prescribed partying. This just made her worse. She doesn't really see any future for anyone.

Jamie poisons themself one night. Technically they are the last to die, but not by Daymen.

Chemical Overreaction/Compound Fracture: Dearly Henderson

She/her

Dearly is a tall, broad shouldered woman with very long black hair and very dark brown eyes. She usually wears a button up with black pants and suspenders. She also wears a cowboy hat with a chin string because I can.

Dearly is a park ranger for the wife expanse around Dreamville. She likes to compare herself to a rattlesnake: only loud when you're in danger. She doesn't talk to other people much, in fact she doesn't like talkative people much at all. She's brief and to the point. She's still the kind of person who you feel safe around, and of you go to her she'll let you in and feed you and give you a place to rest, she just won't actively seek you out. She does have some problems, just she's very quiet about them and usually just talks about them to Darling.

Dearly is killed sixth. She only evaded dying for so long because she kept to herself but. She was too outrageously different. She swag was too much her bitches too great.

Everything is a Lot: Gertrude Ophelia

She/her

Gertrude is an aging lady with white hair who is wheelchair bound. She usually wears a lavender knit cardigan and has a blanket over her lap.

Gertrude is actually fairly mysterious. She's been here before Dreamville even existed. She doesn't even talk much, she just watches. She loves sitting on her porch.

Dies second. Daymen finds her creepy, and she is getting too close to Sharon for his liking.

#dreamtown #gonna be real #most of these people are not white in my head

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desert-bluffs-and-me · 3 months

Text

Wtnv quick rundown - 106 - Filings

Staring Mara Wilson as the Faceless Old Woman.

Read the rest of the rundowns here!

Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near? Tell me more about your special bird powers. Welcome to Night Vale.

The angels have begun to file the paperwork that will allow their existence to be acknowledged. This is taking a long time as every time they reach the front of the line they are told that something is wrong or missing and that they need to come back. It is eventually accepted, with a hearing scheduled to make it official.

Fissures in reality have begun to open up. This creates false realities like Larry Leroy having a wife called Chrisette despite never marrying and last seeing her when they were both in their high school Lurching Band and Josie's house containing portals to impossible rooms. The pterodons and airliner from the early episodes also make a brief reappearance.

Cecil also crosses realities with the young Cecil from Cassettes (you know, the one who has a brother Cal who is possibly homophobic and dying of radiation poisoning) and watches him die because of the mirror in the station bathroom, unable to move or even cry out to warn this younger version of himself from another reality.

It is slightly possible that the adult Cecil's movements are what the younger Cecil was seeing as a 'flickering' in his reality as when Cecil does manage to move and try to wave a warning, the younger says he sees the flickering. He also was apparently unable to see the adult Cecil earlier and only speaks of Leonard as he does in the cassettes. Cecil goes into the bathroom and looks into the shattered mirror, seeing his own face and a rip in reality behind him which disappears when he turns.

Weather: "All or Nothing" by The Dream Masons

Alondra is still fighting the angels over ownership of her mothers estate and has put Josie's house up for sale.

Young Cecil is wearing a double winsor striped tie, polyester coat and aviator goggles which is apparently 'early 80's' style.

Cecil's lunch order is a Cobb salad with extra whipped cream and pencil shavings.

The FOW warns Cecil of the coming of the Distant Prince, with involvement from The Woman From Italy who she is apparently best friends with.

Young Cecil's wallet is made of human leather.

We can only make real what we accept as real. Tell them[the angels], okay? Good night, Night Vale. Good night.

Proverb: Good things come to those who wait. Good things come slithering down the unctuous brown stone walls to those who wait alone in the dark pit.

#wtnv #welcome to night vale #wtnv quick rundown #wtnv ep 106

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heroes-of-olympus-next-gen · 1 year

Text

Day 4: Family meeting

Will entered the front door of his house to the sound of many people talking all at once. He left his stuff by the entrance and walked to their home office, where all the noise was coming from. The door was wide open and arguing was evident.

“Will, you’re late.” Reyna exclaimed mid-argument with Rachel who was sitting next to her. Hazel was sitting on a chair next to Nico who looked like he needed someone to back him up.

“Hello to you, too, Reyna. What am I late for?” He asked as after his 12 hour shift at the hospital, he just wanted to shower and sleep and not put up with riddles and puzzles.

“Didn’t you tell him?” Rachel questioned his husband this time. In the meantime, Will sat down as he found the whole situation very amusing although tiring.

“I kind of have forgotten you would all show up here.” Nico said. Then, he turned to Hazel. “I knew you were coming; I never forget you.”

Rachel and Reyna both glared at him before they continued talking. “We’re here to decide what to get Bee, Ryder and Jasmine for Christmas.” Rachel explained.

Will immediately felt touched that their friends were so close to their kids, but at the same time he was sure they had to come all this way for gifts. “You shouldn’t have. You don’t have to get them anything or stress too much about it.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you for the past thirty minutes.” Nico came to his side. He liked the fact that they were always on the same side when it came to raising their children.

“We didn’t come to ask for you permission. I know you have three letters addressed to Santa and I am going to make sure that they get every single on them.” Hazel said nonchalantly. Will smiled as Hazel seemed the most harmless out of the three, but still she was the one who could get her way.

“Don’t smile like that.” Nico whispered to him as he was sure he was going to agree with their friends.

“I give up. I’ll bring the letters.” He said.

“They are right here.” Rachel raised them from the desk. Of course they had already brought the letters. “Should we start?”

“Sure.” Nico said, giving up himself.

“Bianca wants-“

“Dibs on the Princess Castle.” Reyna said before Rachel finished he phrase.

“You don’t what it says.”

“Oh, please. I know my goddaughter.” She replied. “I’m buying it.”

“I think we should write everything down. Like who gets what and everything.” Hazel said and got up to get some paper.

“Hazel-“ Nico tried to talk but Rachel gave him the letters.

“We’re here to help you out. Tell us what you’re planning on buying them.”

“We bought the dolls Bianca wanted and the doll she chose for Jasmine, the dollhouse and the build-a-bear. My mum is getting her the guitar and Ryder’s car. Cecil is getting Ryder, the basketball hoop he wants, but we haven’t decided anything else.”

“Why did Cecil get to pick before us?” Rachel asked.

“Because he was with Ryder when he saw it.” Nico explained. “Let’s continue, Bianca’s painting kit.”

“That’s obvious.” Rachel said. “I can get the books I saw there too.”

“Ryder asked for Star Wars lego sets and I quote “Bianca’s Yoda.”

“Write me down.” Hazel proposed.

“There’s nothing else. That’s it. Again, you really don’t have to, but thank you.” Nico said.

“It’s not a big deal. I get a big pay check and I have nowhere to spend it. You’re doing me a favour. And obviously I’m buying more for them.” Reyna said smiling, but before anyone could insist she got up, “I’m going to pick up Bianca from her ballet lesson. Rachel are you joining me?”

“For sure. See you later.”

“You’re staying for dinner.” Nico stated as his sister got up as well. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll go find Frank at Percy and Annabeth’s. Reyna is not the only one meeting her godchildren while in New York.” Hazel said and smiled as she closed the door behind her.

“We’re so lucky to have them.” Will exclaimed.

“Couldn’t have done it without them.”

#christmas 2022 #will solace fanfic #will solace #nico di angelo one shot #reyna ramirez arellano #rachel elizabeth dare #hazel levesque #solangelo family

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wafflebloggies · 1 year

Text

6. a revolutionary act

back - next WELL DONE, ANTONIO.

Dawn was breaking outside, drizzly and cold. Antonio could hear spots of rain ticking against the kitchen windows, driven by the wind. When the Muse spoke, the force and charge of the golden words passed like a sweeping storm over and through him, and he tried- so hard- to let it take him effortlessly along with it, tried to sink in it as deeply and wholeheartedly as he had wanted, but as hard as he tried another sound wouldn’t stop creeping back into his head, and it was the dusty-sticky muffled thump of the heavy steel door as he’d slammed it on Mark’s cell. It hadn’t even really been all that loud, but in his head it felt colossal, shattering, like a horribly final full stop.

He blinked, steadying himself with a hand on the wall. The Muse’s approval filled his mind, the kitchen, the house, his world, a smothering flood, a deluge of warm glutinous satisfaction and content. All this time he’d been worrying about feeling wrong, about being tested, and he’d only wanted this, he’d wanted to be told he was Good, told he had done Right.

His eyes felt sore in their sockets. He didn’t feel entirely like they fit in his face- either set- or that his body fit in his skin or his mind in his body. Like a puzzle with all the pieces jammed in to fit any-old-how, he felt like no part of him made sense or was put together the way it should be, and the Muse’s overwhelming praise of something that felt so weird and wrong was so upsetting that for the first time ever he wished he was deaf to it, that he didn’t have to hear or feel it at all. Realizing he felt that way was terrifying in itself, a cold shock that put him even further beyond the spell of the Muses’ voice.

The new Mark was busy with the spore, the canning jar open and discarded beside him. A mess of water and towels and kitchen implements that had definitely not been put to their intended uses scattered the floor around the paint-can crib. He looked up and smiled widely at Antonio, his thin fingers curled around the neck of one of Cecile’s pretty glass plant misters. The liquid inside was a coppery, diluted pink.

“Good job, buddy,” he told Antonio, happily. Sitting back lightly on his heels, the motion sending a single dark lock of his sleek hair flipping over his forehead in a perfect letter ‘C’, he looked so maddeningly neat and healthy and pleased with himself, so unutterably bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, that just looking at him made Antonio want to scream. Instead, he looked away, looked vaguely through the frosted glass into the front hall, at the dark wobbly rectangle of the front door and the smeary squiggly hint of the hand-painted wooden sign hanging above. It was impossible to make out from here, but he knew what it said, without having to look.

Be Joyful Always, Pray Continually.

Antonio thought that he’d probably read the sign a hundred and one times in passing, and he’d never given it a single thought before. He’d never needed any reminder to Be Joyful Always. Prayer, too, was kind of redundant when every idea in your head came in communion, and when your higher power was not so much higher as down a short, splintery flight of cellar stairs.

The new Mark gave the spore another spritz or two. It heaved and pulsed hungrily in its nest of towels, making tiny sucking noises as it felt blindly for more. Already, it looked a bit fuller, rounder, less sick and wasted.

“Everything okay?” said the new Mark, glancing up again. Antonio gathered himself in a hurry, his best and biggest grin stapled firmly to his face. He straightened up and took his hand away from the wall, and studiously ignored the faint black handprint he’d made there, half-formed, smudged to the side.

“Everything’s perfect,” he said.

–

The rain didn’t seem to want to either stop or commit to a full shower. It just spattered down slowly, chilling the long grey morning. The house creaked and a loose shutter somewhere banged fitfully like it had had enough of being fixed outside in the wet and wanted to be let in.

The chairs, ring-lights, papers and pages of the script were all still where they’d been left. Otherwise, Mark’s room was starting to look completely skeletal, most remaining things in boxes against the bare and neutral-toned walls, the bed stripped, the closet an empty void. Mark’s laptop was charging on the floor, and Antonio settled himself quietly in front of it. He didn’t exactly know what he was looking for, or if he’d even know if he found it. Something to stop the noise, he supposed, kill the bug, fix him, make it all right.

There were only three of Mark’s scripts left to film. Antonio had made sure Mark kept ahead, just in case, but he didn’t know what would happen after they ran out. Paging through the scripts, he realised with another weird numb shock that he didn’t particularly care. There was barely anything of Mark in these scripts, written to HMF’s strangling specifications with no regard for anything Mark might have wanted to say. Antonio knew this better than anybody- he’d been breathing down Mark’s neck the whole time, to make absolutely sure of it.

Older folders, older scripts, older video files. Nothing earlier than the past summer existed online any more, at least not for public eyes. Some of the channel’s older videos were just private, ghosts lingering in the tubes, but some files only lived here on Mark’s laptop, pointlessly hidden in nests of folders within folders, in zip files in mislabelled directories, embedded in documents with links that led nowhere. Antonio flicked through videos, ancient thumbnails, bits of stock footage, the blue light from the screen washing out his blank placeholder face and throwing his shadow up huge and black and lurking on the wall behind him.

He scrolled, tapped, waited. On the screen, quick shapes moved, blurry and fleetingly sharp and blurry again, two voices blending and falling over each other in a lively tumble of chaotic energy.

“It’s going, it’s going, sit down!”

“I don’t know if it’s f- okay, okay, that’s got it. Okay, uh- don’t bump it! Uh- so, uh, hi guys, all one freaking hundred of you-”

“That’s right, the Cynical Critics channel hit one hundred subs over the weekend, and we just wanted to record a super-quick message to thank all of you so much for taking the time out of your day to come and watch our dumb little videos-”

“Our super-cool videos-”

“-yeah, yeah, right, our totally amazing videos and insightful takes on the latest shows and movies-”

“So, uh, we wanted to say a gigantic thank you to all of you for your support, because this has been incredible so far, I think it’s been probably the most fun thing we’ve ever done together-”

“Hundred percent.”

“-and I guess just stay tuned, because we have a ton of stuff planned-”

“Yeah, we’ve got a whole bunch of updates coming for you really soon, so keep an eye on that community tab and- and ring that bell to stay notified, because we are both just so excited for the future of this channel. That’s about it, we’ll see you in the next video, and I’ve been Anthony-”

“I’ve been Mark, we’ve been your Cynical Critics, and-”

“Staaaay cynical! Wait, wait, I feel like we should both do that part. Can we, like, count it in?”

“Okay, um, we can put a cut there- let’s just do it on three, one- two-”

“Staaaaaaaaaaay Cynical!”

A muddle of sound, a bumpy clatter as the camera was snatched and fumbled and dropped, laughter. Mark had a quick, helpless laugh, spontaneous and starburst-bright. As the video clip ran out and shut off, Antonio closed the laptop, very gently, to avoid it making any sound of the dusty-sticky muffled variety, any kind of a thump or a slam at all. He tried to remember if he’d ever heard Mark laugh like that, and then tried to remember if he’d ever heard Mark laugh. The answer to both questions seemed to be a pretty solid no.

He pushed the closet door closed, paused to listen, then crouched and felt around in the dark space under the nightstand and retrieved Mark’s glasses. From his pocket he took a little roll of white electrical tape, and the missing piece of the arm.

The two pieces went roughly back together, secure enough in a snug binding cocoon of tape. For a while, Antonio sat on the floor with Mark’s glasses in his hands, listening to the rain spit and struggle outside and trying to assess whether he felt any better. He thought about the video, about how Mark had looked at him when he’d thought he was Anthony, how he’d looked at him when he’d known he was Antonio. His mind poked into weird places, hidden corners, bewildered, feeling for the sources of the hurt and the confusion, turning over things that had never even been disturbed before. The oldest things it could find.

There had been very little left, in that first, ruined home. Pieces of hard drives, scratched and scored into oblivion, moldy food, illegible notes, a pet bed, a scarf. Antonio had instinctively understood that these things were nothing more than fragments of chrysalis, bits of broken shell, useless ephemera that he had swept into the garbage. He had left the place bare, ready to be spick and span and as new and shiny as he was. HMF Properties & Development, elsewise Happy Living, had presumably taken it from there. Just like it would do here, when it was time.

He had never thought about it again, until now. Sitting in Mark’s empty bedroom, he found himself turning those earliest images around and about, unable to leave them alone. His mind ran on, probing the memory like a broken tooth.

The scarf had been hand-knitted, folded carefully in its creased wrapping-paper, put safely away. The gift tag had said, For Antonio!

Someone had put thought and care and love and time into that scarf. Someone had believed Antonio Geist, whoever that person had been, worth thought and care and love and time. He’d come along and tossed it away and forgotten it without a single qualm because to him, it had meant nothing, because something- some thing had been missing in him, the same thing that had made Mark keep Anthony’s shirt and his old Sonic plush and their old videos, when those things could do nothing but hurt. The same thing...

The same thing that had made him keep Mark’s glasses, because they didn’t belong to anybody else. They were Mark’s, and that mattered, whether Mark was here or…

Or gone.

–

Slowly, Antonio got to his feet. It was a little difficult to start them moving, but once they got going they carried him okay, down the stairs past the framed cross-stitch which he didn’t look at, across the hallway, under the wooden sign, out into the lazy rain. A glance back showed him that the new Mark was still bent over the spore, a dark blot through the glass. The Muse was silent.

He backed quietly a couple of steps towards the street, turned, and nearly stepped on Mrs. Hernandez, who was approaching up the front path in a bright plum-coloured plastic parka like a tiny purple tent on legs. He caught her as she wobbled, her fuzzy slippers not being the best medium with which to navigate the wet stones in the first place, and put her back on the path in much the same way that he’d steadied her recycling bin the day before.

“Whoah, careful, Mrs. Hernandez!”

“Elaine,” she said, warningly, swatting his arm with a rattling orange Tupperware. As she did, she looked up into his face, and her playful smile fell.

“Oh, mercy, you’ve sprung a leak,” she said. She tucked the Tupperware under one arm and started fishing in her sleeve, navigating layers of parka and cardigan, and eventually pulled out a Kleenex. Antonio was momentarily confused when she held it out to him, but then his senses caught up and sorted out the thin light spattering of the rain on his face from the sluggish running trickle over his lip. He took the tissue hurriedly and pressed it to his nose, very grateful for her poor eyesight, the grey colourless day.

“Sorry,” he said, into the tissue, keeping his hand cupped in case she saw it, soaking black. “That one sorta crept up on me.”

“My youngest has them all the time,” she said, sympathetically. “Always when it gets cold, ever since he was little. Just pinch and lean forwards, that’s right. Were you just heading off?”

“Uh... yeah, I’m- I’ve just got to go take care of a couple things,” said Antonio.

Mrs Hernandez hesitated, squinting at him. Antonio was suddenly very afraid that she’d either seen more just now than he’d thought, or finally made some inconvenient connections between things she could potentially have spotted over the last few months, and he was on the verge of wondering if she might potentially fit in her own recycling bin if it came to that, when she cocked her head like a knowing old owl and said,

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s per-” Antonio stopped, halfway through his rote response. He sighed, wiping off the last of the black goop from his nose and balling the tissue up in his fist.

“Actually, Mrs. Hernandez, everything’s kind of garbage.” He glanced back at the house. “It’s, uh, it’s a little tricky to explain.”

“Did you two have a fight?”

Antonio thought about it. “Yes,” he said, eventually. “I guess we did.”

She nodded, and seemed quite satisfied. “I thought so. I can always tell, you know, when people have had a falling-out. It’s my sixth sense.”

Antonio, who had around twelve, most of which were currently making him feel uncomfy, tried to look appropriately impressed.

“Here, these are for you.” She unbundled the orange Tupperware from her arm, brisk and businesslike, hushing up his automatic thanks. It was full of little cookies, diamond-shaped and powdery with brown sugar. “Nothing makes up a quarrel like cookies. You go and talk it out, before we both catch our deaths standing around in this rain.”

Antonio took the Tupperware. He’d been actually honest about how he felt and the world hadn’t ended yet, although he didn’t feel much better for it. The truth made you free, supposedly. Antonio could have added that it also made you feel a bit sick and jumpy, and like you might have made a gigantic mistake that it was too late to go back on. But for all that, in a funny way the ground on which he stood seemed a little surer, the way a little clearer. He could hardly have said how, or why, and he certainly didn’t know if it would last, but he felt it, all the same.

He smiled at her, and tucked the Tupperware under his arm.

“Thanks, Mrs. Hernandez,” he said. “I will.”

#muse arg #dftm #don't feed the muse #mark mayhew #antonio geist #alex bale #the cynical critic #the cynical critics #my writing

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kindcolors · 2 years

Note

umm im thinking about abby and cecil tonight tell me some hcs about her house and how she keeps it / decorates / cleans / etc— as a teen, pre-steve and currently ? if u waaaaaant :o)

YES I got you let’s go

This got so long I’m so sorry

• the home Abby and Cecil grew up in was what most considered like. The stereotypical haunted house at the end of the road house, only people still lived there. It was intimidating to others and had dark windows and everything creaked, and Abby and Cecil still have which stairs creak etched into their minds. It had two stories, with Abby n Cecil’s on the top floor and their mother’s room on the bottom. When their mother left, Abby felt overwhelmed about keeping up such a big house. They essentially closed off their mother’s room, and it stood like a museum display. She didn’t touch the house or change anything, Cecil wouldn’t let her; he didn’t want mom to be confused or upset if she came back and it was different. She at least replaced one couch, because Cecil and Earl broke it. When Cecil moved out, she stayed, even though she hated that house so much, because she felt like parting with it would mean cementing that her mother is gone.

• when Janice was born, the house got even more overwhelming. She couldn’t keep up with it at all, and it was dark and depressing and she knew her daughter wouldn’t be able to live there comfortably. As soon as she could, she moved into a much smaller one floor home. It had two bedrooms. She didn’t take anything from the old house except the things she used daily and all the kitchen supplies. She still has the blender her mother had in the 80s/90s, and it’s been abandoned to the back of the cabinet but she won’t let Steve throw it out. Back to her home with Janice; slowly, she let herself live there, and the most notable thing is that she put up as many pictures as she could. Her walls prominently displayed her daughter and the drawings and school projects she’d eventually put up. She kept her house up pretty well, since it was much easier to manage. She painted her room blue because she read somewhere bright colors help your mental state, and she thinks it’s bullshit but it can’t hurt anything. Janice’s room is a light purple with crayon markings lining the wall, and as long as she doesn’t do it in the living room Abby doesn’t mind much. Steve eventually made his way into the photo wall too, and he had a permanent spot on the leftmost cushion of her loveseat. During a particularly intense street cleaning day, that house was destroyed, when Janice was around 5. It wrecked Abby, and she n Steve went back to get what was salvageable. He nervously mentioned that he had room in his house, and Abby n Janice stayed with him for a few months, then they went all in on their first family home together.

• The one they had then is very similar to the one they have now, only theirs now is a bit smaller with more in there, so that’s the one I’ll describe here. Their home together is a one floor house that was much larger, with room for a guest bedroom and a shared study. In each of her homes, Abby has a shelf in her room displaying snow gloves she’s collected, alongside any trophies Janice had won. They have plants in the window Steve is excited about but forgets to tend to so Abby does, and they have a paved driveway with a basketball hoop that the whole family plays together in. Her bedroom with Steve is blue because she saw Steve slide the color swatch card into his pocket, and she thought it was cute. The walls are much more cluttered, with family photos and Steve’s star charts and calendars. She and Steve split the bigger chores, and of course Janice has a few too, so keeping the house up is a communal effort. They have a big front and back porch with a picnic table Cecil insisted they get before the town tore their childhood home down, and it still has Cecil’s engraved initials. Their home has very wide doorways. There’s a walk-in closet that Steve uses to hide his more secretive projects, and Abby has a hard time throwing away anything, so in their room at least, she still has Janice’s things from first grade hung up. There’s a comfortable amount of clutter, but the floor and walkways are very wide and clear. Their couch has a hidden hatch Steve hides books in, and Abby made the coffee table herself. She keeps up the woodwork on the home as best she can, which she luckily doesn’t have a hard time with since their home is newer in terms of being built. All the mirrors can be removed easily, and the only three in the home are in Janice’s room and both the bathrooms. The shed housed Abby’s larger carpentry tools until Carlos needed it, and then they shared the space. Steve still has undeclared ownership of the leftmost cushion of the living couch, and Abby has the middle seat. Always.

#i hope this is what you were looking for !! sorry if I went off topic jfjfjfjfjf #rambles #wtnv

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shiningwonderland · 11 months

Text

Cecil Aijima Prologue (Repeat)

Translator: Raz (twitter: agnadance) Proofreader: Sera (twitter: serayagami) Editor: Melanie (twitter: melabonbon), Plaid (twitter: cecillovemail) Final Check: Mae (twitter: itoshikimaegirl)

Fantastical Prelude

Disclamer: Cecil’s Prologue has dialogue from A Class Prologue and S class Prologue with an original scene in the end. Cecil’s Prologue has been re-translated from scratch so there are discrepancies in the dialogue with the other translations.

"Idols." Those whom we long for but can never be with.

"Idols." Those who give dreams and energy to others.

"Idols." They are my…

I am Haruka Nanami, age 15. Starting this spring, I’m aiming to become a composer who writes songs for these "idols"!

If I were to look back to my middle school years, I didn’t have anything. I was extremely shy and I couldn’t make many friends,

I was howled at by the neighborhood dogs, and scratched by stray cats… I wanted to be useful to other people, but every time I tried to do something, it never worked out.

Through all those days when I felt bummed out, the idols on TV always cheered me up. I want to compose songs for idols myself one day!

To make that dream come true, I wrote a song. I put all my feelings into this song and sent it with my application to Saotome Academy, a professional performing arts school where only one out of 200 applicants get in.

A few weeks later, I received a letter from Saotome Academy.

Select the phrase!

W-wow, I passed!

It’s the first time one of my wishes has ever been granted, the first time one of my dreams has come true. This is the first step towards changing myself.

From today onward, my story begins!

Haruka Nanami: …I couldn't sleep a wink.

That’s because…

Starting today, I’ll be a student... at the one and only Saotome Academy…

Haaa…

I’m so nervous…

For the past three days, every time I tried to sleep,

my nervousness would wake me up.

I haven’t slept much at all leading up to today.

To think I’ll be in such a sorry state during the entrance ceremony…

I-I must calm my nerves.

… I regret what I’ve done.

All right!

During times like these, I’ll cheer myself up by watching my favorite TV show!

I sit down on the floor in front of the TV with my legs tucked underneath me and switch it on.

HAYATO: Ohayaho~!

All of you ten million HAYATO fans nationwide, how are nya?

We’re broadcasting from Studio 2 as usual!

Cutting to the chase, today’s theme is "household appliances!"

Lately, electronic appliances have been quite popular!

I would say that it might be a boom!

Haruka Nanami: Ah… HAYATO-sama! He looks magnificent as usual.

My beloved HAYATO-sama is a rookie idol who debuted just last year.

No matter how tough the obstacles he faces, his smile never fades.

He is cheerful and energetic, and shines like the brightest star in the night sky.

HAYATO-sama works as a reporter at "Ohayaho News."

No matter how busy or sleepy I am,

I always watch it without fail.

When it’s time, I sit right here in front of the TV!

This is my daily routine.

HAYATO: … That’s all!

Reporter HAYATO, signing off! Everyone, bye bye nya~!

Haruka Nanami: Ha…

He’s so cool...

I feel so refreshed…

Ahh, but… I’m sleepy…

I haven’t slept much at all…

After I finish watching the show,

I drift away into slumber.

…

Haruka Nanami: …!!! WHAT TIME IS IT!!?

I suddenly jump up and look at the clock!

Haruka Nanami: AAAAAAAH!!

I-I-I won’t make iiit!!

In a panic, I grab my bag and run out of the house.

I haven’t slept much at all so the ground beneath my feet feels unsteady,

but even so, I keep running as hard as I can.

Haruka Nanami: The station is just a little further!

I might be able to make it…!!

As soon as I think that,

Cat: Meeeow.

Haruka Nanami: … A Cat?

I happen to hear the pitiful cry of a cat.

Cat: Meeeeow, meeeeow.

Haruka Nanami: I hear it… but…

I can’t see the cat anywhere around me.

Cat: Meeeeow, meeeeow.

Haruka Nanami: Ah!

The cat is crying on top of a telephone pole.

Haruka Nanami: I see. You can’t get back down, can you?

It’s okay. I’ll catch you… come here…

I spread my arms out wide towards it.

The cat hesitates a little and then nimbly jumps down.

Haruka Nanami: Thank goodness… looks like you aren’t hurt.

Cat: Meow!

The cat, cradled in my arms, meows happily.

Haruka Nanami: Don’t climb up high places from now on, okay?

I tell the cat that, release it, and run towards the station.

Haruka Nanami: I-I made it…

But… ugh…

So crowded…

A-a full train is so awful…

I never knew…

Rustle, rustle.

Haruka Nanami: ...!!!

Um…

I feel like something stroked my butt…

Rustle, rustle.

Haruka Nanami: ...!

… Could it be,

a m-m-m-molestor!?

W-what am I supposed to do in this situation…?

Otoya Ittoki: You’re making her uncomfortable! Stop that, old man.

Haruka Nanami: Ah…

Such a nice voice…

His voice sounds innocent and young, but with a strength at its core.

Such a clear, sincere voice.

… No, not that …

Did this person just…

Save me…?

Pervert: Hmph, what’s the deal with this brat?

Pretending you’re a hero or something?

Otoya Ittoki: Ah, wait, don’t run away!

… Dammit.

Ah… he's running away…

He sure is able to maneuver his way through this crowd…

But I wouldn’t want him close by anyway...

I'm glad he went away.

Otoya Ittoki: You okay?

Haruka Nanami: Eh… u-um… I…

What should I say…

The words won’t come out …

Um… umm....

Otoya Ittoki: At a time like this, I think it’s fine to say "Thank you."

Ohh…

His smile… is so blinding.

So bright, like the sun…

Haruka Nanami: Th-thank you…

Pat.

He gently places his hand on my head.

This is the first time I've ever been touched by a man like this other than my father…

He's warm like a summer breeze and has kind eyes.

His smile is a little mischievous but refreshing.

He reminds me of a shonen manga hero…

Otoya Ittoki: I’m Otoya, Otoya Ittoki.

Nice to meet you!

Haruka Nanami: Ah, yes,

Um, n-n-n-n-n-nice to meet you t…

Psh.

The train pulls into the station and the doors open.

People begin exiting in droves.

… But, ah,

huh… um…

I'm pushed out of the train by the wave of people exiting.

Otoya Ittoki: Eh?! W-wait!

Your uniform, you’re from Saotome Academy, right?

Your station isn’t h…

Psh.

The train doors close on Ittoki-kun, cutting off his words.

Um…

This place…

This is one station before the station for the academy… right?

The next train… won’t come for a while!!

Now there really is no choice for me but to run!

I make my decision.

If I run, I might be able to make it.

Keeping that in mind, I continue running.

I run like the wind down a quiet suburban area.

There are many intersections along the way, but I have no time to look left and right.

SCREEEECH!!!

Haruka Nanami: AH!

KYAAAAAAAH!!

I’m going to be run over!

I immediately shut my eyes, but…

Haruka Nanami: It… stopped?

The black luxury car in front of me makes an emergency brake.

If that car braked just a little later, I probably would’ve been run over.

The thought of it makes me weak in the knees ...

Completely limp, I plop down on the ground.

George: Young girl… do you want to die?

Haruka Nanami: Eh…? Uh… um… I…

A gentleman with tan skin dressed in butler clothes steps out from the driver’s seat.

George: You have the nerve to try to get into a fight with a car of the Jinguji Group.

Now, what shall we have you do…

Ren Jinguji: C’mon, stop it … George!

You’re scaring her.

The back door opens. A long leg slides out and slender fingers rest on the edge of the door.

A beautiful gentleman comes out from the inside and elegantly steps out from the car.

He's slim, but has a fit physique.

Sublime like a statue of a Greek god, his facial features are elegantly symmetrical.

His style of clothing, while informal, looks beautiful and has the sex appeal of an adult man.

He is so perfect in every single aspect…

I stand gazing at him in awe.

To think there are people in this world this beautiful…

George: … Hm, if the young master Ren says so.

Ren Jinguji: She is… hm… if I were to put it in words, a lost lamb.

Haruka Nanami: … Huh?

A… lost lamb?

… I think I’m more like a mere peasant who was running late and dashed into the middle of the road without properly checking….

Ah, but right then I can’t stand up and my legs are so wobbly that I am practically like a newborn sheep… though… but…

While I'm still in a daze, the gentleman takes my hand and pulls it towards his chest.

Ren Jinguji: … And this lamb is beautiful.

Saying that, he runs a hand through his long hair.

Each and every one of his gestures is so perfect that I can’t take my eyes off him.

Our eyes meet.

He winks and slowly comes closer to my face…

Ren Jinguji: Your legs are shivering.

You must’ve been scared.

He gently lifts me up with ease and carries me in his arms.

C-could this be….

He's holding me like a princess!?

Ren Jinguji: I don’t mind going to school while holding my lady the entire time.

Haruka Nanami: Eh!? N-no!

T-this is too embarrassing!!

Um, I can walk, I swear!

Ren Jinguji: Is that so?

That’s too bad.

He seems to take note of my reaction and immediately puts me down.

Ren Jinguji: Your face is flushed red. It seems like this is too much for this little lamb.

I’m Ren Jinguji.

What is your name, little lamb?

Haruka Nanami: I-I-I’m, um…

I try to answer but my cellphone’s alarm rings and I suddenly come to my senses.

Haruka Nanami: AH!

I-I’M SORRY, I’M IN A HURRY!!

I bow my head curtly and turn on my heels towards the school and make a mad dash.

Haruka Nanami: I have to… I have to run faster….

I-I’m going to be late!

I run for 15 minutes straight before I catch a glimpse of the school.

On entering the school gates, I see there are still other students entering the school grounds.

Haruka Nanami: I-I made it….

While thinking that, my legs can’t stop moving and....

Bump!

Haruka Nanami: … Mm…

I hit something and fall over… but… nothing hurts....

Huh?

I feel a soft sensation on my lips….

Haruka Nanami: …!!

M-m-my lips are touching the lips of a boy I’ve never met...

C-could this be a first ki….

… Wow, he’s quite beautiful…

Long limbs, lustrous hair, beautiful white fingers…

His eyes are sharp, but I can see they are deep and gorgeous.

Amazing.

I have never met such a beautiful person in my life.

Masato Hijirikawa: … Can you move aside?

Ah!

Haruka Nanami: U-um, y-your lips are… u-um, f-f-first, s-soft, yes.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah….

What should I even say….

I-I need to apologize….

Jii: Y-Young master!

Are you hurt?

Masato Hijirikawa: I’m fine.

Jii: Eeeey, peasant girl!

Do you know who you are in the presence of!?

Haruka Nanami: Eh…?

Jii: The young master is the heir to Hijirikawa Group, one of the seven financial conglomerates of the world! You are in the presence of Masato Hijirikawa!

Eeey! You are haughty! Bow down, bow doooown!

Haruka Nanami: Eh… ah, understood.

I meekly kneel and bow down on the ground.

Masato Hijirikawa: Jii… stand back.

Jii: But…

Masato Hijirikawa: There is no problem here. Stand back.

Jii: Understood! As you wish.

Masato Hijirikawa: …Are you injured?

Haruka Nanami: … I’m fine.

I continue to face the ground and nod without raising my head.

Masato Hijirikawa: ... Are you sure?

I-I think….

I'm so scared that I can’t raise my head.

Hijirikawa-sama takes my hand and has me stand up.

Masato Hijirikawa: …You’re injured.

Eh?

Ah, aaah….

Now that he mentions it, my knee hurts… a little.

Masato Hijirikawa: I will tend to you…

Haruka Nanami: Eh? U-um…

As I panic without being able to say a word, Hijirikawa-sama removes his necktie from his uniform.

He covers my wound with a white handkerchief and secures it tightly by tying his necktie around it.

Hijirikawa-sama skillfully finishes up tending to my wounds and stands up.

Masato Hijirikawa: … What is your name?

Haruka Nanami: ...Eh?

...Eh… um….

I’m… Haruka.

Or more like … u-uh….

U-um, I’m terribly sorry!!

Without knowing why, I run away.

W-well… I….

I'm embarrassed.

M-my lips… and….

He… tended to my injury….

I was completely out of it, but once he asked me for my name and introduced himself,

I came back to my senses….

I was so utterly embarrassed that before I realized it, my legs were already making a run for it….

I-I need to get to the entrance ceremony hall faster!

Huh? ... What is that person doing over there?

I wonder if he dropped something….

There's a male student crouched down under a tree near the school gates who appears to be looking for something.

One good deed a day.

In times of need, we should help each other out….

Haruka Nanami: Are you searching for something…?

Tokiya Ichinose: Yes… just a little….

I dropped my dorm key.

Haruka Nanami: …!!!

When he turns around, I'm so shocked that I forget to breathe.

Haruka Nanami: HA! Haaa?? HA... HAYATO-SAMA!!!

Tokiya Ichinose: Hm…?

Haruka Nanami: Ah, um… that is… uh….

Tokiya Ichinose: Could you help me?

Haruka Nanami: Ah, Y-YES!

The more I look at him, the more he looks just like HAYATO-sama….

He has calm eyes that emanate a strong will and his hair is silky smooth.

His expression is stiff and he feels a little different from HAYATO-sama who is always so energetic and bright….

But his eyes, eyebrows, the bridge of his nose and the shape of his ears are the same, so I have trouble believing it isn’t him.

Ah!

I shouldn’t stare so hard at him.

I need to… search for his key….

Ah, something's glittering by the base of the tree.

Maybe… it’s that…?

Haruka Nanami: As I thought….

I pick up his key and hand it to him.

Tokiya Ichinose: ... Thank you. You saved me.

... His voice… is exactly like HAYATO-sama’s. The tone is lower than HAYATO-sama’s, but there is grace… a voice with a presence.

Tokiya Ichinose: Hm? ... What is it?

Haruka Nanami: Ah, um, I….

Could it be… are you HAYATO-sama…?

Tokiya Ichinose: ...Ah, he is… HAYATO is my older twin brother.

Haruka Nanami: Ah… brother?

HAYATO-sama has a younger brother…?

I never knew…

Tokiya Ichinose: People always confuse me with my brother and it troubles me….

I am Tokiya Ichinose.

What is your name?

Haruka Nanami: Um… uh… are you really not the same person...?

Tokiya Ichinose: … Haa…

Do you really not believe me?

Even if I were, this is an idol training academy, am I correct?

Haruka Nanami: … Yes.

Tokiya Ichinose: So if you were correct, is there any reason why a working professional like HAYATO would need to attend this academy?

Why would somebody who already debuted in the entertainment industry go back to school and try to debut again?

Haruka Nanami: ...Ah, well… you see, um….

Right then, I think I begin to panic.

Ichinose-san is explaining to me how he isn’t HAYATO-sama, and yet all I can think is…

"Autograph, please!"

That thought keeps swirling around in my head.

Tokiya Ichinose: Okay, let’s go. We’ll be late.

Haruka Nanami: Ah… y-yes….

But, isn’t he really HAYATO-sama…?

Unable to completely shake that thought from my head, I follow Ichinose-san.

Syo Kurusu: EY! ...Dammit….

I’ll definitely… get this!

In front of the building for the entrance ceremony, there is a young boy who keeps jumping and trying to reach a sakura branch.

He's so small and cute! He's about the same height as me, maybe a middle schooler?

Wow, his hairstyle is so stylish….

Those pins are cute, too.

The middle schoolers lately are so fashionable.

His eyes are strong but so round and adorable, I just want to help him out.

I wonder what’s wrong? Maybe I should call out to him?

Haruka Nanami: Ah….

I see, his hat got stuck on the branch and he can’t reach it….

As I run towards the young boy, the wind blows the hat off the branch and it falls by me.

I catch the hat and place it firmly on the boy’s head.

There, now everything’s good.

Haruka Nanami: "Be sure to never lose your hat again, me!" is what you’re thinking, right?

When I say that, I see a vein pop in the boy’s forehead….

But why?

Syo Kurusu: Who are you treating like a little kid!? Listen here, I am the Great Syo Kurusu!

One day soon, I am going to be a brilliant idol and the entire Japanese entertainment industry will rest on my shoulders!

The Great SYO KU-RU-SU!

Tokiya Ichinose: …

Haruka Nanami: ... Is that so? That’s so cute~

Saotome Academy is a one-year program, and you must be older than 15 to enter….

Maybe he’s the younger brother of a student entering today… I guess?

If he’s lost, I bet his older brother or sister is worried sick about him.

I need to search for his sibling….

Syo Kurusu: … Hey, you are definitely making fun of me, aren’t you?

Haruka Nanami: ... That’s not it. I just thought you’re trying so hard even though you’re so little….

Right? Syo-kun!

Syo Kurusu: Don’t say "little!" I may look like this, but I’m 15….

Haruka Nanami: … Eh?

Syo Kurusu: I’m 15 YEARS OLD! I’M A STUDENT OF THE S CLAAAAASS!!!

…

EEEEH!

I-I thought he was a middle school student… maybe even primary school….

Haruka Nanami: I-I’m SO SORRY!!!

I'm so blown away by Syo-kun’s power that I bow as an apology and take off.

The stage for the entrance ceremony is completely grandiose.

There are chairs lining the extremely huge hall and there are enormous flowers on the left and right of the stage.

Also…. For some reason, there is an orchestra of about 120 people on standby in front of the stage.

The stage looks as if an opera is going to start, or maybe a performance of that large-scale comedy show that swept the nation a while ago.

The entrance ceremony begins and the orchestra starts up with a majestic performance.

The stage curtain opens, but….

Haruka Nanami: Huh?

There’s no one on the stage.

At that moment, the ceiling of the hall splits into two and begins to slowly open.

Male Student A: Wh-what’s that?

Male Student B: Are those jets?

But why are they here?

When I look up at the sky, there are countless jets flying about.

Then, one of the jets’ hatches opens.

From inside, a person….

Shining Saotome: Haa HA HA HA~~!

...jumps out.

Haruka Nanami: …!!!

Male Student A: Is he… skydiving?

Male Student B: No!

Look again, he isn’t wearing a parachute!

That’s right, he isn’t wearing a parachute.

He himself appears to realize that….

For a brief moment, he puts his hands around his back and then shrugs his shoulders as if troubled.

Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-what’s going to happen….

BAAAAM!!

There's a thunderous sound and the stage is covered in smoke.

Male Student A: Yup, he’s dead….

Everybody looks upset and closes their eyes.

Anybody would have seen this tragedy coming.

But….

Shining Saotome: Everybody, congratulations on your admittance.

It’s ME, the school’s principal,

SHIIINING Saotome, YAY!

Haruka Nanami: ……………………………

As if nothing had happened, the school principal starts the ceremony on the stage.

Shining Saotome: This school was, of course, founded by ME for the sake of discovering and nurturing "Renowned Idols!"

Now, applause~!

Clap clap clap.

Everybody claps despite still being in complete shock.

Shining Saotome: Hmm~

Okay, okay. All of you seem to be very good children.

Well then, I will tell all of you the seven commandments of the Saotome Academy.

Clean out your ears and liiiiisten caaaaaarefully!

This is sudden, but muuusic is loved by ME!

SONG IS NUMBER ONE!

And that means~

The Saotome Academy’s top priority is that idols, despite being idols, will aim to be idol singers!

Before graduating, everybody will sing in the graduation audition and whoever passes will immediately get a CD debuuut!

That "song" is something that all of you will make! And that’s where the composing course comes in!

The idol and the composer form tag teams and aim to be the top People’s Idol!

His hair on both sides stands up like horns and he wears black sunglasses.

He also wears a polka-dotted shirt and a pink necktie with a gray suit. He's quite a unique individual.

I think… my eyes feel dry.

Now that I think about it, I haven’t slept well in several days….

I ended up not having breakfast and ran full speed 20 minutes straight without anything in my stomach….

Also, for the first time, I had my head patted,

And for the first time, my lips….

My head spin just remembering all of this. Ah, I feel dizzy….

Shining Saotome: That said, please spend your school life with "Purity, Integrityyy, Beautyyy!"

Ah….

The principal’s talk… is over….

... THUMP.

The moment the principal’s talk ends, I go limp and fall backwards.

Haruka Nanami: Mm….

I’m… not hurt.

It seems like somebody caught me from behind when I fell.

Natsuki Shinomiya:

... It’s alright. You can stay like that.

What a kind voice….

Natsuki Shinomiya: … It’s probably anemia.

You shouldn’t move when you’re like this.

Please relax and rest your weight on me.

I'm being held firmly from behind.

Such warm and kind arms….

I feel like all the tension is leaving me.

... Huh?

Can this be a hug from behind...?

Haruka Nanami: ...Ah… ahh.

...I’m s-s-so… sorry….

Natsuki Shinomiya: It’s fine. Stay like this for a little while longer.

You shouldn’t rush recovering from anemia.

He says that and smiles.

He has small glasses, long, thick lashes, and slightly curly, milk tea colored hair.

He has fair skin and a delicate, gentle face.

Also, what stands out the most is his kind, warm, polite voice.

I get a warm, fuzzy feeling just listening to it.

Natsuki Shinomiya: I apologize. I forgot to introduce myself.

I am Natsuki Shinomiya.

Haruka Nanami: I am Haruka… Nanami.

Natsuki Shinomiya: Haruka Nanam-san.

Such a lovely name.

It suits you very well.

Haruka Nanami: Th-that’s not true….

Natsuki Shinomiya: Nanami-san. Excuse me.

Haruka Nanami: Eh?

His thin fingers nimbly remove the ribbon from my uniform.

He then begins to undo the buttons on my shirt.

...!!!

The people around us suddenly appear perturbed.

… But, Shinomiya-san does not mind at all and continues to loosen my clothes.

Natsuki Shinomiya: How… is that?

Do you feel more relaxed?

Haruka Nanami: Ah, uh… um….

My… c-clothes….

Natsuki Shinomiya: Ah… I apologize, um…

When you have cerebral anemia, it’s better to lower your head and increase blood flow….

You cannot lower your head more than it already is right now... so at the very least, I loosened your clothes to increase your blood flow.

Haruka Nanami: Th... thank… thank you….

Natsuki Shinomiya: Ah… no… you’re welcome….

When I express my gratitude, Shinomiya-san’s cheeks flush red.

Natsuki Shinomiya: Um… usually you get anemia when you don’t get enough sleep, skip breakfast, or do any sudden, intense exercise….

Shinomiya-san smiles gently and explains anemia to me.

Um….

I met all of those conditions.

… I’m sorry.

Because of that, I'm causing so much trouble…

Haruka Nanami: ... Ah, it’s already so late.

The clock’s hand points to 6.

After the entrance ceremony, the teacher asked me to do some errands and I got so focused on them that it got pretty late by the time I went to go back to the dorms.

I look up at the sky and see a large red moon.

Haruka Nanami: … So beautiful.

Maybe it's just something about how bright the moon is, but the moon doesn’t resemble its normal yellow color and instead it's completely red…

As if the moon soaked up all the passion from the noon sun… a deep, deep crimson.

I'm so entranced by its beauty that I stand still staring at the sky, when suddenly clouds begin gathering.

Drip, drop.

Raindrops suddenly begin to fall from the sky.

Haruka Nanami: Aah… it suddenly started raining....

I take shelter under the school building.

I hear the sound of heavy rainfall.

What starts as a drizzle soon becomes a heavy downpour.

Haruka Nanami: Should I stay here and take shelter from the rain or just make a run for it…?

As I debate with myself while taking shelter under the school building’s shadow….

Cat: Meeeeow!

Meeeeeow.

I hear the weak cry of a cat.

Haruka Nanami: ... Ah! That kitty… is the same one from this morning….

The kitty, hiding in the bushes and wet and trembling from the rain, is the same one I saved before I came to school this morning.

I hurry over, pick up the kitty, and run towards the dorms.

Tomochika Shibuya: Ah, welcome back Haruka, you came back late.

This person is Tomochika Shibuya, but she prefers being called Tomo-chan.

She’s from the same class as me. She is my idol partner while I am her aspiring composer partner, and… she is my first friend.

Tomochika Shibuya: Wait, wow, you’re soaking wet!

Haruka Nanami: Ah… that’s….

Cat: Meeeeow!

The kitty meows weakly in my arms.

Tomochika Shibuya: … A cat? Ah, well that’s fine, I’ll ask later. Go take a shower with the kitty.

Haruka Nanami: Okay.

I take the kitty into the bath with me and wash it gently with warm water. I dry its fur carefully but….

Tomochika Shibuya: Y’know, this kitty sure is exhausted.

Haruka Nanami: I wonder if it’ll be alright….

Tomochika Shibuya: I want to take it to the vet, but it’s hard to leave the dorms right now.

For now, keep it warm.

Haruka Nanami: Okay.

I then held the kitty in my arms all night.

Then, the next morning…

Cat: Meow!

Tomochika Shibuya: Ooh! It’s so energetic now! That’s great, Haruka!

Haruka Nanami: I’m so glad. But I’m still worried, so is it okay if I look after it awhile longer?

Tomochika Shibuya: I don’t mind, but be careful that the teachers don’t find out about it.

Haruka Nanami: Okay.

Tomochika Shibuya: Hey, if you’re going to keep it around for a while, how about giving it a name?

Haruka Nanami: Ah, good idea, I will.

Umm… how about Kuppuru...? Does that sound good?

Cat: Meow!

Tomochika Shibuya: Seems like the kitty’s happy about it, so seems good to me!

And this is how I made a new friend.

Cecil Prologue End - Choose your partner!

#cecil repeat #cecil aijima #utapri

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