Whenever They Wake Up Like This, They Feel Like They're 6 Years Old Again. Factually, This Is Not Correct,

Whenever they wake up like this, they feel like they're 6 years old again. ━ Factually, this is not correct, and cannot be correct. When they fell, they were something young, but never that young, never again. Their childhood was one of independence & the orange-gold crest of a mountain's shell & the routine of tending to chickens before wandering in the long rye, alone as a child, together here. When they were 6, they were taught how to feed animals and how to pick berries. When they were 6, they were taught the right way to hold an oil lamp. When they were 6, there was still glass jar waiting. And maybe it's still waiting. They can't remember. But now, 13 hangs on their teenage bones like a reminder of what world they're living in, and how many times they've lived it renders it null. Memory lost until they look in the mirror, and it's still to early to bother. Ouroborus in the long grass, snake in the bedframe, serpent in Eden.

But the serpent has just awoken, and while somewhat peckish, they could wait til dinner. Hunger unto hunger unto hunger until someone matters more than the process looping again ( and maybe from a different life, maybe from the one they're in, they can still smell the smokeless heat of fire, of protection )

Frisk rubs their eyes, hair disheveled, as one hand tries to comb it down. They end up distracted by a spot of acne on their jaw that they'll have til they're 15, no matter what they do about it, as they peek at Toriel from behind thick tangles. ━ for how many times they've heard it, will hear it, they'll never get tired of the voice that greets them when they have the privilege to hear it at all. That priviledge is granted then revoked then granted again, but still, that never stopped them calling.

" M'hm… " the hum of Frisks voice betray the sleep they try to wriggle off as they finally brush back their bangs to observe the chaos-that-was-yet-to-occur-but-most-certainly-coming, notably ducking to attempt in peering beside Toriel's legs into the oven like getting a sneak-peek of a surprise. Alas, without a bulb, the oven retains its secrets. Their dark eyes look up at Toriel as they right themselves, and while they always seem tired, they always seem brighter with her around " Migh'wanna grab a brush before I get th'burner covered in this- " they waggle the hand still with its fingers combed & caught in a bundle of their brown bangs, some strands giving out and falling back into their eyes " -but 'll help. like helpin'. " they nod as they say the last part, as though confirming it themselves to be true, which they already were, but it doesn't hurt!

as they saunter down the hall to snag a brush or comb you could've sworn they'd never seen before, they all but trot back to Toriel as they wrangle their locks into place, eyes brighter, sharper now as they glance around the kitchen " What're we makin' today? "

The heavenly smell of baked goods radiate from the kitchen. A warm glow that lures you in with the promise of homely comfort. It's there you'll find Toriel mid-prep. The pie crust has already been set aside and she's at the oven with a slight sway to her hips. The light hum of instrumental music coming from an unknown source. You're quiet, though it's not enough to keep her from noticing you.

"Oh. What timing. Did you sleep well?" Her voice is soothing, Motherly. The look of joy expressed in a kind smile. "If you're feeling rested I could use some help in the kitchen today." / @quillheel

See I like Sans but not in the funny meme sexyman way I like him in the way that he promised Toriel to protect a child that was going to be served as a sacrifice from the start because he couldn't find himself to say no to her genuine laughter and sense of humor at every dumb joke they told each other, how he cracked jokes and pranks to make this child feel comfortable while warning them to be careful and reminding them that people loved them and having a gentle heart doesn't make you weak like to this day I still think about "Take care of yourself, kid. Cause someone out there really loves you." and "You didn't gain LOVE, but you gained love." Sans is our friend actually

The shaken nerves permeate a little further instead of being settled in the uncertain taken-aback pause, and the more insecure, conscious part of him puts up it's hands for rejection to a heart bore honestly and puts forth the too-little-too-late consideration that maybe he should've waited. Maybe he should've, he considers it again, same as 'maybe he did' just in another skin, but this time the problem wasn't as vague as something being wrong, the problem was just him. him, so loud and urgent and lighthearted all at once, unanswerable, uncomfortable, putting her on the spot. he thought through it before, figured out the best way he could offer, but he always jumps the gun, doesn't he? when the pressure's on, he turns into a blazing thing that couldn't be contained, couldn't be accounted for, couldn't follow rules, couldn't do what they needed him to━━ Stop.

She didn't say no. He knew the freefall he was getting stuck on, and he knew how unhelpful it was. ( bite it back ) ;; Sure, maybe he should've, but he did, and in the end he loves her enough to fix it if it does need fixing the same way he would with anyone; anything else, ignorance not a crime so much as something he tries to mend, and tries not to fall into twice. ━ have a little patience. have a little faith. ( she's not gonna bite you for who you are. she never would. you found out that feeling like you did a broken leg, and it was a terrible one, but you know better. she's not the same. she never could be. )

anxiety was always like a lightning strike, like splitting dead wood, like the shiver of doing something wrong but his heart is louder, the side she brought out of him, and it rings when he realizes she's accepted, when patience pays off.

fuck whatever people wanted to assume. ━ this was what meant something, not rumors, not gossip, not assumptions on something he couldn't find in him to prioritize higher than he did her. maybe it'll bite him in the ass, when reality comes back to intrude, but the victorious feeling in his chest rings out like a bright brass bell and overwhelms it entire. too loud to hear, too loud to care about. ━ he'll handle it when it does ; always itching to move in the moment while he had it ; he'll take the teeth when it finds him, he'll take it because it made her happier, and that's enough for him. it'd always be enough. ━ maybe being called sweet adds fuel to that impulsive part of him, lit alive by approval & praise like a shock to the system. call it sugar-rush, but hell, he couldn't mind the feeling, not when it was from her

" Hell yeah!! " the words bubble out of him as partial agreement but mostly cheer, laced with a sincere elation that he couldn't help as dark eyes gleamed with it. but the blonde catches himself, aware enough to at least lower the volume, and tucks away his free hand into his pocket as an effort to contain his enthusiasm. his leg bounces with a better kind of electricity as he answers proper, grinning as he thinks for a second, and has to acknowledge that yeah ; maybe he's a little more out of his depths than he thought he was. ━━ " I mean- if you're cool with that! I don't know if there's some kind of shopping rulebook or whatever on if guys can come with, but I'm game if you are! "

" plus, " he adds, almost conspiratorially, like this was kind of heist and not just going to get a new outfit " I don't mind breaking a couple rules if you don't, neither, so why not? "

Sure, maybe he doesn't know the etiquette of how to refer more traditionally feminine clothes, and maybe he never really went out of his way to go pick up shopping things for Ann before, but you could never say he didn't have enough energy to make up for it twice over!

When her expression changes to one of surprise, smile vanishing, Ryuji can't help the pang of worry in his stomach that he did something wrong.

Maybe he did, a part of him murmured, you did just make a scene then proceed to ask if she wanted clothing coupons in public, you know? Maybe that'd be embarrassing for her, both in the ways of her disliking such attentions; her efforts to keep her head down royally dashed by sheer virtue of her befriending of him, not to mention the metaverse as a whole; and in the ways of what thoughts it might inspire. ( while Ryuji hadn't first known, hadn't first realized, the concept passed right by him entire until pointed out with pen and paper like an assignment he missed the date for; how many others shared that first unawareness? how many other people would judge her for it? their peers so often tore her apart as it is, a feeling Ryuji was so familiar with. was this feeding the vultures? was it baiting them in? if not appearance in one way, then they would always find another. they would always find something different, they would always find something. )

for a split second, his center of gravity shuddered just enough to make his nerves feel shaken, and he tries not to look too worried. it was just surprise, and if she did turn it down, really turned it down, he could give them to someone else; the sentiment, hopefully, not a bad one. not a lost one. ━ but he hoped she'd take them. he couldn't know what it was like to be who she is trying to outlive who she used to be known by, but he wanted to help, even if he couldn't. wanted her happy, even if it was fleeting. he knew that always, always, she'd deserve that much. ( so he hoped she'd take them. he really hoped she'd take them... )

but Ryuji almost gets blindsided by his own momentary past self as he straightens out properly with his breath regained, not expecting to be caught red-handed in his half-step falter of language; he should've, Akari was quick, quicker than anything, and he finds himself kind of glad for it, but also a little embarrassed at being called out

" Oh! Uh.. " the bleached-blonde falters, not untruthfully, and scratches at the back of his head, openly unexpecting of it, as the other arm he holds the coupons with bends & lowers only slightly in his thought, the offer still blatantly on the table despite the motion " Reason I asked is 'cause, well… I wanted to know if you'd wanna go together! "

might as well be honest! ( double down! )

" I don't really know how to style an outfit like you or the others, a-and I don't know nothin' 'bout girl clothes, " Ryuji bounces his leg by the tip of his shoe, scraping it against the ground, bluntness overpowering the anxiety beneath it " but I like hanging out with you anyways, no matter what we do, and you deserve something nice! "

Ryuji's conviction of the statement is honest, heartfelt, unhesitating. he doesn't even need to think about it to believe it, like it's just a fact to him, like simple truth. he waggles the coupons like it's proving a point, flimsy paper slips shivering in the wind " and if I gave 'em to Ann, I'm pretty damn sure her closet would explode at this point… "

fp and moon

summer vibe

open starter! // goro akechi

somewhere in the city, a white crow looms, deathlike, over the bones of mouse. feathers like ivory, eyes like blood vessels, mind like something hungry wing into limbs built for it, gravity taking hold, and catching air in asphalt claws. Akechi feels the same, for a blinding moment, and wills himself to be unflinching after finding an anticipation of one less step than there was as he goes up the stubby staircase of his office, only realizing his error as his foot goes through the space where the ground comes up to meet him, just in the wrong way.

his balance threatens him like gunpoint for a moment, and some minor shameful part of him shivers with the fact he'd have preferred that opposed to someone catching him like this ━ an angry thrum behind his eyes making them feel tense and pained and dull ━ but the rest of him floods in too fast by the time he's down the stairs properly, releasing held breath only when he's halfway down the hall, and reminds it that a little humility/humanity is a good thing, as that minor shameful part mumbles under its breath that perfection is a virtue, or at least, it used to be.

he finds himself navigating the office almost blind as sharp pain crackles along the seams of the skull like an electric board, shuffling mindfully in some of the more cramped spaces as the brain struggles to consciously process the outside world, so instead it reverts inwards, leaves him on autopilot; on memory. Goro is lucky that while he had not memorized the stairs, he has with nearly the entire rest of the building, or at least the route to his office. some coworkers try and catch his sleeve in conversation as he passes, but he brushes them off, social and sweet, that he's very busy right now, perhaps later! and the mission resumes. ( perhaps it simply does not occur to him of how rushed his stride is, how his knuckles turn into angry white ridges on the grip of paperwork, how one eye on the left side twitches; how this would be worrying if you knew him well enough, and sometimes, if you didn't. )

and when he does get into his office, he shuts the door, turns off the light, and sinks into the feeling of plushed-out fabric on a relatively cheap but not terrible desk chair that offers what familiar comfort it can, and what familiar discomforts he knows which he can avoid and which ones he can't; precise poise not enough, where he imagines he could stay for the rest of the day. ━ he'd rather be lying down right now, migraine lashing into him where even the modest sunlight drips in behind him from concealing blinds is too much, but he takes what he can get with two sharp hands, nails digging into it, and he accepts that this; in all likelihood; is going to be the best remedy that he has for the majority of the day until he can snag a bottle of painkillers on the way back home. resting the cool gloved back of his hand overtop the skin of his eyes. best just to survive, for now, he quietly decides…

… and the peace he craves does not last as long as he so wished it would. minutes or hours, he catches footsteps outside his door just before his doom comes, jolting alive in his seat even to the chagrin of the flesh of the brain as the doorknob rattles, he's lucky he can mask the pain with the squint of trying to change out a lightbulb in his turned off lamp as he peers over to the opened door ( although, he can't hide the twitch ) part of him begs to swipe at them with large heavy claws and rip out anything foolishly not nailed down from his rude guest, fingers poised at the neck of the lightbulb and dexterous enough to turn them even if he was blinded by the light from the rest of the station sweeping into his own little room like bleeding an infection, but he carefully tucks the impulse back. at least, in part, to know who he was going to be clawing at in the first place; not really out of unwillingness to be ruthless, perhaps cruel.

Akechi's head pounds. He finds himself unable to remember the shape of their shadow through the glazed window that otherwise he should've caught. He resists a wave of nausea that threatens to sink in. ( easy, now… )

" Oh, hi! I'm a little preoccupied at the moment, so you might want to take up your problem with someone else if you're looking for speed, but what can I help you with? "