did an original creative writing piece for one of my ocs, and I have nowhere to put it so! into the void it goes (below the cut)
tw for deadnaming (done by a character about herself)
The bus was running late, and there was someone on the bench at the bus stop.
It was the first thing the student noticed as she approached the bus station, school bag slung over her shoulder. The fact of another person was largely unusual for a number of reasons. One, the student often ended up riding alone, as she had never seen anyone else at this specific hour, when there was a nicer bus stop a few minutes away that led straight into the heart of Yokohama's Sakuragi-cho . This bus stop was worn down, dejected—quiet. It was why the student went to it, instead of the other one, even though technically it was closer to her school. She felt the eyes of everyone around her, chittering in their schoolgirl way—for her being the tomboy, for being the rough girl, for being as skilled as she was at kendo—for merely existing. She had a reputation, whispers following her wherever she went, and it grated on her. It gave her reason to watch her back, lest someone decide her mettle needed tested. It amplified the ever present sensation of feeling uncomfortable in her own skin. So, she chose the quiet station, to avoid the hassle of classmates boring their assuming gazes into the back of her head.
The second reason the rider was unusual was her garb. She was dressed traditionally, but she didn't appear to be elderly—rather, she couldn't have been older than 30 at the absolute latest. Her hair was cut into impeccable princess bangs, and long in the back, styled into perfection. She wore perfectly straight tabi under her geta, and her feet were together, posed into order. Her snow white yukata was immaculate—she was poised, back straight, gaze staring off down the street, as if she were royalty instead of someone sitting on a bench. The student would have assumed her just another patron, if an odd one, if not for one minor detail. It coincided with the third reason, as it happened.
The rider was, without a doubt, deceased.
As she stared, stopping in her tracks, the student noticed the little details about the waiting woman. Her gown, upon closer inspection, was folded backwards, like funeral attire. Her eyes were blank—there was no pupil in them at all, just pure milky white. Her porcelain skin, which the student had originally taken to just be on the pale side, she could now see was tinged blue around the edges, and pulled at the corners of her vision. Chief among them, however, was her headband—a folded, upright triangle sitting daintily over her bangs, nary a hair out of place. She was the picture perfect definition of a yurei, except for the fact that she was surrounded by a shabby bus station in the late afternoon. The student shook her head, feeling for the key hidden inside her shirt, hanging low off of her neck. She looked down, glancing at it, and felt her brow furrow minutely when she noticed it glowing, her suspicions confirmed.
When the student looked back up, the rider was staring at her. Instead of feeling surprised, however, or cold as she had expected, the student felt nothing at all, except perhaps a bit safe, though she had no idea why. The rider waved, and then gestured the student over, smiling warmly. And despite herself, the student complied. Something about the rider felt...comfortable, like how one feels in the presence of a parent—or, the student assumed, how one would feel next to a sibling. Carefully, gingerly, the student sat down next to the rider, setting her bag down beside her, not making eye contact. Curiously, no gooseflesh erupted down her arm as it did with most spirits, despite the chill that accompanied the rider.
"Do you know why you're here?" the student asked, down to business, quashing the confusion sensation. The rider opted for silence, continuing to stare into the distance. "Do you know that you're dead?" She was blunt, yes—she had always been, even around the living, knew no other way to be. A small smile graced the rider's lips.
"Where are you headed?" the rider asked, ignoring the student's questions. She glanced at the student, before turning back to look up the road, wistful in her gaze. The student blinked, starting. The rider's voice had been different than she was expecting—deep and rich, though she spoke with a delicate, feminine quality to it. The student glanced at her companion, surreptitiously as she could, the questions she had asked nearly forgotten.
The rider's face, now she was close enough to make out details, boasted strong cheekbones, and an equally strong nose—not that the student could judge, given the way her grandmother's strong nose had been passed down so effectively from her mother to her. The student could also see ruby red lipstick, as well as white makeup covering most of her cheeks and forehead—though, not enough to look caked on. Instead, she looked youthful—and beautiful, the student couldn't help but notice. As she studied the riders face, the rider glanced back at her, catching her eye and winking. The student felt her face heat up at having been caught staring.
"Little boys should know better than to stare, you know," the rider said again, her rich voice musical and amused. The student blinked at the comment, feeling something warm and fuzzy stirring in her chest, despite the words. Maybe in spite of them? What the rider had said...it felt good, somehow, but not in a way the student could wrap her head around. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, packaging the feeling away for now.
"I'm not a boy," the student said, and not for the first time, she felt regret lace her tone, despite not intending it to. The rider turned to her, her perfect, placid face twisting into surprise, one carefully trimmed eyebrow raised.
"Oh, really? I beg for your forgiveness then, I could have sworn you were a kindred spirit," the rider replied, disappointed, but still with an air of knowing more than she let on. The student felt disappointed too—both for not living up to the rider's expectations, as well as for not being born a boy in the first place. She made to turn her head back, to see to maybe sending her to the gate, before the rider's words rang a bell in her head. Despite herself, the student felt herself turn to face the rider again.
"What do you mean, kindred?" The student was curious, in spite of the job she knew needed to be performed. She knew she something about the rider felt safe, felt right. A million questions had formed in her mind, and she needed clues, she needed answers.
The rider covered her mouth with a long sleeve and giggled at the question, her beautiful voice like the ringing of bells to the student's ears. "I thought you might ask that, young one. I am, as you might say, a self made woman, yes?" The student raised an eyebrow, before the words clarified, and she felt a sudden wash of understanding, threatening to drown her. The student's eyes widened, swept up in a sudden rush of memory.
The student had heard, dimly, of people like the rider. People strong enough to challenge the circumstances of their birth, to remake themselves in their own image. The student thought those people were brave, far braver than they ever could be. The student was locked into their clan—it was their whole future, it was their life—and the clan was only women. It was something they hadn't thought about in a long, long time, and the realization made their chest ache. They had wished they were like the rider many times before, when they were younger. Had wished things were different. Had wanted to be born a boy. It took all of these memories resurfacing to realise that they still did.
The student hadn't realized they were crying until they felt a tear slip down their cheek. The rider didn't look surprised, though—she looked kind, understanding. The look for someone who had been where the student was before. "It's a lot to realise, all at once," the rider said gently. Her voice was soothing, a balm on the open wound in their heart. The student's breaths came quickly. They weren't sure why they were so upset—nothing truly had changed, and yet they felt like their whole world was upside down. It was enough to make them forget entirely about their tough persona, about the way they carried themselves in their day to day.
"What's your name?" The rider asked. The wind blew across the pair, at the secluded bus station—the sounds of the city faded in the distance, the light of the setting sun piercing vaguely through her features. Distantly, the student knew they had a job to perform, had to help her. Instead, it seemed like the wayward spirit was helping them.
"Sato. Kanae," the student said, though for the first time, the name fit strangely in their mouth. The rider looked surprised for a moment, as if this was the one thing she hadn't predicted.
"Is that so? What a coincidence." She smiled as if everything made sense to her. "Kanae is my name, little one." The student scrubbed at their eyes, feeling somewhat like a child, waiting for her to continue. "It was not always my name, though." She looked back down the road, staring at everything and nothing, a small smile still sitting gracefully on her features.
The student felt frozen in time, waiting for her to continue. Kanae looked serene, waiting herself, and the student realized they would have to ask if they wanted answers. To be brave. "What was your name, before?" they asked, unsure, halting. Enraptured.
"Toshihiro. It didn't suit me, so I chose something else," Kanae said simply. The student thought they had never heard so nice a name in their life. It felt like the last puzzle piece missing from a masterpiece, the missing thread in the tapestry of their life. "It can be that simple, you know. To choose something else. Something better for yourself, than an existence as a caged animal." The student said nothing. What was there to say? What do you say to someone who reformatted your entire worldview with words as simple as breathing?
"You could have it, if you want. My old name." Kanae looked at the student, a gentle grin lazily snaking across her perfect features. "It would only be fair, since I have stolen yours," she added with a wink.
To say the student was a tempest would have been an understatement. Could it truly be so easy as Kanae had said? What, after all, did a dead woman know of their life, of their situation? They had no future without the Clan. Their life had no meaning without it. They had to be a woman. Didn't they?
Even the thought of it stung. The student felt trapped, felt the thought of conforming fill their lungs and drag them under. They longed to do as Kanae had said, to accept the name she had given them, but the shackles of their situation held them back. "I can't," the student whispered, voice shaking. "I can't take it," they repeated, feeling their heart clench painfully in their chest. Oh, but they wanted to, more than anything they had ever wanted before.
Kanae turned to the student, placing one slightly translucent hand atop of their own. "It's going to tear you up inside, though. It already is, already has been, and you've only just realized how much it's eaten away at you, haven't you?" She smiled again, though this time the student could see sadness in it. "I made that mistake too. Lied to myself for too many years. I'm dead now, yes, but I promise you that I died with a smile on my face, because I had been true to myself at the last." Kanae lifted her hand up to cup the student's cheek, wiping a tear away with her thumb, like what the student imagined an older sister would do.
The student abandoned all efforts to remain emotionless, throwing that mask away for a brief, freeing moment, and allowing himself to be swept away in the current. "I'm scared," he admitted, hand unconsciously coming up under his shirt to take his glowing key in hand.
"It's a very scary change. I will not lie to you, there will be tribulations. But, you're very brave, Toshihiro-kun. I have every faith in you, no matter what the future holds," Kanae replied. Toshihiro felt a crushing weight lift from his chest, his shoulders, one he had been carrying so long he hadn't realized it was there. Felt the cracks across his soul mending at her words. Nothing had ever felt as perfectly right in his entire life as that name had in that moment.
"I think this is why I have been waiting here, Toshihiro-kun. My unfinished business, to borrow a Western term." She smiled at him, warm and bright, the picture of the sun. "To give you my name. And having received it, you helped me, Gatekeeper—as I knew you would." She looked into the distance, at the last fading dregs of afternoon light.
"But, I didn't do anything," Toshihiro protested. Kanae tsk-ed her tongue at him, an echoing quality to her voice, despite the smile her perfect lips still wore.
"Toshihiro-kun, you did everything. I only pointed you in the right direction," Kanae replied. She stood, suddenly, prim and poised as ever, though it was apparent now just how tall she was, the force of her personality, her kindness, sending her to superhuman heights. "Now, Gatekeeper, if you would, I believe my time here has come to an end." She adjusted her sleeves, her hands joining in front of her. Toshihiro stood, scrambling to get the key out of his shirt. His brain was frazzled—understandably so, he imagined—but Kanae was only patient. Finally, he'd murmured the correct series of phrases, (Greek had never been his strongest foreign language) and the Gateway, a red shrine arch, had materialized in front of him.
"Thank you, Kanae-san," Toshihiro said, feeling foolish the second he said it, and bowing deeply to hide his embarassment. "For everything," he added, cheeks burning self-consciously. Kanae smiled at him again, her eyes closed, and face serene.
"Be strong, Toshihiro-kun. It will all be alright in the end," Kanae said to him, walking over to him—it was rare someone was able to loom over Toshihiro—and gently, slowly, taking his face in her hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Toshihiro stood still, feeling tears well up again, and helpless to stop them spilling over—though, this time it was tears of relief, of joy. Kanae leaned back, wiping his tears away for the last time, before waving and proceeding through the Gateway, her figure fading into mist. As if on autopilot, Toshihiro twisted his key in the lock, sealing the Gateway, before sitting heavily on the bus stop bench, thinking about all that he had just seen, heard, thought about.
Somewhere nearby, he could hear the approach of a bus.
hiiii I do writing too if ur interested in any of my OCS then gestures vaguely