#Emmet: sorry *still smiling*

[blognam333z]

Submas Emmet fate brothers AU

I’ll be honest, I am terrible at drawing. This is a Submas AU I made. Here’s the link below for the description:

https://www.tumblr.com/blognam333z/755772708013408256/submas-fate-brothers-au?source=share

Emmet has two forms and he’s not possessed by Giratina, kinda, but whatever you may interpret it. Emmet is mostly in control, Giratina in the backseat teaching him how to manifest portals for convenient transportation, the ability to fly, utilize his move sets and purify wild angry Pokémon in the Hisui region. He’s not alone as he has his pokemon with him to battle his way to victory!

[heartthrobin]

all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

-

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

-

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

-

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

-

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

-

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

-

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

-

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them. 

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

-

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

-

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[esprei]

Can we know more about that dystopia Emmet of yours?

dystopian!Emmet... my sad little meow meow... my favorite AU Emmet. my pride and joy. he's certainly the most tragic emmet of mine... why? well. his life was torn apart in childhood thanks to Emperor Volo (as a reminder or for those unfamiliar, Emperor Volo is a version of PLA Volo that won at the Temple of Sinnoh and was able to carry out his plan of remaking the world as he saw fit. and subsequently went mad with power. hence where we end up in this AU, where he's built a wonderful, beautiful city in Upper Unova... while Lower Unova is left to the dogs... Houndours...? Herdiers...? either way, Lower Unova suffers while Upper Unova prospers).

his family killed by the Emperor's army, he was left in the home all alone, hiding and terrified but luckily undetected until the leader of the Resistance, Alder, takes him under his wing and essentially becomes his adoptive father. under Alder's leadership, Emmet learns how to fight, how to survive. he becomes hardened by such a rough and tragic turn in his life that by the time he grows up, he's become serious, stern and scrappy. wary and skeptical. while he still IS Emmet, while he still has a smile, it's a more... serious smile. a tighter smile. definitely not as happy of a smile. aside from that, he has his own workshop where he'll make weapons for the Resistance (aka the banded together group of folks seeking to take Emperor Volo down for his tyranny, they battle with the Emperor's army quite a bit), or repair parts for the trains that he works on that help transport supplies that other members have snatched from the upper city or just transport in general. he's also a fan of woodworking! does that often, too :D when he's really upset he'll lock himself away in his workshop and work, work, work away, sometimes just welding or carving away aimlessly (though not reaaally aimless because he ends up making something in the end). bonus little thing of him working in said workshop (btw that's probably Skyla calling his name, she drops off supplies for him that he needs):

that's quite a bit to read so I'll stop there :D i just wanna say thank you so so much for your interest in him! this emmet really is dear to my heart and i love talking about him (and sorry this answer is so late!)

[nartothelar]

I still keep thinking back to the 1hr Submas challenge with Ingo visiting the Zoroark and offering food for the Zoroark turning into Emmet. I’m wondering if the Zoroark would eventually warm up to him or not. Ingo is a very kind person never wanting to harm the Pokémon. Or how the Pearl Clan probably frowning upon Ingo’s actions or maybe even call to action to kill the Pokémon to get "the spell it casts upon Ingo" off of him and Ingo being ready to defend the Zoroark.

Sorry, I know it’s just a random little comic for a prompt long ago and I likely think too much into this but honestly a Pokémon known for it’s spite warming up to the weird human that keeps coming back no matter what to reflect something to him and seeing his reactions. It’s never too close but the Zoroark appreciates Ingo more and more, maybe even enjoying his presence over the offerings.

Ack, sorry I keep rambling…

a friend. takes place some time after this post

- the zoroark has no name

- the pearl clan initially forbade ingo from visiting the them (since the first few times he was attacked while doing so) but ingo proved way too stubborn

- every time ingo visits, he remembers something

transcript:

Zoroark: You know I wasn’t joking when I said a mirror would suffice

Ingo: Sigh. Mirrors aren’t much help due to my inability to smile

Z: Ha ha, that’s true that you can’t smile to save your life

Z: You know, not that I don’t appreciate the gifts, but why not just snap a photo and be done with it?

Z: I’m sure your clan isn’t happy with you visiting someone like me frequently

I: Well the photo studio is only open to residents, and will deny the entry! The camera is not portable and most likely-

Z: I see you already thought it through

I: And well I do not mean to overstep but...

I: While I cannot say I know your situation completely...I do know what it feels like to be alone

I: You looked as though you needed a friend and despite my first intentions with meeting you, I really enjoy our visits

Z: Heh. You really are intriguing

Z: Well! Next visit I want potato mochi. Three plates! (Hot and fresh!)

I: Bravo! An excellent choice! (Same time then?)

Z: Yup yup

[bellafragolina]

Congrats on emptying your inbox!! If I may request, we've seen the s/o with Hanahaki, but what about Emmet and Ingo, separate please. It's another case of miscommunication, Emmet says nothing because you're in a relationship, a bad one that you're about to end, and Ingo says nothing because he thinks you're in a relationship, you aren't. With a happy ending please ;-;

so it's the boys spitting flowers?? i gotcha!

🍓🍓🍓

Emmet:

White hyacinth. Emmet twirls the flower between his fingers, scowling at the soft petals, speckled in blood. Of course, symbols of regret, that would be the flower chosen to encase his lungs and strangle him. Guess he is regretful, since he's let you run off into the arms of his worst enemy.

Sure, Emmet had no clue your boyfriend even existed before he became your boyfriend, but that didn't mean Emmet couldn't absolutely despise the guy. He does, very much so, and doesn't really try to hide it either. Emmet isn't good at lying, especially to you, so sadly. . . he's pushed you away a bit with his rivalry (one-sided rivalry at that).

And thus the flowers.

Emmet crushes the hyacinth in his palm, throwing it off into the living room. Not being able to breathe that well prevents him from going to work. He can't breathe because he can't confess his love to you. He can't do that because you're in a relationship. With a guy he hates. One he knows doesn't treat you half as good as Emmet would, if you were together.

The whole situation is a circle jerk of frustrating. And devastating. The white hyacinths make more sense now, because if there is one thing Emmet's feeling right now, it's a whole lot of regret.

A buzz gently knocks Emmet from his head. Begrudgingly, he checks the message, only to shockingly find your name displayed.

Coming over.

Plain and simple, a cut to the chase, but nerve-wracking all the same. Emmet rushes to tidy up and not look like he's dying, hands shaking as he paces and wonders what's happening. Did you want to hang out? Or was this some sort of intervention? Were you going to tell him you didn't want to be friends anymore?

That would kill him before any damn flower.

Emmet frets and worries, but still rushes to hug you when you throw open his front door. Your arms easily slide around his waist, soothing the worries and the flowers that make his chest feel so tight. Everything almost feels normal again, but then you pull away.

There are bags under you eyes, lines on your face that make you look far older than you are. The sight of them crushes Emmet's heart, but before he can even say anything, ask if you're alright, what's going on-

"I'm breaking up with him."

There's a self-assuredness to your voice that makes it seem so final, so simple. You're breaking up with your boyfriend, plain and simple. It's everything Emmet's been hoping to hear and then some, but he can't find it in him to be happy. Not when you look so tired.

"I. . ." Emmet swallows, struggling for the words to say. Would anything make this better? "I'm sorry."

You just shrug, and give him a sad little smile that cracks his already crushed heart. "Eh. It's whatever. He's a real son of a bitch, anyway." Your smile grows into more of a wry smirk. "But you already knew that, huh?"

Emmet ducks his head, almost ashamed, if not for the amusement that dances through your tired eyes.

"I need to listen to you more often." You say, chuckling. Emmet chuckles too, then it's quiet. Too quiet. You clear your throat to break it. "Do you. . . wanna hang out?"

"Yes." Emmet says immediately. He does. So badly. He missed you a lot. "I missed you. A lot."

That has you laughing, louder now. "Yeah?" Your smile is warm, as warm as the hand you curl around his. "I missed you too, big guy." You tug on his arm, so Emmet leans down, giddily accept the kiss to his cheek. "Come on. I've got a lot to make up to you."

"You do not have to." Emmet says, already dragging you out the door. He feels like he can breathe again. "But since you are offering, you will date me, and we will call it even."

You laugh, and the sound is perfect, especially when his own laughter, free and unhindered, joins in.

Ingo:

Ingo decides if there's one flower he doesn't like, it's tulips. Damned, horrid tulips. They fall out of his mouth, bell-shaped and yellow, stained with his sin of loving someone he can not have. He knows their meaning, knows how the spell out how hopeless he is, hopelessly in love, unrequited love.

But why is he to blame for that? How could he not fall in love? Everything he ever wanted fell into his lap, a perfect gift from those above, and what? Ingo wasn't supposed to see it? Wasn't supposed to grow close, to finally feel understood and like he could have the future he always dreamed of?

What did he do to deserve it all being snatched away from beneath his very feet, leaving him to stumble along where he thought he had a solid foundation.

Well, it isn't your fault either. You are everything, everything he ever wanted in a partner and then some. Days are lighter, easier, something to look forward to just because you're a part of it. Even a simple text from you could make his day amazing.

But you don't feel the same. No, instead there's another person, someone bolder, with less hang ups, someone not as hopeless as Ingo, who was able to ask you out. They didn't worry about anything, not like Ingo.

And now he has to bask in the consequences of being a hopeless, cowardly romantic.

At least you still hang out with him. At least Ingo still gets your presence in his life, not at all hindered by this partner of yours. You don't talk about them at all, perhaps to be kind to a man you no is drowning in a love you don't return.

But that's okay. Ingo will drown for you, if it means this simple happiness will stay.

Still, his body doesn't enjoy it. His lungs swell like they're going to burst, making it hard to breathe, hard to still be a Subway Boss to the people. He stays home some days, when the pain is at its worst, and just lies in bed, dreaming of a life he can't have.

And he wakes up to your hands in his hair, your tearful eyes peering at him from over the edge of the bed. It's a heartbreaking sight.

Ingo can barely croak out your name in concern.

You sniffle. "Emmet says you're dying." Ingo presses his lips into a thin line. He was sure Emmet didn't know, but maybe he did. He needs to apologize; this isn't something he should have to watch his twin go through. "Ingo. . ."

"I'll be okay." Ingo says, the quietest you've ever heard him. It doesn't help your tears, springing forth into full sobs that not even Ingo can soothe. "Shh, shh. . . It's alright."

"It's not!" You protest, shaking your head from the ghost of his clammy hands. "I love you and you're dying! In what world is that alright??"

Ingo just blinks up at you owlishly. ". . . what?"

"I love you." You tell him sternly. "I love you. I love you. I love you. Can you hear me now?" You press your mouth against his sweaty forehead, practically shouting it out to all of Nimbasa. "I LOVE YOU! So no, this is not alright-"

You're cut off by a hand on the back of your neck, bringing you down into the sloppy kiss of one ecstatic and delirious Ingo Trevithick.

You'll laugh about it later, Ingo is sure. You'll all laugh about how silly this all was, how silly you all were. But until then, Ingo will take the first full, deep breath he's had in ages, and sob into your mouth in utter relief.

Seems he isn't so hopeless after all.

🍓🍓🍓

ta-da! i did my best to follow your guidelines, so i hope you like them!

ciao!

~Renee

[leggerefiore]

Random though but Sawsbuck Ingo and Emmet getting their antlers stuck during and antler fight

cw: sawsbuck submas,

pairing: Ingo/Reader,

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲

Ingo grunted as he tried to pull himself back from Emmet. This caused the younger twin to cry out and make him freeze in the middle of his step. A few more tentative tugs of his head proved fruitless, as did Emmet's own. The Sawsbuck hybrids had heard of situations like this before but really never expected to find themselves in it. It was a simple tussle. Emmet had mostly started it because he was bored.

Now they were stuck.

It really hurt to have their necks stuck in that position, but pulling away caused more pain for both of them. Emmet's smile had fallen as it seemed to shift into a more contemplative state. Ingo felt annoyed. He was the older brother. He should have told him no and stopped this from ever being a possibility. Yet, somewhere, he enjoyed messing around much like they used to during their Deerling days. A sigh left him. Reaching a hand proved not to work either.

“Are we going to die?” Emmet spoke unexpectedly, eyes looking at the ground. Now Ingo felt worse.

“No,” he reassured him, “We'll get out of this. It might… just take some time. Let's stay calm for now.” The words appeared to have soothed the younger twin, as Ingo thought about other ways to get out. Breaking an antler would not be preferred, but between that or dying. Ingo wanted to groan. He would be the one losing an antler, he knew. The idea of causing Emmet that much distress upset him greatly.

Just as he was about to propose that suggestion when a familiar voice called out their names. They both tried to turn their head in the direction it came from in sync, but the tugging led to more pain, so they both froze and nearly fell. You broke out of the tree line moments later, a bit stunned to see the deer men in their predicament.

Ingo felt embarrassment pang in his heart at your expression, while Emmet suddenly turned frustrated, upset by being seen in such a vulnerable state. A small laugh came from you as you stepped closer to them. They were certainly interlocked. A joke to call them conjoined crossed your mind, but you held back. Instead, you asked them what happened and listened to Ingo's bereft explanation. An urge to scold them also had to be repressed.

Reaching a careful hand into the mess of wooden antler, you carefully worked to undo the mess the two had themselves into. Many complaints were vocalised or whined as you tried to work in a manner that hurt them as little as possible. Eventually, they pulled back from one another, not having lost a bit of their extensive growth. Emmet almost instantly trotted off, clearly too embarrassed to face you, while Ingo laid down on the grass to regain himself.

Your kindness had truly saved them a lot more pain. He gazed at you gratefully. “Thank you, dearest,” Ingo spoke genuinely and lightly clapped his hands, “I was about to suggest that I break one of the antlers to free us, but you came just before I could.” Your expression shifted into a pout. A quick stride over to him had you cupping and squishing his cheeks.

“You and your self-sacrificing nature,” you shook your head, “Stop that. Emmet would have felt bad, and you know it.” Ingo's heart raced. Why his younger brother surely would have felt bad, it would have been for the greater good for both of them. “And besides, you two like to match. He'd probably end up breaking off some of his antlers to mimic you.” Ingo gasped. He surely would not! There was no need.

Though, upon considering it… Ingo sighed. He would. Emmet absolutely would.

“Yes, yes… I'm sorry,” he nodded, “Next time, I intend to prevent the situation of his becoming locked up from happening in the first place. No more battling.”

You truly wondered how long that would last.

~

“Are you feeling okay now, Emmy?” you asked the Sawsbuck hybrid after he returned to your cabin by the evening. He still seemed a bit upset, but mostly in a better mood. You offered him a doughnut and giggled when he eagerly snatched it away and ate it. His mood perked even more up as he suddenly whisked you into a hug.

“I'm verrrry sorry you had to see us like that!” he whined, “We made you upset. You looked so hurt.” You sighed and returned the affection to the poor guy. Was that really it? It appeared to be embarrassment, but…

“It's alright,” you reassured him, “I'm just glad you two were fine in the end.” Emmet nodded quietly yet refused to let you go. You decided to let him have this for a while.

Until Ingo popped out of cabin, wanting to cuddle up to you for the night.

[kiiwiigii]

The Red-Eyed Boy - Outtake

pt. One | Two | Three

Alec x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wedding preparation shenanigans.

Warnings:

None

Word Count: 517

A/N: For those who enjoy the banter between the characters in my stories. This was originally supposed to be in part iii, but I took it out. Would have explained how the sash ended up in the readers bag though... *whistles innocently*

"I swear to God, if I get stuck with a pin-" 

"Calm down, Y/N." Rosalie snapped at me. "You think I would purposely stick you?" 

"Purposely? No. Well, maybe. It is you we're talking about here." 

"I'm a vampire-" 

"Of which I am well aware, Rosie." 

"Did you just-" 

We went on for a few more minutes while Emmet and Jasper watched in amusement, eyes going back and forth as if watching a particularly intense tennis match. Rosalie was, surprisingly, humoring me. I was having a harder day than usual, and I'm sure everyone was picking up on it. 

"Stop biting your nails." Rosalie said softly, taking my hand away from my mouth. "You might draw blood and I don't think that'd be a great idea in a house full of vampires, do you?" 

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking. Thank you, Rosie." 

Her soft look turned into a glare. 

"Careful short stack." Emmet grinned. "Keep it up and Rose may just feed you to a mountain lion and then eat it." 

I couldn't help myself, I started laughing loudly, to the point that I eventually had to hold my sides because they hurt. I laughed even harder when I watched Jasper hand over a wad of cash to Emmet, mumbling something about finding Edward. 

"You guys took bets? You- You guys are horrible." 

I felt like I couldn't breathe for a minute. 

I finally began to calm down as Alice entered the room with a strip of cloth, holding it up to my dress and tying it around my waist. She suddenly paused mid-task, a glazed-over look in her eyes. A vision? She finally blinked it away with a smile. 

"Are we all done?" She asked before spinning her pointer finger in a circle. "Turn, Y/N. Let me see." 

I did so obediently, and she nodded her head in approval. 

"Much better. Alright, let's get this off and you're free to go." 

I raised my eyebrows and eyed her suspiciously. "Just like that. I'm allowed to go home?" 

"Hm? Oh, yes." She shooed Emmet off distractedly, untying the sash and helping me remove the gown without sticking myself. 

Rosalie took it from her and then began to help me slip my sundress back on. 

"Is everything ok?" I asked her quietly. "Was it a good vision?" 

"Most definitely. Everything will go off without a hitch." 

I smiled despite my disappointment. Still no Alec. 

"Wait." She paused again. "Bella's staying here tonight. Isn't Charlie going out for a boy's night? Will you be okay by yourself?" 

"Of course, I'll be fine. I plan on binging the Jurassic Park movies and stuffing my face full of popcorn." 

And pretending that Alec and I weren't fighting. Or whatever you would call this. 

"Don't forget your bag, Y/N." Alice handed me my messenger bag. I went to open it to double-check that everything was in there before Alice's hand stopped me. "No worries, I've already made sure that everything's in there." 

I eyed her suspiciously, but in the end, I was too tired to bother. I really just wanted to get home. 

{Masterlist}

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[thequeenofneverland1]

Edward Cullen///if I stay any longer Part Two

A/N: It's Part two is finally here I'm sorry for the delay I feel bad since a lot of you have been asking for a while. And it's barely getting posted. a lot of things have been going in my life. that's why I have been taking forever to post, but Here it is I hope you love it and once again I'm sorry for the delay

“Bella, you suggest Y/n to leave Forks with you?” Esme asks shocked as everyone glared at bella

She crossed her arms and nodded. “Yes, I did. I can't allow her to suffer any longer as a result of your son.”

“It's not any of your business so stay out of it.” Rosalie barks

“Y/n’s my best friend of course it's my business if it involves her it involves me as well.” Bella barks back

“Well Y/n’s pregnant she can’t leave the child without a father, and she needs to take care of the baby and her-.” Carlisle tries to explain but Bella didn't let him to

“Y/n has the right to do that since Edward has been treating her like shit. and I can take care of the baby and her. She doesn't need you guys.”

"Who do you think you are talking to us like this?” Rosalie asks frustrated

“ Y/n is my wife and she needs us, we are her family. I will not allow you or anyone to take my child away. I have the right to be a part of my child's life. ” Edward tells her

“Perhaps your family or you cursed her to become pregnant so she wouldn't have to leave you. ” Bella accused

Emmet walks to her and gets into a fighting position if needed “How dare you?”

“Bella, I think you should go, I'll talk to you later.” You tell her fearing for her safety

“But Y/n, I don’t trust them.” She tells you back

“It’s ok I’ll talk to you later when I’m done, right now I need to have a talk with them.” You smiled at her then you glance at them

“Fine but if you don’t call me or answer my calls I will come back here and with backup,” she glared at them before leaving

Edward crossed his arms "So you were planning to leave Forks?”

“I wasn't going to, but now that I know that I'm pregnant I'm leaving.” You respond

"You can't leave. You’re pregnant. and I have the right to see our child because I'm the father.” He tells you

You rolled your eyes "why would I have our child grow up with a father who hates his mother I at least show you some love but you don’t.”

Esme grabbed your hand “Y/n sweetie, I'll tell you what we can do about you staying in forks so Edward and us can still see the child.”

You nodded, not liking the fact that you have to stay but you want to know what Esme has in mind “Okay?”

"So you're going to be staying until the baby is born. Once the baby is born, you can live in a house that I have around here. It's going to be just the baby and you.” She smiles

"You can't do that if Y/n’s leaving I'm leaving with her and the baby.” Edward tells his adoptive mother

“Eddie, you will still see your kid on some days.” Esme tries to explain “if that makes Y/n want to stay in Forks it will happen.”

Everyone looks at you for your answer as soon as you nodded Edward storm off angrily

Alice shakes her head on how Edward reacted "Eddie should at least be happy that you're staying here in Forks.”

"Yeah, well you have to understand that he's not going to see his kid everyday and he's not going to live with them.” Jasper kinda agrees with Edward but at the same time he doesn't

“But just know that I'm still going to follow for divorce.” You said before going upstairs to call Bella

"Have you seen a future with them and their baby?” Rosaline asks with hope

She shook her head "sadly not yet, but I do see someone trying to get close to Y/n.”

"Who's that person?" Edward asks sadly

"It's someone that's been with her, and no I don't still see them being together.” Alice answers

“It’s Jacob.” Edward whispers quietly, but everyone heard him

You were talking on the phone with Bella telling her that you were okay. and that you were going to stay once the baby was born. you were going to move into a house that Esme owns. That it was just going to be your baby and you. and that Edward will visit the kid some days.

Bella smiles “I’m so happy you deserve better and are you still going to divorce him?”

You sat down on your bed “thank you and Yes the divorce is still happening.”

“Y/n, can we talk? ” You heard Edward voice asks you could tell that he has cried

You nodded and you told Bella that you were going to talk to her tomorrow and you put your phone away so Edward and you could talk

"I know our marriage hasn't been easy but I beg you to give me another chance to prove that I love you and our child.” Edward tells you

"Edward it hasn't been easy for me too but I at least show you love, it hurts me saying this but the divorce is still happening.” You try to not get emotion

"Why don't you think about it again? If you think it's for the best, I'll give it to you. But at the moment let me try to get back your love and you back. If it doesn't work, I'll leave you alone. And let you move on with your life.” Edward proposed hoping that you would agree with his offer

You thought about it before giving an answer to him. As you were thinking about it you nodded your head "fine you can do it."

He happily smiled "thank you Honey, I promise that you won't regret it.”

Ever since you kind of give Edward a chance he has been super romantic and sweet making you shocked that it seems that he wants to try it again

"Honey, where are you going?” He asked since he sees you getting already

you looked at him through the mirror "I'm going to hangout with Jacob for a little bit.”

"Honey, you shouldn't go you're pregnant and I don't want you to risk our baby and you.” he looks at you with hope

You rolled your eyes "it's fine I'm not going to risk the baby and me.”

He frowns, but smiles "okay but call me if anything happens.”

You nodded "I will."

Edward felt sad that you were leaving to hang out with Jacob. he hoped that you would’ve stayed with him. so he could spend more time with you and the baby instead of Jacob,

But he understands that you need some space and to think if you still do want to divorce him. He never wanted things to go far. He never wanted to lose you. but now he might lose you to Jacob. if he doesn’t try hard enough.

The pack and you were talking about how you found out that you were pregnant. Everyone was happy for you except for Jacob who was heartbroken, “how's that bloodsucker treating the baby and you?”

You looked at him confused on the way he said ‘the baby and you’ “he’s treating us good why?”

He looked at you with a smile, "just making sure that he's being a good father and husband.”

“Alice, how do I get Y/n to stay away from that wolf?” Edward asks walking into the living room

She shrugs her shoulders “try to be by her side, show her love and appreciation, maybe that will get her to stay away from him.”

He sat on the couch next to Alice and he gives her a look “that’s not helping your not giving me support.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that you didn't do those things to her either fight for her or let Jacob do the work that you should be doing.” She said

“It seems that everyone wants Y/n to be with that wolf but I won’t let that happen because I’m going to fight for her.” He promised

She patted him on the back.“Good job if you want her back you’ll need to fight for her no matter what.”

“What should I do to win her back?” He asks, wanting to hear her ideas so he can win you back

“Um.” She thinks “Maybe plan a trip for her and you once the baby is born you can take her to Isle Esme she'll probably won't mind if it’s a good cost.”

“You think that’s going to work? Because I really do want her back.” He sadly smiles

“It will if you do the things that I told you to do.” She reassured him “why don’t you take her shopping after she comes home.”

You stood up from the couch with the help of Jacob and Leah "thank you guys and I think I should start getting ready to leave.”

“It was nice having you over. you're always welcome here.” Sam smiles

Jacob got his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. “Y/n let me walk you home it's almost getting dark, I don't want you to be walking home by yourself.”

“It's okay wolf I'm here to take her home besides I want to take her shopping for her and our baby.” Edward grabs your hand

"Thank you Jake for offering to take me home." you smiled and gave him back his jacket

“Anything for you.” He grins

When Edward puts his jacket on you, Jacob stops grinning and felt heartbroken when Edward and you left his home holding hands 

Jacob tries to conceal his emotions, but his friends notice and they all stare at each other. “If I were you, I wouldn't get my hopes up.”

He gives his friends a confused look "what are you talking about?"

“We all know that you love Y/n, but she doesn't feel the same for you.” Jared replies crossing his arms

Jacob rolls his eyes "how would you know?"

“It's easy to say that she still loves Edward, I'm sorry for saying this, but if she loved you she would have stayed with you instead of leaving with that blood sucker.” Jared replies again, not trying to be rude.

“Well Jared he's taking her shopping for her and their baby of course she would leave with him because he's the father but it doesn't mean that she still loves him.” Paul reassures "who knows Y/n might love our man Jacob.”

“And remember Bella told us that Y/n’s going to move to a different house around here once the baby is born and that she's going to divorce him.” Leah adds

“I know I just don't want Jacob to get his hopes up and for him to end suffering.” Jared explains

Jacob pulls him into a hug and smiles, "I know and I thank you for looking out for me and for being a good friend and a great family member.”

Edward and you were walking around holding hands but stopped when you felt a pain in your stomach and you felt that your water broke "Edward our baby is coming."

He panicked, but quickly he picked you up and carried you bridal style gently he speds to get you home

“Edward, what's happening to Y/n.” Esme asks worried

"Our baby is coming into the world.” Edward answers laying you on the couch gently

You pulled out your hand "Edward Can you grab my hand please."

He nods with a smile as he grabs your hand "please hurry, I don't want her to be suffering any longer."

Carlisle tries to comfort You and Edward "I know, but I'll try my best so Y/N doesn't suffer that much.”

“It might hurt more because you're a vampire giving birth, but I'll try to be as gentle as possible and you have Edward here to help you.” He tells you

Edward smiled when he saw his adopted father holding his daughter “I want to hold my daughter.”

Carlisle nods and gives his granddaughter to his son, and Edward smiles that he is finally hugging his daughter and

looks at you with a smile “Y/n sweetie she’s so beautiful just like her mother.”

You grin "she's going to be lucky to have you as her father.”

”And she's going to be so beautiful that she's going to break every single man's heart because she got your beauty.” He pulled you into a kiss

"You guys can be gross later now let me hug my niece.” Rosalie jokes but is happy that Edward and you seem to work out

"Are you ok? my love.” Edward aks worried since you just gave birth

You smiled again, "I'm fine, just happy that our baby is finally here.”

He kissed your hand “You can let your friends know that our baby was born and they can come visit if you want.”

You lean on his shoulder,”'It’s alright, I'll tell them later. Right now, it's about us, our family.”

Edward looks at everyone with a smile and they all smile back the moment stopped when there was a knock on the door

“I'll go and see who it is.” Jasper offers

"Y/n, it's for you." Jasper yells as he walks in with a person behind him

"Hey, Y/n how are you?” Bella asks as she sits down next to you

“I'm doing fine, I just gave birth right now but how about you?” You replied as Edward wrapped his arms around you

Bella looked at Edward and you with a confused look she had too many questions on her mind to ask

she clears her throat “so are you two not getting divorced?”

Edward wanted to reply, but he didn't want to be a liar, and he didn't want to cause any more pain to his heart by lying

You smiled at Edward as he put his hand on top of yours. “At the moment, no.”

She frowns, "oh, okay, it was nice talking to both of you. but I have to get going. Jake is waiting for me. but congrats on your baby girl. and I'm happy that Edward and you seem to work out.”

He beamed with hope “so you no longer want to divorce me?”

You exulted as you look at your family taking turns to carry your child “I feel like our daughter brought us together because when I saw you holding our daughter for the first time it made me realize that I don’t want the divorce that I want to stay by your side forever.”

He kissed your forehead “thank you love, I feel the same way and I always want to stay with you forever and love you and our family forever.”

“Edward tell the ladies of the house that they need to share Renesmee.” Emmett tells him

“Y/n tell Emmett and the guys to shut up and that they need to be patient.” Rosalie calls out

Edward and you let out a laugh as the both of you shake your heads watching them fight over your daughter “don’t forget that she’s our daughter.”

“We’re not talking to you, so mind your business.” Rosalie tells Edward playful

“Love, I was thinking why don’t we go on a trip just the two of us.” Edward asks pulling your attention from the scene

You smiled “I would love to but what about our daughter?”

“We can watch her as you both go on that trip, you both deserve it.” Jaspers tells you both

Emmett smirks, “Either way it might be a romantic trip for both of you so that’s why we’re going to look after her so Edward and you can enjoy the trip.”

You grinned as you nodded “so where are you planning to take me?”

He grabbed your hand and kissed it, “it’s a surprise we’re leaving later.”

“Did you know that Y/n got back together with Edward? Bella angrily asked

Jacob turned around and faced Bella with a sad and confused look, "What?"

She crossed her arms as she nodded "You heard right, I was there not a minute ago and I saw them sitting next to each other and he had his arms wrapped around her.”

“But I thought she was going to move out once the baby was born and that she was going to divorce him.” He asked with confusion thinking what changed your decision to not divorced Edward

She shook her head "not anymore she gave birth today and she told me that the divorce wasn't happening.”

“I have to go see her. I need an explanation from her.” he tried to walk past her. But she grabbed his arm "isn't it obvious? Edward being chosen over you shows that she loves him not you.”

He grabbed her hand, “but I am in love with her..”

“I understand, but she doesn't feel the same way about you. It's better to move on instead of waiting for her to love you because it's not likely to happen.” She noticed he was about to cry, so she hugged him

He accepted the hug "I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up even Jared told me not to but of course I never listen.”

“I love this place, thank you for bringing me.” You beamed since Edward and you were at Isle Esme

He hugs you from behind "I'm glad that you’re happy love thank you for giving me a second chance.”

With a smile on your face, you turned to face him, “Thank you for making me happy and giving me a daughter.”

He kissed your shoulder with a smirk, "let's go back inside and enjoy our vacation.”

You winked "what about inside?"

He kissed you as he closed the door. "We can also do it outside if you'd like on our second round.”

"So Alice, do you see a future with Edward and his family?” Japer curiously asked.

She smiles and nods. “Yes, and I anticipate a new family member joining us in the near future.”

"What do you mean by that?" Emmett asks, confused.

“She's implying that Renesmee will become a big sister, is that correct? Alicia?” Rosalie smiles

“We're going to be grandparents once more.” Esme embraces Carlisle with joy

“Does Edward and Y/n know about the great news”? Carlisle asks

She shook her head. “Not yet, I'm going to wait until they return from their trip.”

Week later

“We missed you guys so much.” You said pulling them each into a hug

“Careful there, we don't want to hurt the baby or you.” Jasper mumbled quietly but Edward and you heard him

“What?” You asked

Edward glanced at Jasper and then at you, “what did he say?”

"That they don't want to hurt the baby and me.” You replied

To confirm if it's true, he glances at Alice and smiles when she nods. “We’re going to be parents again, love.”

You smiled "it's another miracle that we got."

Renesmee was picked up by Edward. “Did you hear that princess? you're going to be a big sister.”

After putting her down, he went over to hug you and kiss you. “Our kids and you are my everything.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck "and you are to me I love you and our family.”

The moment was ruined when there was a knock on the door. Jasper went over to open the door Bella and Jacob stood there not happy. "Hi guys, welcome."

“We came here to let you Y/n know that you're no longer welcome in our houses and that you're no longer our friend.” Bella informs you as Jacob nodded

Edward tries to walk past you to defend you, but you stopped him. “I understand that Jacob and you are upset, but I wanted to give Edward a second chance. because he deserved it. but thank you for letting me know. I'll no longer bother you guys ever again. But you guys are no longer allowed to try to contact me as well.”

"Congrats on the baby." Jacob said before leaving with Bella

As Jasper closed the door, everyone looked at you as Edward hugged you. “Are you alright, love?”

You chuckled, "of course, why would I be sad? when I'm happy that we're going to have another child and why have friends? when I have you guys my family.”

“Exactly family is way better than to have friends.”

Tagging

@coralineyouareinterribledanger

[tunastime]

Inbound, Outbound

The first submas fic I ever wrote! LOL I decided I needed one final thing for april fools so you get this fic from. about a month and a half ago! I think a lot has changed since I wrote this and I'd love to come back to the reuniting :3 maybe making it longer or what have you. but for now. here you go!

Sometimes when you wait for things, they come back to you. Sometimes they don't. Emmet continues life as normal as he can until the point in which the thing he's been waiting for the most finally does come back. Today just happens to be that day. (6745 words)

Ingo comes back on a winter day that Emmet would’ve otherwise forgotten.

It’s a pervasive winter in Nimbasa this year, the sky a white-blue, grey where it touches the edges of the buildings high above his morning train into the city center. Today is just as slow as usual, fifteen stretching into thirty, stretching in to forty-five minutes as people crush their way into the train car number eleven, Emmet’s favorite car on the six-in-the-morning inbound to Nimbasa commercial district. This train doesn’t go direct to Gear Station—it’s about four blocks from the city center. Which means that the train car is filled with grey and black suits, small children, and people in coats too thin or too bright for the weather. It’s his favorite car because if he looks over the few heads currently standing in front of him, he can see a poster with Elesa on it, advertising the Nimbasa Gym in bright, yellow and black letters. He doesn’t mind the length of the ride, really, even with the extra twenty minutes of walking.  It gives him enough time to think, whether that be better or worse. 

Emmet sniffles, pushing the scarf further up his nose, trying to keep in the heat. He can feel his face starting to red with the cold, and the subpar heat of the train car isn’t doing much help. He likes this car—he likes the whole system, because it runs so efficiently even with the stops, but he would like it a bit more if it were properly heated. He once bore Elesa to sleep talking about the rail system near their apartment complex in the city suburbs and art district, and after that he kind of kept it to himself and the engineers on shift.

The train car is still cold, and his scarf slips down his nose again as he adjusts his grip on the handle above him. Scrunching his face, he burrows into the collar of his coat and shrinks his shoulders to make space, shutting his eyes. He moves with the train car, as he does every morning, and sighs into the fabric of his coat. He files the cold away in the back of his mind. The train ride becomes routine, which means it fades into the background of his life, where everything rests mutely.

He might be somewhat of a celebrity, but the 6am is too crowded and too tired to notice him, or Ingo, or Elesa, for that matter. Elesa could live in the city center—running a gym is a lucrative business, and her clothing line, her brand deal, the posters with her face on them, even here in this train, raked in enough money to more than sustain on. Instead, Elesa lives two streets down from him (them) in a large apartment and she holds the crook of his arm on the train to keep steady. She didn’t this morning, though, which means Emmet has a little more stability where he stands, and a little less company. Not being recognized this morning means that he slips effortlessly from the train as the doors slide open, spilling out with other shoppers and business folk. He ducks through the exit as someone holds it open, and the smile on their face lingers a bit too long when they catch his eye. He thinks the words I’m sorry for your loss might come and hit him across the face, but they only nod. Emmet moves through the crowd alone again.

He makes his way carefully up the steps and onto the sidewalks of inner-Nimbasa, stepping with purpose as he stares down at his shoes. There’s a fine layer of ice and slush on the ground, but no snow. Anything that did fall just added to the grey slush on the side of the sidewalk, crunching under his boots as he walked. The cold still bites at his face as he makes his way down the block and across the street. He can still feel his fingers, though, which is a good sign. A few more streets of cold and slushy snow and trying to block the wind with his coat and he would be in the relative warmth of Gear Station, all tan marble and smooth floors. 

Winter. Of course the winter lingered. It was still winter when Emmet got off the train alone and it was still winter and cold and breezy and dark, now, as Emmet stood in his (their) office, watching the clock. 

5:45pm. He realizes he hasn’t eaten all day as a hard pang stabs through his stomach. Emmet takes a breath. It’s easy to fall into routine when nothing else seems to fit. It’s what he tells himself. He finds a way to make the day go faster, maybe looking for something at the end that wasn’t just the next day. He never had this issue before, waiting for the day to pass only for it to bleed into the next, and the next, and the next, and for the weekend to stutter and pause that blissful continuing trend. Work, go home, sleep, repeat. It gave no time to think about anything else—especially not Ingo.

It took longer the first year. Everything constantly pressed hard on the wound still open. He still remembers when everything shut down around him. It wasn’t winter then. It was spring, where the air still twinged cool, but he wasn’t kicking snow off his shoes before he entered the engineer’s office and ducked down the hall and to his and Ingo’s space. It was an almost instant halt, like throwing the emergency break. Emmet’s whole life screeched and threw up smoke. 

He remembers the first time someone questioned him that wasn’t the city police, staring up at him, mouth moving with words he didn’t understand. He stuttered, unable to form an answer to what do you think happened? How was he supposed to know? How was he supposed to put pieces together when he felt like he had been smashed into star fragments?

The subway shut down for three months straight. He could barely pick himself out of bed, and when he did, he couldn’t make it out of the door. He remembers lying in the dark for far too long, turning off his phone so no calls came through. The day bled into night and into the next day, with no routine, no operating procedure. Everything in his life revolved around Ingo—and now there was a distinctly Ingo shaped hole in his chest that he couldn’t fill. He remembers crawling his way out of the comforters and making it to the threshold of his bedroom door, sinking to the ground and staying there. It was only when Elesa made her way in that he moved, coaxed onto the couch to drink a glass of water. There were days where neither of them spoke. Elesa would set a duffel in the corner of Emmet’s room and a toothbrush in his bathroom and wordlessly, the space became hers too. Half asleep one night, she mumbled, very quietly, that it had been days since she’d had the energy to battle. The Nimbasa gym waitlist had grown to fifteen people. He said he was sorry. She laughed like she meant it. Tired. They were tired. Life moved on without them for a while. He held Elesa’s hand.

Every dark coat had been him, every set of stripes, every loud and hearty laugh. The space in their fridge, in their bathroom, on their couch, the spaces Elesa subconsciously left when she visited, all stayed like he might appear and fill them. At some point the spaces became memories, and the memories became a dull ache. The dull ache let him work, and the work became an ache instead. And then he started looking for answers. When he found none, he just kept looking.

He hangs up his white coat, noise from Gear Station trickling into the background. He puts his hat on the hook next to it. 

He is Emmet. He feels okay today.

He combs his hair back with his fingers, stepping back to navigate around to his desk, shutting off the computer screen and moving through the familiar motions of packing away his day. Eelektross snuffs, sleeping curled around his chair, still nursing a singe from their last battle. The rest of his team are tucked away in pokeballs, neatly set into the bag still resting on the desk. He runs a hand over the scales on Eelektross’ head, listening to the snort turn into a purr, long and rumbly. At least someone’s enjoying themselves. He leans against his desk. 

“Excellent job today, Eelektross,” he says. “Too good.”

Eelektross rumbles out an affirmative sound Emmet’s learned to recognize over the years. Tired and comfortable and thoroughly pleased. He’ll be sleeping under a huge eel weight tonight, most likely, which would be good for them both.

From the corner, Chandelure chirps. He glances up, watching her tilt lazily back and forth, flame flickering under the office’s lamplight. He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head at her.

“Ah—” he says. “I forgot, Chandelure. Is it time for the rounds, then?”

She chirps again, twirling in place. She nearly bumps the wall, moving out of the way as she remembers how much space she actually takes up. Emmet snorts, shaking his head. He rises from his leaning on the desk, shaking the feeling back into his right leg.

Gathering his coat and hat again, he pulls it over his shoulders, and opens the office door for Chandelure.

The two wander out into the filling-full train station. It’s busy now that so many are leaving work, Gear Station echoing with his footsteps and the tired laughter and voices of patrons filing in and out of the turnstiles. As he steps out, the noise is almost instant. Ah—he caught departing crowds at the wrong time, as the battle subway came to a close at the days end and people were busy reassigning themselves and marking their places for tomorrow. The energy in the station is bright and cheery. He lifts his hat, waving one hand, smiling with just his mouth. Chandelure spins, singing to herself. He offers a little bow as he departs, listening to cheers of his name until he manages to slip into the service stairs and away from the light and the noise.

He follows the familiar service corridor where it diverges from the central station, staring up into the rafters and eyes tracking across the windows high above him. Night trickles in, noise obscured by layers of stone and brick and marble. The stretch of granite towers above him, echoing the flicker of pride he feels swirling in his chest. Chandelure twirls ahead of him, leading him down to the closed lines as his eyes drag away from pidove in the rafters, cooing to themselves.

It’s important to walk the lines at night—mostly for the host of patrat and joltik and the occasional drilbur that liked to make the tunnels their home, but also to check that each car remained stationary, that light still flooded the dim tunnels, that someone wasn’t trapped. It wasn’t always his job—not with so many that staffed Gear Station, both above and below him. Maintenance often fell to him when it was needed, where he lingered in the office long after his scheduled shift end, when the last outbound train returned. 

The stairs down are quieter and darker than the rush of energy and light and cold air above him in Gear Station. 

Emmet starts his way toward the platform. Whatever he couldn’t find in the tunnels today, Eelektross would find later tomorrow morning, well before the first battle train. It was good he didn’t have to worry about the main tracks as often—not for checks and not for maintenance. He would mourn his sleep schedule much more than he already did if that were the case. Walking those initial tunnels would take him hours, knowing how far the service platform stretched.

Emmet doesn’t like this part of his job. It was always Ingo’s job. Everything seemed like it was Ingo’s job, now that it rested on his shoulders. When they’d first pitched the idea of the subway to the head of Gear Station at the time, it had been a risk Ingo automatically assumed. When he ran the night shift, safety checks were his duty, as much as they were Emmet’s in the morning. They’d assist with repair and management of the rest of the station as needed, falling into step alongside fellow engineers. There’s a small group in this tunnel now—voices echoing down the small corridor as he travels its length, a drilbur perched on their feet, warily inspecting a section of track. He supposed he considered himself lucky—any scheduled repairs to the Battle Subway could be completed shortly after the subway retired for the day, meaning he could be present if anything went wrong. This bit of maintenance was purely preventative—making sure nothing would be jostled loose by a rogue Earthquake.

Emmet ducks passed the group, nodding along as they toss bits of information his way, wishing him a good night.

Fetching the flashlight from his pocket, Emmet smacks it against his hand. The beam flickers to life, illuminating the tunnel in front of him far more than the stretch of yellow floodlights above his head. He sweeps the beam around the tunnel, listening for anything or anyone.

Emmet makes his way off the main platform and into the tunnel proper, along the service grate, eyes following the tracks. He stands at the edge of the platform for a moment, gazing into an empty car, light shining through. It reflects off the posters and signage inside, dull yellow where the lights inside don’t shine. He shivers. The air feels cold and charged, like a stray joltik had crawled up his neck and now rested in the collar of his coat. He turns the collar out, sweeping with one hand. No joltik. Rolling his shoulders back, Emmet steps back from the car and continues onward. A few feet ahead of him, Chandelure twirls idly, like she’s waiting for him to catch up. He waves the beam of the flashlight at her and she startles, chirring out, annoyed. 

“You can check on your own if you don’t want to wait,” he tells her. 

She warbles, waving her arms back and forth. He makes an affirmative noise.

“That’s what I thought.”

The large loop stretches further on to his left, where he can’t see, blocked by the stretch of railcar. He follows Chandelure through the space between the cars, ducking his head as they step onto the opposing platform, and continue their way back up. He pauses for a moment as they do, feeling his body go light as his head spins. He reaches out to the side wall, hand against the cold stone as he takes a long breath. Emmet blinks back spots for a moment, shaking his head gently. His stomach feels like its in knots, rolling over itself as he seems to settle from his moment of vertigo. No lunch will do that to you, he supposes.

Chandelure flickers. They’re almost done, which is good. It means he’ll be able to sit down for a second before he has to run to the train. They won’t need to check the two-team tunnel tonight—not only has Emmet not been able to run it, he checked it two weeks ago. He lingered a very long time in there, didn’t he? It had put a terrible ache in his chest enough to call Elesa to walk him home. Emmet frowns—Chandelure flickers again, dimming, brightening, dimming, brightening again. There’s that rush of dizziness again. He breathes out. He’s too far in his head, today, isn't he?

“Chandelure,” he says, in a way that almost reminds him of Ingo—a little out of breath from walking, but mostly just curious. “Is something wrong?”

She chimes, wobbling in place, eyes narrowing. It feels hesitant. Emmet shudders. After a beat, he reaches up, placing a hand on the near-glass surface of Chandelure’s body. She moves back toward him, chiming again.

“Right,” he says. “It’s different, right? Something’s changed.”

Another chirp.

Something tugs at his mind. Wasn’t there something he read about clairvoyance in pokemon? Future-telling, future-seeing, or whatever. But Chandelure’s behavior isn’t indicative of anything. That would just be odd. He can feel for just a moment the way his heart thumps a little faster against the line of his jaw. It couldn’t be that. It’s just what Elesa always said—he was looking for something that wasn’t there.

“Yyyyep-yep,” he says, mostly under his breath, voice thick. “But it should be fine, Chandelure. Let’s keep going, our track moves forward.”

She tilts back and forth, like a wave of a hand. Emmet snorts as they start forward. 

“You know I’m always one for a battle,” he says plainly. She chirrs, moving around to his right side, putting herself between the train car and Emmet. He follows her movement only for a second as they walk up the tracks, eyes still fixed on the steps up to the station. 

The city subway still rumbles through the ground and the walls around him, the noise soft and consistent as train cars move past. He pauses, listening in, shutting his eyes for a moment. It was late, now. He could feel a tired ache seeping into the creases of his elbows and right under his knees from standing all day. His head was starting to hurt, spinning as he stood completely still. He sighs roughly, squeezing his eyes tightly for just a moment. He’s lucky the pain didn’t extend to his feet—he would have to do quite the jog to catch the outbound train toward home, unless Elesa happened to be staying late again and could walk him back.

They start together toward the entrance as Emmet does his final scan of the furthest-out platform, satisfied nothing is out of place. The same cold air of the train tunnels permeates even here, despite the warm wash of yellow light across the walls and marble pillars. Emmet breathes in, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders as he stretches over his head, screwing up his face as his back pulls. He nearly complains—he feels much too old for this—but he can feel the sharp poke of Ingo’s voice in his mind—well, I’m two minutes older, so you can imagine how I feel—and it stops him pretty quickly. He’s not even thirty-five. What can he do but complain, right? Emmet fishes his keys from his pocket prematurely, ducking between the cars as he steps onto the loading platform.

Chandelure stops ahead of him. Her trill is quiet as Emmet reaches her side.

 There is a man standing on the platform. 

Emmet is very good at telling cosplayers from the real thing. You would think that would be some sort of a joke, but they really like to be authentic. Ingo and him never sold any merchandise of their coats or hats for fear of, well, that. This. Whatever this person was doing, standing on the closed platform in a ruined coat that looked like Ingo’s. 

Emmet swallows. Looks like and not is, right? Looks like and not. Not. Certainly not. Not when he turns and catches his eye. The breath lodges itself in Emmet’s throat, burning hot. Certainly not. Because he is very good at telling illusions from real life, and there are no dark types in the tunnels that can use copycat, and copycat can’t extend the likeness of himself onto another person who looks. Like. Who looks like his brother. And isn’t. Emmet tries to breathe. The breath is sharp on his teeth. His hands are shaking when his vision blurs, and he smears tears across his face.

Ingo looks frightened for a moment. When he looks into Emmet’s eyes, the grey looks washed out. Emmet breathes out, feeling it catch as he sighs, biting the inside of his cheek to keep grounded. There’s. It’s like nothing moves behind his eyes. Not a faint light of understanding. Not a spark of clarity. Ingo places a foot behind him. The line of Emmet’s spine goes cold all at once.

He stands still as he watches a slow realization pass over his brother’s face like a red flush, some flicker in his expression, before he sees his chest seize and breath stutter. Ingo blinks hard and fast, like it might be helping something, eyes flicking over Ingo’s face. He reaches forward, as if he’s expecting to push through Emmet and into air instead, and not the solid body he stands there with. It’s like his body moves before he realizes what’s actually happening. Emmet watches his movements, still calculated in the same way as they’ve always been. Emmet drags in a breath, sniffling hard. 

The lines of Ingo’s face pull. Emmet reaches out to him, copying. It’s what he’s always done—what they’ve always done. He steps forward, lurching to meet him.

The mirror image of himself, his brother, his Ingo, collides with him hard. Emmet feels him crumple into his arms as he drags him forward, arms locking around his ribcage. He squeezes Ingo tight to him. They buckle, Ingo leaning into him for support as his body is wracked with sobs. Emmet struggles to breathe as he sinks to his knees, smearing dirt and dark grime over his white pant-knees and boots.

Ingo’s hands fist in his coat as they fall. He squeezes Emmet in his arms, fighting for breath as he presses his face into his shoulder. Emmet laughs and it morphs into sobs. He turns his face into the tattered collar of Ingo’s coat and squeezes his eyes shut. Ingo. Ingo. Always Ingo. The bony joints of his elbows digging into his ribs as a kid, crushing him with his weight when he lost a pokemon battle, standing in his bedroom door at night when he had a nightmare. Cooking beside him, picking up his coffee, watching him tie Emmet’s tie around his own neck before passing it back to him. His brother Ingo, breathing too shallowly under his hands as he holds him, shaking with the effort of holding himself upright. He can feel the bones of his spine and shoulderblades, sharp and protruding even through several layers of fabric. His face looked so pale and thin. But Ingo holds him tightly, much tighter than he ever remembers, and it’s not just fear or relief or grief holding him to that strength, either. Emmet wheezes out, word unforming in his throat.

It’s not a nightmare. It feels real and warm and solid, like Ingo, like the platform under his knees, like the cold breeze on the back of his neck. Ingo may look different, far too gaunt for Emmet’s liking (and he supposes, now, that it may be like looking in a mirror, and he wonders how many bones Ingo can feel under his coat) but it’s him. No illusion or actor would crumble like this. It couldn’t be some sick joke—right?

He manages out words, and the first thing he chokes out through tears, voice warbling hard, is:

“Ingo—”

“Emmet,” Ingo grits out. 

“I am Emmet—” Emmet says weakly. “You are Ingo. You are real.”

“I—” Ingo chokes. “I am. I’m real.”

Ingo certainly feels that way. The breath echoes in his lungs, damp and wobbly. Emmet can feel his heart slam against his ribcage. He feels so small in his arms but he shakes with the effort of keeping himself stable and with the effort of holding on. He can feel his shoulders move and the way his tears have started to soak through Emmet’s coat and shirt. He’s real. 

Emmet laughs weakly, equally as wet.

“You are very strong,” he says softly, sniffling in, almost amused. “What happened to my brother?”

Ingo laughs. Emmet feels a new wave of tears bubble up in his chest and in his eyes. He presses his face into his shoulder a little more, like it were possible.

“Too much,” Ingo says, voice pitching. “Much too much.”

Emmet sighs into his shoulder, a sound he doesn’t think Ingo’s ever heard before. Ingo’s seen him cry a few times, especially when they were kids, but Ingo was always the more emotional of the two. This sound is such an odd mix of relief and grief and exhaustion pulled from his chest, like all the energy had trickled out of him.

Emmet holds tight to his brother in front of him, words not surfacing like they should. He only manages the weak sobs pressed into the collar of his coat. He screws his eyes shut again, clinging onto Ingo’s coat. The tile is cold and unyielding under his knees. Burning starts to prickle through his shins. Real feelings. Real sensations. Something to tether himself to. Ingo sniffles, coughing damply. He lets his body deflate a touch. Emmet’s chest twists and squeezes tight enough around his heart he feels it shove its way into his voice-box and beat there, pattering away.

“It’s you,” Emmet finally shudders out, voice breaking, sounding much more fragile than he wants to allow. Ingo burrows closer like it may do something. Emmet squeezes him. “Go-Go, please tell me this is real.”

“I promise,” Ingo manages. “I swear it.”

“You do?”

“You are Emmet,” he says slowly, sniffling. “I am your brother. I am real.”

“Good—” Emmet shudders. “Good.”

Ingo makes a pained noise, sighing out to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. Emmet shakes his head, stilted from where he rests it.

“Don’t be sorry. Just—” he trails off. Just. Don’t leave again. Yeah.

Ingo nods slowly. After a moment he says:

“You are real,” in a half questioning tone. Emmet nods.

“I am. I am not a dream,” he says, huffing out a wet laugh. “You can pinch me.”

Ingo snorts.

“That’s not how that works,” He argues, own voice damp and amused. Emmet thumps his back between his shoulderblades.

“Go-Go,” he complains. Ingo wheezes. This feels so familiar it hurts.

“Sorry,” Ingo says, but the tone that leaks into his voice sounds like he’s very much not sorry. “I’m sorry.”

Emmet huffs again, soft and brittle.

“Ingo, I missed you,” he manages. “I missed you so much. So very much.”

“I know,” Ingo says softly, relaxing his hands, splaying them out over Emmet’s coat. “And yet you kept the subway running in my absence—” he huffs, amused. “Bravo.”

Emmet laughs once, just a small little sound, before it turns back into sobs, muffled against Ingo’s tattered coat. He leans his weight back as much as he can, trying to pull Ingo further into his arms, as if it were possible. Light cascades around them as Chandelure floats over, chiming softly to herself. Ingo pats Emmet’s back, running a little line over his shoulderblades as they sit together. He feels Ingo shift, as if he’s turned his head toward his Chandelure. Warmth blossoms in his chest. 

Ingo mumbles out something Emmet almost hears. 

“She took your absence very hard,” Emmet says, trying to add to a conversation he hadn’t heard.

Ingo sighs, short and soft. They’re less holding on and more leaning, now. 

“Oh,” he says softly. It’s all he says before he turns his head back into his shoulder. Emmet pats his back. He feels like someone’s taken toothpicks to his nerves. Why does it hurt? Why does Ingo sound so lost?

He leans back from Ingo, but he doesn’t let go. His hands find his shoulders, pulling away enough to see him properly. Emmet’s eyes scan his face. They’re the same grey as he’s always known them, but so much more tired, now, deep lines and dark circles around the bottom. He’s frowning, just a little, eyes still red-rimmed from crying, tears still falling haphazardly. Ingo sniffles. His hair lies the same, despite being unkept, and he’s got a terrible facial hair situation going on, like he’d forgotten how to use a razor. When Emmet studies him, Ingo’s face goes soft. He opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but shuts it when Emmet frowns. 

“Ingo,” Emmet says, frown deepening, eyebrows furrowing. He sniffles. He prods at the hollow of his cheek, looking perplexed. “You look horrible, like someone’s shaken twenty pounds off you.”

“Ah,” Ingo says, looking away.

“You may be much stronger than you were, but you look like you may fall over if I let you go.”

Ingo swallows. His expression morphs a few times, until he shuts his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I might.”

“Ah!” Emmet says, holding to his shoulders a bit tighter. Ingo smiles, just the sides of his mouth lifting. It feels right. “Don’t.”

Ingo snorts.

“I’ll try.”

Emmet nods, mouth a fine line. Ingo’s eyes flick over his face, this time. Emmet feels like pokemon under a magnifying glass being scrutinized. Ingo watches as Emmet blinks tears away, watches them track over his face, and watches as he reaches up to wipe them. Emmet shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice softening at the end unexpectedly. He swallows down a wave of cold guilt. Ingo’s hands clasp around his biceps.

“Emmet—” he starts.

“It’s okay,” Emmet manages out, expression cracking. He sniffles in, pulling in a fast breath as he does. He hears it catch, feels the shudder than comes with it. “You—it’s you.”

“That’s right,” Ingo says meekly, loosening his grip. Emmet’s wobbly smile falters, just for a moment.

“That’s good,” Emmet sighs. He blinks a few times, sniffs again, wipes at his face. Ingo’s hands fall away from his arms and into his own lap.

The frown lingers on Ingo’s face long after he’s dropped his hands. Emmet rises to a slow, shaky stand. Stuffing his gloves in his pocket, he wipes at his face with the back of his hand, giving Ingo a watery smile. When Ingo looks up at him, Emmet feels something click into his chest, warm, full, and settling. He smiles wider, enough to feel his eyes start to squint shut, enough to watch Ingo copy him, and the smile looks so natural on his face. It’s good. This is good. This. Feels. Good. It feels good.

“I don’t think you should sit on the floor anymore, Ingo,” Emmet says. He extends his hand.

“I think I’m a bit too old for it,” Ingo tells him. Ingo takes it. He holds his warm hand, half palm and half wrist. Emotion tumbles in his chest, painfully tight, as he leads Ingo toward the tunnel entrance. 

There’s something Ingo isn’t saying. Emmet knows it’s important. It’s not important enough to say now, that is, but he can feel it in the air of Ingo next to him as they duck into the empty station, back to the office, away from eyes that might say something before Emmet is ready to let the world know who showed up at his doorstep. It’s fine if Ingo doesn’t remember his pokemon, or the layout of Gear Station, or how he should feel, or where he’s been. He can’t ask him to. Not when there was a moment where Ingo couldn’t remember him, no matter how brief. He pushes fear deep into his chest and refuses to let it rise up.

He won’t let them diverge. He won’t let Ingo derail.

Whatever happens next, he’s not letting go of him.

The night comes easier than most.

It starts with Emmet sending a text—it’s last minute, which he despises, but he informs the head of the station that he isn’t feeling well and won’t be in at work for the next few days. He receives a spaced, but enthusiastic reply, and a reminder to use his sick time before he loses it. Probably better that he’s taking more days rather than less. Emmet feeds their pokemon, moving around the kitchen as he hears the shower running in the room across from his own. Busying himself with routine means he worries a little less about the question tugging at his mind, or the rush of anxiety and energy as he remembers everything, replaying it over and over again in his head. What if it isn’t Ingo that steps from the room? What if he looks completely different? What if—

Galvantula bumps his hand, nibbling at his sleeve. He’s still holding the bowl of food. He sets it on the floor as instructed, briefly pulled away from his thought.

Now, situated in the living room, a takeout bag rests on the coffee table, where Emmet is sitting next to the table, pulling out foil wrapped sandwiches and bags of chips and a too-shaken can of soda. He’s been watching Ingo’s face for a good part of the evening, seeing as lines come and go, how the sharp shape worsens when he frowns. Now, in a thick, high collared sweater and pajamas, grime scrubbed away with a hot shower, Ingo looks very small, and very alive, and very cold. Emmet pokes him with a socked foot as Ingo takes another ravenous bite of his egg and cheese sandwich. He has egg yolk all over his hands and down his chin.  

“I am Emmet,” he says, an awed smile lingering on his face. “And I am certain you are going to choke if you eat that fast.”

Ingo blinks, still chewing. Maybe two sandwiches was the right move after all. Emmet hasn’t touched the one he bought for himself yet. He’s been too busy making sure Ingo drinks a glass of water. Ingo flushes, though, as he realizes he’s made an runny-egg mess of the plate balanced on his knee. He looks sheepishly away, searching for something to wipe his hands with. When he can’t find anything, he sets the sandwich down, and wanders back to the kitchen.

“It’s like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Emmet remarks. His stomach flips a bit at the implication, wondering when the last time Ingo actually had a warm meal in his body. He realizes he doesn’t even know where he’s been. What could be wrong with him. What he’d seen. He seems dazed, a bit lost, a bit spacey. It had taken him a good thirty seconds to recognize Emmet on that platform—though, if Emmet’s honest with himself, and he often tries to be, he isn’t much better. He’d swallowed down confusion just as fast as he could, and that was only a moment before he’d thrown himself at his brother. Ingo’s shoulders are a tense line.

“I’ve eaten,” Ingo says.

“Good.”

When Ingo wanders back over, sitting in his same spot, Emmet pushes the glass of water toward him. Ingo nods, smiling a little as he picks it up and takes a long drink. After he’s finished and set the glass down, Emmet starts on his sandwich. Between his first bite of hashbrown and egg and the next, he says:

“Ingo,” followed by. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

The two go quiet, even with the sound of foil and sandwiches. Ingo swallows, staring into his patterned plate. Emmet watches his face as much as he did prior. He can tell when a pause is calculated for drama, for intrigue, for embellishment, but this one is full of Ingo’s mind scrambling. Emmet can’t see it in action, but he can certainly imagine a million Ingo’s running around in his brain space, trying to compose an answer for Emmet that would satisfy him. Ingo takes another bite in the meantime.

Emmet stares into bits of potato in the foil on his lap. They’re not very interesting.

“What happened?” he asks softly, not looking up at him. He hears Ingo sigh, and sees him put the plate down in his peripheral.

“I—” Ingo starts, and the stutter of his voice is indicative of something very clear to Emmet.

“Ingo,” he says, looking up suddenly. “Don’t.”

Ingo swallows. His throat bobs. Emmet doesn’t even have to finish his sentence.

“I’ve forgotten everything,” Ingo says, in a way that is so un-Ingo-like. “Almost everything. It’s just—there. Right out of reach. Right out of my reach.”

The television casts color across Ingo’s face, obscuring his expression. Emmet fights to keep his expression cool and neutral, despite the way his heart begs to jump into his throat and throw a party. He has a sandwich to eat, not a heart. Silly heart. Silly Emmet. He supposes now that’s why Ingo’s reaction to Chandelure was so stunted. Or the way he skirted away from the station like it may reach out and pinch him like a dwebble. He takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly.

“I don’t know why,” Ingo continues, picking at the seeds on top of his bagel. “I don’t know how, either. And I don’t think I can stomach the where and what, yet. I feel sick when I think too hard. Dizzy and sick.”

Emmet swallows roughly.

“It’s okay,” he says. Ingo shakes his head, shutting his eyes. Emmet watches his face warp, faltering as he holds back whatever emotion’s just bubbled up in his chest. He screws his eyes shut, new tears dripping down his cheeks and off his chin. “Go, listen—”

Emmet reaches. He brushes Ingo’s hand, and Ingo jerks back on instinct, recoiling. He looks at Emmet, expression blank, nervous, then cracking all at once. Emmet’s own face falters as they meet eyes. Emmet holds his hand over Ingo’s, waiting, still crouching in front of him. He tries for a smile, even as Ingo goes blurry.

“I’m glad you remembered me,” he warbles out. “We can keep going from there. Our tracks move forward.”

“I don’t believe my car in this two car train is very safe, Em,” Ingo sniffles. He takes Emmet’s hand, though, and Emmet curls his fingers over his, both hands around his one hand. He squeezes ever so.

“We’re known for our safety checks, brother,” Emmet says gently. “It’s just our standard operating procedure.”

Ingo laughs softly. The sound is damp, but real. Trying to be something positive. It’s all he can ask of him.

“Understood,” Ingo says. He nods, setting his face, despite the way tears still cloud his eyes, and his mouth still wobbles as he sniffles in. “We shall depart then.”

“We will!” Emmet says, squeezing his hands again. He drops them, then, patting Ingo’s knees like he were beating on the table. Ingo huffs out a laugh, shooing him away.

It doesn’t hurt any less, knowing how much might be absent. But it soothes it a bit to watch Ingo smile.

Later, sitting on the couch together, Ingo rests against Emmet, sandwiches eaten, chips picked through, water drank. His face has regained a touch of color, hands no longer shaking with exertion. He breathes slowly and softly as Emmet flips through television mindlessly, looking for anything. To his left, Eelektross snores, head resting on his knee. He runs a hand absently along the scales at the top of his head, listening to the drone of purr and the chatter of late night television.

“Brother,” Emmet says softly. “Ingo.”

Ingo makes no sound. His breath stays even and slow. Emmet snorts. Right. He supposes it’s payback—he can’t remember the amount of times he’d fallen asleep during movie night with Elesa. 

Elesa. 

Emmet startles.

Reaching for his phone, he hastily manages a message to Elesa. Something like: Come over ASAP. Good news. Very good. About Ingo.

 But his message reads in all lowercase like a run-on sentence, so he hopes in the morning Elesa will decipher it.

Emmet leans back, Ingo’s sleeping weight falling to Emmet’s side as he lies down on the couch cushions. His brother only partially adjusts in his sleep, better tucking into one side, head on his shoulder. Warm with sleep and food, Emmet lets his eyes unfocus. There’s too much static resting right under his skin to let him sleep. 

This is good, though. A moment of reprieve for him, and desperately needed for Ingo. Maybe in the morning they’ll talk about getting rid of that ridiculous beard of his.

Emmet hums softly to himself. He listens to the drone of the television for a moment, blissfully tired. There’s a moment of quiet just long enough to feel sleep tug at him.

Someone pounds on his door.

Ah. Well.

Miscalculation on his part, then.

[hehe-hoho-ohno]

So, uh, I get the general vibe that people are expecting a new chapter for Misfits on Christmas. Honestly, I was also hoping that I would be able to update on Crisis. Unfortunately, the chapter is not even close to being ready to be posted. I'm really sorry. (Combo of busy irl, writers block, and a new hyperfixation grabbing me by the throat.)

However! As a holiday treat, I do have a snippet from the next chapter of Misfits. Spoilers under the cut!

----

People Who Might Be Persuaded To Wind Ingo Up; a numbered list:

1. Emmet

I cannot ask Emmet, he gave a very clear no, as is his right. He seemed extremely distressed by the prospect and I don’t want to upset him further. There’s no need to burden him with my problems.

2. General North

I know that if I asked him he would oblige me, as he has done so in the past. After the entirety of the Taffy Battalion rebuffed me he came to my aid. However, this also caused him to reassign me to the Pine Battalion, effective immediately, because if they refused assist me with basic maintenance then our working relationship had clearly deteriorated beyond repair. He would not listen when I tried to persuade him otherwise.

I cannot risk him removing me from Gear Battalion. Do not approach under any circumstances.

3. Whoever it is that helps Emmet?

It doesn’t make any sense. Who winds Emmet up? He’s been working on his own for quite some time, and he doesn’t appear to have any friends. General North? It can’t be, Emmet hates him. Besides, if he asked the General now he would simply redirect him to me, or worse. There must be something I’m missing.

I can’t ask Emmet directly, but perhaps there is some other way to find out?

4. The fairy floss spiders

I talked to Emmet’s spiders about my dilemma and they were very good listeners. I had a far fetched and rather outrageous theory that Emmet might have trained them to wind him up. In my defence, they are the only living beings Emmet has a positive relationship with. Further thought proved that this was an even more ludicrous idea than first assumed, as they are too small and lightweight to physically turn a key, even if a whole cluster of them worked together. It is possible that exhaustion is making me slightly delirious.

It was not a complete waste as I feel better after putting my thoughts into words. Additionally, spending time with the spiders always puts me in a positive mood.

Update: a cluster of them worked together to drag a candy cane to me. They must have misunderstood my worries about running out of energy for me being hungry, not understanding that I don’t need to eat like they do. All the same, it was extremely sweet of them to try to help me and it’s a gift I will treasure.

5. Donner

Even when we were in the same battalion our relationship was transactional in nature. If I did a chore for him, such as cleaning or moving cargo, he would return the favour and assist me with maintenance. I have not spoken to him since my removal from his battalion. Although we parted ways on a sour note, he might still be willing to aid me if I offer my services.

Update: He refused. He laughed at me.

6. Captain Jawbreaker

Previously, he gave me an ultimatum: no member of the battalion would wind me up unless I smiled convincingly beforehand. At the time I was unable to. If this ultimatum is still in effect, perhaps it works in the reverse as well.

Update: I’ve tried in front of a mirror and I was unable to produce anything that Captain Jawbreaker would be satisfied with. Since my removal from the Taffy Battalion I have not been practicing as frequently and upon joining Gear Battalion I stoped completely. It’s noticeable. I’m terribly rusty.

Update: I can’t do it. My more recent attempts would be more likely to elicit a punishment than a reward. My cheeks hurt.

Update: I still can’t do it, I wouldn’t be able to even if I had days to improve and I don’t have days. I shouldn’t be wasting my time trying but I don’t know what else to do.

Update: I can’t

7. ???

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, who else is there? Everyone hates me. Everyone hates me. I can’t even bring myself to try pleading with more of my former squad members I already know they’ll say no they don’t like me no one does

I’m running out of time

8. Emmet

Beg. I could throw myself at his feet and beg for mercy. He’s been kind before and he’s shown concern for my well being in the past, he might take pity on me. He’s my friend, isn’t he? If he knew how dire my situation was

What a horrible thing to do to a friend. He was so distressed the first time I brought it up, I won’t add guilt to that too. I don’t want to risk our friendship by pushing beyond what he is comfortable with. I don’t want him to hate me.

Maybe he already does

9. Nobody

[bella-goths-wife]

Baseball

Yandere cullens x reader

As you arrived at the field, you instantly felt uneasy. You didn’t know what to think of Bella. The last time the two of you had talked it felt safe but you knew that Edward had her so deeply in love that she would do anything he asked, she would eventually join their cruelty.

Rosalie tugged on your shirt and fussed over you while Esme glared at her. They always seemed to fight over who could be more controlling or ‘motherly’

As you all got into your positions, you heard birds in the trees and felt yourself connect with them. You gave a small smile but it went away when Carlisle ruffled your hair

“Listened to the birds sweetheart?” He asked affectionately

You gave a small nod and he chuckles and looks at you strangely before silently ordering you to get into your position.

You were up to bat and lifted the bat above you. An image of hitting one of them repeatedly with it flashed across your mind and a smirk appeared.

You hit the ball and it goes into the forest, you begin running while Edward chases the ball. A thought enters you mind and you quickly work on it.

As Edward climbs up a tree to use it as a jumping pad, you command the birds to crowd him. They fly aggressively at his face and distract him enough for you to run and avoid getting out (I’m sorry if this isn’t right I’m British and don’t know the rules)

Rosalie cheers and lifts you up excitedly while Edward stomps over with feathers in his hair. You giggle and he glares at you while Bella soothes him.

Your victory is short lived however when you all smell another vampire, you looked over at the opening of the field and found spectators.

There were three people. Two men and one woman. The woman had bright red hair that you admired while the two men were attractive and built quite large with decent sized muscles.

The girl gives a small applause and gives you a cheeky smile. You felt yourself smile back but then realise who was with you.

The family crowd Bella and Edward looks over protectively. Rosalie pulls you to her while emmet stands behind her and Jasper stays to the side of you

“Sorry for intruding” one of the men says “we couldn’t help but admire your game”

“No problem at all” Carlisle says with fake charm

“Was this your doing?” The blonde man says while pointing to Edward who still had bird feathers on him

You give a slight nod and he chuckles

“I liked it” the woman praises “hell of a shot!”

“Thank you” you said with a small smile and a head tilt

Rosalie tugs on your arm to shut you up as the other vampires look on in curiosity

“We were wondering if we could join your game?” One of the men asks with a smile “we’re awfully bored and you seem like good players”

“Sure, why not” Carlisle agrees while Edward tries to subtly sneak Bella away “a few of us were leaving so you can make up for lost numbers”

They nodded and you thought that Bella would get away unscathed. You walked forward and the redhead smiles at you and begins conversation while Jasper stand behind you.

That’s when the wind came and you all caught a whiff of bellas human scent. The blonde man takes a deep inhale while he and The woman share a look. Jasper yanks you back and the woman gives you a knowing, almost sympathetic look.

“Seems you brought a snack” the blonde man and he walks towards Bella while your family crowd and hiss

While this happens the other man and the woman come closer

“You can control animals right?” The man asks and you nod unsure of what to do

“And you don’t want to be with these people anymore?” The woman asks with a grin

You think for a moment before hesitantly nodding while looking at your family who were still distracted with the blonde man

“Your useful so we’re going to take you, do you want that?” The woman asks and you quickly nod, she smiles “there’s seven birds nests in the pathway we’re using”

“Can you control that many?” The man asks and you nod confidently “great, your gonna swarm them when we take you”

You think for a moment. Would this be better than you current situation. You look at you family and see them all staring at the man threateningly like they usually do with you, decision made.

You nod just as the man walks away from your family and shoots the other two a look. He comes closer as Rosalie calls you but before you can respond the blonde man lifts you over his shoulder and begins running

Your startled but quickly adjust to the situation. You’d begged for an escape for years and even if you didn’t trust these strangers, they couldn’t be more cruel than your current coven.

Your family all let out rage full growls before chasing. They ran quickly but these strangers seemed to be able to outrun them. The blonde made sure to hold onto you tightly as you remembered your part in the plan.

You saw Jasper leap and as he almost made contact with the woman, a swarm of ravens crashed into his face and forced him back.

This continued as more animals joined in. You connected with multiple birds and commanded them to protect you. Deers ran in front of them and small animals blocked their path.

The four of you reached a boat and the blonde man hastily put you down while the woman started the engine and the boat began to move.

You saw your family at the docks as they looked on with rage. The boat moved quickly as the other three relaxed slightly and you let out a relief filled laugh as they looked at you curiously.

You stuck your middle finger up to your family from the docks as final message and the others laughed along with you.

It wouldn’t be your final message though. You knew deep down they would catch you again. But you could enjoy the small joy you received from this temporary freedom.

You had no idea why these people took you but if they had cruel ideas, you hoped that they would kill you.

You would rather be dead or in danger than go back to those monsters.

[smallestapplin]

Random thing of meeting Ingo and Emmet’s dad.

- when you are firstly introduced to your lovers’s dad, you were terrified. He stood tall, with an angry scowl on his face (much like Ingo’s, though deeper, and the lines of age on his face only made it look more menacing.) his wide frame took up most of the door frame.

- It was on accident, you were just stopping by to bring Ingo and Emmet some lunch.

- “Dear! I’m so sorry, we got so caught up in work we forget to mention it.” Ingo still happily took your homemade lunch, as did Emmet. “This is our dad! Dad, our darling we were telling you about!” Emmet smiled.

- The man’s expression barely moved before he held his hand out to you, “Arthur.”

- You shake his hand, giving him your own name, but he merely nods and sits on the sofa in the office.

- You were almost scared to look to the much older man, he had those same alabaster eyes, but they weren’t familiar to you as the twins’s were.

- The twins are and chatted with you and each other, as they told stories of today.

- Arthur, however, wasn’t saying anything, seemingly just relaxing to his sons voices. Emmet is pouting cause you haven’t given him his daily dose of affection, but that twin link tells him enough.

- But luckily for you, they know just how to break the ice.

- In the middle of Emmet telling you what happened today, Ingo chimes in “yeah, your plan backfired so badly. It reminded me of the time you slammed your own hand in the car door, that dad was teaching us how to fix, thinking it was mine.”

- You snort, only for your laugh to be deafened by the louder one next to you. Arthur leans back in his seat, cackling.

- Emmet whines “oh great, now both of you are against me.” Knowing just what’s going to happen.

- You’re shocked when Arthur pulls out his wallet, letting the long album fall from it, and showing you a picture near the bottom.

- “That’s us at the hospital. Had to make sure he didn’t break anything.” You’re stunned, you can hear the joy in his voice, remembering the time fondly, even if his face doesn’t show it.

- “What about that one?” You point to a picture higher up, one of the older pictures he has.

- Silver eyes soften at it.

- “That one? Ah, they must’ve been no older than five, and they somehow got into my train kits that I kept when I retired.” He chuckles “they had oil stains on their clothes for weeks.”

- “Dad, please, no more.” Emmet grimaced, knowing there is no stopping Arthur when he gets started.

- And there is no stopping you when you see cute pictures of your boyfriends when they were younger.

- “Ooo what about this one?” You point to a picture of them as kids, covered in mud with a equally muddy Herdier, while Emmet holds up a Tynamo.

- “Daring, please-“ Emmet groans, once again cut off.

- “Ah that’s them with my Herdier, Pepper, she’s a good old girl, kept those two in check when I wasn’t around. I came out back to call them in for dinner, and found ‘em all absolutely filthy. Turns out, they used her so Emmet could catch his own Pokémon.”

- “So, what about Ingo and Chandelure?”

- “He got that one from me, and my little Lilac at home, she’s my lampet.”

- You found it so easy to talk to him, falling easily into a full blown conversation with him as he answers your questions, and tells you stories of what it was like raising Ingo and Emmet. He’s more than happy to show you pictures too! You found out he use to work at gear station as the engineer, in fact he usually stops by as some of his friends kids work here too.

- “Ya know, y’all should come over for dinner sometime.”

- At this, the twins perk up.(as they had given up trying to stop their father from telling you all their embarrassing stories.)

- “Oh! How about this weekend?”

- “Yes! Yes! We are off then!”

- You can’t help but get excited, wanting to meet their dad’s Pokémon, and wanting to see the bigger album.

- “I’ll get to that then. Y’all be safe, and boy.” The twins knew, jumping up and giving their dad a hug.

- It was funny watching Arthur lift Ingo and Emmet up in either arm, and hugging them tightly, so tightly you can hear their backs pop.

- “No overworkin’. Either of ya.”

- He looks to you, and you can tell his happy. “It was nice meetin’, I’m glad these two found someone.”

- You three wave him out as he leaves.

- “Why didn’t you two tell me your dad was an absolute sweetheart?”

- Emmet groans, while Ingo sighs.

- “Cause we knew he was going to show you that wallet album, he refuses to get rid of.”

- “It’s the first thing he shows people.”

- “Aw, that’s so cute.”

- You know it’s embarrassing, but it’s cute their dad is still a big part of their lives.

- Even if you did focus on the pictures of when they were little, you still saw the pictures at the end of the album wallet.

- Pictures of the twins in high school, pictures of their gym badges, and pictures of what looked to be a not too old family game night.

- You can only imagine what fun things await for you in the bigger photo album.

- Their dad might not want to embarrass them, but you do.

[sunstone-smiles]

Where's Your Sense of Humor?

Author’s note: Aaaah! I’m a week late! But I decided to do Day 1 of Novembas: Sibling Antics / Humor since I thought these prompts were perfect for the subway boys to have some fun! This will be the only day I’ll participate in, but thank you to @/submas-november for making the list! I hope you all enjoy!

Series: Pokemon

Characters: Emmet and Ingo

Word count: 1,413

Summary: Emmet tries to tell a joke to get Ingo to laugh, but he’s unsuccessful, so Emmet figures out another plan that can really get his brother laughing.

—

Sitting on the couch of their apartment, Ingo’s eyes peacefully scan the pages of a book that informs him with facts about trains. With every word, Ingo learns more about the history of locomotives, even going so far as to teach him of the pokemon who helped to build the first tracks. To Ingo, this gathering of information was entertainment. A little across from Ingo, Emmet sits in an armchair that occupies the other side of the living room. In his hands, he reads his own book with a yellow cover and vibrant shapes plastered on the front.

Emmet suddenly breaks the silence of the apartment with a giggle. Snapped out of the silence of his reading trance, Ingo peeks his eyes over the spine of his book to glance at Emmet. Unaware of the other watching him, Emmet lets out another chuckle as his eyes are focused on a page.

Ingo places his book on his lap. “Emmet, what are you laughing at?” the older twin asks with a curious tone.

“Oh!” Emmet smiles at his brother, closing his book between his fingers to show the yellow cover without losing his page. “Sorry if I disturbed you, Ingo. But this joke book is just too funny. I couldn’t help but laugh at some of them.”

“I see. That would explain the sudden chuckle.”

“How is your book, Ingo?” Emmet asks a standard question, but something mischievous in his eyes and the inflection in his words seem to hold a separate reason for asking. Nevertheless, Ingo answers his question.

“I’m enjoying it. I’m learning a lot of facts that I didn’t have knowledge of before.” 

“That’s good,” Emmet responds, but that same look in his eyes then expands downwards to form a grin. “I bet you're reading some, riveting information,” Emmet smiles from his joke, perfectly executing the setup he put for Ingo. He leans forward, as if he’s awaiting a response. But his desired outcome doesn’t go as planned.

“What?” Ingo tilts his head to the side.

“You know! Riveting! Like the rivets of a train. Get it?” Emmet explains his comedy and giggles at his own joke.

“I know about the support functionality of rivets, but what does that have to do with the current chapter I’m reading?”

Emmet shakes his head. “Nothing. It was supposed to be a joke. Come on Ingo, where’s your sense of humor?” he teases his brother.

Unappreciative of his brother’s tease at the joke flying over his head, Ingo leans back in his seat and lifts up his book to eye-level. He speaks, almost with a tone similar to a cold shoulder. “Perhaps your delivery then was unfunny.”

Emmet fakes an offended gasp and leaps out of his seat. “Me?! The smiley and funny twin being unfunny? How dare you! I request that you take that statement back. I have a reputation to uphold, you know,” Emmet glances a playful look towards his brother to make sure he knows he’s kidding.

Ingo understands he’s joking, but the older twin still keeps up the act. He scoffs and rolls his eyes, seemingly absorbed in the world of facts and logic of his book.

Emmet puts his hands to his hips. “The silent treatment, huh?” The younger twin waltzes over to the couch and plops himself down on the other side. He crosses his arms to act tough and stares down his brother. “Ingo,” he calls his name. Ingo clearly ignores him. Emmet narrows his eyes and tries again. “Ingo!” he says even louder than the first. Again, there’s no reaction from his twin.

The younger subway boss growls under his breath. Emmet reaches for his brother’s side. “Ingo. Listen to me—” 

“Ack!” Ingo jumps closer to the arm of the couch when Emmet pokes his side. He shoots Emmet a glare, his voice trailing with what sounds like giggle. “Emmet! Don’t do that!”

The younger twin pulls back his hand. A smirk that oozes with deviousness replaces his surprised expression. “I am Emmet. And maybe there is a way to tickle your funny bone after all,” he grins.

Ingo’s eyes widen and he leans further into the arm of the couch, trying to scoot away as far as possible from the idea rising in his brother’s head. “Emmet,” Ingo says his name like a cautionary warning. “Don’t you even think—AH!” the older twin is tackled onto the side of the couch, dropping his book to the floor in the process. Emmet’s fingers dart towards his ribs and Ingo jolts with an explosion of giggles.

“Ehehehehemmet!” Ingo tugs at his brother’s wrists to try and pull himself away from Emmet’s silly sibling antics of a tickle attack.

“There you go! Now you’re laughing! Where was this reaction earlier?” Emmet teasingly asks. “I guess it just took a good rib-tickler to get you laughing!” Emmet tickly vibrates his fingers across Ingo’s ribs, resulting in the older twin clamping his arms down in reflex.

“Thahahat is nohohohot funny!” Ingo wriggles around on the couch with a big smile glued to his face.

“If it’s not funny, then why are you laughing?”

“Behehehecause you’re tickling mehehehe!” Ingo answers truthfully obvious, unable to think of any witty comebacks with his brain currently being overflowed with the sound of his own giggles. Ingo suddenly yelps when Emmet crawls his fingers to his underarms and he throws his head back with booming laughter that could fill an entire subway station.

“What? Noooo, really? I had no idea,” Emmet feigns innocence with another grin.

“Ohohohokay! That’s it!” Ingo exclaims with a newfound playfulness laced in his voice. He launches his arms forward and squeezes Emmet’s sides. Emmet suddenly spasms straight up as a tickly shockwave zaps up his spine and through his body. With the opportunity, Ingo leaps at his brother, tackling him down to the other side of the couch.

Emmet makes a frantic attempt to wrestle his brother’s hands away, but Ingo quickly finds an opening at his brother’s belly. He yelps and breaks out into his own fit of giggles; his legs kick out behind him in giggly joy. “Wahahahait! Ingohohoho!” Emmet uses one hand to shove at his brother, while the other shoves Ingo's hand at his tummy.

“Oh no, you know the unspoken rule, Emmet. Payback must be given,” Ingo softly smiles as he scribbles his fingers across his twin’s tummy. “I bet you’re tickled pink that it’s your turn to be laughing now.”

“Thahahahat johohohoke was teheherrible!” the younger twin criticizes through his own wide smile.

“Says you, hypocrite!” Ingo dives his hands towards his brother’s sides and scribbles into the area. Emmet nearly squeals when his most ticklish spot is targeted again and he wildly flails his limbs. 

“Wahahait! WAIT! I tahahahake it bahahahack!” Emmet frantically tries to wriggle himself backwards towards the arm of the couch, but Ingo hold is effectively latched onto his twin’s sides. Through his squirming, the younger twin curls himself into a ball with his arms tightened to his sides and his head leaning back into cushions. “Ohohohokay!” Emmet calls out to his brother above him with any strength he has left, “Mehehehercy! Mercy!”

Hearing his brother, Ingo leans back and moves his hands away, allowing Emmet to sink into the cushions. Ingo glances down at a worn out Emmet, then scoots over to the other side of the couch and picks up his book. He flips to the page he left off on and continues reading, as if he was never disturbed. 

Emmet catches his breath while his arms are hugged around his middle. Residual giggles trickle out of him while he sits himself up enough to lean back on the arm of the couch. 

Ingo pulls his eyes away from the pages to look at his brother. “Are you recovered now, Emmet?” Ingo asks with a slight smile.

“Yeah,” Emmet answers, exhausted. He glances at Ingo’s book about trains again, then puts on another smile. “Just a little out of steam.” 

Ingo lets a small chuckle out at that one and shakes his head.

“Ah ha! Gotcha that time,” Emmet beams victoriously.

Ingo playfully rolls his eyes and returns to his book. Emmet returns to his book as well and the room turns quiet again, yet also with a calm air surrounding the room, rather than the stiffness that may come with silence. Emmet’s final joke wasn’t entirely humorous, but his timing after their sibling shenanigans couldn’t have been better.  

[mochikofi]

Hello can give crush edward cullen x f!reader headcanons please 🙏 😊

Crush - (Edward Cullen)

Pairs: Edward Cullen x Fem! Reader.

Summary: Having a crush on Edward Cullen is not easy, especially when he have alot of fan. But you can't help but think of him all the time.. but little did you know, that the boy you like is a mind reader.

Headcanon! Kind of crack? And kind of oneshot?? Idk but i hope ya like it.

Note!: Bella's gonna be your cousin in this one. And bella is gonna be a bitch in here(I'M SORRY). Also omfg i love the cullens and the volturi so much their so PRETTY-

(sorry if y'all don't like it 🫠🫠)

Having a crush on Edward Cullen is not easy.. especially when he have alot of fans, including your, oh so great cousin.

But that doesn't stop you! I mean, it's not wrong to imagine right? But nah Edward always reads your mind and is interested in your thoughs about him.

He always caught you staring at him so you tried to stare less so you wouldn't be embarrassed.

But you just can't help it, the Cullen's and the Hale's beauty is just so eye catching to the point that you can stare at them all day and not get bored. You mostly stare at edward tho.

You we're just walking and thinking about Edward until a pixie haired girl came to you and popped out of nowhere.

"Hello! I'm alice, it's nice to finally meet you!"

Wait? "Finally"? Did you hear her right?? Well of course being you, you decided to shrug it off and talk to her.

"Hello, I'm (y/n). It's nice to meet you too..?" That sounded more like a question to you.

And alice being the sweet girl she is, just pulled you into there seat and made you sit next to Edward like wtf?

What happened to hello? Hi? I mean, it did happen but like.. who the heck pulls someone and make them sit next to their crush?? Well, apparently Alice.

And you being the lover girl, freaked out. In your head of course. Being next to your crudh is nerve wracking. Your palms we're kind of sweaty so you hid them inside your pockets. (Pockets are the best fr.)

And Edward being the little emo shit he is, reads your mind and tries not to smile. And of course, he already knows you're his soulmate. But what was he gonna do? Tell you that you're his soulmate and you should live with the Cullens?? No lmao. But it will happen in the future cause alice said so.

And jasper being the nice vampire he is, made you calm like a water and you don't even know how. You think He's just.. like a capybara i guess.

But Bella had to ruin the moment cuz Rosalie was supposed to talk to you 🙄. This actually made Rosalie mad ngl and emmet had to pull her back. And Rosalie being the queen she is glared at Bella.

Well, of course Bella tried to pull you back but not on Alice's watch. They had a pulling competition and boy.. your arms hurt asf. And alice won ofc.

And you being a teenager who's crush is beside her, switched side and became quiet cuz you're afraid they will judge you. And ofc they won and made you talk and laugh.

You we're talking with Emmet and rosalie with random things until your eyes decided to land on Edward who was smirking st you with his handsome face of his.

You quickly looked at someone else before you become a tomato, and of course, you're mind is full of Edward.. atp it's just normal for him to read your mind.

And school was a little shit so cafeteria break was over not until Edward grabbed your hand with his. You hoped that you're not burning rn cuz your mind is going wild.

"we have the same schedule, do you want to walk to class together?" He said with his voice that can make girls weak.

"yeah." Yeah?? Just a yeah?? Well don't blame our poor main character, everyone will relate to this. We don't trust our voice.

You and eddie boy just walked together in class, holding hands. Your mind still going wild. And Edward just smiles like he's a saint.

And oh boy, you can feel Bella's stare 💀. But you couldn't careless, i mean who wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to sit and hold hands with their crush?

To your surprise, this happens everyday. The Cullen's/Hale's just treat you like you're a part of their family (The swans can't relate.) And Edward being the gentleman he is, confesses to you that he's a vampire and your soulmate and all that.

But you couldn't care less about the vampire thing, as long as they don't kill you. But the soulmate part got you wildin. And Edward being the little shit he is, reads your mind and tells your that your imaginations with him are cute.

You almost passed out.

Like wtf? I mean they are a vampire... But wtf he have been reading your mind ALL THE TIME?? Nahh the embarrassment bro.

But you still accepted Edward. And esme being the good mother she is asked you to move in with them cuz they know all the tea you got with the swans and how they treat you like you don't exist.

And you being the lover girl accepted. Who wouldn't want to live in a mansion full of hot vampires bro.

Their actually surprised that you're kind of hyper during the night like wtf. Emmett always makes fun of you 😭😭

But like, serious talking bro Edward is head over heels like you. This boy like to feel you, like literally feel. Both of you are kinda clingy to each other, but Edward sometimes questions your mentality.

"i wish i could go inside your skin so i can hug you." - (You)

"and i thought I'm the only one who needs a therapist." - (Edward)

Bonus!

Bella gives you the side eyes with her "friends" and she even tried to steal Edward like wtf.

movie masterlist. - navigation.

[leggerefiore]

Food Fight

cw: drabble, can be interpreted as platonic and romantic

pairing: Ingo/Reader or Emmet/Reader or Ingo&Reader&Emmet

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲

It was a battle.

Not one of fists, nor one of pokemon, but one of lunch.

Your suggestion of a fun group activity was supposed to be light-hearted and easy, not whatever this was before you. Ingredients were smeared and placed in sections they were not supposed to be, while brothers seemed to glare and bicker. Ingo's lightly spicy hamburger section had been tainted with jam and whipped cream. Emmet's strawberry-banana peanut butter jam section was littered with a few jalapeños and mustard. The brothers themselves were an array of colours that had once been intended as food.

How had this happened?

Emmet had certainly started it, teasing Ingo lightly about his apparent dislike of sweets. Ingo was going to ignore it at first, but the younger twin had accidentally smeared jam just a bit too close to his designated section for his liking. His response? Well, none other than placing a jalapeño atop one of Emmet's bananas. A gasp left him at the offence. Then, it became a mess. The fact that they were grown adult men seemed lost.

You could only sigh. The jam on Ingo's side might not have been that bad of a flavour match, actually. The jalapeño and mustard had definitely ruined Emmet's side, however. You shook your head. Emmet suddenly cried out as Ingo managed to get a jalapeño into his mouth. The twin started fanning himself as he spit out the pepper.

You cut your section out from the sandwich and thought for a moment. Both liked savoury flavours, at least.

~

“Hey! Do you two still want to eat?” you called out to the twins after they had seemed to stop their fighting. Ingo looked over to you and grew flustered. Did he forget that you were with them? Emmet just nodded and got up to head back to the table that you had set up. Their mess of a sandwich was odd to the side and instead replaced with one that you had made. Klawf sticks, avocado, pineapple, jalapeño, and marmalade… It was a good mix of what they both liked and should not have been too overwhelming.

Emmet appeared a bit apprehensive at first, yet pushed himself to try it. Teeth eventually sank into the bread. His unsure expression slowly shifted into a bright smile and wide eyes. Ingo had treaded over, too, after suppressing his embarrassment.  He took a piece of the divided sandwich for himself. His bite was much quicker, clearly holding much less apprehension than Emmet had. He nodded at the flavour, eyes closing to savour it for a moment. The bravo that followed his swallow almost made you laugh.

“… Mmm, the peppers are not that bad,” Emmet relented quietly. Ingo seemed to puff up at that. You had a feeling that he had been trying to convince him to try them properly for a while.

“Yes, I suppose pineapple is not that terrible, either,” Ingo decided to give something to Emmet, too. The younger twin giggled at his words and leaned into his side playfully. You wanted to roll your eyes. Whatever animosity had overtaken them both was gone in an instant.

“Thank you verrrry much,” Emmet turned to you after everyone had finished eating, “… Sorry for almost ruining the picnic.” You just shrugged in reply. They were not at their worst, you supposed.

“Yes… That was immature of us,” Ingo continued, “Please do not think of us like that! We simply… bicker sometimes. Usually, we are much more in sync.” It was clear that he did not like the idea of you viewing them so poorly. You just shook your head.

They were too cute to be upset with.

(They both worked to make a sandwich for you as thanks afterward. It was touching, truly.)

[theright2quack]

Sorry I've been pretty silent about A Warden in Pasio. I'm still not sure when I'll start uploading again but I'm chipping away at it, promise!

Here's a little preview of the next chapter below the cut.

+++

The warden was nearing the bridge to his hotel room's islet with a small supply of groceries nestled amongst his rolled coat. Frustrating as it was to screw up his eyes against the bright afternoon sunlight while a cap was in his bag, he would not complain. His presence in Pasio had already caused much strife for a certain trainer; the discomfort of not wearing his invaluable outer layers was less significant than the discomfort of being discovered.

Was it veering on excessive paranoia for him to abstain from purchasing a cheap stand-in cap for casual outings? Admittedly, yes. But he was ninety percent sure that he had almost always been publicly seen wearing a hat before his derailment to Hisui. It was yet another similarity he did not want to risk.

He surfaced from his brooding when he noticed his guard slow their pace in his peripheral vision, turning their head backwards. The reason was made clear soon enough.

"Excuse me--"

Emmet's voice. Ingo abruptly about-faced with a warm squint-smile, only to freeze.

"Erm," the subway boss jolted back a step at the unexpectedly swift swivel, the ends of his pristine black coat swishing with the sway of his legs, "Warden?"