#but i think at some point i would like to replace my kettle with a nicer one

[supercantaloupe]

i have been drinking so much tea this summer. so much

[temis-de-leon]

Replaced MC AU/AU - V.3 - P.1

Characters: demon brothers, Diavolo, Barbatos, male! MC and crushing! male! NES (MC x NES)

Main Masterlist

Replaced MC AU/AU Masterlist (check the other versions and learn more about the NESs!)

Intro (gn!reader) , Part 2

CW: Solomon is mentioned, jealous and mean brothers, black cat x golden retriever behavior i think, one single kiss, a bit ambiguous at the end, not very angsty really, NES x MC centered

A/N: my favourite version of NES and MC by far, I enjoyed writing this a lot. However, my pc came out as homophobic and decided not to connect to any WiFi for this chapter, so I won't be able to update the links nor the masterlist until next week. Also, some people aren't properly tagged once again because I can't find their blogs for some reason?? So so sorry for that, but I don't know what to do about it.

.

NES was… someone they didn't expect. Unknowingly infuriating, always distracted and too unbothered to care about any of his surroundings. He was a disaster that enjoyed living in disaster and, if they weren't threatened by his presence, Satan and Belphegor would love his insolence.

Barbatos remembered an occasion, one moment from the second week of NES's attendance at RAD, where Lucifer gave him an earful for his ‘impropriety and insulting attitude towards the uniform’. Mammon had been there too, shirt out of his pants and jacket nowhere near closed, backing his brother up.

NES’s pristine appearance lasted only two periods before MC saw him chocking under his tie and laughed at him in sympathy. After that, he'd only wear the uniform ‘the Lucifer way’ if MC was there to eventually mess up the outfit.

And how could the eldest brother object to that?

“They need to loosen up, Lucifer”

MC always had the last word.

Solomon found the situation hilarious. Witnessing the brothers competing against each other in search of MC's attention was one thing, but adding NES to the equation? Yes, Barbatos had to somewhat agree. It was funny.

Who had been cooking for hours in the kitchen if not NES trying to make a quick snack for his fellow human? And who was the first one to leave the House of Lamentation each morning, already waiting next to MC’s seat by the time everyone else arrived?

Mammon called him a simp. Asmo liked to call them both the kettle and the pot.

And while, yes, Lucifer was the one and only Avatar of Pride, none of the brothers were able to admit just how big of a deal NES was becoming.

When would it be too late?

.

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The Demon Prince's birthday arrived and the mandatory celebration was as grandiose as one could expect. Everything was bright and full of laughter, the streets cramped with food stalls, demons and witches alike throwing mesmerizing magic tricks for the children, acrobats, costumes, music…

At one point MC considered handcuffing himself to NES. Even Luke was easier to manage!

Fortunately, Beel ended up finding him playing darts with a succubus and her partners. Unfortunately, MC seemed to be the only one who wanted to check if he was okay.

It was becoming… draining.

Not NES, of course. Sure, he was a handful, but none of his mistakes were intentional. Everything he did came from naiveness and ignorance, being new to the Devildom, and what he lacked in common sense he made up in enthusiasm.

At least he didn't steal his valuables and he’d never threatened to kill him or eat his heart, something MC still thought about frequently. The worst thing NES ever did to him was throw them both to the ground when he tried to slide on the floor at full speed. And he still apologized for that from time to time.

Did the brothers ever apologize for all the things they did or said? The way they used to look at him? He couldn't remember.

Now they were doing the exact same thing to NES. Treating him like an unwanted guest instead of the roommate they insisted on having, turning down every single one of his ideas, including the good ones, and very passively threatening him in a condescending tone, as if they could impress MC with that.

Maybe it was a demon thing? Or rather regular jealousy brought to a dangerous level?

Whatever the reason, MC didn't waste any time sitting them in the living room and chewing the hell out of them, something that enraged Lucifer and put a strain in their relationship, still making it difficult to make small talk, but of course none of them would back down. The rest of the brothers weren't so obvious showing their annoyance, but it was still there.

The good thing was that, as long as MC was there, NES wouldn't be the receiving end of any bullshit. The bad thing was that MC didn't know what was going on behind his back. And NES, bless his soul, was never willing to tell him if any of them made him uncomfortable.

It was draining and NES gave him a sense of peace, but the brothers missed him and they wanted to monopolize his time, but MC wanted to spend time with his new friend and that made the brothers angry and jealous, which made MC anxious, which made NES worry.

Every factor made the situation worse. The brothers were too much, NES was too good for the Devildom and MC was too done with everything.

However, the time passed surprisingly fast as they sang Happy Birthday to Diavolo, eating in the midst of it all, dancing with each other and talking like they used to do before the ridiculous ordeal, albeit with a subtle tension that limited their topics of conversation.

They even ignored NES! Which was better than any other option!

So, once the voices toned down and the guests divided themselves into small groups, MC forced himself to whisk Diavolo away for a moment and have a serious talk, Barbatos following close and listening with a curious glance.

That proved to be nothing but a waste of time.

“It's too soon to take conclusions, MC. I'm sure the brothers just need time. After all, remember your first year here!”

He did remember. That's why he was so worried.

And why did Diavolo talk to him like that? He was 100% sure Lucifer insulted NES to no end anytime he had more than one horn of Demonus. What did they call NES in the privacy of their office? What did they think while they talked to him and faked respect? What were they plotting when they looked MC in the eyes and promised him they wouldn't threaten NES anymore?

Too many lies.

“Alo?”

But then… NES smiled so easily… Like none of that bothered him. Luckily, MC didn't mind caring in his behalf. He wondered if being able to save someone from the fate he had last year was the root of all his actions.

“You look so worried, you're gonna get all wrinkly! Not like you'd look bad, but if you're going to have wrinkles, won't you rather have them in your eyes? Like, from smiling too much, you know?”

He did smile then, imitating NES’s caring expression.

“There you are, handsome! You're gonna be the envy of all in 90 years!”

“Do you really think I'm going to live that much?”

“God, I hope so”

They laughed softly, but it still sounded too loud. MC looked out for the brothers, checking their positions in the ballroom before grabbing NES’s hand and dragging him to one of the balconies. He preferred not having the moment tarnished.

“Good idea! Too hot in there…"

“Don't lie to me”

“Wha…?”

MC stared at him quite sternly, although trying not to look to much like Lucifer, but he needed an answer.

“Do they still bother you? Do they threaten you? Do they ignore you? What do they do?”

“Whoa, whoa, MC. Here comes the frown again…”

He raised his hands, caressing MC’s frown until it softened. His touch was warm and soft and it made MC lean towards him, not wanting it to end. When he opened his eyes again, unknowingly closing them before, NES stayed in that position.

There was silence for a few seconds, interrupted only by the violins, the harps, the pianos and other instruments serenading them under the moonlight. NES could only stare at MC’s lips for a fragment of a second before someone grabbed the scruff of their necks with poorly hidden aggressiveness and brought them back to the ballroom.

MC raised his gaze in fury, bending down to help NES get up again. He expected to see red eyes and black feathers, but, to his surprise, what stared back at him were purple eyes and a long bovine tail.

He wanted to scream at him, to ask what the actual fuck was wrong with him. Would he had acted the same if it was one of his brothers instead of NES? Would he had such hate in his eyes?

But people were staring, very obviously amused at the sight of two humans being put back in place.

MC would have to wait.

.

.

“NES! What happened?!”

MC watched as the boy waved at him, hanging upside down where Mammon usually spent countless hours. His arms were tied behind his back and the rope covered his body in a way that surely left no room for the blood to circulate properly. His head already looked dangerously red and MC knew he couldn't leave him there for too long unless he wanted him to have permanent damage.

“I think I failed my last test, but I don't really remember”

“What do you mean you don't remember?”

“Well, I'm very dizzy right now, but I'm sure it's okay. Lucifer will get me out of here soon enough”

Or he won't.

MC sighed, cursing in silence before studying the thick ropes and the tight knots. He knew he wouldn't be able to untie him by hand and he wouldn't be surprised if the kitchen suddenly lacked knives, no doubt the result of Lucifer's pettiness and sadism.

“Wait for me here, okay? I have to get something to cut the ropes…”

“Wait, wait! MC!”

He turned around, patiently staring at his loopy smile and cloudy eyes. He couldn't wait for too long, but maybe he could indulge a couple of minutes.

“What?”

NES briefly looked away, his embarrassment gaining MC’s attention. Now that was a rare sight.

“Have you seen Spiderman?”

His heart stopped for a second and he felt his cheeks getting hot. His hand, previously grasping his hip, fell to his side and made him lose balance.

“You can say no, of course. We can forget about this and I won't get offended. A little sad maybe, but I can manage. I like you too much to stop liking you for a kiss. Does that sound weird? You get me, right?”

His rambling gave MC the opportunity to go down a couple of steps in the staircase and align his face in front of NES’s. The position was weird and staring at his chin was an experience he didn't know he would get the chance to live, but he didn't care.

It wasn't until he finally kissed him mid-sentence that he noticed a figure peeking around the corner, eyes staring without blinking and jealousy ready to made itself known.

Accepting the challenge, MC closed his eyes and grasped NES’s hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

Dinner that night would be fucking awkward.

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.

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Taglist: : @stfuchaase @k1-an @meggs-wonderland @kkeromenoo @va109 @marvelous-maniac @cruzerforce4256 @blarsh @marathedemonoverlord @junni-berry @arylleb @b-a-m-2006 @jonielunar @piercedddriver @cosmidaydreaming @bluegrey02 @anxious-chick

[livesworthlivingau]

Lives Worth Living Chapter 14

ISAT Spoilers below the break!

"It seems I must have finally taught you how to properly steep tea over those decades." (Odile comments with a smirk, watching you carefully pour from the kettle into each of your teacups.)

"It only took me 5 of those years to make a decent cup~."

"... The fact I can't tell if that's a joke or not is more concerning than anything else..." (You let out a heavy chuckle at her somewhat worried look. You stick your tongue out a give an exaggerated wink.)

"And it still doesn't count as a wink if you only have one eye Siffrin..."

"You've been telling me that for 30 years Odile, it never sticks~." (She just rolls her eyes as she adds a bit of honey and milk to her tea.)

"Speaking of… How are you doing Siffrin, truly?"

"… I think you already know the answer to that question, Madame" (You tease with the lightest chuckle, though it's bittersweet.)

"I suppose I do, though it would still be nice to hear you say it properly." (You pause for a second, before letting out a sigh.)

"… I don't really know anymore… I guess I'm better than I was the first time around at this point, the first few weeks were really rough for me… It's nice to make some better memories to replace it… But those bad times were still important too…" (You start to explain, your hand wrapping around your covered forearm, as if for emphasis.)

"Those moments helped get you to where you are now… It may have been a painful journey but it was just as important as the destination." (Odile finishes the thought for you, her arms crossed as she gets lost in her own thoughts.)

"… Yeah… I know you don't want me to apologize again for what I said on that last day… So I'll just say thanks Odile, for trusting me with your oh so sacred backstory~." (You laugh. Your eye starts to blur from the tears welling up in it before you wipe them away. Odile just smirks a bit at your comment before rolling her eyes.)

"Yes yes, that and my fake research. I'm simply too generous for my own good." (She remarks sarcastically.)

"Now let's discuss something else, I'm tired of all these emotions."

"Heh, I couldn't agree more."

----------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, Odile?" (You ask over your shoulder, fiddling with some thingamajig you found on the shelf. The both of you going on one of your famous 'secret missions' at a little random shop in the town you were passing through.)

"Yes, Siffrin?" (She responded over her shoulder as well, glancing through the various books they had for sale.)

"... There's... I can't stop thinking about something... from, uhh... before." (You begin, trying to dance around the topic without explicitly stating it. She pauses, perking up and waiting, as if telling you to continue.)

"... We all kinda went separate ways eventually, we were still a family of course but... we all had someone else at least... everyone but you Odile..."

"... What is it you're trying to say?"

"I-I'm saying... I don't know if you were happy... It felt like all that you cared about was work, when none of us were left around... You never got a partner, you never talked about friends you made, you..."

"Why are you bringing this up now, Siffrin?"

"... Probably because I never got the chance to before, and I didn't want to let that happen again..."

"I'm not sure how much use there is in talking about something that happens decades from now. What are you proposing anyways?"

"I... I don't know, just... I want you to be happy, I don't want you to be alone..."

"So, what do you intend then? Should I move in with you and Isabeau and stay on the couch forever?" (She asks with a smirk. Your lip curls a bit in response, but quickly falls again.)

"I mean it, Odile..." (She pauses at that, sighing out as she realizes how serious you were.)

"... Very well, Siffrin, I promise I'll keep this in mind... We've got a long road ahead of us until that but maybe things will be different this time around. That's what you're hoping for, yes?"

"In some ways I guess... I mean, these loops have to be for something, right?..."

"Maybe we should be focusing on that right now instead."

"Yeah... I guess you're right." (She suddenly walks over and lifts your hat off, ruffling your hair heavily.)

"You might have some years on me now, but you still overthink just the same." (The both of you laugh the seriousness of the conversation off, finishing up your little trip.)

[loveackermannn]

How do you think Levi sleeps next to you? Stiff as a board? Curled up against your side because you’re so warm and he subconsciously moves towards the heat? Does he allow you to cuddle him? Does he wake from nightmares often? If he can’t sleep will he lay awake stroking your side to remind himself that you’re still with him. What about things like sleep talking or sleep walking? Imagine waking up to find Levi trying to brew tea in his sleep. Standing guard by the kettle in his striped pajama bottoms and loose cotton shirt. I wonder if he hums little lullabies to help himself get to sleep. Thoughts?

☰ SLEEP A WHILE, SWEETHEART. .ೃ࿐𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

this is so so sweet i love this ask!!

levi is a very light sleeper, so even the slightest movement from you would strike him awake at any time. however, it wasn't easy to convince him to sleep in the same bed as you even when the two of you began dating. he was very much adamant that he needed to stay up to finish several documents for erwin, but you maintained your persistence – and just like that, he gave in too quickly.

you noticed how dark his undereyes have gotten and you would gently scolded him for not listening to you sooner about sleeping early. he merely grumbled into your shoulder as you tugged him along and into the shared room in which you mostly slept in – he always ended up falling asleep in his chair until a few hours had passed, you figured his posture must be horrid at this point.

so, you assisted in removing his jacket and loosening a few buttons on his dress shirt. he slipped off his cravat, setting it on his nightstand and slipped under the silky duvet to join you. he laid inches away from you, not making any effort to move closer as he didn't want to seem abrupt.

but, it was when you took his hand into your own that made him avert his eyes onto your tired features and he could feel the tension leave his body – you were just so pretty. his face softened just for you and he couldnt help but ask, "what is it?"

you lightly groaned, half awake and half asleep, muttering the last few sentences that you could manage, "you're too farrr.. come closer, it's freezing you know?"

he chuckled, hesitant and somewhat clumsy at first, "are you sure?"

"of course, my love," you confirmed, rubbing your eyes and inching yourself closer and closer to the warmth of his body.

levi tensed the moment you made full contact with his chest, not even registering the fact that this was really happening. the person he's wanted for all these years was sleeping soundly right by his side because you felt safe enough to do so. he couldn't fathom it, it almost didn't feel real.

though, when he finally moved his arms away from his sides and gently wrapped them around your limp form, it confirmed that this was real and that perhaps he could actually get a good night's rest because of you.

he looked down and upon hearing the quiet breaths that went in and out of your nose, he's never felt more at ease than he is now. he felt the corners of his lips perk up into a small smile that was only ever reserved for you, but since your eyes were closed to notice, he kept it to himself.

from then on, he cherished the nights more than he used to. he'd always been terrified of waking up from another nightmare, but with you by his side, everything seemed a little more okay. he didn't have them as frequently and instead, were replaced by dreams of where you existed in them. your warm smile that had him sinking into the ends of the earth or your tender embraces that had him cling onto the stars.

he got more than just 3 hours of sleep, eventually getting to the point where he could sleep peacefully through the night. he was truly indebted for all that you do, even if you don't realize it.

if there are some nights when he can't fall asleep for any reason, he'll just stay awake, making sure you're at least getting the rest you deserve. it's very grounding for him and it does give him the reminder that you're not going anywhere, you're still alive and well.

he'll word vomit sometimes too – conscious or not. what i mean, is that i can see him sleep talking, but only when he's having a nightmare. when he's awake and can't sleep, he'll just mutter sweet nothings into your ear about how much he loves you, it's very gentle.

"i love you. more than anything in the world, my love."

"my sweet girl. look so pretty like this.."

"for as long as i live, i'm gonna make sure nothing happens to you. i swear it."

and the concept you brought up that if he sings lullabies to help him sleep??! ugh that is just perfect, he most certainly does.

it's mainly songs that his mother used to sing back when he couldn't sleep as a child and it always seemed to work wonders for him every time. it must've been the smooth and calming tone of his mother's voice that put him to rest so easily or maybe it was the comfort it brought him to know that it wasn't all bad – that there was good in the world for him, big or small.

he'd do the same for you, if ever you can't sleep, he'll hum a little tune while you're curled up in his arms – it's a messy collection of different pitches, but nonetheless, the low rumble in his chest and soft ministrations of his hands rubbing your back is enough for you to close your eyes.

as soon as he knows your asleep, he'll kiss your forehead followed by an audible whisper that you're able to make out with the remaining bit of consciousness you had left,

"goodnight sweetheart. see you in the morning."

[adviceformefromme]

Listen I feel so ugly all the time I'm trying to get myself better but it seems like every time I do something comes up and knocks me down to the point where I just quit and it pisses me off. Recently I started to use my journal more to write down stuff to better myself I write down quotes of the month, and listen to podcasts at work sometimes. But after work, I'm so tired I work from 8AM-4PM I don't have the energy to do anything especially working out and that's my biggest issue and it hurts me to the core that I'm this way. Do you have any tips to help me? Please cause I need it bad.

Hey sweetie, okay some ideas...

What is it you don't love about yourself ? What is that makes you feel ugly? Are these things you can accept or want to change? If you can't accept things you don't like about yourself, then honestly I would start thinking about making some changes. What is within your power to change? What would make you feel beautiful? Is it your teeth? Start saving for the Invisalign or teeth whitening strips, is it your thin hair, look into new hairstyles, weaves, extensions.. If it's your face shape that you really can't make peace with maybe its worth getting some fillers. And while I don't want to promote these things, in my personal experience I have felt happier when I've invested in my image. I had 11's between my eyebrows and after so long of trying to accept these lines in my head I got botox and I was the happiest. So go invest in you, if you can't afford it do what you can, save up & research online. Invest in your image. I've seen friends feel so unaccepting of how they look for years, putting themselves down because of early wrinkles, bad teeth - when all it would take is some investments. So choose you. This is your one life, do you want to spend it feeling ugly and second class every time you look in the mirror? Or do you want to invest in looking and feeling your best?

On the low energy - I would assess your diet. What are you eating, drinking? This will be a huge factor. Carbs - the devil in my opinion. I spent a vast majority of my life in carb crashing and hunger and needing more sugar / food DESPITE thinking I was eating and drinking healthily. Now I am studying nutrition, I am learning how detrimental my diet was to my overall health. So I would advise, protein and greens diet. Cut sugar, in the form of carbs/ starchy vegetables, replace chocolates / crisps with nuts and fruits. Drink more water, invest in some celtic salts, supplements (vitamin D + k2, vitamin c, DIM, selenium, magnesium - ensure there on no nasties inside bulking agents), grass fed meats, organic veggies, salads, bone broths weekly.

I would also make sure you are doing exercise. It needs to be sweat inducing. A run down the road and back to start with if you're unfit. You don't need a fancy gym. Take a cold shower when you get home (you can start with a hot temp and then do 30-60 seconds cold to build yourself up). Do some stretches, make an effort, as simple as while the kettle boils, make this an opportunity to touch your toes or rotate your hips.

These are some starting points. I would begin the latter first, get your energy and body right initially and then start putting money and investments into your image. Health is wealth, so while you may or may not feel beautiful, without investing in great health you will ultimately struggle.

I hope this helps. DM is open if you have more questions/ need more support xoxo

[rustybutterknife]

I’m bored and gay so here’s some reasons why I love my boyfriend

Before we moved in together, when I would have bad flare up days he would massage me with lavender lotion until I fell asleep (which would take less than 10 minutes) and when I was asleep, he’d help me out by cleaning the kitchen and doing the dishes for me ❤️

One time during a really bad flare up, I hadn’t showered for a few days since I was so physically exhausted and in pain. So he carried me into the bathroom, ran me a hot bath, and washed my hair for me while I rested my head on the side of the bathtub

Is the only person who’s earned the trust of our shyest child alter to the point that she’ll have basic conversations with him (she usually doesn’t speak more than a few single word sentences, if at all)

One time when I had a really shitty day (I was a nervous wreck all day and ended up having a seizure on the CTA because of it), he stopped at Target after work to get me a care package with kettle and buttered microwave popcorn, a candle, some turtle chocolates, and some new towels to replace the ones that my sister stole from me.

For our 11 month anniversary, he took me to Olive Garden and an arcade afterwards. He paid extra money so I could be able to get a Rilakkuma arcade card (idk what they’re called) and get a couple Rilakkuma cups that come with it if u pay like $100 in tokens. We ended up getting enough tickets to get a cute little apple frog plush that was hella caked up

Is helping me to get my GED

Makes sure to text me good night before bed every night we’re apart. In return, I kiss him good morning every time I wake up next to him

Helped me move out of my sister’s place and go no/low contact with my family

Helped me learn to become comfortable with intimacy again after my assaults in 2022

On days I don’t have the spoons to run errands, he’ll do them for me.

Let’s me know how much he loves me and reassures me when I need it most

Is incredibly patient

Wants to teach 6-12th math so he can be the cool queer teacher that he wishes he had in high school

Wants to help me learn math since I have dyscalculia and it’s what I struggle most with

For my birthday, he wanted to try and replicate one of my favorite photos of us with legos (he hasn’t finished it yet but that’s okay cause I know building complicated stuff with legos take a long ass time)

Has seen me at my worst and still thinks I’m a bad bitch

Lets me chew on his fingers if I need to stim

Is helping me become a better person

I love my BF!!!!!!!!!!

[ecosystem-administrator]

Halcyon

Timeline: Mid 7.0, mild Dawntrail spoilers past the level 95 mark

Erenville and Mayhem are traveling north together; Mayhem has found a feather; a discussion occurs between two people who rarely speak of themselves

“Hey, Erenville! Look what I found!” Mayhem grinned brightly as they approached him. “Pretty, right? Do you know what it comes from?”

Erenville took it thoughtfully, testing the weight of it against his fingers. “I believe this is the tailfeather of a ringed kingfisher,” he answered, handing it back over. “This is the northern end of their range, but they’re a fairly common sight. If it was only the one feather, it probably molted off as a part of their natural replacement cycle.”

“Nice to know I’m probably not stealing from the dead.” They placed it behind one ear and tilted their head, fluttering their eyelashes coquettishly. “What do you think, how’s it look? I blend in a little better with some feathers, don’t you think?”

Erenville was already turned half away. “A little bit, perhaps. …You don’t really carry yourself the same way as the local Hhetsarro though.”

They paused, and shook their head, taking the feather back into their fingers so it wouldn’t flutter away. It was pretty, maybe they really could have it attached to a hair clip or something. “Oh, I know. I don’t really blend in anywhere. Part of the charm of being me, right?”

Something in their tone must have leaked through, because Erenville turned back to them with a slight frown. “I…didn’t mean to give offense,” he offered, with a hesitance Mayhem had rarely heard from him.

“No, you didn’t. It’s just true.” They smiled at him, feeling the corners of their mouth turn sardonically. “…You wondered why at one point in our journey I seemed to get along with Koana better than Lamaty’i. The truth is, it’s because I was an orphan of the tribes, too, in my own way. They didn’t abandon me - my mother was killed and I was raised by the Conjurers’ Guild in Gridania. But when I was old enough I thought about moving in with them, and…I realized I’d never be welcome as I am. You’re probably traveled enough to know why.”

“Gender roles in Miqo’te tribes are very defined,” Erenville answered softly, reciting as if from a textbook. “Although some allow for transition from one to another, there is little flexibility for those who would prefer not to conform.” His brow furrowed sympathetically. “I hadn’t thought of how that might impact someone in your shoes.”

Mayhem shrugged. “And on the other hand, you know how Gridania treats Keepers of the Moon in general. …I’ve been an outsider since the day that I was born. My choices were pretty much either learn to embrace it and deal with my personal business on my own, or else spend my whole life trying to become something I can never reach.” They shook their head. “Gods, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You didn’t ask for my life’s story.”

“But I’m interested to hear it.” Mayhem’s eyes widened as they turned to meet Erenville’s gaze and found him looking directly at them for once, something vulnerable in his eyes. “That is…for all that you’re so adept at learning other people’s stories, I feel like I rarely hear anything about yours. You keep everything close to your chest.”

At that, they couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Pot, meet kettle. But you’re right. It’s a bad habit and you’d think I’d have learned to break it by now.” Their smile back at Erenville was a little more genuine this time. “After all, we’ve journeyed enough together, I’d like to think we’re friends by now.”

As Erenville smiled back, Mayhem thought that something in his demeanor relaxed just a little, a long-held tension leaving his body. “I had rather hoped so as well,” he acknowledged.

[jiminiecrickets]

So you mentioned that (love's little dagger part 2) oc hooked up with jimin and tae saw jimin in oc's bed.

Can I request a drabble where tae tells oc (after seeing jimin in oc's bed) that next time they should keep it quiet (tae is jealous) and oc provokes him? ^^

kinda nsfw but not really?

your bedroom door is slightly ajar. taehyung can't help but step towards it naturally, a bubbling taste of something bitter rising up his throat and settling in his mouth.

the shower is on, muffled water hitting the tile passing through the crack under the door. you just got in. you won't be out for a few minutes more.

taehyung watches himself place his hand on the handle, pushing it open an inch wider to catch the edge of your bed in view. half of your curtains are open and late morning sunlight leak through, bathing the foot of the bed in pale light, and sparse dust motes float through the air.

there's a pretty boy in your bed – pretty in that awful fae-like way, too good to be true. even dead asleep, limbs wrapped around himself and framing his soft face, his slightly-parted lips are sweetly pink, and his hair appears silky, messy in the way taehyung spends half an hour perfecting in the bathroom mirror.

the boy shifts with a soft breath, tucking his face into the crook of his arm. the sheets slip down around his bare waist.

taehyung's hand slides off the handle and he rolls his eyes, jaw working as he stomps into the kitchen.

why him? he thinks, annoyed. the moment the kettle finishes boiling, he steals it and pours himself a cup of instant coffee. of all the people you bring back, why him?

he's shoving spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth on the couch, watching a replay of last night's news, when he hears footsteps leading into the kitchen. you don't greet him, but he knows it's you by the way you exhale softly, popping your back before you place a pan on the stove and dig around in the fridge for some eggs.

"is this some sort of revenge?"

you glance up, only to find taehyung tucked up on the furthest side of the couch, determinedly not looking at you. you scoff and crack a couple of eggs one-handed against the side of the quickly-heating pan. "not everything revolves around you, taehyung."

"but this does, doesn't it?" he taps his spoon absently against the rim of his bowl as you turn on the stove fan, as if to drown him out. "fucking pretty boys just 'cause you can isn't your style."

"you know what my style is? didn't know you cared so much," you say wryly, grabbing a spatula out of a drawer. "why? you jealous, puppy?"

"only a loser would be jealous over a thing like you," he says rudely, and you make a face of mock hurt, touching your heart.

"ouch. long diary entry about that tonight."

he stops speaking, moody in his corner of the living room. you flip eggs, humming to yourself, and reach for the pack of bacon, eventually replacing the eggs with hot bacon. you take a moment to cover the eggs with a plate and find yourself face-to-face with taehyung on the other side of the kitchen island, glaring at you as if he's imagining eighty different ways to kill you on the spot.

"what? you want some?"

"out of all the boys you could bring back, how do you always know who the loud ones are?" he blurts out, his cereal bowl in hand.

you lift an eyebrow and half-assedly bite back your smirk. you begin to butter four slices of bread. "are you offering something, taehyung?"

he lunges forward an inch or two, as if moving to leap the island and wrap his hands around your throat. he settles for a deep scowl, flicking his bangs out of his eyes.

"you disgust me," he seethes, and doesn't even put his bowl in the sink. he rests it on the bench, relishing in the way you glance at it and your jaw ticks. "you're so fucking petty. bet your boy wouldn't like it if i told him you're only sleeping with him for revenge points against me."

"oh, he knows i'm better than that," you retort, resisting the urge to place your palms on the bench and mirror his stance. you give him one last glance before turning back to the stove, flipping the bacon and letting it sizzle a little longer to match the colour on the other side. "you're the one going on and on about 'revenge' and everything. are you sure you're not just making it up to justify your continuing dislike towards me?"

his mouth falls open. "that's gaslighting. that's actually gaslighting. that's so fucking rude."

"it's only gaslighting if it works. is it working?" carefully, you remove the bacon and reach over by him, winking as you grab your bread. you grin to yourself as he growls, and you set the buttered bread in the middle of the pan with a hiss and a sizzle.

"what is your fucking deal, dude? why are you so against me? i bring some company back, and then you go out and do it twice as bad as i do. twice as loud, twice as long, twice a night." he lists them on his fingers. "i'm about to stop being nice to you if this is the kind of thanks i get: no sleep and no peace."

you scoff. "that was you being nice? shit. i shouldn't've held back, then. could've gotten double the 'pretty boys' in that time. you could've joined, if you wanted to."

"join—?" he sputters. "join—! what gives you the impression i want to sleep with you, huh? what keeps giving you that impression? or is this some kind of immature boyish humour that everyone else left behind in ninth grade? fucking 'do i want to sleep with you'..."

a figure appears in the hallway, pattering down into the kitchen with a delicate yawn. he stretches, lifting his too-big white t-shirt above his hips. he wears a tiny pair of black briefs, and taehyung can't believe it. this boy has his own clothes drawer in your room. jesus christ.

"good morning to you, too, dolly." you grin, bringing a plate with a toastie over to him as he takes a gentle seat on the edge of a stool, shooting taehyung a sweet smile. you retrieve a knife from a drawer and cut the toastie for him diagonally, gently pulling the halves apart to show him the perfect golden insides: egg, bacon, cheese. you can never go wrong with a classic.

"morning," he hums, swinging his legs. he combs his fluffy hair back from his forehead and giggles as you bring your own plate over and cut it in half, leaning over the bench with an elbow crossed over your front. "you did all this for me, hyung?"

"mm, of course. you've got classes until six today – i want you to get a good breakfast."

"you're too sweet," he coos, picking up a warm triangle of savoury goodness. he takes a big bite out of one corner and moans, brushing his fingers lightly over his glossy lips as he stares up at you with crinkled eyes.

"you're exaggerating. i do this all the time for you."

"hm – maybe it's the new reason? what was the entrée to this, again?" he grins, leaning forward, and subconsciously, so do you, glancing up at each other between bites and hiding your smiles behind slices of crisp toasted bread.

"this is disgusting to watch," taehyung says bluntly, standing up. "i'm heading out. please keep all your fluids to your bedroom, i insist."

you watch him grab his jacket and bag, whisking out of the apartment with a whip of hair and a glare. you smirk behind your toastie, clearing your throat to stop a laugh.

he's always been a drama queen.

[cuubism]

fem dreamling after the fishbowl rescue, part 2. soft caretaking and so on (follows up on songs for her)

--

The only word Hob can use to describe the way Dream arrives in her flat is blows.

She blows in, like a breeze, a storm wind that flings all of Hob’s papers into the air and knocks knickknacks off the shelves. Then she stands in the center of the room, hair sticking up in all directions like she’s possibly forgotten to apply gravity to herself, robe swept sideways around her ankles.

Hob blinks at her from where she’s sitting at the kitchen island with a pile of student papers that are now all over the floor. “You alright, love?”

“The Dreaming is saved,” Dream declares. “I have collected the rogue nightmares. I have resolved the vortex. Is there any tea?”

And she falls over.

“Shit.” Hob rushes over to her, gathers up Dream’s half-conscious body in her arms. She’s reminded, uncomfortably, of the moment she’d pulled her from that glass cage, her stiff, limp form. “What happened?”

“Strain on the Dreaming,” says Dream as Hob half-carries, half-drags her over to the couch, “places strain on me as well. I have remedied the problems in the Dreaming. I will be fine in…” she thinks. “A few days. Probably.”

“Oh, probably.” Hob sighs. “It’s all fine, then.”

Dream either misses Hob’s sarcasm, or chooses to ignore it. “Yes.”

Hob gets her settled on the couch. Dream sprawls in the corner, leaning on the arm of the couch, limbs akimbo. Her hands are shaking. She stares at them in fascination. “Hmm. Interesting, how it manifests in this body.”

“You’re telling me you weren’t shaking like a leaf in the Dreaming?”

Dream shakes her head, still looking at her trembling hands. 

Hob lets her shoulders slump for a moment, not quite sure what to do with all this. Then she pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over Dream. “Stay there. I’ll get you that tea.”

Dream doesn’t move. She does pull the blanket close around her. 

“You know,” Hob says from the connected kitchen as she puts the kettle on. “Not that I don’t want you here, because I do, but I’d have honestly thought that if you were tired you would recover better in your own realm?”

“You would normally be correct. But I have found that—” she stops. 

“Dream?” Hob says, but she stays silent as long as it takes for Hob to put together their tea and come back over, which is not an insignificant amount of time.

“You’ve found that…?” Hob encourages, passing her her mug.

“I have found that…” she looks slightly abashed, or maybe just uncomfortable. “That… I would benefit from some company.” 

“Oh,” Hob says quietly, charmed. “Well. Stay as long as you like, then.”

Dream sips her tea and smiles over the rim of her mug.

Hob sits beside her, self-indulgently letting herself press up, just a bit, against Dream’s side. Last time she’d seen her, after pulling her from that dreadful glass orb, Dream had felt just a bit cold to the touch, like she’d come in from a wintry day. Now, she feels hot. Overexerted. But she doesn’t let go of the blanket.

“Other than the…” Hob doesn’t fully understand how the Dreaming works. “Recent issues. How have you been holding up?” Since your imprisonment, she means, but doesn’t say.

“Holding up?” Dream echoes. “I have repaired what decayed, or replaced it. The damage was quite extensive.”

“No, I meant you, not the Dreaming,” Hob says.

“I am the Dreaming,” says Dream.

Her gaze darts to Hob, and then away again, and Hob realizes that she is not actually evading the question, but rather willing Hob to understand a different sort of answer. Oh, Dream.

“Repaired it, hm?” Hob says quietly.

Dream nods and takes a sip of her tea, relaxing minutely at Hob’s side.

“What was the damage like, before you repaired it?” Hob asks.

“When I returned…” Dream’s gaze goes distant. “It is hard to describe without having shown you the Dreaming properly as it stood before. But. It was… razed. At intermittent points in my history, Hell has tried to invade the Dreaming. Had I not known what absence I was returning from… I might have thought they had done so again, and won.”

Hob’s head is already spinning but she pushes the details aside to focus on the core of the story. “Razed?”

“The land had died. The residents… scattered. The palace in crumbling pieces of stone and broken glass. All was smoke and ruin.”

“Oh, Dream.” Hob takes her hand and squeezes it, heart hurting for the desolation she can hear, hidden deep in Dream’s voice. She can only imagine being freed after such an ordeal and returning to a home that was destroyed – a home that was a reflection of herself.

“But I have repaired it,” Dream says, like she’s convincing herself.

“I know you have," Hob says, though she is not, in fact, sure of this at all. “But… recover here as long as you want, okay?”

Dream looks at their joined hands. “You would be so generous with your time, Hob Gadling?”

Hob scoffs. “Generous? Do you know how long I’ve craved to have more time with you?”

Oh, too much, too much, shit–

But Dream just looks curious, considering. No storming off in a fit of pique. “How long, then?”

Hob swallows. “How long have we known each other?”

Dream looks up at her, surprised. “I… see,” she says. “A fast friend, then. I regret not seeing it.”

“It’s alright,” Hob says. “Things have to come in their own time, hm? I’ve learned that more than once.”

“Or perhaps it simply requires a shift in perspective,” says Dream. “I have had many lately.”

“Good ones, I hope.”

“Eventually. Yes.”

They both fall silent, and Hob takes the moment just to observe her. She still looks… Well. Better than she had when Hob had rescued her, but not by much. She looks like she has been – and Hob gathers this is approximately true – putting out fire after fire and using her own soul as the extinguisher.

“Your hair is… really a mess,” Hob observes, pushing a twisted strand of it behind Dream's ear. “Can I fix it for you?”

“I could manifest this form better,” Dream says, but makes no move to do so.

“I’ll fix it,” Hob decides, and fetches a hairbrush and some detangler.

Dream looks curiously at her as Hob wets her hair, and Hob snorts. “What, you don’t have to trouble with actual hair products in your dream realm?”

“Not as such.”

Hob keeps working the conditioner in. It’s a good thing her hair is relatively long right now so she actually has this stuff on hand. “Well, let’s hope this is enough that I won’t yank your hair out undoing all these bloody knots.”

“You will not hurt me by pulling my hair,” Dream says, and Hob does pull her hair then, accidentally, startled by the mental image that brings up. She really does not need that in her head right now. Nope. Not at all.

She pets Dream’s head in mollification and starts work on the detangling without saying anything else that might become dangerous.

Dream tips her head as Hob works, and Hob wonders if she is actually yanking on her, after all. 

“Didn’t pull on you, did I?” she asks, stilling her brushing.

“No, it’s.” Dream’s gaze is fixed on the curve of Hob’s shoulder. “Nice. I didn’t think.”

Oh. Hob’s heart contracts painfully. When’s the last time someone touched you gently, darling? 

“Good,” she says, swallowing around that.

Then Dream leans her head on Hob’s shoulder. Hob holds her breath, but she doesn’t move, just rests there, her half-detangled hair brushing Hob’s cheek.

“Are things really alright now, love?” Hob asks.

Dream makes a noncommittal sort of noise. “I do not think I know what ‘alright’ is, at the moment.”

“No, I suppose not,” Hob allows. She oh-so-carefully winds her arm around Dream’s shoulders, runs her fingers through her hair. 

“So much has… changed,” Dream admits. “While I was gone. I am trying to believe that these changes are good. Many in the Dreaming seem to think so. Still, I look around my home and… sometimes, I do not recognize it.”

Hob’s heart squeezes in her chest. She can just about guess how Dream feels about changes, considering how she’d reacted when Hob had so much as suggested it as their last official meeting.

“Happens sometimes even when you are looking,” Hob tells her, anyway. “World goes crazy right out of the corner of your eye, and when you look back again it’s all different.”

“The Dreaming shifts with changes in the collective unconscious,” Dream says. “But always with my guidance. Not. Without.”

“I’m sure at least something is still the same for you?” 

“You are,” Dream says, and Hob’s heart skips.

Dream finds her hand and starts playing with it, tracing the lines of Hob’s palm. “Do not misunderstand and think I do not see the changes in you year by year,” Dream adds. “It is just. I find that I have come to trust the constancy of your heart.”

Her gaze flicks up to meet Hob’s, then back down. She’s so, so pretty, spun fine and delicate like - Hob has to laugh at herself - like a dream. 

Hob is probably going to get turned into sand for this. She summons all the foolhardiness with which she’d first declared she wouldn’t die, and does what she wants to anyway. She leans in and kisses the corner of Dream’s mouth.

It’s a light touch, easily excused. But Dream turns and kisses Hob back, mouth opening easily to Hob’s lips. She tastes like lightning, an electrical storm, and Hob remembers what she’d said – something about a vortex. Hob wouldn’t be surprised if her own hair were standing on end, though it would be hard to say if it was because of static, or just the electric shock of finally kissing Dream.

“I–” Dream’s speech is broken as she keeps kissing Hob, a stuttered pattern that’s so wholly unlike her that it makes Hob’s breath catch– “I confess that I. Have thought of you often. Since. You came for me.”

“You have?” 

“Mmm. No one came for me, Hob. Not after my Jessamy. My siblings did not. My creations abandoned the Dreaming. Humans who should have known better turned away and pretended not to see. No one.”

Hob doesn’t like to think of it, her intensely private Dream exposed in that glass bauble. Treated as some trinket, some curiosity. Abandoned in the hands of those who would do her harm. 

She thinks of it constantly anyway.

Hob holds Dream’s face between her hands. She looks disastrous, still, her robe torn at the collar, hair more of a mess for being half-brushed now, eyes ice-bright as the full moon. Dream herself is the vortex, Hob thinks; she pulls in everything around her with the gravity of a star. Or at least pulls in Hob.

Not to mention activates Hob’s most violent and unsavory instincts regarding spilling the blood of anyone who would do her harm. Which has now, in fact, done. And kind of wants to again.

“That’s over now, love,” Hob tells her. “I would always come for you.”

“Yes,” Dream says, with the weight of a vow. “Yes, I see. You are quite gallant, Hob Gadling.”

Gallant. Like they’re in a story that was old even in Hob’s youth, and she’s some knight sworn to defend her Lady.

Maybe she is. Maybe she wants to be.

“If you say so,” Hob says, and gets a tiny smile.

“Will you stay?” Hob asks. Asks, as if she could bear to let Dream leave now. “For a while?”

“You wish me to?”

Instead of telling her again that she’s always welcome, Hob simply says, “Yes.”

Some as yet unseen level of stress melts from Dream’s form. “Very well.”

Then she slips from Hob’s grasp and moves half into Hob's lap instead, pressing her face into Hob’s neck, a move which has Hob freezing in shock and then automatically wrapping her arms around her. Dream is trembling, still, just a bit. Strain on the Dreaming, Hob thinks. Too much strain, far too much.

She presses her lips to Dream’s hair and hums, some lyricless little tune from so long ago it was probably last played on lute. 

“Hmm,” murmurs Dream, “one that I recognize.”

“Baby steps. We can get you caught up on synthwave another time,” Hob says, and gets an honest-to-God laugh out of the dream creature in her arms. It’s glorious.

And this time, Dream stays long enough that they don’t have to measure it in songs.

[tickle-bugs]

Hellooo! If prompts are still open can I request some ticklish loki? :) maybe the prompt “ you’re not ticklish? Really now? Lets see about that”

Or somethin, feel free to improvise :))) teehee

Thank you so much!

In Fond Memory

Summary: As an analyst, Mobius's knowledge of Loki comes from stale sets of data. He wants to know more about his partner. Loki decides to take them on a tour of his memories...to interesting results. Pre-relationship to confessing Lokius!

This got wildly out of hand. We're a little over 6k words. Not super happy with this fic, but I'd been sitting on it for too long to start over. Have the long-simmering origin story of Loki's eighth rib lmao.

The TVA cafeteria is chilled and reliably empty when Mobius and Loki take their lunch break. As usual, the break consists of Loki watching Mobius eat--both lamenting his agonizing pace and soaking in his company. 

“I know nothing about you.” Mobius takes a thoughtful bite of his salad. His non-sequiturs phase Loki less and less these days. They make an interesting pair, he thinks--a fallen god burdened with caring and a mustached auditor who speaks only in riddles. 

“I thought you knew everything about me.” Loki huffs. 

“More like bits and pieces. I know little factoids. What makes you tick.” Mobius points at Loki with his fork, a tomato skewered on the end. 

“So then you know what you need?” Loki plucks the tomato off the fork and pops it in his mouth. It crunches beautifully. 

“Well, I mean, I’d like to know more. If a certain someone would like to share with the class.” Mobius replaces the stolen tomato with a pointed stare. 

“You are terrible at asking for what you want.” Loki steals a crouton from Mobius’s salad. 

“Yeah? Pot, meet kettle,” Mobius chuckles, wiping his hands. Loki smiles, but the thought rattles around in his brain. Mobius makes so much noise, truly. Noise about morals and fixing things, about proving himself better than the TVA believes him to be--useless, frivolous noise. 

Compelling noise.

“Fine.” Loki sniffs. He holds out his open hand. 

“Fine…What?” Mobius raises his eyebrows. 

“Your TemPad.” Loki wiggles his fingers insistently. Mobius stares at him, clearly calculating the risk, and then slides his TemPad into the waiting palm. Loki balances the weight of his past smoothly in one hand--he’d expected the TemPad to fall heavier with a sense of occasion. He frowns at it.

These little reminders that he’s not special—significant, really…they start to grate on him after a while. 

“You don’t have to do this, Loki.” Mobius’s voice is worn smooth by something like fondness. It’s compelling to the cowardice still within him, but Mobius will stop looking at him like that if he doesn’t at least try. 

Loki fiddles with the device until the clock hands on Ms. Minutes’s digital face spin rapidly backwards. A portal of orange light opens beside the table. 

“Shall we?” Loki gestures. He can’t quite make eye contact. 

…….

They stride through the door to Old Asgard’s throne room in all its glittering glory, when its majesty seemed untouchable by the whims of war and time. Mobius gapes at the high ceilings and intricate stonework with a wide grin. It’s cute, stupidly so, but then the grand doors open yet again and Loki’s hackles raise.

He pulls Mobius behind one of the grand pillars and puts his finger to his lips. 

“They can’t see us, Loki. It’s a memory—“

Loki clamps a hand over Mobius’s mouth. Mobius rolls his eyes. He’s right, of course he is, but the survivalist in him can’t take the risk. Not with Odin. 

A younger Loki, toothy and tiny, races up to Asgard’s great throne. He stops before the giant steps, cradling something in a bright red cloth. Odin heaves a great sigh. 

“Father, look! I got my spell to work!” Young Loki carefully holds up the bundle. The fabric falls away to reveal a bulbous little frog with stark blue eyes. It blinks each eye separately.

“What is this?” Odin looks down upon the creature with disdain. 

“It’s Thor.” Young Loki beams. The frog leaps onto his shoulder, then his head, and ribbits triumphantly. He laughs. 

“Bring my son back to me at once!” Odin hisses fiercely. 

“But—“

“Now!” Odin’s shout still tears something open in Loki all these years later. He flinches back into Mobius. The younger Loki does the same, but there’s no one to hold him. 

With a shaky voice, he murmurs an incantation and folds Frog Thor back into the fabric. He tosses the bundle ahead of him and, in a flash of green, a young and shiny Thor stumbles on newly human legs. He’s shorter--still taller than Loki, as he always was--and rounder in the cheeks, but he’s the unmistakable spitting image of his father. His cape, no longer frog-sized, unfurls to brush his ankles. 

“Woo! Loki, that was awesome!” Thor cheers. He pulls young Loki in for a sweeping, spinning hug. His boyish giggles are infectious--soon young Loki joins in, clinging to his brother to keep from falling. 

“Get out.” Odin seethes. The throne room doors slam open, echoing his command. 

“Father--” Thor tries, but one icy look from Odin silences him. He immediately bends the knee, so small that his cape nearly swallows him whole. Young Loki looks at him in disbelief, but when he reaches for his brother, Odin clasps his gloved hand around the shaft of Gungnir, the Spear of Heaven. 

Young Loki stumbles backwards, then flees, scrambling right by his older self without a thought. Loki turns his eye to Odin, the golden sack of shit, and scowls. 

“Come,” Loki says hollowly, following himself outside. He doesn’t look back. He knows Mobius is with him. 

He walks the familiar grounds but the stone doesn’t remember him. The sky is too bright, the torches too warm--this is a childhood preserved in amber. It’s too clear to be real. He passes his hand through the braziers, bitterly amused by the way the flame clings to his fingers. It’s not hot. 

Loki finds his younger self exactly where he expects him to be—no amount of years could erase that instinct to hide, to wait, to be forgotten until he could emerge again. The child is tucked between a pillar and one of the giant braziers, his dark clothes lending themselves as camouflage. 

Young Loki didn’t have that fire in him, yet. The scorn of being lesser. He was still naive, still thought Odin’s love was a real, attainable thing. 

“Loki?” Frigga approaches. Loki looks up at his mother’s face for the first time in years, but she peers directly through him. He steps aside as she approaches his younger self. When the child doesn’t answer, she crouches in front of him. It’s unbecoming of a Queen, but she’d never cared much about that. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” Frigga takes his younger copy’s face into her hands. She wipes away his tears with her thumbs and his skin briefly shimmers its natural blue. 

“Father, he…” Young Loki shakes his head, retreats further. “I upset him.”

“Oh.” She swipes more tears from his face. “Let us spend the day together, hm? I have new tricks to show you.”

The child allows his mother to lead him away, down onto the giant lawn beneath the terrace. Loki watches them go, the bitter sting of grief still raw, even after all this time. 

“My mother was…is everything to me.” Loki sniffs. He can’t tear his eyes away from her. It’s selfish to miss her, but he’s a selfish wretch. 

“She seems like a wonderful woman.” Mobius’s hand is warm on Loki’s shoulder. He leans into it. 

“Extraordinary. There’s no one like her.” He leads them over to a bench on the terrace, one that overlooks the most spectacular view of the palace lawns and waters beyond. He watches his younger self fling bursts of magic back and forth with his mother. 

“Can I ask you a silly question?” Mobius turns to face Loki better. Loki raises his brow. 

“Are you still…blue? Under here?” Mobius gestures at Loki’s face. “I’m not too sure about how this magic stuff works. It’s fascinating.”

Loki barks out an embarrassing laugh and does his best to rein it in, but surprise still leaves him chuckling. Mobius looks at him like…well, he’s not entirely sure what that look is. No one’s looked at him so softly before. 

“I was raised Asgardian, but the nature of changing forms is…fickle. Do it too much and you lose sight of where you start.” He turns his hand over, back and forth, and his skin glimmers blue. Mobius takes his hand, wrinkling his nose slightly at the cold. 

“That’s awful wise of you.” Mobius squeezes his fingers. 

“I like to think I have my moments.” Loki smiles. Mobius holds out the TemPad to him. Loki pushes a few things on it, opening another portal. They step through it with lighter hearts. 

…

What greets them is not the stale brutalism and dizzying expanse of the TVA cafeteria, but the very same terrace, gleaming in summer sun.

“Okay, so this…isn’t headquarters.” Mobius gestures. Loki scowls. He presses a bunch of buttons at random. The machine beeps at him. The animated Ms. Minutes icon sticks her tongue out at him. He scoffs. 

“I noticed.” He slaps the TemPad into Mobius’s hands. Mobius stares at him, plainly amused, and Loki scowls harder. 

“Well? Fix it.” Loki turns towards the lawn to lessen the weight of Mobius’s gaze.

A great shout rings out across the green, utterly unmistakeable, and Loki runs up to the terrace railing. Sif and the Warriors Three mill about on the lawn, their chatting only perceptible by Volstagg’s loud and grating laughter. 

“Brothers, please. I need some help!” Thor’s voice cuts clear and desperate through the air. He can’t be far past coming of age--he’s taken on all those distinctive features that won’t budge as he grows. His hair sweeps his shoulders the same way his cape sweeps his ankles. He supports a drooping teenage Loki as they stumble towards the trio. 

On the terrace, Loki’s eyes widen. He squints at where Thor is hauling his younger self--yep, the little shit is definitely alive and well. Which means only one thing. 

“What’s all the commotion?” Mobius shades his eyes from the sun and looks out towards the fields. 

“Did you fix it?” Loki snaps impatiently, gesturing for the TemPad. 

“Hm?” Mobius blinks. “Yeah. What’s happenin’ down there, though?”

Loki snatches the TemPad and punches in whatever he can. A wave of orange energy ripples over and through them with a loud woosh. Loki opens his eyes to….

The same field. The same day. He’s actually managed to put them forward in time. Just splendid. 

“Get help!” Thor spins and launches his Loki like a shotput. He barrels straight through Sif and Fandral. Their mingled screams of surprise and displeasure ring out. Thor cackles, doubling over, as Sif chases Loki around the field. 

On the terrace, Loki buries his rapidly heating face in his hands. Mobius snickers up a storm beside him. He leans into him for support. 

“Get help?” Mobius wheezes, eyes wet with mirth. Loki’s chest flutters and his face progresses into full redness. 

“It was…a phase. An ill-advised distraction--”

“Seems to me like you used it plenty. One of your variants did that with Thor on Sakaar.” Mobius wipes his eyes and flicks the tears away, grin still splitting his face in two. 

“Shut up.” Loki groans into his hands until silence falls. He can feel Mobius’s keen eyes on the side of his face. He hopes for a random bolt of lightning to put him out of his misery. 

“You’ve changed, y’know.” Mobius bumps their shoulders together. 

“Have I?” Loki drawls, mostly unamused. The sincerity on Mobius’s face makes it hard to keep up the act. 

“You willingly showed me an embarrassing memory! You’ve changed plenty.” 

“I wouldn’t say…willingly,” Loki grumbles, rolling his eyes. 

“You and I both know you can fight a lot harder than that. This is growth, Loki. It’s good for ya.” Mobius pats his shoulder. Loki hums in acknowledgment.

“Careful, Mobius. I might start to think you’re fond of me.” Loki smiles teasingly. 

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Mobius chuckles and squeezes his shoulder. “Let’s get outta here.”

…

Another flash of orange, another failure to return to the TVA. Loki contains the urge to scream. 

“Where are we now?” Mobius puts his hands on his hips. 

“…I don’t know.” Loki frowns, turning in place. 

“That’s generally not good.” Mobius quips. Loki makes a snarky, incoherent noise at him as he takes in their surroundings.

Vaulted wood ceilings, immaculate stone walls, and green silks welcome them. Atop a giant fireplace, a regal painting of Loki leers at them, foxlike and empty-eyed. He cringes and turns away from it. He briefly considers throwing himself down on the green velvet divan and smothering himself in the throw pillows. 

“We’re on Asgard, certainly, and this is my room, but….” 

The doors fly open of their own accord and the hearth flares. A brunette with a strong build strides through the doors, their fingertips dripping with red motes of light. They’re clad in reds reminiscent of the magic--flowing fabrics gathered neatly under bits of strong leather armor. With a twist of their wrist, the leather breastplate falls away and arranges itself on a stand, right next to a stand with his own armor on it. 

“Who is this handsome devil?” Mobius raises his eyebrows and elbows Loki, but he is far too windswept at the sight of them. 

“Signy,” Loki breathes. 

“Who?” Mobius furrows his brow. 

The doors fly open yet again. A past version of Loki enters in similar dramatic fashion. It’s uncanny to see himself like this. Signy turns their gaze sharply towards him. The fire once again flares in the hearth. 

“Hello, darling.” Signy purrs, pulling Past Loki in for a kiss. They drink him in possessively, as if he’s going to evaporate without their claiming touch. He leans into it as much as he can without drowning. When they pull apart, they murmur to one another, low enough for the fire to swallow their words. 

“Ah, I see.” The bitterness in Mobius’s tone pushes Loki to clarify. 

“They were wonderful, but their jealousy often got to them. For all our happiness, we made each other worse over time.” Loki whispers conspiratorially, but Mobius doesn’t seem entertained. 

Signy and his past self begin to raise their voices, yelling at each other in an incomprehensible tumble of Asgardian. Mobius’s brow knits in concern. 

“Were you always this…loud?” Mobius frowns. Loki swallows the joke he wants to make.

“Like I said, we made each other worse. Much worse. We were betrothed all of two months before they tried to assassinate me.” Loki pulls back his shirt collar to reveal a thin, curved scar on his neck. 

“Assassinate—what?” Mobius touches it and Loki shivers. 

“It’s fine, Mobius. My Signy had naught but poison in their soul. This one seems…kinder.” Loki watches as they take his past self’s hands to stop him from wringing his tunic. 

“How is that fine—“ 

Their voices escalate into a tumble of shouting. Concern morphs into frustration and confusion. Why does Mobius even care? It happened, he survived, whatever—

A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. His past self is…staring at him.

Loki squints at his past self and he squints back. Loki looks over his shoulder, then back at his past self, who is suddenly beginning to behave less like a memory and more like a—

“Variant,” Loki breathes. He opens his mouth to shout, but—

The variant disappears in a gentle flash of green light. Fuck.

“I think you just got outsmarted by yourself.” Mobius hums. Loki whips around, panic starting to bubble in his chest. 

“You said this was a memory.”

“It’s supposed to be.” Mobius rubs his chin. “With all the buttons you pushed, it’s possible that you sent us to a branch instead of a projection of your history. I’ll take a look at it.”

“Loki.” Signy eyes him carefully. They take him in with warm, red eyes that crackle with the hearth. 

“Heyyy…Signy.” Loki gestures awkwardly. Mobius snorts. 

“Darling, I apologize. You’re under much pressure.  I shouldn’t add to it.” Signy wraps their arms around Loki’s shoulders and pulls him close. He knows he should derive some comfort from it—he hasn’t been hugged in years—but it feels more like a creature pulling him into its clutches. Their fingers glide over the scar and Loki snatches their hand. 

“I’m…also sorry.” Loki pats their arm awkwardly and tries to worm out of their grip. 

“No need, my blade.” Signy presses in closer, cradling his cheek. Mobius snickers at the nickname off to the side.

“Don’t.” Loki, blushing, points an accusatory finger at Mobius. He holds his hands up, the perfect picture of innocence. 

“I think you’re lovely, but I’m not…your Loki.” He puts his hand over theirs. Their face pinches sharply. The fire kicks up. 

“You are beyond ungrateful. You are mine. I made you.” Signy grips his chin and forces him to look at them. Loki presses his lips into a line. 

“Signy—“

“Perhaps you need a reminder.” They press their hand to Loki’s side, right over the ribs on his right side. He panics and grabs for their hand. A tiny green spark jumps from his fingers, but it cannot stop the pulse of scarlet magic that wriggles deep into his skin. The magic snaps into cords, winding like puppet strings around one of his ribs. 

A strangled sound slips from him before he can stop himself. A terrible, toe-curling tickle—a powerful scritching like the blunt end of a quill over the bone—sends him clutching at Signy’s shoulders for dear life. 

“We are each other’s undoing. There is no you without me.” Signy pulls sharply on the threads of red light and Loki yelps.

“Oh.”

“Mobius—“

“Oh my god.” Mobius makes a noise that can only be described as a squeak of delight. Loki flips him off. 

“Even when I’m right in front of you, you cast your attention elsewhere.” Signy turns Loki’s jaw toward them, eyes darkening possessively, but their lips curl up in that damn smile that had drawn Loki back in over and over. 

There was a time when he’d daydreamed about Signy by his side on the throne. Now, he can’t fathom it. 

“You’re mine, Loki.” Signy tweaks their fingers, manipulating their magic, and Loki chokes down a screech. He laces his fingers into theirs and the magic blissfully vanishes. 

“Yes, yours. Mobius, help.” Loki casts a frantic look in his direction, gesturing at Signy. Mobius makes a ‘stall’ motion, then starts fiddling with the TemPad. 

“Look at me.” Signy pulls sharply on his tie. They sigh deeply, and their edge begins to wane. 

“Thanos has you dreaming of more, my love. I want more for you. But have you not enough here? Am I not enough?” Signy smooths their hands down Loki’s chest. He freezes.

“Thanos?” He asks quietly. Dread sinks into his gut. Signy’s expression softens.

“I know that you crave what you are owed. Your family has robbed you of your birthright. You are meant for greatness, Loki, but not at the cost of his greed. Asgard is yours for the taking. By my hand, you shall have it.” Signy leans their foreheads together. He squirrels away as much of this momentary comfort that he can. 

“Why would you help me?”

“Have you contracted your brother’s oafishness?” Signy playfully holds their hand to his forehead as if checking for fever. “I love you, you fool.” 

“Oh.” He blinks. He looks towards Mobius and finds him with a haunting expression, like some sort of ache had burrowed forth into his face. A suffocating hollowness crawls through Loki’s chest. He swallows thickly. 

“Yes, ‘oh’.” Signy curls their fingers beneath his chin. He laughs softly, involuntarily, and flinches away. Mischief and embers dance in Signy’s eyes. 

“My, you are…handsier than I remember.” Loki twists out of their grip. 

“Can you blame me?” They appear behind him in a scattering of red sparks. Warm hands wrap around his waist, tracing feather-light shapes that seem to burrow into his skin. He chokes on a quiet, suspiciously giggly sound and they light up.

Mobius scoffs and clears his throat loudly. His scowl seems baked into his face, a chilling force against the fireplace. 

“Okay, so I’ve got good news and bad news. Which one do you wanna hear?”

“Bad news first.” Loki wrestles with Signy’s roaming hands. Signy trips and tumbles backward onto the divan, scattering the pillows. They start tugging at Loki to try and get him to follow. 

“Your collar is broken. Kaput. S’probably why your variant was able to escape. TemPad can’t get a read on which one of you is real. You also MemLocked us, which is fascinating—“

“I’m sure it is,” Loki huffs, fighting to leverage Signy under him. Mobius barrels on. 

“MemLock allows us to manipulate a branch as if it were a memory, but the tech is volatile, so we rarely use it. It is neat though. Lets us walk right through as if we were invisible. Shame it ain’t workin’ on you.” Mobius snaps his fingers next to Signy’s face. They don’t seem to notice. 

“And the good news?” 

“I can probably fix it.” Mobius smacks the back of the TemPad and a panel pops out the side of it. He starts fiddling with the components. 

“Probably?” Loki’s voice cracks. 

“Well, I don’t wanna take the wrong Loki back with me. That’d be a fiasco. Though Signy—“ Mobius draws out their name with disdain— “probably wouldn’t even notice.” 

“Jealousy is unbecoming, Mobius.” Loki’s joking, but Mobius’s eyes don’t light up the way they usually do. 

“Y’know, far as I recall, you got yourself stuck in this mess. You should be thanking me for helping you.” Mobius puts his hands in his pockets. He tilts his head with a smile, easy and mischievous. Loki lobs a throw pillow at him.

Mobius punches something into the TemPad and, with a glorious beep, Loki’s collar disengages and clatters to the floor. Mobius scoops up the collar gently, letting the straps dangle between his fingers. 

“I’m keeping track of what you owe me.” His half-smile is somewhat dim. 

“I’d expect nothing less,” Loki breathes. Mobius nods sharply and turns towards the door. 

It’s an unfortunate distraction, one that lets Signy discover they can buckle his knees if they tickle him there, but Loki can think of nothing else but the reflection of the firelight on Mobius’s cheek. 

…

Mobius ducks quietly into the hall, shutting the chamber door behind him. The stone floors eagerly amplify his footsteps, tired of its own quiet. 

It’s unsettling, this place. People don’t seem to live here as much as they haunt it. Mobius can see how Loki turned out the way he did. It sets loose an ache in him. 

“Stop.” 

Mobius turns around with his hands raised. The variant twirls a dagger in his hands. He’s clad only in a green shirt and soft pants, his feet bare against the cool stone floors. This Loki is duller—he’s exhausted around the eyes in a way Mobius’s Loki isn’t. 

His Loki. Hm.

“Who are you?” 

“I’m afraid that doesn’t concern you, Your Highness,” Mobius says calmly. Loki disappears in a flash of green and reappears behind Mobius. 

“I could have you executed.” Loki’s dagger materializes across the plane of Mobius’s throat. Mobius tips his head back slightly to avoid the sharp edge. 

“I’m not scared of you, Loki.” He says it firmly, even as his skin prickles at the kiss of the blade. 

“Maybe you should be,” he snarls lowly, his lips brushing Mobius’s ear. Mobius flinches away. He kicks himself for it--Loki follows him easily with morbid interest. 

“Aren’t you curious about what I know?” Mobius hums. Silence stretches down the long hall. There’s a suspicious lack of guards in this wing. Is Loki’s chamber not worth protecting?

“You have a…clone of me. Why?” The blade presses in again. Mobius takes a careful, measured breath. 

“He’s my companion. We took a bit of a tumble, ended up in the wrong place.” A smile quirks at Mobius’s lips. Loki doesn’t look as confused as he thought he might—more…thoughtful. 

“Wrong place being?”

“That I can’t tell you. I can tell you that we’re trying to leave. If you don’t mind.” Mobius puts two fingers on the dagger and gently pushes it away from his throat. Loki releases Mobius but keeps his blade leveled at him. He’s tired, so tired, Mobius can see it in his bones. His eyes, dark-rimmed, seem frightened of closing. 

“You, uh…” Mobius pauses, taking in Loki’s twitchiness-- “I noticed you tryin’ to escape your beau in there. Signy, right?”

Loki stiffens at the utterance of their name. The blade remains steadfastly pointed at Mobius’s throat. 

“They ever hurt you?” Mobius clenches his jaw. Loki eyes him warily. 

“No. Never. Never.” The blade wavers with Loki’s voice. “But we don’t…agree on many things.”

“Well, I think you could do better. For the record.” Mobius steps forward—how could he not? But Loki’s knife and hackles meet him. He stops. 

“I’ll be sure to tell them you said so.” The fingers on Loki’s other hand twitch, glowing the faintest green. 

“You fancy making a deal, Your Highness?” Mobius sticks his hands in his pockets. He tries to keep his demeanor light, but he clasps his hand around the collar where it’s hidden. 

“I’m listening.” Loki shifts his fingers on the dagger’s hilt. 

“My Loki and I will distract Signy for you if you stay with us long enough for us to secure an exit.” Mobius jerks a thumb in the direction he came from. Loki follows the movement with his eyes. 

“All you require is my presence?”

“That and preferably that you refrain from using that toothpick of yours. Rather fond of my Loki.” Mobius inclines his head towards the knife. A wealth of emotions flickers across Loki’s face--he’s always been terrible at hiding his feelings, it seems. He tries to steel himself back into something sharp, but it just turns…sad. 

Loki lowers his blade. He loosens his fingers and it falls, but it vanishes before it hits the ground. 

“I agree to your terms.” Loki sniffs sharply, once again locating his arrogance.

“Excellent. Shall we?” Mobius gestures. Loki nods. They stroll back towards the bedchamber, relishing in the quiet comfort of their footsteps falling in line. 

“What are you to him? To me?” Loki’s voice goes soft. Mobius is usually quite adept at compartmentalizing, but it escapes him at this moment. 

“I’m not sure.” Mobius swallows. It’s easier not to think about it. 

“But you’re fond of him, as you said.” Loki sweeps closer, a familiar teasing grin playing across his lips. 

“I am.” Mobius huffs. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“The honor’s all yours, mortal.” Loki tilts his head, his smile growing wider. Mobius rolls his eyes. 

…

Mobius opens the door for the variant and they’re greeted by a wall of noise. Loki screams bloody murder and Signy yells over him in Asgardian, their sharp fingernails plucking at his ribs. They’ve switched positions, with Signy expertly pinning and tickling Loki down into the divan. 

The variant snickers, covering his mouth to hide it, but Mobius’s ears have long-since been tuned to his partner’s laugh. Interestingly enough, Signy looks up too. They furrow their brow as if searching for something, eyes glazing right past their variant, and then return to taking Loki apart.

An idea prickles at the back of Mobius’s mind. 

“You.” Loki shouts from the tip of his toes. His hair is a frizzy, disheveled mess. The variant goes to run, but Mobius scruffs him by the collar.

“You okay over there?” Mobius calls. Loki’s red face grows redder. He points angrily at the variant. 

“Come take your place, you sniveling little brat—“ Loki hisses, but he’s cut off by Signy tickling his waist. The most hysterical little giggles slip free and he buckles under them. 

“I’m afraid I can’t help you. That weakness is your plague to bear, not mine.” The variant’s regret is all mocking. 

It’s a stupid idea, but it’s an insistent one—the longer Mobius gazes at this variant, the more he finds that he can’t let it go.

“Sorry, just to clarify—you’re not ticklish?” Mobius doesn’t bother to hide his amusement. The variant eyes him stubbornly. 

“No. I’m not a child.” Oh, but like with every Loki, his eyes betray him. 

“Well, that’s a shame.” Mobius regards him thoughtfully. The variant turns a lovely pink. “Then, would you mind asking Signy to release my friend? Seeing as they pose no threat to you.”

Mobius crowds in closer. The variant pulls his dagger. Mobius tuts at him and pushes it away. The dagger’s point makes gentle, insistent contact with his stomach.

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” the variant snaps, but Mobius stands before him un-stabbed. 

“Sure it was. I said we would distract Signy.” Mobius smirks. “Just never said that you were part of the distraction.”

God, Loki is really rubbing off on him. 

“I’ve been told I’m quite stabbable, if you’re not amenable.” Mobius gestures to the dagger between them. The variant shifts his fingers on the hilt. 

“D-Don’t you dare touch him!” Loki pipes up through gritted teeth. He’s managed to pin Signy underneath him, but judging by his twitching, they’re not quite done with him.

Mobius grins at him. Loki makes an endearing little pinchy face and refuses to meet his eyes. The variant takes the chance to try and slink away, but Mobius grabs his wrist. The dagger disappears in a flare of green sparks. 

In a slick maneuver, Mobius loops the collar around the variant’s neck and it magnetically fastens. It beeps in confirmation of acquiring its target. 

“What is this?” He hisses, tugging at it. He flexes his fingers, calling for the dagger, and nothing happens.

“Just a bit of insurance. Now, would you like to deal with them—“ Mobius gestures to where Signy is wreaking havoc— “or me?” 

“I’m sure there’s a third option.” The variant chuckles almost nervously. His eyes dart around for an escape. 

“Oh, no. I don’t think so.” Mobius sighs deeply, as if it pains him. The variant’s eyes widen, and—

There it is. A flicker of thrill. 

“If you think you can stand to a god, I welcome you to try.” The variant spreads his arms wide. Mobius puts his hands on his hips. He’s never considered himself a particularly great fighter, but he prides himself on knowing his targets well. For example, he knows that nearly every Loki lacks small-scale patience. If he just waits…

The variant snarls and charges. Mobius ducks past him and loops his arms around his torso. 

Any Loki is deadly with or without their magic, but thankfully Mobius doesn’t have to worry about killing him. Or harming him at all, for that matter.

The variant lets out a confused, almost-offended squeak, like a kitten being bested. Before he can speak, Mobius starts clumsily tickling him. The resulting stilted laughter is interspersed with threats he can’t understand--both for being peppered with giggles and incoherent Asgardian. The variant tries to headbutt him in a way that doesn’t seem entirely on purpose. Mobius dodges predictable flying elbows and waits.

Over on the divan, Loki’s mostly given up. He’s wheezing more than anything, more focused on hiding himself from view than doing anything helpful. The quiet allows for the variant’s patchwork laughter to carry, just as Mobius hoped. He folds on a particularly powerful guffaw and Mobius follows him with a snort. S’cute, sometimes, the ways in which they’re the same. 

Signy’s gaze snaps up. Loki squirms out from underneath them and darts to the other side of the room, clutching his side. He makes eye contact with Mobius. His gaze is so full of sheer fondness that Mobius has to look away. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” The variant tries to back up. Mobius squeezes his side and he yelps.  

“How’d you get over there?” Signy narrows their eyes. 

“Suppose I’m quicker than you.” The variant falls immediately into his role, ever the Loki. Mobius curls his finger into the collar and it disengages. The variant whirls on him, but then Signy starts to stalk across the room. 

“We’ll see about that, love.” Signy’s tongue curls sharply around the word. The variant bolts for the door. Signy laughs and chases after them. Their footsteps echo down the empty hall and carry them both from sight. 

A wave of green magic slams the door shut so hard that it rattles in its frame. Loki hefts a bookshelf in front of the door, then a heavy chest, then about every piece of furniture he’s capable of moving in the room. He slumps down onto the divan with a heavy sigh. Mobius hovers by his side, shoving his hand in his pocket so he doesn’t start fiddling with the disheveled bits of Loki’s appearance. 

“Well, come on then.” Loki bares his throat with an impatient gesture. There’s an imprinted red line where the collar usually sits. Mobius runs his thumb over it, gently, and Loki scrunches his nose with a smile. The sight is so lovely that Mobius spaces out a bit. 

“You are cruel and terrible, you know that?” Loki grumbles. Mobius remembers himself and tries not to savor the brush of Loki’s jaw against his fingers. He holds the transmitter box of the collar to Loki’s throat, scooting it around a bit in search of a signal. Loki twitches. 

“Mmm, just the worst. Stay still, will ya?” He huffs. Something in Loki’s collar clicks and the TemPad chirps a jolly tune. Both of them sigh in relief. 

Mobius punches in a few things and the familiar orange door opens up before them. He looks down at the collar in his hand, then shoves it deep into his pocket. Loki makes a soft noise. 

“Why?” He blinks almost innocently. Mobius swallows. 

“You wanna go back or not?” He juts his thumb towards the portal. Loki pulls him through as if it’s going to disappear. 

…

They have duties to complete, but living so many years in a day has thoroughly eroded what tiny sense of duty Loki has. His mind is abuzz with various iterations of he trusts me--a new and exciting thought--and it leaves him with zero desire to do anything but sit in Mobius’s presence like a flower in the sun. 

So, when Mobius heads for the library, Loki hooks their arms together and drags them towards the cafeteria. Responsible grumbling turns into fond chuckles, and soon enough, they’re assembling God's mistake: frozen yogurt.

They enjoy their spoils on a bench deep in the massive sprawl of the TVA. The complex sprawls out infinitely before them, twinkling in the abyss. It’s a prettier sight than this place deserves, but Loki can only pay attention to the unnatural strawberry hue of Mobius’s lips. 

“This is awful,” Mobius laughs, cringing through a spoonful of frozen-solid chocolate chips. 

“It’s perfect. Completely mediocre in every way. Humanity’s only worthwhile creation.” Loki bites a gummy worm in half with a smile. He offers the other half to Mobius and he takes it.

Loki thinks of Signy, of the look of muddled pain on Mobius’s face through the entire back half of their misadventure, and he cringes. Mobius pauses in picking at his froyo. 

“Brainfreeze?” 

“No, not quite. I want to…apologize, Mobius.” Loki fiddles with his fingers. He looks up just in time for the back of Mobius’s hand to gently slap against his forehead, as if checking for fever. 

“You? Apologize? Maybe I did bring back the wrong Loki.”

“Hilarious, you bastard.” Loki rolls his eyes and bats away the hand. 

“Well, don’t let me get in the way of history. Say your piece.” Mobius sweeps his hands out. Loki turns to straddle the bench, facing him fully. He leans his back against the wall. The cold of the concrete leeches through his shirt. 

“Earlier, things got…out of hand. I hoped if I showed you my past, you might find some detail, some tiny minutiae that would set me apart from the other variants. But, I suppose nothing you saw surprised you.” Loki runs his fingers over his throat, right where the collar usually sat. He felt lighter without it and, strangely, more exposed. 

“I wouldn’t say that.” Mobius mumbles around a strawberry piece. 

“I spent my life chasing after destiny. Everyone in my family had a grand purpose to fulfill, and I believed mine would be the greatest of all. Now I know that my destiny is to be disposable. The only significant thing I’m part of is the time I’ve spent here with you.” Loki pokes at his froyo with the spoon. Mobius swings to also straddle the bench, grumbling as he does, but it gets Loki’s attention. 

“I’ve got my own confession to make.” Mobius chuckles. “I don’t actually know everything about you.”

“We established this.” Loki scoops up an Oreo piece and pops it in his mouth. 

“Well, yeah, but—“ Mobius makes a series of grand gestures— “I mean, I don’t know everything about you, Loki.”

“Now you’ve said the same thing twice.” Loki frowns. Mobius makes a frustrated little noise.

“Look, you’re different. Sure, your story starts the same as the others, but you overwrote my expectations the moment we met. You are unique. You’re a unique pain in my ass, really, but…you’re a good partner. A great one.” Mobius gestures more with his spoon. 

“Go on.” Loki takes the cherry into his mouth, stem and all. A few moments later, he pulls out the stem—tied in a perfect knot. He smiles at his handiwork. 

“I’m trying to compliment you.” Mobius huffs. 

“I’m aware.” Loki grins teasingly, but the mischief caves easily under a wave of genuine joy. 

“Alright, wise guy.” Mobius narrows his eyes. A flutter of thrill picks up in Loki’s stomach, but no chase ensues. He tries not to be disappointed. 

“What I’m trying to get at—“ Mobius huffs dramatically— “is that it’s not your past that makes you. I’ve always studied you guys in patterns and matrixes. I thought a flip would switch and I’d understand how you fell into my lap instead of any other Loki. But…you defy sense. Turns out, you can bake some drastically different cakes with the same core ingredients.” 

“Careful, Mobius,” Loki says softly, so his traitorous heart doesn’t hear. “I might start to think you’re fond of me.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Mobius smiles. 

“No, we can’t.” Loki’s eyes flit to Mobius’s lips. The air between them pulls taut. Loki scoots forward, bringing their knees to touch. 

“You have something on your face, right here. Terribly distracting.” Loki gestures to his lips. Mobius furrows his brow and pats his face with a TVA-branded napkin. Loki bats his hand aside and kisses him. It’s shorter and tamer than what his heart screams for, but he can’t dive into untested waters. Not yet. Not with something so important. 

Mobius, wide-eyed, follows Loki’s every move. He swallows once, thickly, then clears his throat. Not a single coherent word comes out of his mouth. His eyebrows move in nearly every direction as he tries to string some words together. Loki tips his chin up, catching his eyes. Mobius quiets, succumbing to a lovestruck smile.

“Did you get it?” Mobius gestures to his face. Loki laughs, knocking his head into the wall behind him. Mobius scrambles forward to catch him far too late, but they’re close. Close enough for Loki to see the pink froyo flecks actually hiding in his mustache. He smirks. 

“Hm, only one way to be sure.” He pulls Mobius in by his tie and kisses him like it's the end of times.

[legionofpotatoes]

I am trying desperately to cling to her memories that are slipping away. I hate how ready I was for all the big ways in which her death would hit me, yet I was caught completely unaware of the million little things that would change along the way. She touched so many tiny parts of my life and now they're all withering away and no amount of photos or videos are enough to keep them from getting further and further away and it feels maddening. I don't know how to hold on to them.

analytically I understand that eventually I will have to let go of all that and accept that things will not be the same. that not every measurable point of contact that she imprinted upon the world will stay frozen in time. and I know that it shouldn't. but I still felt such an odd mixture of pain, anger, and confusion when I saw Yen hop on the pillow she always used to sleep on; when I saw her fill in the spaces and patterns that were always Bastet's. I know a silly little cat isn't intentionally trying to replace the life of another, that is a childish thought to have. but it still tugs and tears at the hole in my gut and confuses me. I've never felt so lost.

It's the maddening realization that life just carries on full-throttle and not a single god damn part of it will stop and honor her memory for even a second. it all just hurdles on and the soils of linear time keep rolling over and burying the old while ushering in the new with unrelenting cruelty. And I'm supposed to be so cool and accepting of that because? what? that I have the capacity to quantify it? none of this feels fair.

eventually I'll forget how the two floorboards creaked whenever she would go for a nighttime walk from the bed and into the outer room. I'll forget the way she'd nag for food and scrape at the balcony door in the mornings. her purrs were like an iron kettle seconds away from beginning to boil, in that momentary rattle on low fire; quiet and bubbly, a low rumble of contentment. she carried herself with dignity and grace, sharing the same space as us but always at a respectful distance. she was one of those chill hang best friends, but in cat form.

she was also the most striking example of one half in an animal/human companionship; I always joked that she shared a soul with my partner. I never knew my SO before Bastet, and I always felt like they were born of the same cosmic splinter and mirrored one another in things both big and small. their personalities, their temperaments, their beauty, their naptimes. they would even curl up in the same exact poses and it never failed to make me chuckle. it's all so dimmer without that half now. I've never seen my partner so alone. it breaks my heart for her.

Bastet was a mixed breed tortoiseshell; she was either pushing her late 17th or early 18th year, we have some birth date discrepancies that I cannot get to the bottom of. her eyes were striking green since childhood and then changed as she aged, her right one turning fully yellow by the end. she always liked a good meal and kept herself relatively chumby throughout the years. I don't think we ever crossed into unhealthy levels of pet obesity, though. she just had that raccoon-like silhouette that we loved to joke about, and a way of keeping her front legs slightly apart when she perched that made for the most charming poses. she took herself oh so very seriously, but she was our round little guy.

she had yellow-black beans and a black nose, and her breath was stinky. we loved her stinky breath. I'll never be able tell her off anymore for initiating one of her full-body baths right next to me as I was trying to eat. she also had a wonderful patch of dusty aroma right on top of her head and between her ears; something hard to place, but incredibly homely. It was a rare treat whenever we'd catch her for a quick noggin smooch. I'll never feel that smell again.

her jellies were very soft and loose, but she hated having them touched. she liked a good rub under the chin and especially across her cheeks, sometimes ending things with a small love nibble. she grew up drinking out of cups instead of bowls, and it became a calcified habit; we knew to always cover stray beverages with napkins with her around. I shudder to think of the next time I'll do it instinctively.

she was very rarely clumsy. My partner's bed frame sits flush against her wall radiator, and Bastet loved hopping on there and wedging herself between the wall and the headboard. we loved how her belly fats would spill over the edge when she did that. trouble arrived, however, whenever she'd decide to turn around and face the other way; that would generally involve carefully backing up for a long while before doing a full rotation. I would always hit her with the ole' truck reverse gear beeping when I'd catch her do it. she'd give me the stinkiest eye.

She wasn't a very playful cat, which we always found strange. She'd get the odd zoomie now and then, but was primarily a dignified lady. She'd slap you around like no one's business if she decided you deserved it though. She never learned to get along with Yen, our second, younger, and dumber cat; we tried smell swapping and shared mealtimes and every trick under the sun to get them to play nice. And we kept trying because Yen, with not even two braincells to rub together, was incredibly curious and forthcoming to spend time with her, yet Bastet was out for blood from day one. We eventually learned to partition them across the house and paid with more than a few fun incidents. Bastet would always get a few good licks in and Yen would learn exactly nothing and try again the next day.

She was territorial like that. She loved my SO like I've never seen an animal love a human. Even her jealousy towards me took almost a decade to erode, and even then, she would never let us cuddle or sleep without making sure to find a good spot to keep an eye on me from. I learned not to admonish but to respect that about her; I was never going to outgrow the depth of their relationship and it became a type of honor to feel accepted into it. I was just happy to be in a place where I could bother her with pets and not get eaten alive!

Best time to do it was when she slept. She was a deep sleeper, and could rip a snore that would scare a flock of pigeons away. We'd quiet down and hurriedly tap one another and then point at her whenever that happened, like silent mimes in a frenzied panic, desperate to hear just one more little snort. It was the best time to gently curl around her and give her a tap and a tug. Most of the time she wouldn't even wake up. She was very soft and huggable.

I know torties aren't considered the prettiest breed, but I always found her coat to be mesmerizing. She was a beautiful cat in that understated sort-of way; well color-coordinated, evenly patterned, and appropriately mannered. She took very good care of herself so we didn't end up bathing her too often. The price for that could be severe and bone-deep, so we kept those decisions tactical. She was an angry fluffball.

I wish I could feel her warm, soft sides again and hear her loud complaints as I attempt to scoop her up. I want to squish her toe beans as she sleeps and see her snicker at something tasty in her dreams. I want to see her demonstrably stretch in front of everyone in the room before flopping to her side and starting her morning bath. I want to see her gently tippity-tap towards her water, give it a long sniff, and then stick her paw straight in to start drinking her own special way. I miss seeing her go about her little tasks and vividly color the periphery of my life in that apartment. it's all so empty now.

Truthfully, most of those habits went away well before her death; as she retreated away from us in her last months, she barely ever exhibited her prior personality. As crushing as this was, it felt almost like a way for her to help us taper away with a gentler ease rather than a hard fall. I know that is not why cats do it. I know that it's not great to anthropomorphize her pain into some amorphous expression of wisdom and compassion towards us. It wasn't. She was in pain and we were desperately trying to help her until it became too senseless to try. But it did end up cushioning the blow just a bit. I suppose that's all I can say about that.

She went away in her sleep. We did it at the clinic, it felt humane. Taking her home would mean a far greater shadow over our day-to-day as her condition had become irreversible and was guaranteed to terminally deteriorate in a matter of days. My partner made the decision, as she rightfully should have, and with far greater bravery than I. I felt lost and cornered and unsure and I was bargaining when I knew there was nothing left to bargain for except for her prolonged suffering. I feel so bad for my selfishness. I know I'm still typing all this driven by it. I want to write down these memories so I can keep coming back to read them and escape her growing absence. But there's no typing out everything that she was and all the ways she touched and bettered us. I know that too.

I suppose in time I will find a way to make peace with the fact that I will forget some of these small things. but I'll make sure to never ever lose anything singular and definitive about her. I talk to her ashes so I can have a reason to say her name out loud. I can't let it slip away from everyday use. And as corny as it sounds, I will always see a reflection of her tiny self in my partner's eyes. They shared the same soul. I hope I can see them reunite again someday.

Today was the first day since her passing when her absence didn't feel temporary. It didn't feel like some unwelcome bump in the road. I truly know now that she's never darting out from under the bed and bonking my hand as it hangs from the armchair ever again. That realization is an endless, bottomless pit. I don't know what to do with it

[slightlyaboveaverageiq]

A Black Rose Among Sunflowers (Part 2)

A/N: Minors DNI, PTSD, mentions of CSA, mentions of PA, mentions of domestic violence (both romantic and sibling related), emotional abuse (I guess, basically sisters using trauma to be mean in an argument), use of the word daddy (Mainly joking, internally though definitely sexual), I forgot to include agegap in my last A/N so age gap (reader is 27, and I'm going to age Spencer appropriately so he'd be 44). I think that's it if there's something you feel I should have tagged but didn't please reach out.

Word Count: 2.4k words

Playlist: Eyes don't lie, Older, I'm yours, favorite (All by Isabel Larosa)

Part 1 here:

I wasn’t sure how long I stayed in the shower watching as the water turned a gross muddy brown staining the white tile of the shower floor as it made its way down the drain. I couldn't help but wonder if I had just been there on time would things have gone the way they had? That was a stupid question. Casey had always had a temper as long as I had known him and here lately it looked like he was just looking for any reason to fly off the handle. Though stupidly I had pulled the whole ‘oh I can fix him, he just needs to be shown love’ adage to my sister when she expressed her concerns last week. I bit my lip as the memory made an unwelcome entrance into the foremost part of my brain.

Trembling, I pushed Gabriella’s doorbell repeatedly hoping to whatever God was out there that she was home even though her car wasn’t in its usual spot in the driveway. The door opened and a set of green eyes looked up at me, her curly red hair covering her face, likely from the ice cream Astoria had snuck past Gabriella who was making dinner from the smell of chicken and dumplings coming out the front door. “Mommy! Aunt Addie is here…and her face is wet!” Oh gee thanks for ratting me out there Astoria. I waited awkwardly at the front door occasionally looking over my shoulder to make sure Casey hadn’t followed me. He might have been stupid but I don't think he was stupid enough to follow me here…well unless he wanted to be looking down the barrel of her shotgun. 

“Adrienne?” Her eyebrows furrowed, she wasn’t expecting me obviously but it was quickly replaced with an icy hatred in her green eyes as she took in the puffy and bruised mess that was also currently serving as my face. She gently tugged me into the house and checked the surrounding area before double locking the door. “Addie this is getting ridiculous he's going to end up killing you.” She whispered as she led me into the kitchen and poured some water into the electric kettle before placing it on the stove. She sat across from me and took my hands gently in hers and I bit my lip to prevent the tears from overflowing.

“He-He didn't mean to Gabi. He loves me he just...ever since he lost his job it's been hard you know that.” She squeezed my hands so I turned my glassy eyes to look at hers, there was no forgiveness in her eyes, only hatred. Gabriella is usually the softer out of the two of us opting to kill with kindness rather than with a car. But Gabriella had always been stickler for boundaries and if you crossed them even in the slightest she had no problem cutting you off whereas I tended to try to find some amount of good in the person to try and justify keeping them around. Hence she was married to Emmett who thought she was the greatest thing in the universe with their twins Auggie and Astoria and here I was in a 5 year long abusive relationship. 

“Maybe if he got off his ass and looked for a job instead of drinking your money away he wouldn't be nor would he feel inadequate.” Her words were harsh and i bit my cheek at them. This was another point of contention between Casey and I, Gabriella had no issue with telling him exactly how useless he was, and well it's not like she was wrong so I often did not defend him. Leading to more fights with him about how I was letting my sister humiliate and emasculate him.

“Maybe if you didn't stick your nose where it didn't belong Gabriella he wouldn’t be beating the shit out of me.” Her eyes widened and she dropped my hands so I started pacing the kitchen not looking at her and running a finger through my blue tinged waves. “God you tell me I don't know when to shut my mouth but did it ever occur to you that YOU constantly calling him a bitch, pussy and everything else under the sun was making things worse? It's not like he can beat the shit out of you, Emmett would kill him. Me on the other hand he could snap my neck before you even knew I was missing.”

“You can’t seriously be suggesting it's my fault he's beating you Addie! You've had chance after chance to leave and you stay with a man who treats you like dad. I understand you have daddy issues but there's nothing romantic-”

My hand moved faster than my one brain cell and my hand connected with her face. I looked at the red handprint and back to my own hand which was still outstretched as she stared at me wide eyed while her hand came up to the now bruising cheek i had just hit. I didn't know what to say, there was nothing to say, no amount of I’m sorry would undo the damage I had just done to her. Deep down I know she was right she had offered numerous times to let me stay with them but I was scared. Scared Casey would find me, scared the cops wouldn't be able to do anything and he would follow through on his threats. I hadn't talked to her since that day and that had been almost three weeks ago. She had left several messages just begging me to come back, that she understood I acted in the heat of the moment, even Emmett had called but honestly I was too embarrassed to answer. I had become the people I hated just because I was miserable with myself. 

A small shriek came out of my mouth as I registered the water had turned icy. I guess I had been in here longer than I thought because the water was running clear and the feeling of dried blood had been erased from my body. “Adrienne, Adrienne are you okay?” I could hear the slightly panicked voice of Spencer behind the bathroom door and the rattling of the bathroom doorknob. 

“Sorry…Sorry I didn't realize I had been in here so long, the cold water startled me.” I offered weakly and was embarrassed about my reaction. Damn Addie it was just cold water not like there's a serial killer in the bathroom with you. I toweled off quickly and slipped into the sweat pants and t-shirt already feeling better just being clean and in fresh clothes. Spencer was sitting in a large arm chair in the corner of his living room seemingly in deep thought as he rubbed absentmindedly over his chin. I couldn't help but blush taking in his long fingers, yep he's definitely the type of man smutty authors write about. “Um..do we-should we be going or?” My question hung in the air uncomfortably and he startled as if he didnt hear me answer and honestly with how fast the gears in his brain were going it was possible he didn't. He didn't say anything, instead just walked into his kitchen and came back with a cookie tin.

“My friend Penelope made these for me, I don't think she would mind me sharing them given the circumstance.” He offered a small smile and nodded towards the cookie inside. I peaked cautiously and smiled when I saw they were snickerdoodles and then very embarrassingly my stomach roared like a goddamn dragon. Jesus when WAS the last time I ate? I wearily looked at the clock on the wall and almost had a heart attack when I saw it was 4 am, yep I definitely needed something to eat. I at least tried to eat like a somewhat dignified young lady but judging by the amount of crumbs I was getting everywhere and the amused chuckle that left Spencer's mouth I actually probably looked like a raccoon that had found a whole bag of cat food.

“You know just because you have the whole daddy look going on that doesnt mean you can also be a dick.” I froze at my words and I just really wanted to become one with the floor at this moment in time. Thank you very much. He raised an eyebrow and leaned forward in his seat slightly.

“Daddy thing?” Oh yeah my face was most certainly the color of a tomato now and I really, REALLY wanted nothing more than for god to just start the second coming of Christ now so I wasn’t forced to live through this moment. Unfortunately it didn't appear that the rapture would be starting anytime soon and the good doctor definitely was getting a kick out of my embarrassment. 

“Oh shut up you know you're pretty.” I mumbled mostly to myself while reaching for another cookie. He smiled and stood grabbing me water and bringing my shoes in the process. “Oh now you want to go, couldn't have just let not me shove my foot in my mouth could you?” He smirked and grabbed my hand but I quickly snatched it back feeling my face redden even further, Jesus they were going to name a new shade of red after me with how red my face was. “I can walk just fine thank you I have been doing it for 27 years” 

“Well that's not a very good boyfriend then.” He muttered, reaching in front of me and opening the front door and I just stared at the wall in front of me. Was he trying to poke fun at me and make me laugh during a very traumatic time in my life? Yes. Did the implications of that sentence make me an embarrassingly high level of turned on? Also yes. I ducked my head and shuffled my way past him ignoring the soft chuckle he gave as he locked the door behind me.

I waited for him to unlock the door and got in quickly, buckling myself and turning my face and body towards the window so he couldn't see my blushing face. I saw him frown in his reflection in the window and his hand reached out to pat my knee causing me to make an embarrassingly close to a whimper and jump away from his touch like I had been burned. Sir i am trying not to be horny right now and you touching me is most certainly not helping. 

“He’s not going to touch a hair on your head ever again Addie.” He removed his hand from my leg and I watched as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. His voice was perfectly calm but I could see a dangerous glint simmering below the surface, he was pissed off for me and honestly that's one of the hottest things a man can do. Interestingly enough I’ve always hated being called Addie but coming out of Spencer’s mouth I couldn't help the small shiver that came out of me.

“Yeah…I’ve heard that before.” I mumbled and laid my head against the window feeling exhausted. Spencer frowned but didn't say anything and I felt my eyes slipping closed, hey to be fair I've been awake almost 24 hours and my ex boyfriend savagely beat the shit out of me I think I’m allowed to take a nap while the cops look for him. My eyes opened as I felt my body being jostled but instead of someone shaking me awake I was vaguely aware that it was someone scooping me up like I was a small child and carrying me. 

“She fell asleep on the way here, no sense in waking her until we know something. Who knows when the last time she got a decent amount of sleep was.” Well he wasn't wrong. I had been basically surviving off caffeine and dark romance novels for the last year ever since Casey lost his job. I felt myself being laid down and to my great horror my arms wrapped around Spencer tighter. What the hell arms? No. He's letting us go and God only knows what we’re going to dream about and seeing as how I have already embarrassed myself in front of this man enough times for my entire life I would rather he NOT hear any sex dreams we have about him. “Alright come on now Addie I know you can at least subconsciously hear me. You need to sleep.” I felt him quite literally pry my arms off his body and he covered me with a blanket before turning off the lights.

“Can you stay?” I watched him pick up a book and turn one of the lamps on. I turned fully so I could get a look at him and instantly felt guilty for asking him to stay, there was a good chance he had been up as long as if not longer than me and here I was asking him to stay awake even longer like I was a five year old scared of the dark. “Nevermind it's okay, you can go home and go to sleep.”

“I’ll stay until your sister gets here”

“But-”

“Stop being stubborn and go to sleep Adrienne.” Nope, I did not like that one bit. I huffed and rolled over onto my side not wanting to look at him anymore. “Stop pouting you know I’m right you literally fell asleep within five minutes of the car ride.” I pursed my lips wanting to come up with some kind of sassy retort but he was right. I was exhausted and honestly I was struggling to even continue this conversation.

“Oh go fuck yourself.” But it lacked the bite one would normally have behind that insult, also that's the best my brain could come up with? Really? I heard him chuckle and instantly dreaded what was sure to be a sexual innuendo I had to pretend was just harmless jokes but in reality was sure to make my face red.

“Well we both know that's not what you're dreaming about since you mentioned my…what was it? Oh yeah, my daddy thing earlier.” I groaned and glared at him over my shoulder. “You're the one that said it, not me.” Where can you buy a filter for your mouth? Asking for myself because I am getting myself into stupid situations all the time from it. I ignored his retort and pulled the blanket up over my head desperately wishing to fall asleep but also that I wouldn't say anything too embarrassing before Gabriella got here.

[a-land-lacking-sleep]

Submas/PLA Fic: Electric Trains are the Future Ch. 18 - I am Emmet. Thank you for your hospitality.

Previous chapter (17) - Current Chapter - Next Chapter (18)

Happy 1 Year Anniversary to Electric Trains are the Future! I decided to celebrate by giving you readers a FUCKING DOOZY of a chapter (size wise, it's fairly chill). Despite taking over two months, this fic is still going, and we should have it done before the next anniversary!

Chapter Summary: Kamado has a talk with the travelers in his village, then Emmet tours Jubilife. Chapter Warnings: Emmet begins to have a breakdown about 3/4 of the way through the chapter, though it doesn't hit until closer to the end. Chapter Word Count: 6175

Please, read either below or over on AO3 where I ramble! Reblogs and comments are appreciated, but never required.

-

This Galaxy Building was muuuch better than the one Emmet had visited in Eterna City. It had calmer and more neutral colors, and the use of real wood added a relaxing touch to the entire atmosphere that was lacking in that spike-covered office building in the present. Future. Whenever.

However, going up into the Commander’s office was a different feeling. The light walls that filled the building below were replaced by a dark gray, likely to mark the importance of the room. It kills the calm mood and just makes Emmet feel on edge as he sat down next to Elesa and Akari on the left side of the office, while Elio sat down between Cynthia and Volo on the other side. 

And looking at the Commander behind his desk, Emmet could tell that the dour feeling that the room gave was likely getting to him. He was frowning just as strong as Ingo, but Emmet could tell that there was a forcefulness to the frown that Ingo didn’t have. And the glare he was giving them, especially to Volo, was far harsher than anything his brother could give off.

However, even with the glaring, this Commander was chatting with Cynthia in a tone that was obviously not hostile. “I know that you have plenty of questions, Ms. Cynthia, but I need you to understand,” the Commander says as he strokes his admittedly impressive moustache, “that you’re starting to get into questions that I don’t have answers for.”

“But I know that the Survey Corps has been cataloging the information they have been finding about the ruins,” Cynthia prods with a soft whine. “Surely you can share a bit of details? An etching? A recreation of a pictograph? Many of the ruins around the mountain will get buried in rock slides in the next few decades.”

“I already told you, we haven’t begun that project yet,” the Commander grumbles, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “My- The Lady Cogita would have some details, but from what she has informed me, she is currently host to a visitor.” As Cynthia begins to speak, he quickly holds up a finger to stop her. “And I am the good authority to tell you that you do not want to speak with this visitor.” Emmet didn’t miss Volo scowling and gripping the arm of his chair tighter.

Emmet’s smile twitches momentarily, and he finds himself standing back up, pointing one arm at the Commander and another at Cynthia, looking above their heads at the wall (what a subdued shade of green he thinks to himself). “I am Emmet. I am a Subway Boss. I would like some coffee, so let’s talk.” Emmet holds the pose for a moment before looking down at Elesa expectantly. “Did you bring the coffee up here?”

“I have it right here, Subway Boss-han,” the Commander says, his accent slipping slightly as he  gestures to the kettle of coffee. “Feel free to pour yourself a cup. You may be a guest, but I wasn’t the one who requested coffee be brought up to my office this morning.”

“You still had some,” Akari quickly interjects as Emmet quickly pours himself a cup of coffee and sits back down.

“Yes, because I need all the help I can get when I have to call you in 2 hours after sunrise,” the Commander grumbles before he scoots his chair back and stands up, assuming a pose that reminded Emmet of his uncle Hajime during his lectures to the cousins. “To those who have not met me, my name is Denboku Kamado, and I am the Commander of this Galaxy Team. I would like to welcome you three to Jubilife Village, the eventual seat of the Hisuian government. Kurosawa-san here,” Kamado continues, gesturing to Cynthia, “told me a bit about how you got here, but I would like to hear the story from you as well, Subway Boss-san.”

Emmet pauses mid-sip, the coffee dribbling onto his tongue before he tilts it more to get a mouthful, swallowing the cooled drink and placing the cup down into his hand like a plate. “I am Emmet. Are you just wanting to know why I’m here?” Kamado nods seriously, causing Emmet to swallow a bit at the ever-growing similarity between this man and his uncle in the Dan. “Well, I came to find my wife.” Beside him, Elesa smiles sweetly, her cheeks pinching her eyes closed. “And hopefully, and thankfully, my brother.” He pauses and adds softly, “I would like to go back downstairs soon.”

“Ingo arrived through the Space-Time rift, just as Elesa later did,” Kamado says, looking down at his desk and jotting a note down on a sheet of paper.

“Ultra Wormhole,” Cynthia quickly corrects, Volo nodding next to her. Kamado looks like he’s about to say something, and instead sighs before motioning for Emmet to continue.

Emmet’s smile perks a bit at the short exchange before he brings it to a more neutral smile. “My brother and I came across this period as kids.” Emmet pauses for a moment to sip his coffee, letting out a contented sigh. “We joked about Ingo being Ingo reincarnated. Then he disappeared.”

“And arrived here,” Kamado dully notes, seeing where the story is leading.

Emmet nods, continuing on. “And then Elesa disappeared, and Volo showed up. I probably shouldn’t have listened to him, the entire situation was suspect.But I was also panicked and had no other options.”

“And so you decided to follow a liar and a thief,” Kamado says with a glare at the liar in question.

“That’s not fair, Kamado,” Akari says, cutting in front of Emmet’s attempt to speak up. “Volo has spent a lot of time making up for what he’s done!”

“Yes, with his supposed immortality,” Kamado says with a glare towards Volo, who shrivels into his chair. “A descendant of the Celestica is what he had told us when he came with the Gingko. And all along, he was a survivor of the massacre. With his actions recently, he should’ve died there.”

There was a small commotion from Elio, Volo, and Cynthia at the comment before Kamado slams a hand down onto the table, cutting them off as Emmet glares at him over his coffee. “I am not going to remove him or your group, so there is no need to be belligerent.” Despite the direct irony of the statement, no one called Kamado his own behavior, preferring to let him talk. “Now, Subway Boss-san, you were telling me how your group arrived here.”

Emmet looks at Kamado’s moustache before sighing and drinking from his coffee before speaking back up. “I am Emmet, Denboku-han,” Emmet says, using his own Johtoan dialect more prominently. “I would prefer you be nicer to my friends. I would not be here without Volo’s help. He is the one who pointed me where to go, that pulled the strings to get me here, and taught me the proper path.” Kamado glares at Emmet for a moment, before crossing his arms and huffing in acquiescence. “Now. Do you want to know anything else?”

Kamado reaches up and strokes his moustache in thought for a moment before speaking back up. “Young Nozawa-kun here mentioned that he had a Pokemon bring you all here. Is that something I need to worry about?”

Emmet leans over and looks down at Elio, who to their credit simply shrugs and shakes their head. With a nod, Emmet looks back at Kamado. “Nope. Solgaleo can create Wormholes to take us places. But it’s very nice! A large house cat, and well trained, yup.”

“And these Wormholes won’t be a threat to the village?”

“No more than Arceus in Akari’s Pokeball,” Emmet says with a widening grin as he sips his coffee. He could hear Elesa gag on his right and feel Akari stiffen on his left as Kamado’s eyes narrow. And if he really listened, he could hear Elio hold in a laugh and Volo’s heart nearly stop.

As Kamado’s gaze shifts to Akari, she drives her elbow into Emmet’s arm and pulls out the Wing Ball that Arceus resides in. “Y-yeah! I, uh, caught one last Pokemon! I already showed the Professor.” There’s a pause as Kamado simply nods, still looking at her for an explanation on Emmet’s comment. “Eheh… It’s, uh… It’s the Almighty Sinnoh.”

“YA CAPTURED THE CLANS’ GOD?!” Kamado roars, one hand slamming into the table to hold himself up as he stumbles back. “Do Adaman-han and Irida-han know?” Akari opens her mouth to explain when a voice emanates from the Pokeball.

Thou needest not to worry. The two leaders of mine children’s clans need not know I exist.

The office stood quiet for a moment before Kamado could sputter out anything. “W… What-”

Also, thou needest not worry about thine town. I am a gentle god. In the day of mine Champion’s youth, I am what is called a blorbo.

The effect of Arceus’ statement was instant. Elio and Akari both double over in laughter, with the ball actually falling from Akari’s grip and rolling under Kmado’s desk with a soft, but reverberant, Oh No. Emmet, Elesa, and Cynthia all did the proper response from an adult and respectfully cringed at the Alpha Pokemon. 

All Kamado could do was stare at the ball as it rolls out of sight, then back up at Akari. “I.. Do not want to know what it is talking about. Just… Are we going to have to feed this God too?” Akari is silent for a moment, before averting her gaze and whistling to herself. “I swear to the Whirl, I’m going to dock your pay to afford to feed them. No more captures for a month.”

“You only pay on captures anyway!” Akari cries as she puts her arms out in defiance. “That’s bullshit!”

“And more Pokemon are entering the region every day,” Kamado shoots back, reaching down to retrieve Arceus’ Pokeball from under his desk and handing it back to the young Surveyor. “This meeting is adjourned. I’m going to need to go over finances and figure out an appropriate way to breach the topic of one of my people capturing the Almighty Sinnoh to the Clans.”

Emmet was the first to leave the room, taking his cup of coffee with him as Elesa and Volo quickly followed behind him. As they reach the bottom of the stairs, Volo lets out a heavy sigh. “I still hate that man, I think.”

“I am Emmet,” Emmet says before he fully registers what Volo said, quickly adding, “I don’t blame you. He is severe.” Emmet drinks the last of his cup as Akari and Cynthia descend the stairs, the older Champion patting the younger on the back, with Elio coming up behind them with the rest of the coffee. “Well, the day is early. Ingo is probably going to sleep some more. What is the plan?”

“I told Zisu I was going to fill at the Dojo when I dropped by earlier,” Elesa says with a sigh. “I’ve not been working since Ingo’s fall, and they’ve also been down an instructor because of it.”

Emmet perks up slightly, his eyes lighting up at this. “The Dojo? I wouldn’t mind stopping by. You said that Zisu is a strong trainer.”

Elesa smiles back at Emmet before speaking. “Give us some time to set up and do our daily routines before stopping by, ok?” Emmet enthusiastically nods, and Elesa laughs before giving Emmet a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later, Emmy. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Emmet returns as Elesa quickly makes her way to the stairs to leave. Turning back to the others, he looks over at Volo. “I’m assuming you’re going to stay in here somewhere?”

“As much as I dislike Kamado,” Volo says with a sneer, looking back up the stairs as if he expected to see the Commander looking down at them. “It would probably be best if my old boss didn’t see me, at least not yet. I did just run away on him, after all. And probably got branded as a thief at best, considering I did use stock without permission.”

“I’ll probably hang out here, too,” Elio says, still holding the kettle of coffee on the platter. “I wanna talk with Ingo when he gets back up.” Emmet nods, and looks over at Akari and Cynthia.

The pair look back at him before Akari speaks up. “I need to go get my main team, but I can show you and Auntie Cynthia around Jubilife.”

If a smile could actually light up a room, Cynthia’s would have as her face split with a large grin. “The first settlement in Sinnoh! I would absolutely love to see it all first hand!” She holds a finger up and begins to shuffle through her tote bag, and pulls out a small notebook. “I’ll be sure to get plenty of notes! A proper primary resource to return home with!”

“Just remember when you are,” Volo says with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re already going to stand out, so don’t let people know who you are.”

“I know,” Cynthia says sharply, attempting to shoo Volo off with a hand. “Kamado and I have already talked, no one is going to list our names down while we’re here, and we aren’t going to tell people we’re time travelers. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still research! Surely you’ll want to look through things for inspiration, Mr. Author?”

Volo glares at Cynthia for a few moments before sighing and crossing his arms. “Fine. I really shouldn’t be going places for a bit, but I do want to look around again before we go.” Cynthia smiles again and clenches her fists in excitement while Volo simply shakes his head. “Anyway, I’m heading downstairs to speak with Laventon. Enjoy the outdoors, you three.” With a quick wave, Volo turns around and ushers Elio to the farther set of stairs while Emmet and his crew go to the closer set.

Stepping outside, Emmet instinctively brings his hat a little further down his face to block out the sun, while Cynthia and Akari both step out into the light to seemingly recharge like Sunflora. Emmet could see the guard take a look at him as he descends the steps, the tall foreigner with bright clothing and hidden eyes that looked almost like the ghost of a normal member of the town. Emmet picks up his pace and walks past Akari, only slowing briefly to ask, “First destination?”

Akari picks up her own pace with Cynthia following suit, the latter’s coat billowing out in the wind behind her. “I think Anthe over at the clothier,” Akari says, pointing to a building nearby with a woman in a purple kimono standing outside talking to another woman, this one a redhead in a blue outfit. “I have some replacement uniforms to pick up, and we could see about cleaning your coat.”

“I am Emmet. I want to keep my coat for now.”

“Maybe after a few days, then?” Cynthia says softly, gently placing a hand on his shoulder, causing Emmet to momentarily pause his step. “I know you pride yourself on keeping your coat and hat clean.”

“Not now,” Emmet says, politely shaking Cynthia’s hand off of him. “Maybe in a few days. Not now.” Akari continues on to talk with Anthe and the other woman, Cynthia stays back with Emmet. After a moment, Emmet sighs. “Is someone looking at me? It feels like there is.”

Cynthia takes a quick scan around the area, seeing a group of kids looking at the pair and talking to each other, but no one else. Cynthia focuses her attention on the group, and each of them recoil as if they had been hit with a Glare, and turn to face away from the pair. “Just a few kids. They’re not looking this way anymore.”

Emmet shakes his head a few times before pulling his hat back up a bit. “I feel like people will stare, yup. They’ll think I’m Ingo.”

“Or worse,” Cynthia says joylessly. “Hisui apparently had a Zoroark problem around this time.” Emmet flinches and crinkles his nose, looking down at the ground. “They’re mostly up north in the Icelands, where Snowpoint City is nowadays.” Cynthia pauses slightly. “Well, in our time. Nowadays there is no city.”

The pair both laugh a little at that as Akari comes back over, this time with the redhead in tow. “Arezu, this is Uncle Ingo’s brother Emmet, and my Auntie Cynthia!”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Arezu says, bowing slightly to Emmet and then Cynthia. “Ingo and I aren’t in the same clan, but it’s great to see he’s getting more family and friends coming to see him. Especially with how he’s doing right now, y’know?” Emmet finds himself simply nodding as the woman speaks, letting her just go on for now.

“Are you a normal clan member, or are you a Warden as well?” Cynthia asks, leaning in slightly out of curiosity.

“Oh, I’m a Warden,” Arezu says with slight apprehension as she leans away from Cynthia. “Warden of Lady Lilligant of the Ridge.” As she answered, she continues to move slowly towards the hair salon next door like she was trying to avoid the gaze of a fearsome predator.

A slight tug on Emmet’s sleeve pulls him back from watching the conversation, and he turns to see Akari looking up at him slightly worried. “You ok, Emmet?” Emmet opens his mouth to respond, and when no words come out to do so, simply nods. “Alright, then… I’m gonna go drag Auntie away from Arezu real quick. I was gonna show you both the photography studio next, if you wanna wait there.” She points behind them both at the building across the street, where several pictures were hung.

Emmet nods, and makes his way across the street to the studio as Akari slips past him to wrangle her aunt. The first picture there was something that made Emmet’s smile a touch bigger - a simple portrait of Volo, bent down slightly over his Togepi, a large and genuine smile plastered across his face. It was one of the few pictures here in color, albeit a very subdued color where the presumably vivid blues and yellows of Volo’s uniform were instead dulled to an almost navy and goldenrod.

Next to it was a picture of a large Rapidash, shiny from the look of the flames, though not at all the shade Emmet was used to. Every shiny Rapidash he had seen had silver flames along its mane, but the picture here was showing a lilac flame, perhaps due to the style of photography used. The next photograph was one of the Commander posed up against a Snorlax, with both posed in a way that made it look like the Commander was attempting to suplex the rotund Pokemon. But even the little bit of wrestling knowledge that Emmet had let him know that this had to be staged - The Commander was too low to the Snorlax’ center of gravity, and wouldn’t be able to lift it without endangering himself. It made for a good image, though.

The next two pictures weren’t anything much - One of the Security Corps members posed with their lantern above their Zubat, and a small group of kids posed with their arms up like they were monsters, shouting at the camera. The final picture is what drew Emmet’s attention, though.

Front and center on display was a glossy photograph of Ingo and Akari, with Ingo’s coat and hat all tattered and Akari wearing a white kimono and red sash, with a Sneasel mask propped on her forehead. Ingo was standing tall and at attention, a smile lurking in his eyes as he pointed at the camera, and Akari stood next to him, smiling brightly with a mirrored pose to his brother. Was this a plan on his part, or hers? Did he remember everything at that point, or was he, Emmet, still lost to him?

Emmet quickly brings his wrist up, turning his Xtransciever on and zeroing the camera in on the photograph. He’s never really been the kind to take a picture of a picture, but given the circumstances and the time period, this would do. He snaps a picture from head on, and then one from the side, before stepping over and taking a picture of the photograph that had Volo in it as well. By the time he was closing his Xtransciever up, Akari was walking up with Cynthia. 

“Hope we didn’t make you wait, Emmet,” Akari says as she bounces up to the door of the studio. “Dagero is the only person other than Laventon to have a camera, and his is so much better than the professors.” She points at a photograph above the one with Volo, where Melli was posed elegantly with his Skuntank. “We even got a few of the Clan members to take photos. It’s really helped loosen people up.”

Cynthia lets out a small gasp as she approaches one on the far side of the Rapidash, which shows a young woman in pink surrounded by Eevees. “This is a beautiful photograph of Lady Irida! There aren’t many from this point of her life that survived.” As she says the last part, she pulls her Rotom phone from her pocket and snaps a picture of it like Emmet had previously.

Emmet raises his hand to point at the one of Ingo and Akari and opens his mouth to speak , only for nothing to come out. He swallows and scrunches his eyes closed before getting the words out. “I am Emmet. I like this one a lot.” He unconsciously lets out a sigh as Akari notices the photo and perks up.

“Oh, I loved doing that one with Uncle! It was the night of the festival after I calmed down Dialga!” She turns and points to the clearing in front of the Galaxy Building, then lifts her arms up into the sky. “Sanqua and Iscan worked together to build a stage on a mini-pagoda, and Uncle’s Machamp played the o-daiko with Gaeric and Zisu while Irida and Melli did a flute and dance performance above! Rei and I tried some of the food that some Diamond Clan members brought, and then Uncle and I took that photo to commemorate it all!” 

Cynthia and Emmet nod as Akari leads them along past the studio and towards some pastures on the outskirts of town. “Anyway, I’m thinking we could hit the Dojo after this? You could meet Zisu, and maybe battle her!”

Emmet and Cynthia both perk up slightly at the idea of battling, Cynthia much more than Emmet. Normally Emmet would likely be the more enthusiastic of the two, but every time he looks in a new direction, he catches sight of someone staring at him. The kids from the clothier. The old lady across the river on her porch. The guard at the gate. Everyone just kept staring at him.

It takes him a few moments to even notice that the trio had stopped, with Akari leading them into the pastures directly. He could see all manners of Pokemon running or resting or playing in the fields. There was a herd of Ponyta galloping behind a lilac-flame Rapidash (I guess that photo wasn’t wrong) and a flock of Starly and Staravia circling the immediate vicinity of the entrance, a few coming down to rest nearby and stare at the trio.

“Yama! Oroshi!” Akari’s call echoes through the pastures, with the latter Pokemon called reacting first. With a distant roar, a rather large Gyrados emerges from a nearby pool and glides through the air towards the trio, landing and sliding along the grass until it bumps into Akari, knocking the teenager off balance. The serpent was larger than any Gyrados that Emmet had ever seen, even with the Pokemon being rarer in Unova than in other regions.

Akari begins focusing on scrubbing some pond scum off of Oroshi’s crest as Emmet hears some footsteps approaching from behind, and turns to see a rather small, but incredibly blue, Snorlax making its way to them. Right after, Cynthia turns and lets out a small scream as she is barreled over by the shiny bear in its pursuit of its Trainer. In Akari’s case, it skids to a stop and stands there for a moment before falling backwards into its butt, throwing its hands into the air in celebration.

The growing collection of Pokemon was quickly joined by a Gardevoir teleporting in, an Ursaring running up to the Snorlax and tackling it, and a Staraptor swooping down from the skies to land on the crest of the Gyrados and crying out in greeting. Emmet and Cynthia could only watch as the young champion was engulfed by her team, with the final member, a Typhlosion of some sort, simply deciding to stand next to the two and observe. After a few minutes of petting her team, Akari holds up a few Pokeballs. “Ok, everyone, time to head out!” The effect was instant, as many of the Pokemon reach out to activate their respective Pokeballs and retreat inside, with the Typhlosion continuing to wait calmly next to Emmet.

“Ok, I think I’m good to go now!” Akari says, coming back to the adults and hugging her Typhlosion tight before recalling her. “Let’s go see if Zisu will let us battle her!”

The walk to the Dojo was fairly short, though it involved walking through the residential area and thus more stares, mostly from older men and women. As Cynthia and Akari chat and continue walking, Emmet pulls his hat down over his eyes again and pulls his collar up to block his face, hoping to cut off any chance on catching sight of someone looking at him. Akari had told him that people were wary of outsiders, but this was excessive. Was his resemblance to Ingo causing this? Has no one in Jubilife, or perhaps even Hisui, heard of twins before?

The group arrives at the Dojo to see Elesa battling a teenager from the village and giving them pointers on type match ups as her Stunfisk, Smirks, flopped on the ground to kick up dust for fun. Behind her, observing the battle by the small building, was a tall red-headed woman in a wide stance - Presumably Zisu. And sure enough, Akari bounded up to her and began to talk animatedly, while Cynthia and Emmet hung back, with the former looking at the latter with a bit of worry in her eyes. “You’re being quiet, Emmet. Are you alright?”

Emmet opens his mouth to speak, before simply grimacing and answering with his hands. ‘Too many eyes. I am Emmet. I am not a circus attraction.’ Cynthia grimaced herself, nodding in understanding. As she thought about how to respond, Emmet could only thank the fact that many champion level Trainers knew either Kantonian or Unovan Sign Languages due to the former Kanto champion’s reliance on it.

‘I can handle the talking for you,’ Cynthia signs back as she steps forward to join Akari’s talk with the Dojo leader. Emmet simply nods in thanks, and turns to observe the battle again, watching as Elesa commands her Stunfisk, who leisurely follows the command. The teenager was definitely inexperienced, using moves that either had no or little effect on the Pokemon, who wasn’t even attempting to dodge most of the attacks. Since the battle was so sedated, he instead focused on the movements of the trainers themselves.

The teenager was a little stiff in his movements, though not quite robotic. Instead of being stiff due to over-practice, the teenager just wasn’t sure how to move and conduct himself in battle. Each command was punctuated with a wild fling of his arm, and a pose that was held just a few seconds longer than needed. In contrast, Elesa moved with quick grace, throwing a hand forward with each command and moving her entire torso with the motion. She also would pace slightly, strutting either purposely or subconsciously as she observed the battle from different angles. And she was doing that cute thing, where whenever she stopped pacing to hold a position, she would bump a hip out and place her ha-

“So, you’re Ingo’s brother?” a louder than needed voice says from beside Emmet, pulling his focus from the battle to the red-headed woman who had joined him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you! My name is Zisu!” The woman put her hand out to shake his in a very Unovan manner, despite speaking in a clearly native Johto dialect.

With a deep breath, Emmet takes her hand and gives it a firm and polite shake. “I am Emmet.”

“So, Akari tells me you’re a great battler!” Emmet simply nods, not interrupting her to verbally agree. “After Elesa finishes training Koji, do you want to go a round? She and Cynthia-han were telling me about the Double Battles you do!”

Emmet breathes in again, closing his eyes as he pulls up his mental script. “I am Emmet. I am a Subway Boss. I like Double Battles. I like the combination of two or more Pokemon.” Emmet pulls his arms up and assumes his point and call pose, opening his eyes to look firmly between Zisu’s eyebrows. “I do not think I can battle today. But when we do, let’s have a great battle in which every Pokemon uses a variety of moves.”

Zisu’s smiles widely and clenches her fists in front of her. “Fantastic! I have to see the mechanics behind it!” Her smile morphs into an open mouth as she gasps, and she slams a fist down into her palm. “We should battle after Elesa is done!”

Emmet tries his best to keep the grimace from his face as Zisu’s volume creeps upwards with her enthusiasm. She is far too close, and her energy is just becoming far too much, causing Emmet to take a step back. “I- I am Emmet. Not today. I still need to rest from traveling.” Only a little lie. He did want to battle, he needed to have a battle to unwind, but… Noise is too much, and while he can usually make an exception for battles, not today, not while he is unable to even take any eyes on him. 

Apparently his expression had shifted, because Zisu puts her hands up and steps back. “I’m sorry, Emmet,” she says with a slight grimace. “Ingo also gets bad with noise sometimes, I didn’t think about that.”

Emmet holds up a hand and takes a deep breath. “Don’t apologize. The town is what is doing it.” He looks behind himself to scan the surroundings, catching no one staring at him. “I need to calm my engines. This cab is catching too much attention.” Turning back, he sighs and pulls his coat tighter. “I’m going to go, if that’s ok. I am Emmet. I will be back.”

Without waiting for a response (though he sort of hears Zisu say “take care”), Emmet turns on his heel and begins walking back to the Galaxy Building. As he walks, he feels a Pokeball on his belt shake, and Mama Fluff, his Galvantula, falls onto the ground beside him before scuttling up onto his back and latching on like a backpack. With her added weight, Emmet slouches slightly and slows down a little as he hears footsteps coming up behind him.

“Emmet!” Akari calls as she approaches. “Emmet, wait! Auntie Elesa said she’s coming!” With a sigh, Emmet stops and turns to face Akari as she barrels down the street towards him, with Cynthia seeming to stay behind at the Dojo and Elesa stepping out of the gates. “She said she would eat with us. The Wallflower can be pretty quiet, even on the outside.”

Emmet looks over at the tables at the restaurant, out in the sun and right next to the main road and the neighboring shop. “Can we go inside?”

Akari herself pauses now, almost wincing into her grimace as she looks at the entrance to the restaurant. “I- Yeah. I don’t like going in there, but it’s probably better for a breakdown. Darker and quieter.” Emmet nods and turns to walk towards the restaurant as Elesa jogs up to his side and gently grabs his hand for a moment before letting it go, causing Emmet’s troubled expression to soften slightly.

As the group approaches the building, though, the old man out front moves to intercept them. “I’m sorry, but you cannot come in with a Pokemon,” he says in a reedy voice, arms behind his back but stance firm. Emmet’s smile drops again, and Mama Fluff on his back chitters in irritation. “This is a food establishment, and I’ve decided that we do not allow Pokemon inside. So either put the beast away, or leave.”

The surroundings begin to fall silent as Emmet trembles slightly, Akari already stepping forward to silently argue in an animated fashion with the old man. Meanwhile, he could barely feel Elesa grab ahold of his hand as he turns to walk away, going further down the street as he fumbles for Mama Fluff’s ball to recall her. As they pass a merchant group, he feels a tug on his arm and looks back to see Elesa talking with an older man in a simple folding chair, who gestures behind the cart. After the gesture, Elesa looks at Emmet, and beckons for him to follow her behind the cart.

Once out of sight of the road, Elesa turns to face him and speaks openly and silently to Emmet, saying something… Breathing? Emmet goes to respond, opening his mouth and finding himself unable to speak past the quick breaths entering and leaving his lungs. Seeing him struggle, Elesa unhooks the water bottle from her waist and puts it into Emmet’s shaking hand, before signing at him ‘Drink. You need to breathe.’ Nodding several times, Emmet tries to take a deep breath, then pours the water into his mouth and holds it there for several seconds before swallowing it.

Emmet opens his mouth to speak again, this time managing, “I-I-I…” before trailing off, his mouth hanging open for a moment. As he struggles to find his words, the older merchant slips into the back with them and drops off his folding chair before hobbling back to the front of the cart. Emmet quickly takes the chair and sits down, just realizing how badly his entire body has been shaking as he raises his hands to speak. ‘I cannot do this.’

Elesa crouches down in front of him, placing a hand on his before signing to him. ‘Yes you can, Deerling. You need to breathe, first. Drink some water, close your eyes.’ Emmet closes his eyes and nods, raising the water bottle back up to his mouth and takes another mouthful as Elesa once again gently grabs his hand, running her thumb in circles on his palm. After swallowing the water, Emmet was able to breathe in deeply, though his exhale still shuddered heavily.

“Can you hear me now, Deerling?” Emmet nods to Elesa’s voice. “Good. You’ll be ok. I’m here. Ingo is here. You are Emmet. You’ll be fine.” Emmet nods again as he struggles to get his breathing under control. 

After a moment, he hears another voice from the end of the cart, an older man, probably the merchant. “He holdin’ up alright back there, Miss Elesa?” Emmet doesn’t hear a response, but assumes that she nodded when he hears the man speak again. “That’s good. Take ‘s long ‘s you need. Tuli used to have these when she started, so I’ll keep it quiet back here.” Emmet weakly holds up his hand and gives the man a thumbs up, getting a chuckle from the recipient.

After a few minutes of silence, Elesa speaks up again. “I think Akari is finishing up at the Wallflower.” Emmet quietly nods. “Do you want to go back into the Galaxy Building and eat with Ingo to help calm down?”

Emmet nods, bringing his hands up to sign to her. ‘Yes. Then I’m going to sleep. Today is done, I’m going to travel to the future.’ Elesa chuckles as Emmet finally opens his eyes and stands up, grunting slightly as he takes a few wobbling steps before stabilizing himself. As he and Elesa begin to walk out from behind the cart, Akari walks up to them with two plates positively piled with what seems to and smells like potato mochi.

“I scolded Beni for you, Emmet,” she says, handing a plate over to Elesa. “He said he would apologize, but I wouldn’t expect it.” Emmet simply shakes his head, and begins walking to the Galaxy Building doors.

Hopefully a plate of good food would help to bring him back down.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Everything is going badly right now, so I apologize for not only for not replying, but that my posting generally might run into trouble. My queue is running dry, and I haven’t had time for making new drafts. I’ve got tons of pics and months of sculpting, but I can’t just zap them up here.

Example of things getting to me:

Yesterday I put off my shopping, partly because of the rain and partly because of a scary heart spell and partly because I injured myself the previous day. I meant to take it easy. I didn’t. I was busy and “stuff” happened. Let’s just say it was officially a bad day.

So I get to the evening and light the hot water heater, eager to wash dishes and get to bed. And hour and a half later and…the water is cold. The hot water heater had gone out!

I got determined to try to figure out it out. If I was sensible I would have gone to bed, but I knew I would be unable to sleep with all the thinking about it. Besides, I have this thing about always bathing before bed. I may never find a chance to put lotion on my hands**, and I long ago accepted that my hair was going to be a rats nest whatever I do, but I’ll be damned if I am going to bed without washing away the dirt from my messy life!

Anyway, the hot water heater means kerosene, soot, and the filth caused by cats on the back porch that find that area extra snuggly on winter nights. Basically….ewwwww! Now I REALLY need to get clean.

Since I had spent all that time using that camping shower, I figured I’d boil some water and use that. Ok, first I had to spend twenty minutes trying to find it, but this would be fine for now.

It wouldn’t charge! The only zip it had left was the feeble one from that last time I used it. And the mineral build up had broken loose and now blocked the spray holes. It’s get it to work, but as a trickle.

Boiling the water went sideways too as the kettle decided last night would be a good time to spring a leak on me. I hoped adjusting the screws for the handle would stop it, but nope. The stove became a pond.

When I took a shower the water from the kettle, and the other I boiled, wasn’t enough to keep it from being chilly. Worse, when I dumped the kettle water in the scales of mineral that had built up in it*** decided to finally break loose. Some of it got sucked into the shower, clogging it.

I won’t go into everything I've done trouble shooting it. Let’s say I reached a point where it is either the copper line clogged or the kerosene level being too low.

The kerosene is always low because I can’t afford to buy much, but the way I ration it I should have had a month’s worth. If it is too low I have the mystery of where it is going, with no obvious signs of any leaks. I also have to drive to a gas station 10 miles and then spend more than $60 for 10 gallons.

If the line is clogged, things are possibly worse. If it’s at the opening from the tank it is very difficult to get to clear and likely means the tank is gunked up with rust I can do nothing about. If it’s the line I have disconnect it at both ends, which always goes wrong. Doing it alone kerosene goes everywhere. Disconnecting it from the heater means moving the refrigerator, then putting one arm through a little hole in the wall while reaching around the partition with the other, completely unable to see what you are doing.

And them every single time I work on copper line it breaks!

So then I end up having to patch or replace things. I have to find the special tools, remember how to do it, hope I’m not out of fittings the right size, work damn hard at it only to have it leak! I swear, trying to work on copper line an NOT have it leak makes me crazy. I was soooo proud of myself for getting it all just right after years of work.

If I have to clear the copper line there is a 95% chance I will end up with at least a little leak somewhere. Never mind the safety or cleanliness aspects, I can NOT afford to have a leak!

To test whether it was the line or the kerosene level I decided to tilt the tank. When I’d repaired the tank around five years ago I’d replaced the old rotten base to the spindly legs and got it set up nicely, but over time it had settled, so it could use a little more tilt.

The big crowbar is at the other house. I had to use a much punier one.

I have used up the spare bricks and cinderblocks, so I had to dismantle the steps I use to pour the kerosene in the tank.

The base, which I had made of treated (supposedly) wood and set on bricks had rotted. Not all of it, but one side, that had looked fine, crumbled away as I lifted.

Frantically I had to wedge things to stabilize the tank while holding it. I had to keep it from tilting too much and breaking the line, while also keeping it from falling over sideways, while using things I could reach.

I now need to make a new stand. I have no more suitable wood since some of this proved unsuitable. The shank on the hole saw broke when I made this one, and I found the others big enough either ruined or impossible to get to. The jumbo drill needed for these holes was stored in the metal building where the huge bookcase fell over on it (and it is now unsafe to go into…long story).

And then it rained, so I had to stop working on the tank.

That’s just a taste of how things are going. It got worse. More side troubles. Plus my body ain’t happy.

And to think I actually thought two days ago that this weekend I’d FINALLY finish the book moving**** so I could get started on the REAL work at Mom’s house!

You know, I had enough on my mind

**Can’t do it when I’m eating or feeding the animals. Can’t do it just before bed because I write in my journal. Can’t do it after supper because I’m going to sculpt. Can’t do it when I handle books or papers. Can’t do it when… And then when I’m not doing something where lotion would be a problem I’m out somewhere or am so busy I forget.

*** We have a LOT of mineral in our water. I have to flush the hoses periodically and after many decades of use the bathroom faucet it nearly blocked up inside. It has built up where it drips in the tub like a cave!

****I haven’t talked about it. Basically it’s a continuation of the “moving stuff around so I can work on the plumbing” thing that has ended up being an insanely involved process that has temporarily made the house a complete wreck that it’s almost impossible to get through. And since I am currently dealing with the stuff I had to move from my house because of the collapsed floors, I can’t even be grumpy at anyone for all the damn books! (And comics. And magazines. At least dolls and action figured are light in comparison!)

[fumblingmusings]

oh woah what's nyo ireland and nyo england's relationship like in the modern times? do they try to reach out to each other? and wow the mommy issues that nyo england's kids are gonna inherit

Ahsnfbf I didn't want to say because I've probably already blabbed about it too much at this point but yes absolutely mummy issues abound there. I guess it's up to the individual how far you take it, because it can get pretty dark if left unchecked.

My favourite dynamic in Hetalia is the push and pull for these guys who are nations vs who they are as people. You can't live as long as they do without forming opinions which run contradictory to what your government or even the majority of your people believe in. So for the kids they have that push and pull of 'that's my mum' versus 'my mum is the figurehead of something terrible' versus 'I'm part of something terrible'... so messy.

The kids mum as Alice or Annie or Elizabeth or whatever you wanna call her (I won't lie most Anglo-Saxon names are a mouthful for girls save Edith which yeah okay Ada, Eva, Eddie etc. are nice nicknames, or you go older for Morgan which is a more literal flipping of names pertaining to the Arthur myth... choices choices), is the kind of mum who's indulgent, clingy and melancholic. Which... is definitely not a great mother long term. England as the head of an Empire is a whole other kettle of fish. And yet the woman for the longest time refuses to disentangle them, or ask others to do the hard work for her.

Like... Oh! Not to equate them in any meaningful manner, but in Game of Thrones, the way that Cersei is with her youngest boy? That's how I picture England with the kids. Like this:

Is definitely something she would have done with Alfred at one point. The telling stories as much to comfort herself about what's going on as to reassure her kids whilst looking like she's three steps from stabbing someone's eye out in a fit of pent up anxiety. That story about a lioness and her cubs is definitely a fable she would have passed on whilst they were in the cradle and older, with all the excessive pet names and nervous petting of hair and skin, grasping and kneading them like a literal cat... It's suffocating, even for the kids who are more tactile.

She's good at playing the victim and playing up the fragility too (white womanhood and imperialism are such sinister methods of control), so when the time comes the kids, especially the boys, feel more than duty bound to protect her, not just as a Dominion to the mother country but also in instances like that's their mum piss off you angry German... man...creep... twice over. I don't think they ever quite let that personal relationship go, even when the political does not work that way anymore. She still knits them jumpers at Christmas is what I mean (not that Oz needs it but...) and goshdarn it her patterns really are good... But otherwise they're loyal to the woman, not the country. And yet that still has a somewhat insidious implication about it?

The boys have it worst. I think America and fem!England's relationship would be an absolute hot mess of indescribable intersecting definitions. England is no longer my mother country but she's still my mum actually no wait not like that either fuck her (not like that except...) and actually no wait maybe yes like that to the mum thing and how dare she look at other people the way she used to look at me look at me now look at me! Meanwhile Matthew's more an emotional crutch/white knight archetype - all the ways he was groomed to be heir once Alfred left whilst everyone including England and Canada knew that America was still going to inherit whatever earth was left when England finally fell - and Oz is the replacement baby who knew right from the word go he was a replacement and... Like it would be quite easy to just end tumbling in straight up oedipal complex nonsense with it for sure.

But going back to her and Ireland... I think it's better than it ever has been in some ways, and yet worse in others? I don't think any apologies have been given, and I'm not sure it's expected from the other, even if it is wanted. The kind of thing where if they're both in the room they'll both find the same joke funny, they'll catch each other's eye and the smiles will fade, both will burn red and return their attention elsewhere. Some topics are safe, emotional intimacy... not yet.

I think they both would be much clearer headed now about what happened to them, each other and what the other did and why, and that empathy would lead to understanding, but neither are at the point of talking about it. They don't really argue anymore, so now it's at the stage of 'well we're not fighting so we must be doing better right?' when really all that's happening is pushing the dirt under the carpet. Whereas before they were confronting it - terribly - now it's all avoidance. Again, I think one party (England...) is keener for that approach than the other.

[hello-this-is-ned-schneebly]

noone reads this and i feel like ranting so yolo 

i have slowly realised that my roommate is fucking crazy lol.

some of it’s kind of minor and petty - like she literally asked me and the other roommate not to make tea in the morning because the kettle interferes with her sleep (girl, 7:30 is not that early, it’s not my fault you lie in till 8:40 then sprint to work) she also insists we keep all the takeaway containers and jars which would be fine if we actually used them, but we don’t. unless we make like 50 meals worth of meal prep that ain’t happening. so i gradually bin them when she’s not looking lol.

but she clearly has a vindictive side, like the other day she talked about how when she’s pissed she takes her dads amex and then buys a heap of shit and then blocks his phone number. she was laughing as she said it, but i do not want to get on her bad side wowwww

mostly it’s just hilarious minor shit tho so i don’t care. like our front door is broken, the latch is clearly stuffed - we’ve literally removed the handle and the door still won’t budge when we twist the latch mechanism, and she’s just super insistent that all we need to do is tighten the hinges lol - because her bf said so?? a few days ago?? before the door was actually broken?? lol

she probs just doesn’t want to pay for the door handle to be replaced - but like slightly angling the door isn’t going to un-break the latch. 

the girl who i replaced when i moved in had a big falling out with her tho. i don’t think it’ll ever get to that point between us, but it sounded like it went very foul very quickly. i’m still mindful tho, bc the other girl warned me. she used the words ‘fucking crazy’ and ‘manipulative’

in fact now that i think about it, tonight she was a little manipulative, in that, she said stuff like “you guys are so much better than my previous roommates because you’re being so chill about this” - well, i’m not that chill that i’m locked into my own house, lol. i’m just being nice about it.

and she also played dumb a little bit about whose responsibility it is to fix the door - obviously the landlord - who is her family friend, who she probably knows is dodgy and might not pay for the door. 

anyway rant over, lol