#but you would think the different apartment numbers that correspond to the mailbox numbers would be enough

[lizardmonet]

remember when USPS released merch to make money in 2020 cause they were tanking and everyone fell for it hook line and sinker as if USPS isn’t the worst package delivery service to currently exist

[five-rivers]

Long Night in the Valley Chapter 16

"But Suzuki-san was knocked out a bunch before this," said Ochako.

"I know," said One, still holding out the little packs of pills, "but apparently going to sleep is different from being knocked out."

"I think being drugged is a lot different from going to sleep, too," said Todoroki, taking one of the pill packs.

"I literally did not make the rules of this quirk." He turned his head to the side and started muttering about how Saito's quirk could have been used for good.

"How closely are you related to Midoriya, anyway?" asked Todoroki.

One startled. "Oh, uh, heh. You know. Enough for him to use the quirk?"

Wow. That was a suspicious answer.

"Are you Midoriya's father?" asked Todoroki.

"Todoroki, what--" started Iida.

"I have been dead for over a hundred years."

"That's not a no."

"Anyway," said Ochako, taking a sleeping pill from One but not opening it. "Are you sure, completely sure, you don't want our help? I mean, thinking about it, if you can get Izuku's quirk back from him like this, can’t he take your quirks, too?"

"Probably," agreed One, casually. "That's part of the reason we want you away from him." He mixed taking a pill. "We're also trying to make him think he can't. Or at least think that we think he can't. He's never had a very high opinion of our intelligence. And if he thinks that we think he can't, he'll never think that we're doing it."

Todoroki nodded along to this sagely.

"There’s also the possibility that he won't be able to - there are significant differences between my quirk and his. He can't do a passive DNA read, for example. That and the remnants of Izuku's quirk are the main reasons we think this will work, after all."

The world trembled slightly, then shook, as if an earthquake had just happened.

"He could take our mental selves, though," continued One. "Whether or not he'd keep them once this quirk wears off is something I'd rather not know… Although it'd be interesting to see if he could take the DNA aspect of a quirk that doesn't have a corresponding mental component present, since that's what actually trips him up when he tries to take One for All - he can't take the mental aspect, so his quirk aborts the sequence."

The ground shook again, harder.

"But that's honestly academic. You see, being dead can get boring, so we've spent a lot of time running war games and fighting each other."

This time, the shaking knocked all of them but One to their knees.

"Please take the pills? Now? We're really going to be fine."

A rocket screamed in the distance, followed by an explosion.

"This doesn't have opiates in it, does it?" asked Iida.

"Nothing here is real, so, no."

.

Ochako startled awake and immediately clutched at her head. That was one heck of a headache. Driven by the need to see where she was, she peeled open her eyes.

This was… the infirmary at UA?

How'd she get here?

"Oi! Granny! Cheeks is awake!"

That was Bakugo. There was something she wanted to do regarding Bakugo. What was it again?

"Don’t shout! This is a place of quiet and healing."

"I wanna know what fffffffffrick happened to shhhhtupid Deku."

Oh. She remembered now.

"As do we all, but you shouldn't crowd someone coming out of a mental quirk like that, it could be--"

No time like the present, decided Ochako.

She snapped into a sitting position, and punched Bakugo in the face.

"Ow! Mother--!"

Recovery Girl sighed. "Dangerous. Uraraka, how are you feeling?"

.

"I'm telling you," said Suzuki, propped up in the hospital bed, "there's a whole cabal of them, telepathically linked to each other and to All for One." He swatted away the nurse's hand. "Some of them are old heroes, too. They must have gone over to him for longevity quirks or something. They were- they were joking with each other about how to kill me. That's why I had to bail out."

"I believe you," said the commission president solemnly. “We have come across some evidence of our own that puts yours into a much more… credible light than it would be otherwise. Could you identify them, the other members of this ‘cabal?’”

“Some of them,” said Suzuki, doubtfully. “But others I didn’t recognize, or see for very long.” He shuddered. “Some of them… Some of them I would very much like to be mistaken about, sir.”

“The ones you are sure of?” prompted the president.

“Skyrunner,” said Suzuki, looking pale. “We should investigate her associates, as well,” he added, as if the president was unfit for his job. “There was another… I only know him from pictures, but I’m sure it was Fidelity.”

The president let neither his annoyance at Suzuki nor the familiarity of the two names distract him. “And how did Aizawa Shouta interact with them?”

Suzuki sniffled. “He sided with them. They all tried to put up a show when I was watching, but they never attacked him like they attacked me. That woman… she kept dropping me…” He knotted his fingers in his hair.

“What about All Might?”

“I’m… not sure. There was an image of him there, but he didn’t speak, not like the others. I couldn’t… couldn’t say if he was involved like they were.”

Not the conclusive report he’d been hoping for, then, but it confirmed that Midoriya Izuku was indeed in league with All for One.

… and also that he was providing All for One with at least one link with the outside world.

If Skyrunner and the others truly were alive, that meant that he had even more.

If. If they were alive. Even for a man of All for One’s talents, he had doubts about his ability to locate so many longevity quirks. The nomu with their duplicated quirks seemed to be a recent development. Then, too, there was the matter of Midoriya’s blood sample. Skyrunner and Fidelity were both on the list of people whose DNA had been mingled with his.

“There was also…” said Suzuki. He swallowed. “There was also… Tempest. She looked just like the old posters.”

Another name from the lists. The president closed his eyes briefly and pulled out his phone, going to the pictures he had saved of the hero Lariat and the vigilante Forewarning. Lariat’s photo was obviously better, having been an official picture for the purposes of identification. Forewarning’s was blurry and at an awkward angle, but given what he’d been - and who he served - it was only to be expected.

He showed the phone to Suzuki.

“These two?”

Suzuki stared. “Yes,” he said. “How did you know?”

“As I said,” replied the president, “we’ve gathered some of our own evidence while you’ve been asleep.” He put his phone away. “I expect a more thorough, formal report of what you discovered in Midoriya’s mind by the end of the day.”

“Of course, sir,” said Suzuki.

The president nodded, and with no more farewell than that, left.

As soon as he was alone, his phone was in his hand again. “I need an emergency exhumation order for the heroes Lariat, Fidelity, and Skyrunner.”

.

Aizawa stepped into the lobby of the apartment building. It seemed normal enough, even if the finishings were incredibly old-fashioned and its emptiness gave it a disturbing quality. The overhead lights buzzed. The wallpaper peeled. The air smelled faintly of ammonia. The paint on the receptionist’s desk had flaked off in places. There was gum matted in the carpet.

It was a normal apartment building. Not a nice one.

Aizawa walked cautiously to the desk, and peered at the mailboxes behind it. He picked out the name ‘Shigaraki’ in the third row, and made note of the apartment number.

The elevator, predictably, was out of order, not that it particularly mattered to Aizawa. He wouldn’t have trusted it to bring him to his destination, regardless. He barely trusted the stairs for that, after how many times this dream world had changed under his feet.

He reached the third floor without incident, and found the Shigaraki apartment. The door was locked, but Aizawa always carried a set of lockpicks with him, something that was as true here as in the real world. He made short work of it.

The apartment was… normal. Chaotic. Not very clean. Several sets of shoes, various sizes, littered the entryway. Medical bills and homework covered the kitchen table, more than a few letters on the floor. Bowls were stacked next to the sink. One of the rooms didn’t have a door, but a curtain. There were scorch marks on the walls.

Aizawa took a deep breath, and stepped into the apartment.

At first, nothing changed. Then, the light streaming past the curtains dimmed, natural light becoming weak, flickering sodium-yellow, and the dusty silence of an abandoned place was replaced with something that was almost like city nightlife.

Almost. There was something badly off about it. More than something… Too much anger. Not a single happy voice. Too many crashes and bangs. But… also not enough. Not enough for a riot or a protest. No motors, either. No cars.

He made his way to the window and looked out. There were people there. Crowds, even. People raging. People despairing. There were people tearing at the buildings, attacking their surroundings and one another, but many simply laid on the ground. Others… others seemed to be hunting. Looking for something, armed with makeshift weaponry.

Red lightning split the sky above them. Someone wailed, and the hunting party changed direction, going to where the lightning had struck.

Aizawa had seen the footage from Kamino, the way lightning had sparked, jagged, around the villain’s arms. He didn’t know what that lightning meant here, but he didn’t intend to get close enough to find out.

But he did have to go out, to find Midoriya’s quirk, or the representation of it. Wherever it was, it wasn’t in this apartment.

Probably.

Just to be sure, he threw open the doors and cabinets, searching and not finding. However, the apartment really was as empty of people as it seemed. Part of Aizawa itched to investigate this place more, this place where All for One was allegedly raised.

He left the apartment, making his way quickly down the stairs. In the real world, he would have most likely left through the window, jumping down to quell the near-riot happening below, to pull aside some of the younger people he had seen. But none of the people below were real, and he needed to lay low, stay inconspicuous.

Walking through Midoriya’s and the others’ minds, he and his students had always been noticed immediately. The ‘vestiges’ were distracting All for One, but Aizawa didn’t want to push his luck.

He walked out into the dim street, keeping close to the walls of buildings for whatever little cover they provided. The air tasted… oddly sterile.

The ‘people’ here were most likely stolen quirks, not memories. Would Midoriya’s be out in this? Or hidden away? How big was All for One’s mental landscape? The man was more than a century old.

If the quirk acted like the child it had belonged to… most likely it would go somewhere familiar. Midoriya’s apartment, maybe? Had he lived there, back then?

It was, unfortunately, his only lead.

(He did not think highly of his chances at success.)

“Eraserhead?”

The call was hissed, hushed and disbelieving. Aizawa half-turned, thinning his profile to provide a smaller target, his hands on his capture weapon.

Then he hesitated.

“Ragdoll?”

She blinked rapidly at him, eyes tearing up. “He got you, too, Eraser?”

Aizawa took in the brightly-colored hero costume and the ever so slightly off way she held herself. “You… aren’t really Shiretoko Tomoko, are you?” He knew that, or should have known that, but it was very different to see someone he knew… the quirk of someone he knew… here.

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, face still twisted in upset and grief. “Just like you aren’t really…” Her eyes widened, and she pushed him into a nearby alleyway. He let her, barely resisting the urge to throw her off and double-guessing that decision. “You are the real Eraserhead,” she whispered, urgently. “The real Aizawa Shouta.”

To trust or not to trust… She’d know more than Aizawa about this place and where Midoriya’s quirk might be, but she was also compromised simply by the situation she was in and what she was. He didn’t know how much control All for One had over her, nor how similar she was to the real Ragdoll.

“Why are you here? How are you here?” Her words carried an edge of desperation. “You can’t be here. This is hell.”

“It’s a quirk. I’m looking for someone,” said Aizawa, making a snap decision. “A child.”

“One of your students?”

“Younger,” said Aizawa. “About five.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down as much as I’d like,” admitted not-Ragdoll.

“A boy,” said Aizawa. “Curly green hair. Probably small for his age.”

She blinked again, eyelashes fluttering. “Green hair? Like Midoriya?”

“You remember him?”

“It would be hard to forget the student Kota punched in the…'' she trailed off with a grimace. “Is he alright? Kota?”

“He’s fine. And… you’re fine, as well. Alive, I mean.”

“That’s not really…” She chewed her lower lip. “Call me Search. Midoriya, is he…?”

“He’s… The situation is complicated.”

Ragdoll-- Search nodded. “I haven’t seen anyone that looks like that,” she said. “But I’m not the only hero-- The only hero’s quirk here.” She stepped out of the alley. “Let me show you.”

This felt like a trap.

He didn’t have any better leads.

He followed.

.

Kazuki had never been strong. As a child, he’d been sickly, and he’d grown into a sickly adult. Allergies and autoimmune disorders had plagued him growing up, as well as common viruses made near-fatal by his adverse reactions to vaccines and already-compromised immune system. Then, as a teen, he’d been diagnosed with a cellular degeneration disorder that had sprung up at about the same time as meta abilities. A disorder that, if Nine was any indicator, had never been cured.

Then his brother had given him the stockpile. And that had…

Well. It had hurt, at first. It had left him sicker than ever, confused and possibly a little delirious as his own power sheered away the ghost of a half-brother he’d never met into near-nothingness, as instincts and senses he’d only been peripherally aware of opened up, angry and inflamed by the violation.

(He wondered, now, if One for All might have manifested very differently if the stockpile hadn’t been forced on him. If the reason Izuku was drawing out the quirks of his predecessors wasn’t because of the mechanical remnants of his original quirk, but because One for All itself had finally settled into equilibrium with the stockpile.)

But. He’d had the stockpile. He’d had that well of power, shallow as it had been back then. at the beginning.

Kazuki still wasn’t strong. Never, in his entire life, from birth to death, had he been strong.

But it was a fact that, for as long as the strong and the weak had existed among men, so had equalizing devices.

Kazuki could lean on a cane. He could also beat someone to death with one. At least, when he’d been alive.

He’d done some staffwork, too, when he’d been alive. The weapon wasn’t as inconspicuous in the modern world as it had been in the past, but it had reach and versatility. Also, many cleaning implements, garden tools, and lengths of pipe could be used as a staff in a pinch.

But his favorite weapon was the sword.

(Kazuki had excelled above his older brother in only four areas: morality, med school, finishing books, and kendo.)

Force multipliers, one friend in the underground had called Kazuki’s weapons. Specialized levers.

Someone, a westerner, Kazuki thought, had once said that you could move the world with a long enough lever. Kazuki couldn’t claim to have done that, he couldn’t even move his brother, but weapons had made his use of One for All much more efficient.

Much more deadly, in some cases.

Unfortunately, his blade failed to cleave off his brother’s insufferably smug face, steel skittering off his brother’s quirk-enhanced hand. Kazuki dove past him, tumbled, making sure to keep the cutting edge of his sword pointed away from himself, and rolled smoothly to his feet, the phantom buzz of One for All under his skin making him much more coordinated than he otherwise would have been.

Daigoro and Rokuya had already engaged his brother. Ryuji was circling, unnoticeable, waiting for an opening. Miranda had summoned a dense fog that crackled with lightning (incidentally not something she’d commonly been able to do in life - for most of her feats, the prevailing weather conditions had to be just right first). Nana was minding the environment, for the moment, making sure it suited them and hindered their opponent. Although, she’d attempted a few several-story axe-kicks, when she saw the opportunity.

As for their youngest two members…

“I hadn’t expected you to let Midoriya Izuku fight,” said All for One, as if everyone involved wasn’t completely, brutally aware that he was Izuku’s father, “but I really expected more action from All Might. Are you afraid I’ll do to your mind what I did to your body?”

“Shut up!” shouted Izuku. “Leave him alone! He’s driving!”

“He’s wha--?”

Rokuya and Miranda both took All for One’s distraction as an opening to hit him with electrical attacks. Rokuya laughed wildly. “Tase him again, senpai!”

Kazuki adjusted his grip on the police stun baton he found in his hand (he’d stolen one, once, and kept it for a week before realizing it was GPS enabled) and smiled. A request like that from his successor? How could he refuse?

.

Vlad’s car, ever so gently, rolled to a stop. Toshinori cursed vigorously, though not particularly creatively, and winced. There wasn’t anything he could do about a empty fuel tank. Swearing at it wasn’t going to fill it up.

Once met someone with a quirk like…

Toshinori squeezed his eyes shut and let the foreign memory roll over him. Focus on positives. They were much closer to the Wild Wild Pussycats’ compound, almost to the cliffside that Izuku and his classmates had been tipped off of by Pixie Bob, and… Toshinori had to let that memory flicker and pass as well.

He pulled first their supplies, then Izuku, from the car, wanting to keep his student in the warmth provided by the barely-functional heating system for as long as possible. On a whim, he took the emergency supplies Vlad had stored in his car as well.

Perhaps taking things from his fellow teacher should have twinged his conscience more than stealing from villains, but, well. Vlad would have more loss to worry about than a small first aid kit, emergency foil blankets, and road flares. Toshinori had originally intended to return the car, or at least leave it somewhere Vlad could find, but his plans had changed.

The car might not be next to the cliff Izuku and his classmates had fallen from at the beginning of their summer camp experience, but it was next to a cliff.

He made sure the wheel was turned in the right direction, got behind the car and pushed. It took longer than he would have liked to get to the cliffside, but once he did, momentum and gravity took care of the rest.

The result was loud enough to jostle Izuku from his state of not-quite-sleep and left a fair amount of car-related debris on the side of the cliff, but the car itself was obscured quite nicely by the pine trees below.

He walked, slowly, back to Izuku, who had struggled into a sitting position, and was now contemplating standing.

“Don’t,” said Toshinori, softly. “I’ll carry you.”

“But,” said Izuku, looking at him with worry. He swallows, licking split lips. “You’re really not in better shape than I am.”

“You’re keeping us hidden,” said Toshinori. “I’m not.”

Izuku sagged, defeated. “Okay,” he said, softly.

.

“I was on my way when I found you,” said Search, leading Aizawa forward. “He knows everywhere here, he is everywhere here, and a lot of the quirks here belonged to his followers, or to people who were his enemies but were just as bad as he was… We have to move where we meet.”

“And who is ‘we’ in this situation?” asked Aizawa.

There was a lull in the conversation as they pressed themselves to a wall to let a large group go by.

“Other heroes,” said Search, quietly, once they were more or less alone again. “Rather, their quirks.” She looked up at him. “We might not be them, but we refuse to let him change us, destroy more of what we are.” Something more… natural, for lack of a better term, bled into her bearing.

It was then that it struck Aizawa, what had been bothering him about all the ‘people’ here. None of them moved like they were alive. Not even the vestiges in Midoriya’s mind felt so dead.

Aizawa was standing in a world of ghosts.

He forced himself to nod at her, this specter wearing his colleague’s face and memories. If what she said was true, then she was, indeed, pursuing a noble cause.

She led him to what looked like an average, middle-class hotel, except that it was painted with bright, red graffiti accusing the owners of being ‘mutants.’ They entered through a side door, and went down into a basement filled with washing and drying machines.

The room was also full of people. Quirks. All of whom became very tense upon seeing Aizawa.

“Who’s this?” asked one of them, a thin woman still wearing a blood-splattered costume. Aizawa vaguely recognized her face as that of a hero who’d been popular when he’d been a kid.

“This is Eraserhead,” said Search. “The real Eraserhead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” said Search.

Aizawa didn’t know how she could be, seeing as she hadn’t really asked him any questions that could confirm his identity, but he didn’t belabor the point.

“He’s looking for someone,” she continued.

“Forget that, how did you even get in here?” demanded someone else.

“A quirk,” said Aizawa.

“Duh,” said a boy in an old Shiketsu uniform. “Of course it was a quirk. Can we have some more detail? We haven’t gotten any news since she came in.” He jerked his head towards Search.

“It was a number of quirks,” allowed Aizawa, “interacting in an unpredicted way. The reason you haven’t gotten any…” He looks at Search. “News. Is because All for One is in Tartarus.”

He’d vaguely expected for the quirks to be reassured by this. Instead, they frowned.

“If you manage to get out,” said the boy, “tell them that they need to kill him. He’s not going to stay nicely in prison.”

“He’s right,” said the woman, crossing her arms. “It doesn’t matter what kind of restraints, drug cocktail, or quirk you’ve got. You see the crowds out there?” She moved to point. “Every person in them is a quirk. Strength quirks, fire quirks, longevity quirks, healing quirks, you name it, he’s got it. The only reason he hasn’t sunk the country is because he wants to rule it.” There was a murmur of agreement.

“I’ll pass it on,” said Aizawa. “But I do have something I’m here for.”

“What?” she snapped.

“A kid’s quirk,” said Search, quickly.

“Why?” asked a vigilante’s quirk, stepping forward. Aizawa had investigated their death. People with healing quirks rarely died like that. “What good does it do you?”

“I know the kid in question,” said Aizawa. “The rest is classified.”

He could make things classified if he wanted to.

“Can you describe them?” asked the vigilante, making gentle shapes with their hands.

“A boy,” said Aizawa. “Green eyes, green curly hair. Probably small. Probably has a thing for notebooks.”

The atmosphere in the room stilled from merely unnatural to deathly.

“Yeah,” said the woman. “We know who you’re talking about.” She pursed her lips. “This is something that’ll make it so All for One won’t be able to use him anymore, right?”

“Hopefully,” said Aizawa. “When you say use…”

The woman waved him off. “The kid’s fine,” she said. “Just terrifying, is all.”

Aizawa closed his eyes. “Of course he is.”

.

"We decided to keep him away from the other kids," said the vigilate's quirk, "because he was freaking them out."

They were in an apartment building again, this one newer.

"We try to keep the kids away from all that in general." The vigilante waved towards the racket outside. "Wish we could get them free, but…" He trailed off, fixing Aizawa with an appraising look. "If this works with your kid, and he gets his quirk back, maybe you could try with some of the others? I think at least some of them must still be alive out there, right? If your kid is."

"I'll look into it," said Aizawa, "but I'm afraid this is a one time only chance."

"Figures," muttered the vigilante. He knocked on the door.

There was an excited gasp from the other side, and then the pitter-patter of little feet. Then, more concerningly, several metallic clanks and clicks as bolts and locks from the other side of the door were released. The door swung back, and a painfully tiny version of Midoriya beamed up at them.

[hermannsthumb]

i have a soft spot for phone sex stuff, so like hermann buys his first vibrator and drinks maybe a little too much to build up the nerve to use it and ends up calling newt bc "his voice calms him" but that may or may not have just been an excuse to get newt on the phone

i love this so much.......idk if its meant to be a prompt but (winking emoji)

also this is pretty e-rated LOL i kinda just jump right in under the cut. 18+! beware! here are some pining pen pals

Masturbation, for Hermann, has always been a largely perfunctory affair. Stress relief. Part of a routine, relegated to furtive strokes with his hand and some discount body wash in the shower once or twice a week. He doesn’t make a big show out of it. He doesn’t use anything but his hand. His fantasies are rarely even that elaborate (he doesn’t allow himself anything that elaborate): the gentle touch of the hand of another man (nameless, faceless, messy-haired and reckless), the recollection of the young man (twenty-one) he’d kissed on a date when he was twenty, and as of recently, Newton. Newton smiling; Newton laughing; Newton allowing Hermann to ruck up his t-shirt and stroke his hand down his soft, soft chest, teasing him gently, touching him in return. 

(Hermann has one printed photograph of Newton, sent along with his friend’s usual weekly correspondence some months ago: round stubbled cheeks, thick glasses, mischievous smile, freckles. Hermann has other photographs of Newton saved to his phone, pulled from various social media sites—Hermann is not obsessed—as well, a single video of the man bookmarked in his browser. Newton is very pleasing to look at.)

In fact, these recent fantasies about Newton are part of the reason why Hermann is ruminating over the whole idea of masturbation in the first place.

They’re becoming a problem.

Lately, all Hermann can think about is Newton. His routine is entirely shot. He doesn’t bring himself off in the shower anymore—or, he still does, but it’s in addition to other occasions on which he brings himself off. He masturbates in the mornings, after he’s had a wet dream about Newton (which are distressingly frequent). He masturbates at night, when he can’t get Newton’s latest correspondence out of his head. And it’s true, the fantasies Newton stars in are fairly mundane, scarcely even that erotic, but they’re becoming less so each time. Hermann stroking a hand down Newton’s chest becomes Hermann toying with Newton’s nipple with his fingers, his teeth, as Newton squirms underneath him. Newton smiling and laughing becomes Newton beckoning him close, begging, breathlessly, for Hermann to touch him, to kiss him, to undress him, to—well. 

It’s the reason for Hermann’s current state of near constant sexual frustration. It’s also the reason for why—after years of relying solely upon his fist—Hermann has finally caved in and bought himself a vibrator.

It’s fairly small. It’s fairly discrete. Smooth. A nice shade of dark purple. Enough settings that Hermann won’t get bored with it. (And it was on sale.) The packaging it came in was discrete, too: a simple black box, with not even the company’s name written on the side. It didn’t mean Hermann wasn’t still mortified when he opened up his mailbox and found it shoved in, neatly, alongside a few bills and a new letter from Newton, and hurry up to his flat as quickly as possible with it tucked under his arm.

The letter lies, unopened, on his bed. The package lies, opened, next to it. Hermann lies next to both, vibrator in hand, stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, wondering how on earth he can possibly mentally boost himself up for this. 

His solution is to break into a bottle of brandy his brother sent him for his last birthday and have a drink. Or two. Enough so that the overwhelming buzz of anxiety making his skin crawl is replaced with a calming static instead. A more gentler buzz. The vibrator’s buzzing, too, though Hermann hasn’t touched himself with it yet. He’s merely holding it a few centimeters from his face, considering it.

In his peripheral vision, Hermann catches sight of Newton’s letter. Newton.

Maybe Hermann could use the vibrator on Newton. Maybe Newton would like to watch Hermann use it on himself. Maybe Newton would use it on Hermann. Maybe he would start by pressing it to Hermann’s chest, and trail it down, down, past his pubic hair, past his prick, nudge Hermann’s legs apart…

He should call Newton. That seems like an excellent idea, frankly. The line is ringing before Hermann even realizes he’s fumbled with his cell phone and dialed Newton’s number (and before he can second-guess himself). The line continues to ring. He hasn’t considered time zones; it’s late for Hermann, but Newton may still be lecturing.

Newton picks up before Hermann can talk himself into hanging up. Hermann switches off the vibrator. “Hey, Hermann!” Newton says. He sounds delighted. Warmth flushes, pleasantly, down Hermann’s neck, to his chest, to pool in the pit of his stomach; his erection begins to stir to life already. Hermann is very easily wound up, and he is very easily unwound. 

“Newton,” Hermann says.

“Hey!” Newton repeats.

“Newton,” Hermann says again.

“Uh, yeah,” Newton says. “It’s me.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You okay, man? You sound...tired.”

“Yes,” Hermann says, quickly. “I needed—er.” He stares at the vibrator. “...Well. Your voice calms me.”

Newton laughs again, a little louder. “It calms you?”

Hermann was tipsy, but he’s begun to sober up, fast, and now he wonders, perhaps, if this wasn’t a very good idea. He flushes for an entirely different reason. “Please forget I called,” he sighs, and makes to hang up, but Newton says “Wait!”

Hermann puts the phone back to his ear. “Are you upset about something?” Newton continues.

“Not exactly,” Hermann says. He thumbs the vibrator. “A bit nervous.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

For a moment, Hermann debates making up a problem. Something to talk through with Newton. Instead—the brandy giving him a bit more courage, the possibility of Newton reciprocating any advances he might make too alluring to turn down—he throws caution into the wind. “I bought a vibrator,” he blurts out.

Newton drops his phone. At least, that’s what it sounds like: there’s a rush of air, a loud clatter, and then Newton swearing, loud, as he presses it back to his ear. “Jesus, Hermann. You bought—”

“A vibrator,” Hermann says.

“I heard you the first time!” Newton squeaks. “Why are you telling me?”

He’s flustered. The notion pleases Hermann, oddly, especially seeing as Newton hasn’t hung up on him in a fit of embarrassment. (Maybe it’s not as one-sided as Hermann has always feared.) Hermann switches the vibrator back on. He decides to play coy. “I’ve never used one before,” he admits. “I’m not quite sure what to do. I thought you might’ve.” 

“Why—” Newton splutters, “you think I’m—I’d know—”

“You seem the type,” Hermann says.

“Oh, boy,” Newton says, still in that same, high little squeak. “Okay. Uh. Well. I do. I have, I mean. But.” There’s a noise, as if he’s readjusting his cell phone. When he speaks again, his voice is significantly more hushed. “I’m kinda in my office right now, dude. At campus. If I wasn’t—”

“I’ll be fast,” Hermann says. “I usually am.”

Newton swears again. “Holy shit. Uh. Okay.” Another small rustling noise. “Okay. Okay. I locked the door. Uh.” He laughs again, far more embarrassed. “I usually start at my, uh, chest. Then work down.”

Hermann presses the vibrator to one of his nipples; the resulting sensation, and the knowledge that he’s doing this at Newton’s command, makes his whole body shudder, a moan slip from his lips. “Ah.” He slides it over to the other and draws out the same response, only this moan is a little louder.

“Jeez,” Newton says, weakly. “Then. Uh. It depends on what kind it is. Sometimes I just kinda—press it to my dick for a bit.”

Hermann slicks his hand up with a small bit of lubricant (also new, ordered alongside the vibrator at the website’s recommendation) and gives himself a few light tugs. Just enough to slick himself up there, too. He pulls his briefs down, neatly, around his thighs. He tucks his phone under his ear. He presses the vibrator to his erection.

“Oh,” he gasps, almost instantly, “oh, Newton—”

“Sorry,” Newton wheezes out, “I gotta—” He swears, again, and then Hermann hears his breathing going harsh, labored, coming out in sharp pants and trailing into little whines. Newton is touching himself, Hermann thinks; Newton is touching himself to Hermann. Hermann switches the vibrator up a setting.

He’s overwhelmed by it all very quickly: the vibrations travelling through his prick, making his whole body tingle, Newton’s whimpering moans in his ear (Hermann, holy shit, oh, wow), the very thought of what Newton must look like on the other end—his cheeks flushed red, his eyes screwed shut tight behind his glasses, his teeth digging into his pretty pink bottom lip to keep from being too loud, to keep from drawing attention to himself, hunched over his cluttered desk with his hand shoved down his jeans. If Hermann were there—if Hermann could touch him (or, better yet, kiss him)...

Newton comes first, with a low, keening whine; Hermann quickly grabs a wad of tissues with the hand not clutching the vibrator and presses it to himself to catch his own release. His phone tumbles to the mattress. He drifts, pleasantly, into the fuzzy, lethargic lull of his afterglow—the best of any orgasm he’s ever had before—and only comes back to himself when Newton’s pants turn to low swearing once more, audible even from where Hermann’s phone rests. Hermann rolls to his side to press his ear to the receiver. “Holy shit,” Newton says, with a little giggle. “Holy shit, Hermann. Ha. Wow.”

“Mm?” Hermann says. He realizes he’s neglected to switch off the vibrator. He reaches out a hand to do so now; his limbs feel like lead.

“That was,” Newton says, “uh, hot.”

“It was,” Hermann agrees. He smiles lazily, though he knows Newton can’t see it. “Thank you.”

They’re both quiet. “You wanna do that again some time?” Newton says.

“I’d like that,” Hermann says.

[mlpdestinyverse]

Newcomer

Ponyville’s mailmare Eventide Twister meets an unusual new resident in town.

Feat.  Eventide Twister,  Dreamaria Flow

Story and Description Under The Cut

In the messy backroom of Ponyville's own Post Office, Eventide Twister reached into one of the wooden mail cubbies lining the wall and slid the last few envelopes into her mail saddlebag. A press of her hoof and soon the bag's flap was snapping in place. With the delivery truck having already departed and her coworkers now on lunch after the sorting, it was finally time for her usual daily mail rounds. Giving the cubbies one last glance over, Eventide pushed through the room's door and flew into the main lobby of the building. There, behind the front desk to her immediate right, a merry pegasus mare stared almost unblinkingly at the entrance door. A smile was plastered on her muzzle as she waited for any residents to enter. Only when the door behind Eventide creaked as it closed did the blonde mare turn to look at her. "Oooh, heading out~?" Derpy Hooves asked with her soft and floaty voice, perking up at the sight of her employee. She clapped her hooves excitedly. "Have fun, Eventide!" Eventide never quite understood that well-wish of hers. Perhaps the mare assumed Eve's quick wings made her task more entertaining. Dipping her head in farewell, Eve flew forward to exit out of the front door as usual- "AAH WAIT, I ALMOST FORGOT!" The outburst caused Eventide to jump, nearly crashing into the door in her surprise. With a frown, the young pegasus landed on the floor and turned to shoot her boss an inquiring glance. Derpy rummaged through the papers under her counter, muttering inaudible things as she seemed to search for something. As she threw unrelated papers onto the desk, naturally a few strays scattered and fell. Quietly, Eventide walked over to to grab the sheets where they landed. Ms. Derpy had a bad tendency to misplace things. The last thing Eve wanted was for her boss to lose an especially important note or document. Eventide neatly placed Derpy's stray papers onto the countertop just as the older mare let out an 'aha!', pridefully whipping out an envelope. "Here it is! Um..." Derpy immediately pulled the envelope straight to her face, hovering it centimeters before her eyes. Squinting, Derpy mumbled to herself as she read. "Mmnnmm...RIGHT! We have a new address to deliver to!” Derpy lifted her head from the paper to beam at Eventide.  “Oh goody! Somepony new moved in!" 'New address?' A few months had passed since anypony new had moved in. She supposed the new year could bring about new residents. The slightest bit of unease prickled in her, however. A new resident only meant another pony she would inevitably have to meet, due to the nature of her job. Pushing that thought away, Eventide found it rather curious that Derpy had the envelope separated from the rest of the mail. With the mail being organized by house number, it wouldn't have taken long for her to realize a different number had appeared in her bag. "And somepony sent our new resident mail with special instructions!" Derpy continued, her irises shifting unevenly. "I set it to the side so I could make sure you knew! And so I wouldn't forget, eheheh!” ...Eventide knew that probably hadn't been the best idea, but her employer meant well. "Anyway! Here!" Derpy chirped, shoving the envelope towards Eventide's face. Without missing a beat, Eve pulled her head back just before the mare could accidentally smack her face with her grey wing. Taking the letter into her own wing, Eventide turned it to scan the face for herself. A special large label was there, listing not only names and addresses, but the instructions Derpy had mentioned: From: Serein Paleo To: Dreamaria Flow Instructions: "Please deliver to the recipient personally. If she doesn't answer her door, leave a pickup notice and bring back to office." Reading the label was a little surprising. Directions of this sort were typically for packages. These instructions gave Eve the impression that the sender had worried about their letter not reaching the receiver. Granted, seeing as her boss had almost forgotten it under her desk, those concerns weren't entirely unfounded. It was almost as if the sender knew someone in their office could potentially misplace it. Tucking the letter into her satchel, Eventide once again dipped her head before flying for the door. Hearing Derpy's bubbly giggles, the young pegasus glanced back one more time to see the sweet older mare enthusiastically waving both arms at her. "Have fun out theeeereeee!!" This time, Eventide smiled at the sentiment. At the end of the day it was a genuine one, and the mare would always appreciate that from her boss. After giving her own wave, Eventide sped out of the door and into Ponyville's clear skies. -------------------------------------

As Eventide whizzed through the air, she practically found herself on auto-pilot as she effortlessly flew from one house's mailbox to the next. Even after only seven months, Eventide' s job had become a mindless routine. Sort the mail, deliver it, head home; rinse and repeat. The Hearth's Warming season had been rough, but aside from that? Her work was straight-forward, despite the few bumps often caused by her boss's clumsiness. She was ungrateful or even bored. Eventide was good at what she did, and she was glad that despite how she was, she had managed to land herself a job. Thanks to her work, at least she could prove to her family that she wasn't a complete waste. Yet there were times where she wondered if this was how her day-to-day life would continue to be; empty. Blurring. Nothing stirred her anymore. Nothing excited her, and if she really thought about it, rarely did she ever look forward to anything. Sometimes Eventide wondered why that was the case, when she was putting her talent to use like everypony around her. After all the work she and her parents did to pull herself back together, why did she still feel like such a pitiful excuse? Watching the ponies below her gave her an answer. Their groups, the laughter, and the effortless chatter. A familiar lingering emptiness made itself known once more at the sight. It reminded her of lost days and made her wish she could just be happy and...functional, like everyone else. Left alone with her thoughts, it was times like this she wanted to think back on those days years ago and let that anguish-turned-bitterness wash over her. Because if those things hadn’t happened, she could be normal. A normal pony in her town, and a normal daughter for her parents. Eventide shook her head hard in her effort to clear it. She still had a job to complete, as well as a day to finish. At the very least, small changes to her everyday routine helped her mind refocus on the present instead of her negative inner voice. Landing, Eventide pulled out the letter Derpy had handed her, rechecking the house number displayed on the envelope. 'House 201...' As she expected, the newly inhabited building was closer to the outer edge of town. It was in the area Princess Twilight had funded construction in when Ponyville's population rose and the mayor settled on a town expansion. The houses here were a bit more spaced apart. While they weren't as big as the structures at the center of town, Eventide thought they all looked modern and comfortable. Locating the number, Eventide found the corresponding mailbox attached to a white and cream colored house, completed with an orange tiled roof. Approaching the white door, the pegasus gave it a few knocks before waiting. From the corner of her eye the curtain of the nearby window moved, though before she could catch a glimpse, the pony on the other side disappeared. Eventide shifted uncomfortably. The last time somepony had moved in, it took several weeks before she had met them face-to-face. Not to mention said pony ignored her from that moment onwards, after their initial awkward meeting. Eventide wished she didn't know what to expect this time, but then she would be lying. She just had to persevere, she guessed. The door opened before her and Eventide stood alert, ready to face Ponyville's new inhabitant. To her surprise, a blue unicorn mare that couldn't be any older than her peered out with wide, curious eyes. If the mare's two-toned irises hadn't caught her attention, then her wonder-filled expression certainly did. "Are you my mailmare?" Giving a nod in response, Eventide watched as the unicorn suddenly appeared delighted, clapping her hooves together. "Wonderful! My name's Dream Flow! It's so very nice to meet you!" As Dream Flow beamed at her, Eventide wasn't sure whether to be relieved or nervous that the mare was of the friendly type. That and Eve had never seen anypony this excited to meet their mailmare before. Eve managed a faint smile, bowing her head in polite greeting. As she straightened, she realized Dream Flow was smiling expectantly at her. 'Ah, right.' Eventide unfurled her wing to present the envelope to the mare. Curiously enough, Dream blinked at it.  "Oh, yes! Thank you!" An orange magical aura enveloped both Dream Flow's horn and the letter as she took it from the pegasus. But even then, the friendly mare's eyes stayed focused on Eventide. Dream Flow tipped her head to one side. "So what's your name~?" Luckily, this wasn't the first time Eventide had to respond to this question. It wasn't like she could rudely leave it unanswered. "Eve." At least with her nickname, she didn't have to repeat her mouthful of a name. It wasn't an easy one to remember anyway, so she figured there was no point in sharing it. Dream hummed cheerfully in response. "So how's your day been, Eve~? I hope it's been a good one!" That familiar unease grew within her. This always had to be the dreaded question that outed her. "Mhmm." She hummed back, including a nod and hoping it would make up for her lack of words. Nervousness crept into her anyway, the feeling doubling as Dream seemed to pause, the seconds passing between them. With a small frown forming on the mare's muzzle, a part of Eventide grew anxious. She could imagine how rude she was appearing, or how uncomfortable the growing silence had to be. But even as her mind considered adding in more words, to recover this exchange with somepony she was meant to be serving, it was like a section of her brain refused to transfer the words to her mouth. Like others before Dream, Eventide expected the unicorn to question her or awkwardly back out of the exchange. What Eventide didn't expect, however, was the patient, calming smile that pulled on the mare's muzzle instead. "Good to know!" Dream Flow declared. "You look like you're working hard~ I'm sure your job is tiring, so I appreciate what you do!" Eventide tensed, anticipating the mare to make the mistake of attempting to push the conversation. Instead Dreamaria glanced behind her at the unpacked moving boxes in her living room. "Well hey, I shouldn't keep you from your work and I should get back to unpacking!" Taking a few steps back into her house, Dream gave a playful small salute to Eventide. "Thanks again for my letter~! I'll see you then!" With that, the door closed. And while Eventide took off into the air, leaving the new residence behind her, she took her time to steady herself and refocus. She couldn't completely take her mind off of the exchange, however. There was no initial surprise, confusion, or discomfort. There wasn't even an attempt to pull her into conversation, like some ponies who once believed they could be the one to "make Eve talk". It was almost as if the mare had noticed she was nervous. That wouldn't be as surprising if Eventide hadn't grown accustomed to appearing as calm as possible whenever her nerves and anxieties bubbled up to the surface. Perhaps her feelings had shown, anyway. Or perhaps this friendly newcomer was simply good at reading ponies. ------------------------------------- Dreamaria Flow was a unique case. After a month of deliveries, Eventide noticed that the new mare received two letters per week from Mr. Paleo - her uncle, Dream had informed her. And from that first day onward, the mailmare didn't even have to knock on Dreamaria's door anymore. Every time she landed at Dream Flow's doorstep, Dreamaria would without fail answer the door only seconds later. Eventide would always hear the telltale clacking of her hooves approaching before the blue unicorn would open the door, offering cheerful greetings. What Eventide couldn't understand was how Dream Flow always seemed to know exactly when she was present. It wasn't like Eventide was a noisy flier, and Dream's curtains were always drawn closed. Not only that, but even after Mr. Paleo stopped including special instructions to his envelopes, Dream Flow still came to her door instead of letting Eventide leave the letters in her mailbox. The unicorn could easily grab her mail once Eventide had flown away, so Eve couldn't imagine why Dream would go through the trouble. If Eve could drop off the letter, then at least Dreamaria wouldn't have to keep up her friendly pleasantries and polite question of whether the mailmare's day was going well. Dream wouldn't have to waste her energy and force herself to keep the one-sided conversation going at all. If she thought about it, Dreamaria could be like her uncle in the sense that she wanted to make sure her letter didn't get lost. Eventide believed that kind of worry was understandable. She’d be the same way if her own parents had to write her letters and there was a risk of one never arriving. Regardless, Eventide tried to distance herself from her pondering. It wouldn't be long before the mare would eventually get used to their routine and trust Eventide's ability to deliver. She would have to grow tired of her mailmare's silence at some point and come to prefer the company of friendlier residents much like the unicorn herself. And for Eventide, those thoughts weren't an attempt at being melodramatic. It was the usual progression of things, and something she had long accepted. She wasn't exactly a pleasant pony to attempt conversation with. She knew that. While silence brought comfort and safety, she knew it was no different from self-isolation in such a social-heavy world. And speaking...well, every extra word spoken felt like a dangerous gamble. There was no winning either way, but it was clear what she would choose if it meant never experiencing that day ever again. Never again would she embarrass herself or have her own words be used against her. It was better for her and everyone this way. Eventide huffed, her mind honing back in on the ground below. Another downward spiral of her thoughts. Flying mindlessly and giving her brain a chance to think truly was a bother. Thankfully, a certain blue mare's house was directly below her.  Eventide flapped her wings a few times as she descended to Dreamaria's doorstep, easily slowing down before lowering herself to the ground. Pulling the letter out of her satchel, she stared at the door, waiting. It took a few more beats of silence before Eve realized there was no sign of movement from within the house. 'Oh.' While she was a little surprised by the break of routine, it was, as she had thought, to be expected eventually. Dream could be out in town, or even leaving Eventide to her job. It wasn't a hard thing to shrug off as Eve opened the cover of Dreamaria's mailbox for the first time, dropping the letter inside. How odd, though. A part of her had almost expected something more gradual. Eventide turned to leave- "-aaaaAAAAIT, WAIT, HOLD ON!" Various distant sounds of falling objects, crashes, and yelps reached Eventide's twitching ears as clumsy hoofsteps grew louder and raced towards the door. Eventide stared behind her wide-eyed until the door finally swung open. Before her Dreamaria stood panting, wide-eyed and appearing rather disheveled. Her mane was a mess, unbrushed and giving Eve the impression that the unicorn had literally fallen out of bed recently. Eventide would have pondered over the fact that it was well into the afternoon, but it wasn't like she herself hadn't slept into the late hours in the past. Besides, settling into a new town had to be a tiring process. "Sorry, hi! I woke up late!" Dream laughed, attempting to brush back her messy blue locks with both hooves. "Good thing I sensed you when I did!" 'Sense?' Although curious, Eventide brushed the comment off. More importantly, was the mare so worried about getting her letter that she would outright run to her door? Did she think the mailmare would walk off with it? Even more bewildering, Eventide didn't have to say anything about the envelope before Dream's magic aura shone around her white horn, the unicorn pulling her uncle's letter out of the mailbox. So she had even known that the letter had been dropped off. 'Then why did she stop me...?' Suddenly Dream settled her multi-colored gaze onto the mailmare, a sheepish smile crossing her face. "Was that weird...? Sorry, I just really like seeing you!" Dream's smile shifted into a sunny one. "You've become a normal part of my new life here! And it's nice to have that normality!" Dreamaria then placed the back of one hoof on a hip, swinging her opposite arm in an arc in front of her as she winked. "Besides! I think you are, as one would say, 'quite swell'!" Eventide could only stare blankly, confused and unsure of how to react. Dream Flow seemed to pick up on this, because after a period of silence, her confidence seemed to falter as she nervously laughed, dropping the pose to rub her neck. "J-just kidding! No one really says that phrase anymore..." 'S-she's backtracking...??' The pegasus wished she could do more than stare puzzled, watching Dream look away embarrassed. It wasn't long before Dream met her gaze again and smiled apologetically. "Sorry! I'm getting used to some things." In seconds Dream's embarrassment seemed to fade away, replaced with her usual cheer. "But I really do think you're neat! Don't mind me if I sound a little weird sometimes!" And just like that, the conversation ended as it normally did. With a kind farewell, Dream retreated into her home with her letter in tow, and Eventide extended her wings for take off. Though, she couldn't help giving Dreamaria's home one last glance before flapping away. No matter how much she tried to focus, the strange conversation refused to leave her mind as she flew. Dreamaria greeted her every time because she enjoyed seeing her? She thought Eve was 'neat'? As Eventide was now, she couldn't pinpoint what about her could be enjoyable. While Dream's comments were kind and brought Eventide some unexpected warmth, it made little sense to her. Ever guarded, Eventide pushed her conflicted feelings out of her mind. For the average pony, words were easy to throw around. It was easy to say those sorts of words to just about anyone. Ponies did it all the time for one reason or another, and often times, they were fleeting sentiments that didn't actually carry any weight. She wasn't special. She knew it was best to remind herself that. ------------------------------------- Eventide Twister being out in town on her days off was a rarity, except for when she had to pick up her medication from Ponyville's pharmacy. Walking out of the store into a rather warm afternoon, Eve slid her bag into her saddlebag. Indecipherable chatter buzzed in the town's air as shopping ponies walked about, carrying parasols or fans to cool themselves down in the summer heat. While the heat was already discomforting her again, thankfully Eventide had no other business, ready to head back to the cool comfort of her home where her parents waited. Just as she began to unfurl her wings, a voice rose above the chatter, along with the ringing of a bell! "Ice Cream! Come cool off with Sugarsocks' Ponyville-famous freshly homemade ice cream!" Eventide turned towards the source and found a pink unicorn mare behind a cart, waving a bell with her magic as she looked around with a friendly grin. Almost instantly murmurs of interest followed as ponies trotted over and lined up at the cart. Eve glanced from the cart, to the sky, and to the cart again. She had tasted Sugarsocks' ice cream before in the past. Aside from getting a few cones with her mother when she was younger, her father would sometimes bring back a cup for her during her secluded years. It was easy to say that the mare's desserts were heavenly. The only real reason she hadn't been able to try Sugarsocks' treats again was thanks to a certain high-energy party pony who always seemed to handle the cart for her wife, at least whenever Eventide spotted it. Talkative, unpredictable Pinkie Pie was always intimating to her. The earth pony's mere presence had kept Eventide from even attempting to approach the ice cream cart. But for once it was down-to-earth Sugarsocks herself who was running it. Not only that, but thanks to the heat, most ponies were inside their homes to cool down, so the line wasn't as long as she was used to seeing. This was her chance. After a short while of watching Sugarsocks' business with her customers, Eventide quietly made her way to the back of the line once it had shortened. After spotting the pricing on the front of the cart, the pegasus reached back into her saddlebag, holding her bits in her wing in preparation. "Hey, fancy seeing you here!" If the voice hadn't sounded so familiar, Eventide would have assumed that the greeting was meant for someone else. Instinct had her glancing behind her, and there, Dreamaria was shining one of her friendly smiles at her. Almost immediately, Eventide found her usual sense of awkwardness come over her. This was the first time Eve had ever seen Dream anywhere but the unicorn's own home. There was something odd and weirdly personal about running into the mare outside of professional work hours. Eventide shyly smiled and nodded back in greeting, regardless. And that was that. Eve turned her attention back to the two other customers ahead of her. However, she couldn't shake off the tension in her, far too aware of the mare right behind her. She knew this pressure. It was the pressure to engage in conversation. Eve wondered if anyone else in the line had noticed their greeting and if they were judging her for ending the run-in as quickly as she did. Was she coming off as rude to them or to Dream Flow? Thankfully it didn't take long before it was her turn. Sugarsocks gave her a kind, motherly smile once she stepped up to the cart. "Hey there Eventide! What can I get you?" Eve glanced at a list of flavors at the top of the cart, relaxing at the sight. It made things a lot easier. Lifting her hoof, Eventide pointed next to one line: "Neapolitan". "Orange Creamsicle? Coming right up!" Eventide blinked. One quick glance down and it wasn't hard to realize the mare had misunderstood where she had pointed, with 'Orange Creamsicle' being the option below her actual choice. Even though Eventide knew Sugarsocks had gotten her order wrong, she uncomfortably watched as the mare whipped out her scoop and expertly scooped out each flavor for the cup. Eventide couldn't bring herself to correct the mare, and it was too late anyway. While Sugarsocks' cheerfully passed the ice cream cup over to her wing, Eventide held out the bits and let the unicorn levitate the currency out of her hoof. Walking away, pretending to be satisfied with her order, she had taken barely two steps away before a voice called out to her. "Ah, Eve, wait!" Behind her, Dream Flow was now standing before the cart, her bits floating in the air with her magic. With a hoof she pointed at the list of flavors, shooting a curious look at her. "Can I have your opinion? Which one of these would you usually order?" Both of Eventide's eyebrows raised. She never would have expected anyone to ask for her opinion. There was always a chance Dream wouldn't like her suggestion and would choose something else, but there was something nice about having her thoughts requested in a way she could answer. Taking a moment to step back, Eventide pointed once more at her actual preferred option, the blue mare letting out a soft "ooh" in response. "Neapolitan...okay!" Dream happily hummed, smiling gratefully at the pegasus. "Thank you!" Smiling back one more time, Eventide once again set off, leaving the unicorn to order on her own. With her ice cream in-wing, Eve walked back home on-hoof, staring down at her treat. She didn't dislike the flavor Sugarsocks gave her. Fruitier flavors just weren't her preference. And as silly as it was, she was somewhat disappointed that she couldn't get the one she actually enjoyed the one time she had the chance. That was her fault, though, and ice cream was ice cream- "Hey Eve! Hold on!" For the third time that day, Eventide found herself turning around. To her surprise Dream was running to catch up with her, her floating ice cream cup encased in magic aura following her. Once she was hoofsteps away, Dreamaria tilted her head inquisitively. "Say, have you taken a bite from your cup yet??" Despite finding the question odd, Eventide shook her head. For some reason, Dream appeared relieved. "Great! I haven't either. In that case, would you like to trade?" For a moment Eventide stared, thoroughly confused. Though it was within the realm of possibility, she couldn't imagine Dream Flow regretting what she had ordered so much that she would trade cups with the very pony who had suggested it. With seamless timing, as if to answer her thoughts, Dream perked up. "Ah! I think Sugarsocks accidentally gave you the wrong flavor, right? That's what it felt like at least." Dream Flow gazed at her kindly. "It looks like it can be really awkward, correcting someone when they get what you want wrong. So I thought it would be easier to order the one you wanted and switch?" There was a moment of genuine disbelief for Eve. As much as the offer almost seemed too unbelievable, the unicorn's earlier request for a suggestion now made more sense. However, despite how touched she was by the gesture, Eventide found herself hesitating. This was an unfamiliar level of thoughtfulness she was finding hard to register, leaving her conflicted. '...does she feel bad for me? Is that what all of this is?' "Ah...sorry." Eve's eyes flicked from the floating cup to Dream Flow's face. To her surprise, the usually cheerful mare had her ears pulled back, her gaze self-consciously glued to the ground. But even then there was a smile -albeit a nervous one - on her muzzle. "I'm sorry if I'm overstepping. My magic picked up on what you were feeling and thought I could do something about it." Rubbing her cheek, Dream Flow closed her eyes and offered a sheepish smile. "But I'm also probably trying a bit too hard to make friends here! I really didn't mean to come off so strong." Eventide lifted her head hearing that, taken aback. Friends? She was trying to become friends with her this whole time? ...it was another idea that was still far off to Eve. It didn't take long for her mind to remind herself that the mare could easily make other friends. Better friends. And yet, there was one thing Eve was now more certain of. 'She...genuinely means all of this.' Dream's eyes shot up as Eventide held out her wing, the ice cream cup balanced on her feathers. Brightening, Dream levitated the cup and replaced it with the one she was holding. "There you go then...thankfully I'm a fan of the more colorful ice creams! Though I never really liked that pink flavor." Dreamaria bit into a spoonful of orange creamsicle, the mare melting with a look of content on her face. As if catching herself, she straightened and gave an embarrassed smile to Eve. "N-not to insult your favorite! I like chocolate, and that white one's alright!" '...pink flavor? White one?' Eve didn't have much time to question the odd word choice. Dream Flow pushed her spoon into her treat and moved to turn around, though not before shooting Eve one last apologetic smile. "Anyway, sorry for bothering you! Enjoy the rest of your day!" Without waiting for a response, Dreamaria began to walk away. Though for the first time, as she stared at the back of Dream's head, Eventide found words willingly forming on her tongue, her lips parting. "Thank you." Dreamaria practically jerked to a halt, whipping her head around to look at her in surprise. Instinctively Eve averted her gaze, her eyes flicking back and forth between Dream and the trees to one side. Only two words and already a part of Eve struggled between reading Dream‘s expression and wanting to be oblivious to it. When she finally managed to keep eye contact with the mare, she found Dream beaming brilliantly at her, a shine to her eyes. "Yeah! See you later, Eve!" With a bit more pep to her step, Dreamaria trotted off. Even as she turned a corner and left Eventide's sight, Eve couldn't help but watch her with a newfound sense of curiosity. Maybe...she would let herself get to know this newcomer after all.

In which Eventide meets a Canadian. Dream you oddball. This chapter makes a lot more sense when read with Dream Flow’s talent in mind! Anyway. Here we get a look at Eve’s new negative, self-deprecating psyche in the aftermath of the past. While she continued to participate in poetry therapy to express her thoughts and emotions on paper, in her adult years Eve gave up on psychotherapy altogether. She believed that her own unwillingness to talk about past events or talk at all was just a waste of time for everyone involved. Because of this, Eventide allowed herself to develop a much more negative outlook on her life and herself in general. At some point her long days began to blur together, becoming dull and empty. As it turned out, new resident and Emotion Counselor Dream Flow posessed unique abilities that allowed her to bypass Eve’s silence. For the most part she could determine Eventide’s “responses” solely based on her internal emotional reactions and shifts. With permission, Dream began keeping her magic activated whenever she spoke to Eve, relying on it as their unique way of communicating. In the aftermath of this story, Eve became more accepting of Dream’s genuine kindness. While a part of Eve tried to stay emotionally distant out of habit, waiting for the day Dream would lose whatever interest she had, she was constantly surprised as Dream actively spoke to her and tried to make her feel included. With time Eve began to relax bit by bit, finding herself caring about this odd but incredibly sweet mare. After more time she even started accepting Dream's invites for ice cream outings and hang outs outside of work. For the first time in years, despite her fears and self-doubt, Eventide found herself wanting to consider someone her friend. Even if she wasn't sure how long their bond would last, and even if it ended up being short-lived, Eve decided she'd appreciate their moments together and the warmth they brought. Next chapter will be the technical end of Eventide's past arc~

[uldren-sov]

ignite

PART 1 / 2

Hey this was super fun to start thinking about and getting into. It’s a real formative time for Eva. Thanks so much for the collab @damarlegacy and for allowing me to borrow Rax for these!

The first time he heard of Coruscant was when his brother Talcyn came home from bombing it in the war. A chaotic skyscape of sun, smog, and skyscrapers, is what he had said with a confident sneer that Evacios could still see in his mind’s eye. Now standing in the spaceport looking over the same sky that his brother had flown under the day of the Sacking, he could finally say with full confidence he agreed. Squinting in the sunlight, the sky was a rich gradient of golds and burned coppers, due no doubt to the pollution in the atmosphere. It was probably majestic to others, but being able to see over the gaudy Senate plaza full of a skyline of construction cranes and glass, and Evacios couldn’t help but bristle with disdain.

“First time in the capital, ey?” a man said, sidling up beside him like it was his every right to do so. People of the Republic generally had a base familiarity in their social interactions - which is no doubt why he thought he could just come up and talk to him without any preamble. He swallowed his pride and put on a smile.

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s quite a view,” he heard himself say. No trace of any accent beyond the smallest lilt of a Mantellian one borne of Intelligence speech classes and at least a hundred hours of internet holovids. Best to get in practice where he could, he had to do everything in this accent for the foreseeable future, and a quick glance to his compatriot saw not even a batted eyelash from the older man. “Can’t believe I made it.”

“Enjoy it, kid,” he said. The stranger was about to pull away before a second thought nearly visibly flashed over his weathered face. “And hey, welcome! To the beating heart of the Republic.” A friendly smile, a clap on his back, and he waited until Evacios nodded in acknowledgement.

“Thanks a lot. I intend to.”

A tagged taxi drive to an affordable hotel where he was going to have to stay for a few days while he searched for an apartment to live. After taking the time to thoroughly look over the room for any sign of surveillance he set his singular bag onto the side. The hotel had the basic amenities to it, as did the room, but he was a long way away from the luxury of home that was to be sure. Not that it really mattered, the job came worse and any suburban landscape - even Coruscant - was better than the places he’s bunkered down in. It was almost a bit liberating, to not have to worry about the need of esteem and fashion. He passed the hotel’s bar and restaurant and started walking to the office. He’d see how he felt about being free of the burden of society in a week.

He had a name, a street address, and an office number on a singular email a couple of weeks back. The building itself was fairly nondescript, the bottom was a normal office building, receptionist and all. The young man pointed the way towards the stairs - sorry the elevator was out of service - and Evacios started making the climb all the way up to the seventh floor. He caught the surveillance cameras out of the corner of his eye, careful to keep his head down and watch his steps up instead of back at the camera as he finally got to the seventh floor and pushed open the door.

The floor itself only had a singular hallway, five doors on each side with a mailbox for each, enough space for just some modest small business office spaces. Nothing special and that was on purpose. He decided against looking winded from the trek up, the SIS had his “file” and knew his history.

Kestas Canis, born in a small town on Ruan, stationed on Ord Mantell, career soldier, and made Sergeant. Was a candidate for Special Forces but instead of going into military, was transferred into SIS instead. Good marksmanship scores, smart soldier, with a little something-something that made him a good candidate for the SIS. It was enough to give him this chance - give Intelligence this chance. Now he just had not not fuck it up especially with the constant reminder of his deception right front and center. At least to him.

For show he checked the ink on his hand where he wrote down the office number and then wiped his hands together to get rid of the ink. Using the door panel next to it, the gray metal door slid open and he stepped through. Inside was a small waiting room, a small seating area, a desk with a young man behind it. He was clean, fresh faced, nice looking enough to catch someone’s interest but fairly forgettable. Three doors, a side office to the right, another to the left, and one directly behind the desk of the secretary. There was also a very, surprisingly nice, aquarium with some tropical fish along one wall, coupled with a table with holopads along it. It was deceptively normal, beyond the fact that he was given this address in the first place, his gut told him this place was inherently off. The young man looked up from his holodisplay expectedly at him with a piercing brown gaze. This was definitely the right place.

“Sorry, am I in the right place?” he asked. The secretary looked a little nonplussed as he looked to his computer once, then back up.

“Sergeant Canis?” he said and Evacios nodded, making a note to straighten out his navy sports jacket as an “afterthought” before straightening to present himself. “Through this door,” he said without any preamble, gesturing to the door behind him.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” he offered. The receptionist widened his eyes and tightened his lips in recognition of it but clearly had no time to regard him any further. There was just the smallest of second glances. Maybe he was also trained in some sort of personnel training, or maybe he really was just an annoyed receptionist. Either way, he moved past the young man and opened one door into a small entryway with another door just a couple of feet past. A red light was by this second door until the first door closed. It flashed green and he pressed the corresponding touchpad button.

Then things made sense.

Inside was a much larger room than he expected, a corner desk on one side with a full on archive behind it and an impressive holodisplay for the desk’s built in interface. On the other side of the far wall was a full floor-to-ceiling grid of displays, all of them showing a different scene, all of them showing active feeds. He could quickly identify more than a few in Nar Shadda, some probably around either Coruscant and Corellia - but it was impossible to ignore the person in the room any longer than that. Sitting on the edge of his own desk, a man who maybe had half a foot and forty pounds on him sat straight backed, arms and ankles crossed. Dressed in military khakis wearing Major stripes on him with a flash of defiant blue in his tawny brown hair.

He read the write up on Major Cyrus Rax on the way over, all that Intelligence had on the official stuff he had done, things he committed, things he admitted to, and rumored skirmishes with the Empire as well as official ones. But he hit into the wall of his hard blue gaze and small scowl and stopped dead. He couldn’t help but smile, unbidden. Showtime.

“You better be Kestas,” he said gruffly.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and straightened like he was going to stand to attention. He saw the pained look and rub of his chin from Rax.

“Y’know, calling me ‘sir’ anywhere except this room would get us both fuckin’ shot. So don’t. I’m your handler, not a CO,” he got to his feet. Maybe he was unconscious of the fact that he was an imposing figure or maybe he did keep that in his back pocket, Evacios wasn’t sure what to make of him quite yet. “We good?”

“Yes, s-” he purposefully caught himself and tucked his hands into his pocket, taking the chance to take another scan of the room. “-So what do I call you, then?”

“Rax. Major. Papi. Whichever.”

“Well if ‘sir’ is suspicious, wouln’t ‘major’ be too? Some random sergeant getting orders from a random major?” he laughed a little nervously but then quickly shut up and showed his hands sheepishly. “I’ll, um, I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Shut up, some people have nicknames. But, let me tell you something. Real heart-to-heart,” he actually turned from him at this point, walking around his desk, Evacios noted his favored side. There was a rumor with a fight that came to mind but he’d have to look into it later. In the meantime the burnmarks on the side of his neck were oddly purposeful - letters? High Sith was always hard to recognize out of context. “Try-outs are slow, boring, and belong on the Huttball field. When you come into my fucking office, I need to not be commanding you, I need someone to take initiative. Can you take initiative Kes or are we both standing around with our dicks in our hands wasting each other's time?”

“What’s the mission, Rax?” he said simply, lips lifted just a touch into a smile. The bluster either how he just was or designed to put the fear of command in him. Either way, Rax leaned over his desk and gave a contemplative nod.

“Don’t be smug about it,” he handed over a datapad from a drawer. “Addition to that?” He sank a digit against the screen and pushed it a bit, Evacios took the hint and he gathered it up before it got to the edge.  “I’m gonna need you to slice the surveillance of the neighborhood, make sure I know about it first if you make a mess. You understand.”

“Absolutely, anything else?” Evacios asked.

“Yeah, if you don’t do it? We can find you a nice analytical post on Quesh. Now get out, thanks, my soap opera’s about to start,” he stood back and fell back into his seat. Resting his hands laced on his stomach, he propped his feet up on his desk as, from behind, a title of some novella came up on the desk’s display. He tipped the datapad toward Rax and tucked a hand into his denim pants as he turned and started to read it. “And give it to Jones in the front when you’re done.”

He gave a two finger salute over his shoulder, edged around a Nautolan woman with an armful of similar datapads that he quickly looked over. Aqua skin, white markings, lithe, and maybe looking a little pissed. He offered a smile and nothing more as he waited for the lights to change from red to green on this quick series of doors. By the time he was out the second door he could confidently hand it back to “Jones”, the receptionist, and simply continue walking.

Harmless, maybe a bit of a shit, perhaps stepping into shoes too big for his feet just yet, he hoped he conveyed that image well enough so far. He could stand to develop the character more later as time moved on and he got “used” to spy work. Until then, harmless he hoped he remained.

Well, seems even here the Intelligence agencies policed their own. He just didn’t know he’d get into messing with Coruscant Security so soon.