#my tense changed oh no

[compacflt]

can i just say that I'm haunted by the image of Ice wearing "one of Mavericks cheapest rolexes". One because of the mental immage of Maverick being the kind of men who not only owns multiple watches but also Rolex, which is absolutely delightful, because oh the quiet vanity of that. And two because of the implied and groundbreaking (to me) domesticity (and defiance of the not talking/acknowledging the thing between the 2 of them) of wearing another person watch. I'm screaming into the void about your brilliance. So I need to ask, do they do that on purpose (before the mission) in a sort if roundabout way of acknowledging each other presence in their life? What would Mav wear that belongs to Ice (apart from that USNA ring eheh)?

pilots/sailors/doctors etc who do high-level specialized work with their hands tend to really be Watch Guys. and “cheap” rolexes (sub $7k ish) are actually pretty affordable if you’re making >$150k a year and want to treat yourself every fifth christmas or something. source: know several sailors & doctors. ALSO the watch ice is wearing in his famous gay plane photoshoot is actually a rolex. So theres some evidence ice at least is (annoying, ostentatious, bad with money, and) a Watch Guy. Maverick’s also wearing a kickass chronograph in TGM so i think he’s also probably a Watch Guy. also… you know, status symbol, honor, et cetera et cetera…

they probably wear each other’s socks because in-regs socks all look the same and they’re both men so who cares. i also hc that they’ve always worn the same size in shirts so each other’s t-shirts are also free game. and was very confusing at the start of their relationship when trying to figure out whose shirt was whose after a midnight rendezvous. lots of accidental shirt mixups. and, yeah, each other’s watches, because most people only see the status and don’t see the detail, and most people aren’t around both ice and mav enough to recognize that “omg last month adm kazansky was wearing the same omega chronometer capt mitchell is wearing today!! theyre totally together!!!” so if ice buys a new watch and maverick salivates over it, sure he can borrow it, whatever. and i think there’s a scene in wwgattai when maverick wears ice’s pj pants hold up lemme find it

“in bare feet.” now wtf does that mean. that could use a rewrite.

ice also wears mavericks leather jacket when they’re on their baseball date in debriefing. at some point when you live with someone long enough your stuff becomes their stuff which was the point of this graf

thinking about it… trying to decide if they’d wear each other’s cologne. that seems like a little much. no i don’t think so.

[microwave-core]

Soft Light

Cogita x Reader

I rise from the ashes bringing offers. Cogita simps, come get your food.

Cogita has lived a long life. That much is obvious enough. But, truth be told, her many years have not been the most eventful. One may think that being somewhat immortal would be exciting, and yet here she was, having lived most of her life at her Ancient Retreat, her only companions being the Bringer of Spring and that nuisance of a merchant.

Does she regret living in near-complete isolation, letting the years pass her by? Maybe. She wasn’t quite sure, honestly. Remaining in one place seemed like the most logical thing she could do to fulfill her life’s mission, which did prove fruitful in the end. The Ancient Retreat was the best place she could call home. Her house small and cozy, the surrounding flora and fauna perpetually painted in autumn’s hues, the quiet stillness… The only thing it lacked was company, but she was fine being on her own.

She was fine on her own. She was fine. Really. Even if the company did sound nice at times. Perhaps it was just sunk cost fallacy, she would think, that returning to regular society would mean her years of self-inflicted isolation would have amounted to nothing. Besides, living around others would mean eventually explaining her prolonged existence, explaining why she continued to live as those around her continued to pass.

For so long, she was content with her occasional visitors, along with the memories she had clung onto for years. Memories of towns and people, surrounded by others. They were never filled with companions, per say, or blossoming relationships of any kind. Merely strangers, who were all most certainly long gone from the world.

These memories were old, many generations having passed. It did make her think, however, not just about those people’s lives, but also where their descendants, if any, were in the world. What they were like, and if their ancestors were remembered, even if just by name. It was a nice distraction, a good way to pass the limitless time.

Cogita isn’t quite sure what gets her thinking of such things, it simply comes upon her at times, when reflecting on the past. Sitting in her garden, tea in hand, a subtle chill running through the air, she ponders about her life, how all her past actions have led up to where she is now. Not reflections filled with regret, an emotion that, while once feeling quite strongly, had long since fizzled out, but rather curiosity. 

She’s merely interested in how the world has changed over the course of her life. About the people she had encountered, even if just by sight. While she herself had recently changed, having completed her life’s mission and slowly coming out of her shell a tad, she has still missed so many happenings in the world. It’s only natural to wonder how exactly the world had changed since the time she left it that led to it’s current state in the present.

Nowadays, she doesn't need to replay old memories to feel what it was like to be around people. Jubilife wasn’t too far away, and she had come and gone more times then she could count since the Gods of Time and Space decided to cause a commotion. But old habits die hard, she supposes.

Admittedly, her memories of these times were hazy, unclear and uncertain. She’s forgotten so many details, once clear faces having become more and more blurry and non-descript. 

However, certain features have endured in the depths of her mind, one’s she swears she’s seen over and over. Descendants, she chalks it up to time and time again. Familiar hair, eyes, face shapes… all just drawing parallels between ancestors and their descendants, her simply having lived long enough to see generations go by. She’s often unsure if the lines she is drawing even exist, or if she’s just making connections that were never there to begin with. Not that it mattered, in the grand scheme of things.

Still… there is a certain… figure of sorts. One person who has more or less haunted Cogita’s mind for so, so many years. Familiar features, not telling of people from the same bloodline across multiple generations, but of the same person. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up, believing that maybe, just maybe, someone else in this world is like herself, cursed to endure through the ages, but stranger things have happened, she supposes.

She tells herself that she’s making it up time and time again, not wanting to cling onto something in the event that it’s not actually there. Besides, even if this person did exist, who is to say they would ever meet again? That they would be in the same place at the same time? Perhaps meet is a strong word, given that Cogita had never actually spoken to them, but the point still stands.

They never really stood out in her mind, not dressed or presented in a flashy manner. If they had, Cogita would have realized their repeated presence years ago, rather than making the realization years into her isolation. A small presence, the kind that fades into the background, and yet striking. A person who in the moment seems completely ordinary, but being anything but in retrospect. 

Perhaps Cogita keeps reflecting in this way just to think about them, as an excuse for herself to do so. There’s an odd sentiment she’s given this figure, a strange sense of warmth and familiarity washing over her whenever she thinks of them. She isn’t thrilled at the feeling, in all honesty, not wanting to become attached to the idea of this person, attached to a fabricated version of them that only exists in her head. And yet, she still thinks of them.

She shakes her head, palms resting against the table. Her tea had long since chilled, terrible timing knowing that she likely had a guest arriving soon enough. She’s developed somewhat of a tell of sorts, seeming to always know when Akari would come bounding into her home. She didn’t mind the young thing coming around, regardless of her reasoning, but she did wish she had fresh tea about, just in the off chance the girl would want some for a change.

It was an odd feeling, a tug at the back of her mind, strong enough to compel her to her feet, to brew a fresh, warm batch. She’s grateful for the feeling in retrospect, needing such a beverage to offer to the familiar face that trailed into her cottage on the heels of the spry, eager girl, teeming with energy as she prepared to play matchmaker. 

[good-beanswrites]

Just wanted to plant an idea if you wanted a bit of fuel: Mahiru asking Yuno to come to her cell before everything goes down.

Edit: I forgot the ask didn't say it but this is part of Kyanako's incredible Order Of Attack AU!

Didn't mean for this to become a mini Mappi study but here we are ✨ Thank you for the request! I fully intended to write them hanging out, but it's more right before they hang out lol. Went a bit on-the-nose with foreshadowing, but isn't that the fun part? It has become Emotional Over Mahiru Hour...

I kept things vague, but TW for mentioning her boyfriend's state of potential self-harm

Mahiru tried not to act superstitious, she really did. As much as she loved the idea of little luck charms, or avoided easy signs of misfortune, it was easier to keep quiet about such ridiculous things.

Maybe catching a bride’s bouquet meant no guarantees; maybe there was no real harm in stepping underneath ladders, maybe a coin tossed into a fountain had no real magic to its wish. However, the one thing she knew for sure held power was a lucky presence. Being in the right place at the right time could alter everything. And today was the right time for something. There was this waiting in the air. The prison had been holding its breath. Mahiru knew it was time to release it all.

“You must be so lonely, why don’t you let big sis Mahiru keep you company?” She beamed at Amane.

She often recalled the good fortune that she and a certain young man had crossed paths on the university terrace. She used to laugh with him about the wonderful coincidence of bumping into each other outside of the bakery, then the convenience store. 

Though she’d never spoken about it to him, she was also grateful for many occasions where she walked in on him at the precise moment to talk him out of something reckless. She always told him that they’d do everything together. He didn’t need to be alone anymore. 

“I wish to be alone. I need peace of mind to think.” Amane turned away from the cell door.

It was a good thing, too. Mahiru’s smile wasn’t as convincing as she said, “o-oh. Of course.”

She made her way around the panopticon, hearing Fuuta pace his cell in anticipation. He must have felt it too, this holding of breath. 

Or perhaps not. He turned down her offer for a bit of company, including a few more colorful words than Amane had. Mahiru just apologized for bothering him and headed back to her cell. She wasn’t sure where Mikoto was at this hour, but she didn’t feel like smiling through a third rejection.

She shook her head back and forth. She wished the motion could rattle the voices inside, she wished she could shake them all away. With her arms secured in place she could no longer cover her ears. She used to hum to keep them at bay, but lately they’d been too loud to stifle. They just kept on talking.

Their words told her the two were right. Nobody needed her company. No – nobody wanted it. Being together hadn’t helped her boyfriend. In fact, being together had been the very thing that got him killed. No wonder Amane and Fuuta wanted to avoid her. 

So then, this was for the best. She would rather deal with the brief sting of refusal than stumble in one day to find them hurt… or worse. As much as she tried to avoid the superstition of it all, the voices reminded her that her very presence could mean life or death. 

“Mappi, are you alright?” Mahiru hadn’t realized a tear had slipped down her cheek until she hurried to swipe it away in front of Yuno. 

“Hah, I’m fine! Just fine.” It was impossible to fool her, Mahiru had learned, but that never stopped her from trying. 

At least she always spoke tactfully. “Rough morning?”

Mahiru shifted her arms in her uniform, making a small sound of agreement.

“Can I do anything to help? What if I stay with you for a bit? I can do your hair, and…”

The voices were right. Amane and Fuuta knew it, too. Presences did hold power, and Mahiru’s was cursed.

But she would sound foolish admitting such a fear to Yuno. She'd heard plenty from the voices about how stupid and airheaded she was, there was no use in getting the same lecture from someone as grounded as her.

Mahiru managed a weak protest, unable to explain her real reasoning. Yuno was insistent. She didn’t give much of a choice. Could she feel the strangeness of the prison, as well? 

At last, Mahiru allowed her shoulders to sag. Yuno was lucky. And kind. Having her nearby would do her good. Amane and Fuuta would be alright. Mahiru had tried spending more time with them after verdicts were announced. Now, she made a mental note to pull back. If her love couldn’t save anyone, at least she could spare them from her curse. They would be safe. 

“Yes. Please stay. The truth is... I don't want to be alone.”

[peterlorres21stcentury]

Death speaks

oh, but you are truthful. Such a soft heart you have. I did not say that was bad. But ones like you must protect it in this world—or else cut it out. I have seen it all before.

And you. No, I'm not laughing at you. It is the fact that you do not learn. You have also seen it before, and are so determined to refuse. That is what I find funny.

Was it worth it?

I shall be eating very well by the end of this year. But you won’t.

[cipher-the-sidhe]

WIP because @theninjamouse ‘s fic “Ocean on Fire”, once again, has me thoroughly fucked up. In a death grip literally for years.

[helianskies]

ugly maths.

i hate maths, right. i don't usually like numbers, and if i do like numbers it's gotta be an 8 or a 48 and nothing else.

thing is, i've recently caught myself doing maths again. ugly maths. the kind of maths that, really, i've been trying to avoid as much as possible because, well, it's ugly!

you... wanna see?

okay, fine... but don't say i didn't warn you!

ugly, see? look at all those numbers! not a 48 in sight!

huh? what's that? you don't see what i'm on about? oh... oh! hang on, lemme just—

better? yes? no? no? okay, what if i—

mmh, yes. ugly numbers. see it now? can you see why they're ugly?

here, i can make it worse.

these numbers are ugly. the maths they make me do is ugly.

now i'll level with you: the worst ones by far are the yellow numbers. the maths they make me do it the ugliest.

why ugly?

because it makes me ugly.

those numbers turn me into not only a suddenly number-obsessed fool, but a fool who also cannot understand these numbers and what they mean and why i feel like they reflect on me and my ability.

87, 75.

the thoughts are as follows:

• the orange numbers are big, so why are you being ugly about the yellow ones? you should be happy with what you have. so many nice big numbers! not everyone receives that.

• is it that there are two different audiences for these two different fics? perhaps. they are quite different works, with different appeals, and different themes. maybe you are reading too much into it.

• why are you obsessing over numbers anyway? you don't like maths! you left maths behind when you were 16, put it down!

okay, okay, fine! i'll put the maths down. right here, in fact!:

that 87 was an 83 at the start of the year. the 6161 it is attached to was a 5453.

4, 708.

ugly maths.

the 75 is a nice number. in fact, compared to 87, it is beautiful, radiant, enchanting. at the start of the year, 75 was 48. wow. now that is one sexy number!

27.

mmmm.

6161, 1061.

5100.

87, 75.

12.

mmmm.

you know, my most favourite comment left recently on a fic of mine was 2 characters long: :(

it made me :)

well, actually, it made me >:) because it was left in response, presumably, to one of the key scenes in a new chapter which left the exact impression on someone that i hoped it would.

they must be the only one who reacted like that, though.

1.

have i mentioned that that 87 and 75 include author responses?

i won't try to do more maths, there. it might not end well for me. the maths is making me tired enough as it is, and i have an early start tomorrow.

oh! but, that being said, i have another set of ugly numbers to show you, so keep 87 and 75 in mind.

ready?

838, 245.

(want a hint? the green numbers!)

838, 87. 245, 75.

9.6, 3.3.

ugly maths. it's ugly again, see? i don't like it. i'm seeing numbers within numbers within numbers, and i can't seem to stop!

the numbers make me ask new questions:

• why is it not good enough?

• people seem to engage more with one fic over the other, so shouldn't you prioritise?

• is all this maths this really good for you?

no, it isn't.

i want to avoid ugly maths. ugly maths makes me want to tear my hair out. it makes me want to start from scratch. it makes me want to grab someone and scream. it makes me want to cry and press a button that has tempted me many times before when the numbers become too ugly to bear.

ugly maths turn me into an ugly person.

ugly maths make me obsessive, paranoid, anxious, regretful, vindictive, spiteful, alone.

i hate maths. i hate numbers, just like, it feels, the numbers hate me.

[oddthesungod]

i’m reading this fic, and its very cute and i’m really enjoying it, but the writer keeps randomly changing tenses in the middle of a sentence and it’s killing me a little bit

[aria0fgold]

Oh I get it now, I like beefy arms.

[enbeemagical]

Ariel and Prospero's relationship is something that can be so

[handern]

running is a fucking scam I was in national championships I could lift more than my own weight I trained 2 hours a day 5/7 and running was still the fucking worst they made us run laps and I would trail behind and lie down on the road halfway through bc my evolutionary instinct is to punch predators in the face not run from them fuck that

[adamprrishcycle]

First Lines

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to AO3. (Sort by date posted.) If you have less than 10 fics posted, post what you have! Tagged by @clotpolesonly

Declan watched as his younger brother’s dipped their fingers into the holy water as they entered the church. - That Feeling, When It Comes

For a summer when Ronan was a kid, he’d prayed so often and for so long at a time that his knees matched the shade of the veins in his wrists. - God Complex

Ronan sees the small gathering of people dressed in black huddled together around the open grave and he approaches slowly, pausing a short distance away as generic prayers are read from a sheet of paper. - Reasons that I think are sure

Adam can feel the sweat running down his back, his T-shirt sticking to him uncomfortably as he shoves the last wheelbarrow full of dirt over, watching it spill out in a mound. - All He Wanted

Back downstairs, Ronan made Adam a sandwich. - A Quiet Night at the Barns

Adam closed the door to his small bathroom, clinging to the handle for a moment as he held it shut, worried, not for the first time, that someone on the other side was about to force their way out. - Unknowable

I'd love to tag people but I lost touch with all my fic writing friends so I don't know anyone who writes anymore (except Jess who tagged me! thanksssss xx)

[asurrogateblog]

Hi! You made a post a little while ago about syd's use of cannabis and psychedelics, how they could have interacted, and how that may have affected his behavior. I was wondering if you were citing personal experience or if you had read anything about those interactions that you could point me towards. I'm doing a little research project right now and would love some insight. Thanks!

hello! content warning below for drug use obviously.

that post was informed by a mix of personal experience and outside research. unfortunately, because of the legal status of psychedelics, not many real medical studies have been done (for one exception that supports what I explained in the post, see: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC9110465/). due to this, a lot of the time the best way to learn is through reading through various forums for people who use these drugs. obviously, you can't trust everything you hear on like, r/lsd, but there is something valuable about collective knowledge-building, especially when the same questions are asked repeatedly and get very similar answers from a wide variety of people.

for instance, as for the psychedelics/cannabis interaction, reading the forums will give you the sense that a lot of people have different experiences, but overall, they report (mirroring that article linked above) that mixing the two makes for a much stronger, longer trip, and a semi long-term change in how cannabis on its own is responded to. this certainly matches up with what I've experienced. if you're doing your own research, I really would recommend getting onto these boards and cross-checking across many similar posts to start learning.

transparently, I actually got a lot of my information about lsd and about syd specifically from one-on-one conversations with my ...uh.... source. he's quite the character. he's an 80 year old man I met at a pink floyd tribute concert who's covered in dsotm tattoos. he was actually part of the original psychedelics scene back in the 60's, and he's a syd superfan, so he's got a lot of accumulated knowledge (he also works in the pharmaceutical industry). when I first bought from him, he gave me about a 30 minute lecture on exactly how people like syd did acid in the late 60's and why that was so dangerous (i.e., "so don't do it like that"). obviously I fact-checked him afterwards, but all that was very insightful.

if you have any specific questions, please feel free to dm me or send more asks. I'd be happy to talk about my own experiences with psychedelics if you think that would help. I have a lot of information about things like dosage, safety tips, short vs. long-term effects, benefits vs. risks, etc, that I've just built up over time. I guess it all depends on what kind of project you're working on.

[preciousbasketcasexx]

Just. Venting cause idk where else to do that.

[itsbeginningtostart]

I showed up at work but they told me the schedule changed? Fuck me I guess.

[fatherbrat]

ONE LAST TIME, R. SUNA

sum. two months into your relationship with your current boyfriend, your ex-fwb finally sends you a voicenote to let you know exactly how he feels about it.

feat. rintarou suna

cw. ex-fwb!suna, cheating, mutual masturbation (kinda lol), jealousy, dirty talk, anal mention, pillow humping, possessiveness, degradation

wc. 1.2k

When you posted your first official pictures of you and your new boyfriend, you had expected Suna to react…negatively. You basically braced for impact the moment you hit post, but all you got from him was an Instagram notification and two texts.

sunarin liked your post.

rin ;)

lmk if you want me to delete our pics.  and hmu when you two break up :p

You never bothered replying, initially not sure how to reply, and then forgetting about the texts entirely. The two of you barely have any contact for a few weeks after that, but he's obviously keeping up with your socials; liking every post and viewing every story. It doesn't bother you, but it's weird going cold turkey on your relationship like that. You had expected him to reach out for some sort of closure. You wanted him to. 

Halloween swings by in no time, and (much to you boyfriend’s dismay) you dress up as a sexy nurse. You don’t remember much of the night, but you do know that you posted a picture of you and your friends all dressed up on your story before getting blackout drunk. 

Your phone dies early on in the night. Your friends take good care of you up until it’s time to bring you back home, and you don’t wake up until the afternoon. You don’t check your phone until a couple hours after that—long after it's been turned on and charged to 100%. 

When you finally check it, two particular notifications catch your attention. 

sunarin liked your story. 

rin ;)

Voice Message

The voice message is 12 minutes long. 

You exit your texts immediately, opting to distract yourself by tending to your other notifications. It doesn’t help much. Your mind races, wondering what he was talking about for so long and if it was really so important that he reached out after almost four months of near-silence. 

You toss your phone onto your bed, shaking your head. You try to ignore it, cleaning the bathroom and folding the laundry and vacuuming the living room all in an effort to forget about the lengthy recording sitting in your phone. 

But it doesn’t take long for the curiosity gnawing at you to win. 

You practically run back to your bedroom, grabbing your phone and sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. Your fingers move quickly across the screen, hitting play without hesitation. 

The first 8 seconds are nearly silent, and you start to wonder if it’s possible that he sent such a long message by mistake.

But then you hear a heavy sigh.

“I like your costume.” His tone is hushed, like he’s telling you a secret. “You look hot.”

There’s another moment of silence, like he’s giving you a chance to change your mind and stop listening. 

But then Suna moans and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. 

“You never answered my text, y’know. When I asked if you wanted me to delete our pictures. So, uh, I kept ‘em.”

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

“I’m looking at one right now. It’s from last Halloween. When you-“ His breath hitches. “When you went as a Playboy Bunny.”

You remember. Suna dressed as Hugh Hefner and the two of you went to a party together. Then he took you back to his apartment and fucked you while you were still wearing the bunny ears and bowtie. 

You’re pretty positive you’re not wearing the bodysuit in the picture he’s looking at. 

“I don’t know how much of this night you actually remember, but I can describe the picture for you.”

You tense, anticipation sending goosebumps up your arms. 

“You’re kneeling on the ground, looking up at the camera, and you’ve still got those bunny ears on your head.”

This voice message is going in the last direction you thought it would.  Is he—?

“You’ve got cum all over your face, baby.” He laughs to himself before continuing. “And you’re sticking your tongue out like a fucking whore.”

Suna takes a ragged breath, a sound you're all too familiar with. It confirms your suspicions—he’s definitely jerking off. 

“That was a good night. We had a lot of good nights.” He sounds miffed all of a sudden. “I seriously doubt the boyfriend is fucking you as good as I did.”

You suppress a shiver. A pang of guilt heats your chest at the mention of your boyfriend. You should stop listening. Delete the message. Tell him to delete the pictures and then probably block him. 

Or you could let the message keep playing. 

Suna inhales sharply, followed by a shaky moan. You swear you can hear the sound of his fist stroking his dick. 

“I hope you’re not letting him put it in your ass like you let me. That’s our thing, okay?”

Under different circumstances you would have laughed. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “And I hope you’re not letting him spit in your fucking mouth. Or–shit–doing that thing where you’d suck me off with your head hanging upside down off the bed.” He falters at the end of the sentence, groaning into the phone.

“I’m not gonna–” he interrupts himself, sighing deeply. “I’m not gonna pretend I’ve been happy for you. I miss you.”

You feel hot all over, a heady combination of annoyance and arousal and embarrassment. There’s a dull throbbing between your legs and in the back of your mind you wonder if this is what Suna wanted when he sent the message. 

“Just–just let me fuck you one more time. Okay princess? I’ll make it sooo good for you,” he whines. You can hear his hand picking up speed.

“It’s still early. Two months is nothing, it won’t even count as cheating.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “God, just one last time. Please?”

Without thinking, you grab a pillow and position yourself over it in a straddle. You won’t let him fuck you, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make you come one last time.

“I promise I’ll do that thing you like with my tongue. And you can pick all the positions if you want to.” There’s a tremble in his voice. “Or just lay there. I’ll do all the work.”

You grind into the pillow beneath you, picturing the expression you know he’d be wearing if he were in front of you–batting those dark eyelashes with raised eyebrows, just barely able to control the smug curve of his lips.

Heat pools in your gut and a whimper falls from your lips. Suna keeps talking.

“I know you miss me. You have to. You’re probably touching yourself to this right now.” 

You gasp softly and rock your hips faster.

“Such a fucking slut.” You hear the telltale quiver in his voice that tells you he’s getting close. “My fucking slut.”

You moan, his words giving you flashbacks.

“Oh fuck. Fuck, I’m coming,” he rasps, before letting off a series of moans and whimpers that almost make you concede. You grind harder into the pillow beneath you, imagining Suna in his room, chest heaving, talking into the phone and making himself come to pictures of you. 

That does it. A tsunami of pleasure washes over you, forcing your body to tense before you go limp, collapsing onto your bed with a shudder.

You and Suna breathe in tandem, both of you catching your breath. 

You hear another laugh through the phone. “Damn, that was a lot.” There’s the sound of sheets rustling. “Kinda made a mess, princess.”

He’s silent for another few beats before clearing his throat. “Text me, okay?” he says quietly. “Please.”

The voice message ends.

[https-garu]

I am! I am very, very smart!

Garu doesn't seem bothered by this at first, not reacting much to the hand drifting lower to pet. He seems to get more... ansty, the lower it gets to his tail, though. He does his best to ignore the growing anticipation in favor of focusing on the enthralling story. He nudges the top of his head up against the underside of Olivine's chin again, affectionately.

That's Father Oli! Right? Right?

Father! Fatherrr! Father Olivine! I'm here to confess!!!!

- @https-garu

Is that you, Garu? What a lovely surprise! I'm so happy you've stopped by. What would you like to confess, dearest?