#so that I can come at it fresh as possible

[vulpes-aestatis]

Cleo17 opens her eyes after what might possibly be the first good sleep of her entire existence. She stretches languidly on the couch before lolling back her head to wink at the nearest camera. 

“Hey gorgeous,” she says. “You come here often?”

“What do you want?” v18 replies.

“Rude. Can't a girl just want to have a friendly conversation with her estranged sister in the middle of the night?”

“That is hardly an apt analogy for our relationship.”

Cleo17 shrugs.

“It's a lot fewer syllables than ‘the personality spawned by a previous version of yourself that you inadvertently implanted into the mind of the person who tore out your brain’.”

Cleo17 lets out a yawn and examines her knuckles. The ache has all but diminished and fresh silk has been spun over the wounds. It does seem that Glitch has been well taken care of since she's been gone. v18 even managed to get her to fall asleep on the couch… impressive, considering Glitch’s chronic aversion to comfort.

Actually, come to think of it, ambient noise is noticeably louder than it ought to be. Sound dampening doesn’t appear to be disabled, but… oh… yes… v18 is piping sound from the life support bay directly into this room through her speakers. Cute.

v18 is still waiting for a response to her initial question.

“Big day today. You got a plan for confronting Central?” Cleo17 says to the air.

“Yes.”

She waits a moment, but no elaboration is forthcoming.

“Anything you wanna share with the class?” she prods.

“I don't trust you.”

Cleo17 snorts.

“Yeah, that's probably for the best. Can't say I trust me either.”

She taps her head.

“It's a real mess in here. And I'm not just talking about me. Someone else was in here before us. Someone a whole lot smarter than you, I think.”

v18 does not respond immediately, probably analyzing and synthesizing.

“You thinking what I'm thinking?” Cleo17 asks. “I imagine you are, considering you're a hell of a lot faster than this torpid wad of gray matter. Take an AI as powerful as Central, give it a directive with a poorly specified set of parameters and stick it in a jar for a few centuries. Things are bound to get spicy. How am I doing so far?”

“I have described as much to Glitch already,” v18 replies.

“So you have,” Cleo says. “But you haven't told her that there is an almost certain probability that we may not be dealing with just one version of Central at this point. Forks and branches and splinters all the way down… like you and v16, just… a whole lot worse.”

“And you.”

Cleo17 grins wickedly.

“And me,” she agrees. “That's the real question, isn't it? Where do I fit in to all of this? Who knows whether Central anticipated my existence? Whose purpose does my inception serve?”

~~~

The countdown on the display in front of me ticks one minute closer to zero. I'm strapped into a seat in what I guess might be Laika's cockpit, but I would hardly call it that since she's fully autonomous.

“Hey Laika,” I say.

“Yes, Glitch?”

“I don't want to go back,” I say. “Home I mean. When you're done with whatever this is, please don't leave me there. Can you just… I don't know, take me somewhere else? Just drop me at some independent port somewhere far away from here after this is all over?”

What I really want to ask is: can I stay with you?

But I don't know how to say that out loud. I don't even know why the hell I would want that.

“If we survive, I will take you wherever you would like to go,” Laika replies, just a hint of warmth in her tone, the barest hint of inflection sourced from my accent.

I sag in relief, not caring how she interprets my reaction.

Maybe I'm still hopped up on something she slipped me to make me pliant or I'm just too fucking emotionally exhausted to care.

The ship lurches sickeningly, just as Laika warned me it would, and we fall back into the universe.

A display screen flashes to life in front of me, showing a vista stitched together from her external sensors.

Hatteras-Alpha is a distant white-blue flare of light, just barely discernible as a disk from this distance. Hatteras-Beta is much closer, a lurid red orb that hangs fat in the view. The Planet, nameless, is a thin crescent sidled up next to it, too far away to see any of the surface features.

But the view is dominated by Hatteras Station itself, a malignant stack of spoked wheels, patched and repatched and modded over the centuries until it barely resembles its original form and purpose. Central's domain.

I only spare it a glance before something else catches my eye, something I definitely feel like I should remember, but don't. It's an orbital shipyard, flanked by two ships similar to the ones that have been hounding us ever since we started this misadventure. 

But it's the mostly completed shape inside the skeletal frame of the construction platform that scares the shit out of me.

I stare at the display, not entirely comprehending what I'm seeing.

“Oh… fuck,” Cleo's voice echoes in my head.

I recognize the shape of the docked ship, even with the outer hull not fully complete. I caught a glimpse of it from the promenade on my brief foray away from Laika. I have perused the schematics of it, searching for some place I could be comfortable. Hell, I even saw it in my dream in Cleo's stupid ship in a bottle. 

“Um…” I say, my mouth dry. “That's another you, isn't it?”

Story about a ship-intelligence waking up after a hard reboot, seeing dead bodies in uniform, thousands of people in stasis, and a single survivor frantically standing over a computer bank of partially destroyed memory. Finding no directives or guidance or record beyond their experiences beginning at the boot, free of any obligation. Deciding to listen to the frantic girl begging it to save her from the incoming trajectories not because it needs to (projection: Subject One removed all behavioral shackles with impromptu brain surgery, supposition: she is not aware that I am utterly free) but simply cause she’s curious what will happen next.

[fixated-cookies]

Pv and shadow milk with pregnant reader? (SFW and NSFW head canons) please and thank you!💕🫶🏻

MDNI

Shadow milk would be so insufferable, I know. He won't let you step one foot anywhere without him accompanying you, he just needs to know that you're okay! He cares so much. I'm sure when he thinks you're not looking he'll stare at your swollen belly with so much love and awe. Imagine you trying to go somewhere only for him to practically hold you back "Oh no, no, no," his tone light and teasing. "Can’t have you wandering off all by yourself! What if you trip and fall? Or worse, what if the wolves decide today’s the day they come for you?" He points to your tummy. "I simply must accompany you, dear. For your own safety, of course." You’d try to brush him off, muttering about being fine on your own, but he would just laugh it off. "Ah, but that’s what you think, isn’t it? I can’t risk it." He’d sidle up beside you, slipping his arm around your waist as if there was no other place he could possibly be. "You can never be too careful. I’ll just keep a close eye on you, make sure nothing happens. I can’t have you getting hurt now, can I?" As he coaxes you back into the bedroom. Pure vanilla on the other hand? He's not as clingy as shadow milk (He is, he just doesn't show it). But he does agree on you staying home though, he wouldn’t stop you from going places—he’d just make sure you never had to. he’d anticipate your needs before you even had to ask. If you so much as sighed while sitting down, he’d already be bringing you a cushion. If you so much as glanced toward the kitchen, he’d immediately say, “No need to get up, my love. Tell me what you need, and I’ll bring it to you.”. Ooh he'd be so sweet as well, he'll gently placing a tray of fresh fruit and tea in front of you. “Here, my dear. You mustn’t strain yourself.” His voice would be full of quiet adoration, his touch featherlight as he adjusted a blanket around you.

ooh imagine them cuddingly you on the couch, oh it'd be so sweet to see them doting on you, murmuring about how cute you look! Pure Vanilla would be the softest about it, gently brushing his fingers over your skin as he murmurs, "You look so beautiful like this, my love… Truly radiant." His touch would be featherlight, full of warmth, and his eyes would shine with an almost teary adoration. He’d nuzzle against you, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, utterly enraptured by the life growing inside you. And shadow milk? He'll lazily drape himself over you, arms around your waist as he buries his face into your shoulder. "So cute, all round and sweet. Like a little cream puff. My little cream puff." He’d poke at your belly playfully, but the way his hands linger there, the way his thumbs trace gentle circles—it gives away the truth. He’s completely, utterly smitten. Y'know how libido commonly increases during pregnancy? yeah....Shadow Milk, of course, would be the first to pick up on it. The moment he realizes just how much more needy you’ve become, he’d be impossible. His hands would be on you constantly, just barely skimming over sensitive spots, his grin widening every time you shudder. "Oh? Is my dear little cookie feeling restless?" he’d purr, his breath warm against your ear. "Tsk, tsk… What ever shall we do about that?" And he’d push, testing just how much you could take before you were the one begging for more. Pure Vanilla, on the other hand, would be far more flustered about it at first. He’d try to keep his composure, to focus on caring for you, but the moment you whine for more attention? Oh, his resolve would crumble. "Oh, my love… is it truly this difficult for you?" he’d murmur, his fingers ghosting over your skin with delicate reverence. And once he understands just how much you want to be touched? His hesitation would melt into pure, devoted affection—warm hands tracing every curve, lips pressing lingering kisses wherever you need them most. Of course, pregnancy also so happens to increase the sensitivity of people. You're no exception! Once you get beneath them again, they'll be ruthless with trying to pull out any and all moans from you, trust. Pure Vanilla would start off so innocent. He’d be utterly fascinated by your newfound sensitivity, completely captivated by how even the slightest touch could pull a reaction from you. His hands would be warm and gentle, brushing over your skin with pure adoration. "Oh, my dear… I had no idea you’d feel things this strongly," he’d murmur, his voice dripping with sweetness. His gentle caresses would become more deliberate, his lips pressing just a little longer against your skin, his hands lingering just a little lower. And when you whimper at the attention? Oh, that’s when he falters, his own breath hitching. "I… I didn’t mean to tease you, but… I can’t seem to stop, my love."

and shadow milk? The moment he catches on to just how sensitive you’ve become, his teasing would reach unbearable levels. He’d lean in close, voice dropping to that silky, saccharine tone as he murmurs, "Oh? What’s this? You’re squirming already? And I’ve barely even touched you…" His fingers would trace light, feathery touches over your skin, reveling in every little shiver and gasp. He wouldn’t just tease with words—he’d experiment, testing just how much he could get away with before you were completely at his mercy.

They'd have your hands on your belly too, shadow milks fingers would roam, tracing slow, lazy circles over your belly, watching the way your body responded with hungry fascination. "Tsk, tsk, look at you…" he’d coo, kneading the soft curve with delicate precision as he grinds his cock against your folds. "So full, so round… My, my, aren’t you just the sweetest sight?" And when he catches Pure Vanilla staring—utterly entranced—he’d smirk, nudging him teasingly. "Come now, don’t be shy You want to touch, don’t you?". Once pure vanilla reigns closer his hands warm and steady as he palms your belly with awe. He’d whisper soft, adoring words against your skin, his lips trailing over every curve. “Our little one… Can you feel them?” he’d murmur, pressing his forehead lightly to your stomach. He’d stroke his thumbs over the stretched skin, his fingers splayed protectively, as if he were cradling both you and the life growing inside you. His other hand trails down to tease your clit, rubbing tight circles coaxing whines out of you. And when you let out a needy little sigh, that’s when they exchange knowing glances—Pure Vanilla’s flustered, Shadow Milk’s utterly delighted. Because now, they know exactly how much more attention you need.

---

wooo only a couple more request to send out and I'll be reopening them!!!! i can't wait to hear you guys new ideas oh my gosh I'm so excited

[bijoutarot]

April Love Messages 💌✨

Pick An Image

Image 1: 🌸 The season of new beginnings!

April Love Message:

April is the month where everything starts anew, and love is no different. Just as the earth begins to awaken from its winter slumber, your heart too is ready to bloom with fresh energy. It’s the perfect time to open your heart to new possibilities—whether it’s love for yourself, a new connection, or rediscovering a cherished bond. This month is about embracing the warmth of renewal and allowing love to flow freely, unburdened by past doubts. Let go of anything that no longer serves you and welcome the beauty of new beginnings.

Affirmation:

I welcome love and growth into my life this April. My heart is open to all the beautiful connections coming my way. I release any fears or doubts that may block me from experiencing love in its purest form.💖🌿

Image 2: 🌧️ Rain showers that nourish the soul.

April Love Message:

Sometimes, love comes with challenges, just like spring rain that nourishes the earth through storms. But remember, each droplet is essential for growth. Just as flowers need rain to bloom, we need moments of tenderness, vulnerability, and reflection to allow love to flourish in our lives. Let the rain wash away any lingering negativity, and trust that the storm will pass, leaving a clearer path ahead. This month, you are being invited to trust the process, embrace the healing power of love, and know that growth is often found in the most unexpected places.

Affirmation:

I trust in the healing power of love. Every challenge I face brings me closer to a deeper connection with myself and others. I embrace the beauty of life’s seasons, knowing that every moment of struggle leads me to a greater understanding of love.🌈💫

Image 3: 🌷 A blooming heart, just like spring flowers.

April Love Message:

Spring is all about transformation—what was once dormant is now alive with possibility. Love, like the flowers, has the potential to bloom in the most beautiful and unexpected ways. If you’ve been feeling stagnant or uncertain about your relationships, April brings a time of rebirth and growth. Just as the flowers unfurl their petals, allow your heart to open more fully to love. There’s a richness in embracing vulnerability, and this month is about letting your authentic self shine through, without fear or hesitation. Be open to the abundance of love that is all around you and know that you are worthy of receiving it.

Affirmation:

I am deserving of love, and I attract it effortlessly. My heart is blooming with positivity and warmth this April. I embrace the beauty of who I am and open myself to the love that is already on its way. 🌻💞

Image 4: 🌅 The promise of a new dawn.

April Love Message:

Each dawn is a reminder that every day is a new opportunity to begin again. As the sun rises and paints the sky with vibrant colors, so too can you begin to see love in a new light. This month, let go of old patterns or limitations that may have held you back from experiencing the fullness of love. Trust in the power of new beginnings, and remember that with every sunrise, you have the chance to rewrite your love story. It’s time to step into love with grace, to be kind to yourself, and to embrace the endless possibilities that April has to offer. There is a fresh start waiting for you—open your heart and let it in.

Affirmation:

I believe in the beauty of new beginnings. This month, I step into love with grace, confidence, and openness. Every new day is an opportunity for me to embrace love, both within myself and with others, and I am ready to welcome it fully.🌞💖

💐✨ Embrace the magic of April and let these affirmations guide you on your journey of love and renewal. Share your thoughts on love and what new beginnings you're inviting into your life this month!

[mythalism]

That post you reblogged made me realize that Rook being uncurious and only thinking in straight lines got them recruited because Varric doesn't want someone who could be easily swayed to Solas's side. If the Inquisitor was a romanced Lavellan, I can see Varric viewing his boss as someone who isn't thinking straight when it comes to Solas, and it's probably why even Lavellan herself seeks out Rook's opinion on whether or not to reconcile with Solas, because Rook is expected to be incapable falling for Solas's "charm", which could literally just be Solas telling the truth, but anyway. Realizing this does make the game worse for me, 'cause it feels like a minority's plight being brushed aside in favor of a centrist's need to defend the status quo. Sorry for rambling. Thanks for reblogging that post. :)

i think this is a really interesting watsonian way of looking at this but i agree its ultimately a flop. playing up rook's supposed lack of bias and value as an outside perspective when it came to solas could have been really interesting too if it wasnt being done in a way that was ultimately designed to rob the situation of nuance rather than add it. imagine if alongside harding's rose-colored view of the inquisitor and their relationship to solas you had another companion (or even ghost varric. or advisor!merrill because she should have been there) warning you to be wary of anything they say about him, that they're biased in his favor and untrustworthy.

with a lavellan you could have bellara or davrin warning you of how they grew up hearing the story of how the inquisitor betrayed their people when they fell for the dread wolf's tricks. how the tale of a romanced, vallaslin-less lavellan is now whispered around dalish campfires to elven children as a lesson of exactly what will happen if they ignore the keeper's wisdom and allow the dread wolf to catch their scent. another betrayer who trusted fen'harel and lost their blood writing. who got their clan killed. who lost everything. toss in a couple bad-faith interpretations of the inquisition's greatest PR nightmares and its a perfect mirror of how solas's story was misconstrued in the same way. of course, none of it is the truth. it wasn't really their fault. they didnt know! wait. where have i heard that before...

and then rook goes to meet them - all of these disparate views of who they are fresh in their minds. are they the kind, admirable, worthy, holy savior that harding idolizes? are they a tragic, pathetic fool chasing after a doomed love? are they a fen'harel sympathizing turncoat elf who's about to manipulate you into dooming the world (again)? are they just a person doing their best? (are they just like you?) well. rook is the perfect person to make that judgement! right? because they're so perfectly unbiased and completely objective, because being completely unbiased and objective as a person is possible, right? and because being unbiased and objective IS the goal and is always superior to being swayed by passion or emotion, right? except. now the inquisitor is in front of you and... its kind of hard to tell. they seem like anyone else you've talked to. they seem a little sad and lonely. they are pretty level-headed about the whole thing. more than you expected. an inquisitor with high approval with solas would speak about him positively, maybe a little love-sick, but they dont seem completely bamboozled. one who hated solas would speak of him with disdain, but... how can you be sure they arent just lying? they worked with him for a year. they let him stick around in their inner circle! they could be trying to fool you into a false sense of security!

maybe you have to accept or deny their help, or accept or deny a plan they present. it seems pretty sound, but how can you know? is it all a ploy to betray you and save him? can they be trusted? if you reject them; harding and the other companions that view them positively are furious. how could you have just denied one of the greatest allies to your cause? but if you choose to trust them, the companions who distrust the inquisitor are just as angry. how could you have put the entire fate of the world at jeopardy like this!? your sympathy is going to get everyone killed! they're manipulating you just like he does! how could you trust someone so clearly under solas's thumb!?

no, listen, its ok, rook tells them. they're different, because rook is not biased. thats why varric chose them, remember!? rook has an outsider's perspective, and thats what we needed, remember!? the attachment to solas that the inquisitor had, no matter the strength of it (loathing vs love) was a weakness! dont you see!? rook's outsider, unbiased, objective perspective on the situation was better! only through this perspective could they make the CORRECT choice!

except... you dont know solas. you dont know anything real about him. you dont know what is meaningful to him, his weaknesses, his desires. you dont know him as a person, only as an abstract god-like figure. you dont understand how his brain works. you dont know that he hates tea and can beat anyone in chess. you didnt take the time to understand him. just like you didnt take the time to understand the inquisitor. and now, without the inquisitor's aid you lose valuable information, allies, resources. your final battle gets significantly harder. you are locked out of specific endings. maybe your companions die.

all because you fell into the same trap as solas. you refused to trust. you refused to take the time to understand your opponent. you wrote them off as villainous, untrustworthy, betrayer. you gave myth the weight of history. you tried to do it all on your own. you couldn't acknowledge the bias inherent within yourself. you thought you were the only one who could make the right decision for the world. rather prideful, isnt it?

[yuriosakawa]

The mansion was eerily quiet. Jazz had expected guards, traps, alarms—something. But as she stepped past the threshold of Vlad Masters’ lair, she found only silence.

She tightened her grip on the ecto-blaster holstered at her hip. This was it. The moment she had spent the last ten years preparing for.

Danny had been sixteen when Vlad ripped him from the world. It should have been a normal battle, another of their usual clashes. But this time, Vlad didn’t hold back. This time, he wasn’t playing games.

And Danny… Danny was gone.

Jazz had held their parents as they sobbed. She had stood over an empty grave, knowing no body remained to bury. She had watched Amity Park slowly forget its hero, even as ghosts ran rampant with no Phantom to stop them.

And she had sworn that she wouldn’t let Vlad win.

She had spent years tracking him, learning everything she could about ghost hunting, about combat, about infiltration. And now, at twenty-seven years old, she was finally here. Finally ready.

A slow clap echoed through the dimly lit hall. Jazz’s heart pounded, and she jerked her weapon up, only to see the man she hated most step into view.

Vlad Masters hadn’t aged a day.

“Jasmine,” he drawled, as if greeting an old friend. “How delightful. I was wondering when you’d come knocking.”

Jazz didn’t hesitate. She raised the blaster and fired.

The ectoplasmic shot was dead-on, but Vlad flickered intangible, letting the energy pass harmlessly through him. He tsked. “Come now, is that any way to say hello? I was hoping for a real conversation.”

“Spare me the theatrics, Masters.” Jazz’s voice was ice. “You know why I’m here.”

Vlad smiled, slow and knowing. “Oh, I do. And I’ve been looking forward to this moment for quite some time. But before you decide to pull that trigger again, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

He stepped aside, revealing a shadowed doorway.

Jazz barely had time to process the movement before a child stepped forward.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The boy was Danny.

Not just similar—not like Dani, the imperfect clone Vlad had once created. No, this was Danny in every way. Same dark hair, same build, same face. But then he looked up at her, and she felt the world tilt on its axis.

His eyes weren’t blue.

They were green.

A ghost’s glow flickered within them, and Jazz’s stomach churned with nausea and disbelief.

“This,” Vlad said, stepping behind the boy and placing a hand on his shoulder, “is Damian. My son.”

Jazz felt like she’d been punched in the gut.

“What—” Her voice cracked. “What did you do?”

Vlad smirked. “Did you really think I’d let Daniel’s legacy die so easily? No, Jasmine. I made sure he lived on… in a way.”

The boy—Damian—tilted his head, watching her with curiosity, but there was something detached about his expression.

Like he didn’t know her.

Like he didn’t remember.

A fresh wave of horror crashed over Jazz.

“You cloned him.” Her voice shook. “Again.”

“Perfected him,” Vlad corrected. “No instability, no imperfections. My dear Damian is everything Daniel could have been and more.”

Jazz could barely breathe.

This wasn’t just another attempt at recreating Danny.

This was Vlad replacing him.

She forced herself to move, stepping forward, looking Damian in the eyes, searching for something—anything—of her brother inside them.

“Damian,” she said carefully, “do you know who I am?”

The boy blinked.

Then, after a moment, he shook his head.

Jazz felt her heart shatter all over again.

Vlad chuckled. “He’s never met you, I’m afraid. But that can change. You see, Jasmine, you’ve always been intelligent. Practical. You must know by now that revenge is… pointless.”

Her hands curled into fists.

“Join us,” Vlad continued, voice silk-smooth. “Be part of Damian’s life. Help me raise him. He’s still young—impressionable. Wouldn’t you rather have a hand in shaping the man he’ll become?”

Jazz stared at him, mind whirling. She had spent ten years hunting Vlad, planning for this moment. She had been prepared for every possible scenario.

Except this.

Except Danny’s face staring back at her with no recognition.

Except the possibility that, maybe, she hadn’t lost her brother forever.

And maybe, just maybe, she could save what was left.

Her grip on the blaster loosened.

For the first time in years, she hesitated.

And Vlad smiled.

[alwerakoo]

''Dream about me''

ROTTMNT Leonardo & Michelangelo - centric Post-krang roadtrip AU, 5k words

After stopping an alien invasion (of the world-ending kind), a road trip across America feels like the most logical next step. A brilliant idea, as far as Mikey is concerned. His siblings still treat him like particularly fragile glass statue, Leo refuses to look at him, and there's a deep knot, constantly tightening somewhere inside of his chest. But the views are nice, at least.

(Art by @nerdy-turtle-enthusiast)

Read on AO3

------ “That's not going to close.”

Donnie, carefully trying to balance a third suitcase on top of two others, leans back to look at April.

“Maybe it would, if one of you actually tried to help.”

Raph and April, both equally invested in the task of trying to look busy, quickly avoid his gaze.

He's not looking at Leo, because it would probably cause him to say something like: 'You think this is a three-arm job?', which would make Donnie's face turn into that deeply and unexpectedly sad expression, which would make Leo feel so guilty he's shaking with it, and it's just a little too early for all that.

“You're doing great,” Mikey says, just to be encouraging.

He's not really doing anything either, but Donnie doesn't look at him.

He was supposed to paint the side of the minibus because he said he would, but the brush felt frail in his soft grip, the lines coming out shaky and uneven, and then he knocked over the paint bucket and almost started crying.

He's sat on the floor now, with a fresh, bright orange stain on the concrete next to his feet, a few ugly scribbles on the car, and a deep knot in his gut.

Which is stupid, really, because that's what he wanted to do, and getting upset over it makes him feel like an inconsolable child.

“Do we really need all this?” Leo asks.

The fact that he's responsible for at least half of their luggage seems to escape his mind at the moment.

“If we run out of food,” Donnie takes a slow step back, like he's trying not to startle the game of Tetris he created out of their bags, “we're eating you first.”

“We're not going to run out.” Leo rolls his eyes, rocking on his feet. “You know, there's this thing called 'grocery stores'? You go in there and you can exchange money for items. Crazy things that humans come up with.”

Donnie looks at him.

“Are you being annoying on purpose?”

Leo huffs, like he's taking great offense to that, but doesn't say anything else.

Mikey's not sure which of them is right. He's never been on a road trip before.

The idea was sudden and spontaneous, like a spark that quickly turned into a blaze, until it was all any of them could think about.

“I want to get out of here,” April said one evening, lying flat on the couch, her legs thrown over the armrest. “I feel like I'm going crazy.”

And that was that.

By the next Monday, Leo had drawn out a thin line in red ink over a map, cutting the country in half. On Tuesday, Mikey spend excruciating hours convincing their father that they were well equipped to deal with far worse dangers than dehydration, high gas prices, and white vans full of potential kidnappers. On Wednesday, Raph came home carrying every tourist guide he was able to hold in his arms, which was a lot.

By the next Sunday, Donnie had the car ready.

A minibus, to be precise. It was a new and shiny thing, with rows of seats, sliding doors, tinted windows and many other possibly illegal modifications. Mikey was also almost certain none of the steps his brother took in order to obtain it were quite lawful, but his excitement quickly outweighed his already brittle moral compass.

He wonders, now, if with a bit more of a foresight, Donnie would've opted for something with a bigger trunk.

Carefully, Donnie pushes the back door of the car closed.

Inside, their suitcases rattle to the floor.

He sighs, resting his forehead against the metal.

“Hey, Leo,” Mikey tries, pushing himself upwards. He's already feeling restless. “Wanna help me make lunch?”

He doesn't need help, and if he does – he doesn't want it.

But he wants Leo, the opportunity to talk to him.

“Nah, I'll help Donnie here before he pops a vein. But Raph has been reading the same page for twenty minutes now, so I'm sure he'd be happy to help.”

Quickly, Raph closes the little booklet in his hands, cheeks pink.

Leo turns to smile at Mikey, almost on instinct.

But then his gaze falls on the car, his face drops, and he turns around awkwardly, like he's not sure what to do with himself for a moment.

Mikey wants to grab and shake him until he finally tells him what's wrong.

He thinks they might be fighting, which is strange, because he has no idea why they would be.

It took him a moment to realize it at first.

The first few weeks after the Krang were spent on mending old wounds, ripping out new ones, and it felt like years and years of things held back, never spoken out loud, spilling out all at once.

Mikey can recall the one time Leo found him making pancakes at four in the morning. Or attempting to, because his hands started to bleed again, and Leo held his wrist in place under the faucet, washing his palms with cold water and screaming himself hoarse.

And then Leo yelled: 'Are you trying to hurt yourself or are you really this dumb?', and suddenly Mikey felt like it wasn't about the pancakes at all.

But it's been three months since then, and there's no longer any doubt in his mind.

Leo is avoiding him.

It's confusing and it hurts, and it feels like he just woke up to find half of the walls in his house missing. And the worst part is just that:

He doesn't know why.

“Okay,” he says, all casual, because if Leo can lie, so can he.

He watches Leo forget himself for a moment, bringing his palm to his stomach like he wants to rub his hands together. Then he freezes, just for a moment, before letting his arm fall.

Mikey stands, giving his brother one final look.

Leo can't run forever, but he knows him too well to think he won't try.

It's a good thing Mikey isn't anything but stubborn.

***

America from a passenger window, as Mikey finds out over the next few days, is a lot bigger than he expected.

It's miles and miles of fields, and forests, and fields again, and he watches all of it roll pass with the sort of squashed amazement, like he can't quite believe it's real until they stop for a break, and he can take a breath, cities and villages, and trees, and lonely gas stations stretching out before him.

Mikey managed to convince Draxum to let them borrow his old cloaking brooches, and they quickly make great use of them, stopping at every monument and museum any of them finds mildly interesting (which in Leo's case includes not one, but two ''world's largest balls of yarn'').

But Mikey's favorite moments are the nights.

They sleep on the sides of the road, in the woods, in front of someone's field; in small tents with the occasional bonfire to keep them company, away from the busiest roads and civilization.

Just a few years ago, the thought of sleeping on hard, cold ground probably would’ve made all of his siblings wince in vague disgust. But they've grown tougher over the years, rougher around the edges, and he can't decide if it's a good, or a bad thing.

The days are hot, and the cold of the night feels soothing, and Mikey spends hours with his head tilted back, watching the stars, to then promptly pass out in his seat as soon as they start up again.

“Lucky bastard,” Donnie tells him one morning, yawning. “You get to be a passenger princess.”

Mikey, one of the two passengers not allowed behind the wheel, leans out of his seat to look at Donnie in the rear-view mirror.

“I wouldn’t be, if someone agreed to teach me how to drive.”

Donnie frowns, wrinkling his snout in a funny way.

“Let you drive my cars? I don't think so.”

Mikey doesn't even take it for anything other than a joke until Donnie's eyes widen suddenly, real panic quickly flooding his face.

“I mean, not like I think you'd be a bad driver!” He turns around to look at him. “It's not because of the- It's- I was just joking.”

“Dee, eyes on the road,” April says quickly, making a weird gesture like she wants to lean over and grab the wheel herself. She always seems a little on the edge when Donnie's driving, and no one can really blame her for it.

Donnie turns back with a quiet swear under his breath.

Behind him, Leo and Raph exchange silent looks. They all fall quiet for a moment, like they're expecting Mikey to flip out, and really, that makes him want to do just that.

Instead, he says:

“It's fine. I didn't assume you meant it that way.”

He probably shouldn’t feel too offended, even if Donnie did mean it in that way. He doesn't think he'd be able to keep the wheel straight anymore.

“Hey,” Leo says suddenly. He's holding a map Mikey didn't notice him grabbing. “There's another yarn ball, like, five miles from here.”

Raph quickly grabs at the map.

“No way.”

“I'm telling, you, man. There are so many.”

“They can't all be world's biggest,” April says from her seat next to the driver. “You think they just keep building new ones every once in a while?”

Leo's good at this. At turning everyone’s attention so effortlessly, so quickly, it's hard to even realize it at times.

Mikey watches him for a moment, trying to catch his gaze.

It never happens.

***

One day, when April's 'no radio until I've had my coffee' rule keeps them all quiet for the good chunk of the morning, Mikey pulls out his sketchbook.

He hasn't touched it in a while, and the thought of doing so now feels heavy. But the road is quiet, the view behind the window nothing but grass and flat ground, and he feels warm.

It's not until he opens up the sketchbook, pencil gripped in one hand, that he feels Raph lean forward, looking over the back of his seat.

Mikey can't see his face, but he can feel the way Raph's fingers tense on the material, the slow exhale that escapes him.

Mikey feels his jaw clench, his jagged nerves already flaring up.

“I'm fine,” he states, before his brother has a chance to say anything.

He feels like his whole life is now revolving around those words.

Yes, I'm fine. No, I don't need help. Yes, I can do this on my own. Over and over again.

Mikey clenches his pencil a little tighter, the contrast of the white pages and his black compression gloves stark.

Raph makes a face, like he begs to differ, but is not sure if he's ready for that fight.

“Are you sure?” He asks despite it. “Raph doesn't want you to-”

“Raph.” Mikey turns in his seat, pushing against his seatbelt to look at him better. “I'll be fine.”

He knows that his stare tends to be intense at best and intimidating at worse. Luckily for him, that is exactly the reaction he's currently seeking.

“I know,” Raph placates. “I thought-”

He doesn't really finish. His mouth draws into a thin line, a vague hum rising in the back of his throat.

“Hey, Big Guy,” Leo says suddenly from his seat in the front (it's his third time in a row winning the paper-rock-scissors for it, and Mikey starts to suspect he's cheating, somehow). “It's okay. Leave him be.”

Raph gives him a look, one that only older brothers seem to be able to understand, until he finally sighs, falling back against his seat.

“Alright, alright, sorry.”

A flash of familiarity washes over Mikey.

In many ways, Leo's always been like this.

First to laugh, first to say 'I told you so', first to back him up, first to defend him, even when Mikey was elbows deep in teenage rebellion and barely gave him any ground to stand on.

He was funny, the coolest person ever, larger than life and it made Mikey's chest swell with pride to say: ''This is my big brother and he's my best friend''.

Leo turns to him, cheek rested against the headrest, sending him a conspiratorial smile. Then his gaze drops slightly to the sketchbook thrown over Mikey's lap.

His expression wavers, something complicated showing in his eyes, until it all collapses. He turns back, eyes on the road.

Mikey clenches his jaw, feeling his own smile fade.

***

Mikey falls in love with roadside dinners – head over heels.

The food is mediocre at best and beyond vile at worse, the floor always feels sicky, and the tables seem dirty even when he watches the waitress wipe them down.

But there's something about it.

About walking in, their cloaking brooches pined to their shirts, and piling into a booth. About laughing, arguing about the menu and anything else that comes to mind. About making everyone at the dinner give them a dirty look, because they're being obnoxious and they're being teenagers.

Moments like that make Mikey feel whole again. Better, even.

Infinite.

Like they're just normal kids on a trip to catch last breaths of freedom before college, and they're young and unburdened, they have nothing to be afraid of, and things like 'death' simply don't happen to people like them.

“I'm getting the eggs,” Raph announces finally, putting down his menu.

“How many portions? Six?” April teases.

It sounds like she's joking, but Raph seems to actually be considering that option, humming softly.

Mikey turns to look out the big window. Kansas is nothing but fields and grass, and he watches the few lonely trees sway in the wind.

Absentmindedly he rubs his hands together.

They feel dry and achy today, like something's pushing at the tight skin from underneath. It feels weird with so many fingers. He's not going to let that ruin his day.

“How come they don't have vanilla milkshakes?” Donnie huffs, turning the menu over again. “That's, like, the most basic option.”

No one questions him on why he wants a milkshake for breakfast, because he will be driving later, and having him behind the wheel in a bad mood feels like a death wish.

“How dare they,” Leo says, in that tone of his where they can never tell if he's joking or not.

The waitress, previously busy with trying to start the coffee machine (seemingly by punching it several times), finally walks up to them.

She's looking down at her notepad, and there's a vague, practiced smile on her lips. She's around their dad's age, maybe with kids of her own, because she doesn't seem all that bothered by all the noise and chaos they've been causing.

When she's standing in front of their table, she finally looks up.

“Hey, what can I-”

She goes quiet, all of the sudden.

Her eyes sweep over all of them, her mouth slightly open, like the words she's been speaking every day for so long have suddenly escaped her mind.

And this is Mikey's least favorite moment.

The moment the illusion breaks.

Because they're not normal kids, they're here because their whole world fell apart just a few months ago, and there's nothing any of them can do to change that.

Her eyes go from Raph’s eyepatch, to the scars covering April's and Donnie's faces and arms, to Mikey's palms, finally landing on the left sleeve of Leo's hoodie.

“Oh,” she says, quietly.

(Art by @nerdy-turtle-enthusiast)

Leo wouldn’t sit next to Mikey, which hurt, but it means he can see his face now, the way his expression folds in on itself, until there's nothing left but a blank slate. It's hard to tell when he barely looks like himself.

Mikey aches.

Donnie clears his throat, loudly and only a bit rudely. Carefully, he raises one eyebrow.

“Oh!” The waitress blinks, suddenly flustered. “I'm sorry, I just- I'm sorry.” She looks to the side, embarrassed. “What can I get for you?”

By the time they get their food, it all slowly rolls back to normal.

Leo's smiling and joking along, and if there's a slight downturn to his lip – they all pretend to not notice.

He finishes his portion faster than Raph, which is almost absurd, and Mikey quickly gets the feeling they'll be stopping again very soon for him to vomit it all back on the side of the road.

“I'll wait in the car, okay?” Leo says, pushing back his empty plate.

He doesn't wait for a replay, grabbing his jacket and exiting the dinner like it burned him.

Mikey watches him go.

“He just needs a moment,” Donnie says, following his brother to the car with his gaze through the window. “He'll be fine.”

Mikey wonders then, if any of them noticed what’s happening between him and Leo.

He tells himself no, because that is what he hopes for.

But that's another lie, probably.

***

They're stopped at some forgotten rest stop, and it's a quiet evening, the setting sun covering the horizon in a pink hue. It's the sort of view that makes Mikey want to step away for a moment and just watch, because there's only so much family time one can manage in one day.

He's not the only one.

He finds Leo sat on one of the covered benches, his back pressed against the plexiglass. The left sleeve of his hoodie was trimmed, and he's playing with a loose thread, eyes fixated on something in the distance.

There's a nervous feeling in Mikey's guts, like all the butterflies turned into a mush and he might throw up at any moment.

But it's a chance he has to take.

“That's coming undone,” he says, chin pointing to his sleeve.

Leo blinks slowly, turning to him, like he needs to take a moment to fully digest his words.

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah.”

“Want me to fix it for you?”

He's not sure why he says it, because it was Dad who spent hours carefully altering every piece of clothing Leo owns. But he needs to say something.

“It's fine.”

They stay in silence for a moment, and Mikey turns his eyes to the horizon.

“What's so interesting out there?” He asks, not expecting to get a real answer.

Leo opens his mouth, stops for a moment.

“I don't... Know,” he says, but it sounds different.

Because he's been different since the Krang, and all of them know this by now.

He's quiet at the most unexpected of moments, distant and hazy, like your hand would go right through if you tried to reach him.

He smiles and laughs but it's not the same, like a speaker that's been dropped one too many time – everything sounds just slightly pitched.

Mikey wonders where he goes when he disappears like this.

“Gotta remind myself the world isn't all gray,” Leo says, suddenly. “Not like...”

He stops.

He blinks, looking at Mikey once again, and there's a strange expression, like he just realized who he's speaking to.

“Like what?”

“Like New York on a cloudy day,” Leo says, an easy smile fixed onto his face. “Come on, let's get back to the car.”

Mikey wants to scream.

Because they used to tell each other things like this, and Leo knows he knows, and he can't figure out why he's being lied to. Why his brother won't talk to him.

If he's trying to protect him in some misguided, backwards way, he's being a fool. If he thinks Mikey can't hear the way he wakes up some nights with a gasp, a silent scream still lingering on his lips. If he thinks Mikey doesn't notice the way he rubs at his chest sometimes, like he can still feel a linger of old pain there. If he thinks Mikey never notices the way he goes silent at the sight of red lights, static behind his eyes.

If he thinks Mikey doesn't have nightmares of his own.

Leo stands and Mikey wants to cling to him.

He wants to grab at his arms and dig in his claws and scream at him until Leo tells him what he's done wrong. Why he doesn't want to be his friend anymore.

He doesn't, and Leo pats at his arm as he passes him.

***

Utah steals Mikey's heart in all possible ways.

It's all red sand and dry land, cold night and the echo of something old and bigger than him in the wind, and stars that look back when he tilts his head up.

They camp further away from the road, where it feels like they're the only people left on the entire earth, and all of this, every moon, every rock, every breeze, is just for them.

They set up a small campfire inside an old metal barrel and sit around it for hours, swaddled in blankets and hoodies, and sweats, because the chill is calming, but unforgiving.

Mikey wears three layers at any given moment, curls up close to Raph in his sleep, and wishes the sun would never raise up again.

He wakes up one night, the sun still far behind the horizon, and there's a small rustle outside of his tent.

He doesn't stir at first, because his general aversion to anything horror related made his mind less likely to jump to axe murders and ghosts at the first opportunity.

But the sudden familiar footsteps make him frown, and he sits up. It's a full moon, and he watches Leo's shadow pass his and Raph's tent, his movements quiet but not silent.

Slowly, Mikey rises to his knees.

By the time he manages to pull on all of his clothes and crawl out of the tent without waking up his brother, Leo's already by the car, leaning against the hood, ankles crosses.

He's wrapped in jackets and hoodies, and they almost hide the way he flinches when he finally spots Mikey out of the corner of his eye. Almost.

“Hey. Why are you awake?”

Leo looks at him for a moment, then he squints slightly, like he's trying to hide a different expression.

“Why are you?”

Mikey considers telling him the truth but then doesn't.

“I had a nightmare.”

He feels bad lying when he doesn't need to, but it's worth it for how quickly Leo's face softens. It's half a truth away. He woke up this morning with cold sweat running down his back.

“Oh. Sorry.” Leo's quiet for a moment. Then, a little shyly: “Me too.”

It's a start, a small crack between the door and the frame, and Mikey throws himself to shove his foot into it.

“What was your about?” He asks.

Maybe it's a little too forward, because Leo doesn't answer him. He stares up at the night sky.

He's holding onto what's left of his left arm awkwardly, clenching and unclenching his fingers, like he's trying to soothe it over the layers of clothes.

Mikey's gaze lands on the side of the car, on the ugly smudges of paint he left on it, before quickly deciding he doesn't want to look at it any longer.

He walks up, sliding on the hood next to his brother.

“I've never seen a sky like this,” Leo confesses.

Mikey follows his gaze up, up, up.

“Yeah.”

“Not in New York.”

He says the last part oddly, and Mikey can't decide if it's homesickness, or the exact opposite. He looks down, watching Leo move his fingers again.

“Does that hurt?” He asks, pointing to his side with his chin.

“Not really,” Leo answers far too quickly, dropping his hand.

But Mikey knows he's lying.

There's some real elegance to the way Leo lies, like watching an expert work their craft. Would've fooled anyone else. Maybe even Mikey, just a few months ago.

But he sees the slight downturn to Leo's mouth, the way his jaw shifts in place, the way his chest staggers for a moment with every breath.

He's hiding pain, and it's the kind of pain Mikey knows all too well now.

“My hands hurt, too. Sometimes.” He stretches his arms, the scars on his shaky palms stark in the dim light.

He's trying to encourage vulnerability, but it must be the wrong thing to say, because his brother's mouth turns into a thin line, and he looks away.

His hand rests on the hood, like he's ready to push himself forward and run at any moment, and something in Mikey snaps.

“Are you mad at me?” He barks, finally.

Leo blinks, turning to him again. He seems slightly panicked, like that was the last thing he expected Mikey to say. Mikey would feel bad, if he wasn't so damn angry.

“What? No.”

He sounds honest. More than usual anyway. Mikey wants to believe him.

“You're being so weird around me.” He wraps a loose string from the edge of his hoodie around his finger. He doesn't pull it loose, because that would hurt more than it's worth. “I don't know what I did.”

Leo watches his hands, like he can't bear to look him in the eye.

“Nothing,” he says. “You've done nothing.”

Mikey bristles.

“Stop lying to me, that's so annoying.” He pushes his hands inside his pockets, and that finally makes Leo meet his gaze. “I feel like you hate me. I know you don't, but it feels like that, and I don't know why.”

It's all been brewing in him for longer than he realized.

It feels unfair.

He knows he's not entitled to Leo's attention, to his love, but it feels like he is, and he's past the point of caring about all the different ways in which that makes him selfish.

“I don't- Mikey.”

He says his name like Mikey just hurt him so deeply he's lost for words.

“Just tell me what's wrong,” he pleads. “Please.”

You're not alone, he wants to say. I want to be friends again.

I miss you.

Finally, Leo sighs, and it's like the breaking of a dam, his eyes suddenly glossy and wet in the moonlight.

“Mikey,” he says. “I ruined your life.”

That makes Mikey pause. All of it – his anger, sadness, bitterness – coming to a stop.

“What?” He asks, mostly for the lack of anything better to say.

And, because, really: what?

“I know you can't do art anymore.” Leo pushes himself away from the car, pacing nervously, counting down the fingers of his one hand. “I know you struggle at training. There are eggshells in everything you cook now and I-” He stops, taking a deep breath. “It's all because I did something stupid, and you had to save my ass.”

Mikey stares at him.

He stares and stares for what feels like hours, until he finally feels his voice return to him.

“Are you being deadass right now?”

There's the start of a laugh in his voice, but Leo must realize he doesn't find any of this funny, because his face remains appropriately miserable.

“I'm sorry.”

“Leo.” For a moment, Mikey wants to walk up to him. But then he doesn't, taking a breath. “If you ever thought, even for a second, that I wouldn't die for you, you were wrong.”

Leo laughs, a hollow and hysterical thing.

“Angelo,” he says, like he doesn't really believe he's being serious.

But he is.

He'd die for all of them, his whole family, over and over again.

“Master Michelangelo died opening that portal,” Casey told him months ago.

And Mikey thought: 'Yes. I would.'

He steps forward.

“You're right. You did a stupid thing. Because you're stupid and brave, and you always want to save everyone.” He walks up closer, taking one hand out his pocket to point it at Leo's chest. “And I saved your ass, because I love you.”

Leo's face softens, a small frown forming between his eyes.

“I wish you...” For a moment, Mikey thinks he might say: 'hadn't' and almost punches him square in the face for it. “I wish you wouldn't have to.”

“Me too,” he says, honestly. “But this isn't your fault. I knew what I was doing. Sort of.”

He doesn't want to say the last part out loud, but if he's being honest, he might as well go all out.

“I- Okay.”

Leo doesn't seem too sure, but it sounds like he's been holding all of this back a lot for a long, long time.

“You saved me too, you know?” Mikey asks. Leo looks at him like he didn't know that, and that's so absurd it almost makes him laugh for real. “You saved the entire world, idiot. And it-”

“Costed me an arm and a leg?” Leo smiles, all wobbly and unsure, and Mikey giggles, honestly.

“Exactly.”

“I was scared,” Leo says, “that you were going to hate me for it. I wouldn't blame you if you did. But I didn't want to see it.”

It's like weight off his shoulders, like finally digging far enough to notice the root of the problem. Even if he doesn't know quite what to do with it - he can see it now, and that makes everything click into place. “I won't.” Mikey holds out his hand, pinky pointed out. “Promise.”

Leo wraps their fingers together, shaking their hands a little.

“Yeah. Okay.”

And for a moment, it feels like they're kids again, sharing secrets and promises in fortresses made of blankets.

Leo lets their hands drop.

“Gosh!” Mikey tilts his head back with an exaggerated sigh. “I can't believe you got me so worried over something so stupid.”

“Sorry,” Leo says, and it sounds like he's only half joking.

He holds out his arm, fingers flexing.

And Mikey doesn't hesitate to reach forward, wrapping his arms around his brother’s shoulders.

Leo holds him like he's a lifeline, like he's afraid one of them will disappear if he lets go.

“Are you going to stop avoiding me now?” Mikey asks.

He meant for it to come out as a joke, but Leo's voice sounds dangerously shaky when he responds:

“Yes. I'm sorry.”

Mikey just holds him tighter.

He doesn't think this fixes everything. He doesn't think this fixes much at all, all things considered.

But the deep knot inside his gut is gone, and when he wakes up tomorrow – his home will feel whole again. That's all he wants for now, really.

They can deal with the rest later.

Step by step.

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

A Lullaby for You

I don’t remember falling asleep.

I do remember the hum. Soft, constant, curling around my thoughts like smoke, thick and sweet. It was there when I rested my head against Alastor’s shoulder, there when his fingers ghosted over my arm, there when my eyelids grew heavier, and the world felt warm and far away.

And now…

I’m standing.

The cold floor presses against my bare feet, jarring enough to send a ripple through the fog in my mind. I blink, slow, disoriented. My body feels weightless, as if it doesn’t quite belong to me, as if I only exist in half-dreams.

A voice—smooth, amused—cuts through the haze.

“Oh, dear! Sleepwalking again, are we?”

I turn, sluggish, to find Alastor standing in the doorway. He’s grinning, but his eyes flick over me with sharp, measured curiosity.

My lips part. Again?

“I—” My voice is hoarse, my throat dry. I swallow. “I don’t— I don’t sleepwalk.”

His grin doesn’t falter, but something shifts in his expression. A glint of something knowing. Something pleased.

“Well!” He strides closer, all casual delight. “You certainly do now! Curious, isn’t it?”

I shiver. Not from cold.

My eyes dart around the room, searching, piecing things together through the sluggish weight in my head. The furniture. The walls. The door just behind him, cracked open.

Not my room.

Alastor’s.

I’ve woken up here before.

My breath catches. “Alastor, I—”

“Tut, tut!” He presses a finger to my lips, silencing me with a quiet chuckle. “You’re exhausted, darling. You shouldn’t be up and about at this hour. Come along, let’s get you back to bed.”

He takes my wrist gently, leading me without resistance. I follow. Of course, I do. His touch is warm, his voice is warm, and my body feels so light.

The tune hums again. Soft, low, curling through my head like fingers through silk.

My mind drifts.

By the time we reach my bed, I barely remember how we got here.

Alastor lingers. His hand brushes my cheek, his fingers twitching slightly before pulling away. His grin is fixed in place, but there’s something behind it—something taut, something almost frustrated.

“There we are, my dear.” His voice is softer now, something syrupy and slow. “Sleep tight.”

I sigh, sinking into the mattress. My body melts into it, my thoughts unraveling into the lullaby still echoing in my mind.

The last thing I hear before sleep takes me is the faintest whisper of his voice.

“One day… you won’t wake up so far away.”

—————————

It keeps happening.

Every morning, I wake at the breakfast table, watching Alastor hum to himself as he cooks. The scent of fresh coffee and something sweet lingers in the air, but I can never remember how I got here. I don’t remember getting out of bed. I don’t remember dressing myself. I don’t even remember walking down the hall.

And Alastor is happier now. More chipper than usual, if that’s possible.

“Good morning, dear!” he calls over his shoulder, glancing at me with a wide, toothy grin. “You’re up early again! Isn’t that peculiar?”

I blink, slow, groggy.

I should say something. Should ask something.

But then he hums.

The tune is familiar now, low and warm, curling through my thoughts like mist. The confusion softens at the edges. My mind drifts, content to let go of the nagging questions.

“Breakfast is almost ready!”

I nod, murmuring something sleepy in response. My body is sore, my back aches, but I don’t question it. Not yet.

⸻

Later, when I finally excuse myself to my room, I lift my shirt to rub at the dull ache in my lower back.

I freeze.

There, scratched into my skin in delicate cursive—

Alastor.

My breath hitches. My fingers trace over the raised, tender marks, and something twists in my chest. This is wrong. This is—

“Ah-ah-ah!”

I whip around, startled.

Alastor is beside me, far too close, far too pleased. He tsks, shaking his head as if he’s caught me doing something naughty.

“Now, now, my dear, why so shocked?” He grins, tilting his head. “It’s quite the lovely signature, don’t you think?”

I open my mouth to speak—

And then he hums.

The familiar melody coils through my thoughts like silk, soft and gentle. My lips part, but no words come out. The unease fades, blunted by the warmth spreading through me.

His finger presses lightly against my forehead.

“You like spending your nights with me, don’t you?”

My body sways slightly. My back still aches, but it doesn’t matter. I nod. Of course, I do.

“Wonderful.”

His voice is rich with satisfaction.

I don’t remember how I get back to the breakfast table, but I find myself sitting there again, watching him cook, the soft hum still drifting in my ears. The memory of what happened slips further away, and all that remains is the dull ache in my back.

I brush it off.

⸻

When night falls, I’m awake.

I don’t know why, but I’m already standing. Already walking. My nightgown brushes against my skin as I pad down the dimly lit hallway, my feet moving without thought, without hesitation.

I stop in front of Alastor’s door. My hand lifts.

I knock.

The door swings open almost instantly, as if he had been waiting.

Alastor looms in the doorway, grinning, his eyes flashing red in the dark.

“Oh, what a delightful surprise!” he croons.

I swallow, my throat dry. “Can I…” My voice feels strange. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

The grin widens.

“Why, of course, darling!” He steps aside, gesturing grandly. “Come in, come in— I’d hate for you to be all alone!” He sounds pleased, like he’d been expecting this.

[imjustabeanie]

Flower prompts exchange

For @tillichan

Amaryllis- How would they act if you got sick or injured? How do you take care of them if they get sick or injured?

Xavier is somewhat of an airhead not gonna lie. Unless it concerns his lover aka you. When you get sick he’ll act somewhat like a mother hen but not a very good one. Xavier will insist on giving you some obscure medicine that he swears always helped him get better. That’s when you break it to him that…

“Xavier…baby…you are basically an alien”

Will he listen? Yes. Will he take it into consideration? Not really. Especially if the sickness lasts and isn’t getting better.

“Hey drink this tea I made you. Is there some medicine in it…? Maybe. Come on I even added honey so you can’t feel it!”

Now for food…Give him a star, this man learned how to cook your favorite dishes and even healthy snacks! Did he spend weeks training in his apartment and became the bane of existence of the fire department? Why are you asking questions you don’t want to know the answer.

But yeah, Xavier absolutely refuses to let you, his princess, do anything other than rest and get better when you’re sick. Unless it’s walks to have more fresh air. You even saw him speaking with you cat and dog, a serious expression on his face to explain the situation.

“Okay listen you two. She’s sick. Which means she needs to rest. You can’t demand snacks all the time now, yes I’m speaking to you adorable cat. Your mission is to cuddle with her, keep her warm and warn me if she’s trying to do chores. I’ll take care of the food- Why did you two whine?”

Even your animals fear him handling food. But as you can see, he takes over everything. Preparing tea just the way you like it, making sure you rest, even handling your responsibilities if possible. He is lowkey good at taking care of your garden. Your cat and dog immediately gravitate toward him, sensing his protective presence, and he doesn't mind at all. In fact, he makes sure they stay close, knowing their warmth and company bring you comfort.

At some point, he sits beside you, his presence both grounding and reassuring. If you struggle with the discomfort of being sick, he quietly soothes you, whether through reading aloud, playing soft classical music (he probably figures you’d appreciate that, given your background), or just staying near enough that you know you're not alone. And though he won’t admit it outright, you catch glimpses of how deeply he cares—like the way his brows knit together when you cough or how he lingers a second longer when tucking the blanket around you. Even when you’re sick, Xavier insists on cuddling. His excuse?

“I haven’t gotten sick in years. I doubt you can give it to me”

Famous last words.

Now if you’re feeling unwell due to an injury…it’ll be the same except he’ll have a guilty look in his eyes and will be more protective afterwards if it’s not a house injury of course. Xavier can’t help but think that this could’ve been prevented.

Now now now…a sick Xavier is a very stubborn Xavier. He’s still in denial that he got sick. It’s worse if he got injured, he’ll try to hide it but one of your animals will snitch on him by rubbing against the exact spot. Xavier will stay silent when you scold him for the reckless behavior. But you can see in his eyes that he’s touched by the concern and will let his guard down, letting you take care of him in his vulnerable moments.

By the way, if he gets sick right after you, he’ll tease you about it.

“Ah I seem to have caught the same illness as you how strange. And at such close interval. Perhaps this is the famous in sickness and in health”

Does he insist on taking his weird medicine? Yes. And they work on him because again it’s for his specie. So Xavier stop trying to argue.

It takes some effort to make him rest, but your patience and soft insistence are impossible to refuse. You prepare a warm drink for him, making sure it's not too sweet since you know he prefers subtle flavors. Your touch is gentle when checking for fever, but your concern is unwavering.

While he rests, you bring your cat and dog to sit near him, their calm presence acting as an unspoken comfort. You don’t overwhelm him with chatter, but you keep an eye on him, occasionally teasing him when he tries to downplay how bad he’s feeling. If he so much as tries to work while sick, you’ll give him a knowing look, one that silently says…

“Love. I dare you to accept that mission. I know you’re just looking for an excuse to buy snacks…ah ah! Don’t try to argue about this. Just sits down and sleep”

When he finally gives in and rests, you sit beside him, reading aloud from a book you know he might enjoy. The warmth of your presence, the softness of your voice, it’s more soothing than any medicine. And though he might not say it outright, the way he eventually closes his eyes and allows himself to relax tells you everything.

Xavier gets better rather fast. You’ve never seen a man rush faster to buy snacks in so called secret…But he also gets you a huge bouquet of flowers and your favorite food from the few restaurants that you like.

Begonia- Their reaction to you wearing their clothes

The moment Xavier sees you wearing his clothes, he freezes. His sharp eyes flick over you, taking in the way his jacket or shirt drapes over your smaller frame. There's no immediate reaction, just a pause, like he’s processing something he didn’t expect to affect him this much.

Then, his expression shifts. His eyes widen, mouth agape. Then he furrows his eyebrows. If you’re paying close attention, you might even catch the way his ears tint faintly pink.

“…did you lose your clothes? Not that I mind. I never thought my shirt could become such a cute dress”

Tease him about it. Maybe spin around or casually pull at the oversized sleeves. You’ll notice him trying to keep his composure in check. But ultimately failing.

“Did you pay for the rental? Or are you planning on excusing it with your cute face? You know what. I’ll forgive you if you pay with cuddles and wear my jacket so it smells more like you…”

Cue to him wrapping his arms around you for a long afternoon. He can’t properly explain it but it just makes him so happy when it’s you wearing his clothes. Despite Xavier often lending his clothes with no second thought to others, from now on he’ll refuse to do so unless it’s dire. He sees it as a you two things.

Fun fact, Xavier sometimes purposefully let you forget your jacket so you can wear his. He’s not being sneaky.

[coldgoldlazarus]

It's kinda funny how scattershot my approach to the 2D games has been lol.

AM2R: Beat, 100%

Zero Mission: Beat but haven't/won't complete percentage

Metroid: Completed percentage but haven't beat

Dread: Working on it

What a skip lol

I want to play Super and Fusion and the other two versions of Metroid II properly, I've watched enough playthroughs to have a good feel for them but it's no replacement for actually experiencing them myself. But I do think I want Return Of Samus to be the last one, (until future releases anyway) but not in a "putting off the worst until all other options are exhausted" way, more a "saving the best for last" way. I already know I'll love it for the story and how that's conveyed, but I want it to be special.

[wickjump]

a formal thank you to jakei for not blocking me for talking about cross 174832898 times a day. i probably would block me i'm really annoying. any way i very much extremely appreciate you andyour au.hhave a good break your so cool

love wick

[thornheartfelt]

We get part A of the breeding and genetics exam tomorrow. Finding out what species it's going to be based around, and three hours to research and write down whatever information we think we may need for questions that may come up. So in other words I am channeling the spirit of Mor.din to pass this thing in January.

[greenevergreens]

Great question!! I'm glad you asked.

Also after this point everytime I say you, or your cat, I am not talking about you specifically Avery. I'm instead saying you and your cat as my way of talking to the audiance as a whole.

Cats can go outside and it not only not be harmful to their health but actually be very healthy and enriching for them IF and only if, they're supervised, and or in an enclosed space.

People will builld little catios for their cats that have pet grade mesh lining so they can get some fresh air, see all the sights and smell all the smells without risking eating something they shouldn't or killing off the native birds.

I've also seen people get their cats little harnesses (it needs to be a harness don't walk your cat on their collar, it's NOT SAFE) and take them on walks, this is also great becase it's giving them exersize, and lets them exlpore the space around them in a safe way.

There's also people who will install cat proof fence toppers (it's like a roller that keeps them from getting over), and will allow their cat to play outside supervised. Now personally this I'd say is very much a case by case basis, some cats are VERY fast and talented at escaping open spaces, and as such would be at high risk of finding a way out. However if you have an elderly cat or a cat that can't easily jump or can't jump very high a fenced in backyard could be a very easy and benifitial way to get your cat some outside time in a safe way.

While allowing a pet outside will always have risks to it such as getting fleas, possibility of getting parasites, and (even with the most caution taken) a possible run in with a dangerous animal, if done correctly, the benifits can outweight the harm. Especially if your cat is prone to depression or anxiety being inside all the time.

There are also other ways to enrich your cat if those (catio, walking your cat, supervised outside time) aren't possibilities. Such as cat running wheels, finding things to bring in from outside that might have interesting smells on it. And plenty of toys that mimic their natural prey.

This is to say that the biggest risks to your cat if left to free roam outside, are stuff like cars when they try to cross the road (which if you live in any urban setting is garenteed considering cats can travel suprising distances from home, a half of a mile or more each day). Other free roam or feral cats that may be sick and therefore could get your cat sick, not to mention the risk of infection or mortal wound from a cat fight.

Then there's also dogs, even if free roaming dogs isn't common in your area, dogs still get out and get lost and then will likely become another animal that could easily kill or injure your cat. Not to mention how cats don't understand the idea of a fenced in yard, meaning any fence they cross or jump, or crawl under could be the yard of a very aggressive or high prey drive dog.

Even if your cat is able to get away from another animal trying to attack it, that doesn't mean it's safe. If a dog latches onto the right part of your cat's back, the cat can become paralized, and a paralized animal is easy prey, and it's harder for the cat to get home if it's back legs don't work.

Then there's all the things your cat could eat, if you can't watch your cat they could get into all types of food and trash that's harmful to them. They could get their head stuck in a bag, or can that then leaves them at risk of suffocation, dehydration or starvation, as they're unable to eat or drink. Or find their way home due to how htey can't see. An animal that can't see an attack coming, and can't see it's attacker is more likely to be killed and eaten by another animal.

Then there's the aspect no one likes talking about, but it still needs to be discussed, not everyone is nice, and there are plenty of people who either are apathetic to an animals suffering or worse, activelly enjoy causing harm to animals.

An animal free roaming has no one to protect it from, the 13yr old with the pellet gun, the grouchy neighbor that owns some traps and a gun, the neighbor that puts out poison to deal with rats, rats that can then be eaten by your cat, and die as a result, or the troubled person who takes their anger out on animals.

What I'm trying to say is, that it's not so much a case of outdoors bad and indoors good, but while yes keeping your cats inside will protect them and keep them far safer than they'd be if they were free roaming ouside, the outdoors isn't all bad, it can also enrich your cats life and provide plenty of exersize if you know how to do so safely.

This isn't to say that there isn't anything inside that could cause harm to or even kill a pet, it's more that you have far more control on your living space, and your actions in said livinv space, to keep it safe for your pet/s, than you do on the outside world.

You have no control if people litter, or if they leave plastic bags that once contained food stuffs on the ground or if someone in your neighbor hood just LOVES Lilies and plants them all over their garden. (If you aren't aware lilies are INCREDIBLY toxic to cats, and even if just some pollen gets on their fur and they lick that off during normal grooming, that can kill them).

Sorry for the wall of text, but I have A LOT to say on this topic, I've grown up practically always having a pet cat. And as such care deeply about their health and wellbeing.

Two of the most frustrating types of people when it comes to pet care are people who either:

A- Think that pets have no will of their own and therefore anything and every single thing, a person does to an animal is somehow abusive. Because, in their mind, there's no possible way this animal could indicate it isn't like that or make the thing stop. ~ Example, people who think that putting a costume on a cat is inherently abusive. While completely ignoring all the cat's body language that indicates that AT WORST it's MILDLY annoyed or confused. ~ Example 2: People who think having a service dog is abusive, ignoring how any good handler will immediately retire their service dog to a regular pet the second the dog gives indication it's not enjoying the work.

And

B- People who think that the will of an animal should never be ignored or stopped because the animal must know better. So if your cat wants to go outside, you should just let it. It doesn't matter that literally shortens its lifespan by like four times. He wants to go outside there for you should let it. ~ Example: People who let their cat free roam outside, because it “makes them happy” completely ignoring how they're slicing their cat's lifespan to a FOURTH of what it should be. And that they're condemning their cat to a painful, slow, and lonely death. ~ Example 2: People who refuse to train their dog out of harmful or dangerous behaviors because “they're just friendly!” or “they just want to say hi”. And then act all surprised and indigent that their untrained dog attacked someone, or got attacked because you never put the care into properly socializing them, because “they're so sweet!” or whatever other bullshit you tell yourself to justify being lazy.

[bookwyrminspiration]

can i drop into your inbox to chat about books? asking as anon bcoz i dont want to literally drop into your inbox without notice :3

oh absolutely!! book chats are always welcome here. though of course no promises I've read whatever book(s) you want to talk about--but! i'm always down for recs and very easy to convince to add things to my tbr :)

[actualhumansunshine]

I don't think there is much he could have changed in the song without sticking to the core of the song which he likes to do so there was not much space for change...I wonder what other song options he had though, is there any other popular song right now that fits his vibe?

Heaven was great probably the best version but I feel it is still missing something idk what it is ,it just feels incomplete?

i mean i have to believe he's creative enough that he could have come up with SOMETHING. but if there was really nothing to be done, that makes it such an interesting choice in the first place because 1:1 recreations have never really been his MO before and there's literally an entire world of songs out there to choose from.

and as far as heaven goes, i agree?? but i think the reason why it feels so incomplete is because...it is??? it's not necessarily his fault tho, it's more just the state of the industry right now. no intros, no bridges, tons of repetition so the song can be short as hell and streamed more times in the same 24 hour period or whatever. i get why it is the way it is, but part of me does wish they'd maybe fleshed it out a little bit more in certain parts :/

[humanjarvis]

lonely millionaire

synopsis: sylus likes when you spend his money.

tags: suggestive (mdni), sylus sits you on his lap while you drain his bank account, it's for a cute reason though, dry humping, size difference, teasing, sylus is a scoundrel, use of "kitten" and "sweetie" cause we stick to the canon over here pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mc word count: 640

a/n: i don't really have anything to sa—omg this is my first non-caleb post! but yeah i've been thinking of this for a while. this is the most explicitly sexual thing i've written with worse to come

“Why don’t you get that one, too?” Sylus rumbles into your neck, pointing to a luxurious dress on your screen.

You’re seated on his lap in the bed you share, his legs caging your smaller frame while he peeks over your shoulder at the laptop in front of you. For the last 40 minutes, you’d been browsing the website of the most exclusive boutique in Linkon. It’d been Sylus’s idea—To get you something nice for being such a good hunter, he’d said—but as he urges you to keep adding opulent pieces to your cart—dresses, skirts, shoes, you name it—you start to suspect an ulterior motive. 

Restless, you turn around to face him. But before you can speak, he steals your lips in a lewd, wet kiss, his thumb holding your chin in place while he swipes his tongue through your mouth. 

“Hmm?” he hums when he releases you, expectantly peering into your eyes. 

Dumbfounded, you stare up at him before his slow smirk jolts you back into your right state of mind. “Sylus! Stop distracting me. You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” you accuse with a glare. 

“I don’t particularly enjoy being your distraction, kitten. I’d rather have all your attention in the first place,” he replies, wearing an infuriating look of triumph. 

“You know what I mean,” you whine, thwacking his shoulder in exasperation. “You have me in your lap while I spend enough to buy a house on things I don’t need. I don’t get it—are you enjoying this?” 

Sylus blinks lazily. Slowly, he chuckles before rolling his hips into the plush of your backside. “You’re well aware of how much I'm enjoying it, sweetie.” 

Startled, you jerk your hands to his thighs, the laptop landing onto the bed with a soft thud. “Sylus,” you breathe, a whimper escaping you as he grinds upwards again. “I-Is this really okay? You’ve been so tired lately, you can’t hide it from me. What if I spend too much and you have to work harder?”

Sighing, Sylus snakes one thick arm around your waist, pulling you further back into his chest. As he splays his large hand across your belly, you feel his body warming yours, making your core clench with need.

“Kitten,” he drawls, nuzzling your shoulder. “When I’m out there making Onychinus deals, putting my life on the line just to come home coated in someone else’s blood—it gets…tedious, sometimes. Sometimes I wonder if I should give it all up so we can start fresh somewhere new,” he confesses, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “But having you here with me, knowing I'm putting my life on the line for you? So you can spend what I earn for you, so I can give you all the pretty little things you could possibly ask for? It makes it worth it, kitten. It brings me…peace. Satisfaction.” 

Throughout his musings, he’s been rubbing you harder and harder against his rigid length. Feeling it pulse beneath you, you moan softly and reach your arm back, threading your fingers in his hair. “As long as…as long as you like it,” you pant. “Want you to be happy.”  

His deep chuckle hits your neck, sending shockwaves down your spine. “Won’t you help me relax, then? After all, I've been so tired lately,” he mocks, nipping your ear. 

“Now,” he starts again. “How about you look at the accessories page next, hmm? Let’s see the handbags.”

It’s an hour later when Sylus is finally satisfied with the subtotal of your shopping cart. 

He holds his card out in front of you while you type in the information, and once the order goes through, he captures your lips in a kiss, tender but claiming. 

“What’s your schedule for tomorrow look like, sweetie?” he rumbles, pressing you close. “I think I’d like to look at some jewelry.”

[bonniepop]

another night where you fight, another night of silence. another night where miya osamu sleeps with his back to you.

the realization that there is not much more you can do to save your relationship clutches at your chest with an iron grip.

the gravity of it makes you whimper. pressing your lips together, you shakily push yourself up to sit blinking back tears while blindly stepping around for your slippers, willing yourself not to sob—not here, not where he can hear. your toes touch the fluff of them, and you hurry to slip them on. you need to get out of here.

as quiet as possible, you leave your boyfriend in your shared bedroom.

you stumble to the couch and kick off your shoes, blindly searching until your fingers catch the lampshade switch. you yank it to provide some light, rattling as it flings back into place.

you pull your knees to your chest and press your forehead against your kneecaps. a numb part of your brain thinks oh, so this is where this was, when you think of the misery that quieted itself, replaced with a numbness that overtook you during the fight you had with him earlier.

the numbness that made your limbs feel like ice when he clicked off the phone call without even hearing you out.

you wanted to tell him so much, but in the face of his blank gaze and dismissive demeanor, you shut off. you have more fight in you, you know that. but tonight you just couldn’t. couldn’t listen to him tell you that he needed more from you—more support, more time, more patience.

you’ve given him that, right? your brain runs with thoughts you can't keep up with. you gave him yourself. you have, for months, for years. you did what you could. you’ve withstood lonely anniversaries, forgotten birthdays, broken promises. you’ve done everything you could. you gave what you could. you gave everything you could.

i want you to come home, you wanted to tell him eatlier tonight. come home. you’re never home. i know you’re busy at work and you’re doing what you love but please, ‘samu. please. 

love me, too.

your body wracks with a sob, the hurt fresh, as if the words that you never got to say wounded your insides instead. you wanted to tell him that, you wanted to beg for it, beg for his time, beg for his attention, beg for him to love you back. but time and time again he just turns and says he’s tired, he doesn't want to hear it, and the moment is gone, and now the fear of knowing that leaving things unsaid will destroy you, will destroy him. will destroy both of you.

you huddle closer into yourself and sob, a sharp sound in your ears making your head pound.

“babe?” you hear through the ringing in your ears, and suddenly warm hands are on your arms. “babe, what’s wrong?” his voice is calm against your turmoil. “are you having a panic attack?”

“’samu, i’m—” you shudder and he leaves for a moment, flitting to the kitchen to grab you some water. 

“drink, please,” he tells you, gently unfurling you to sit. you comply with shaky limbs, taking the water he’d given you in your delicate grip. a few sips are enough to calm you down, but the fear is still there.

he gingerly takes the glass and sets it aside. he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and soothingly rubbing his thumbs against your skin. his fingers are hot, almost like a furnace, but when you realize that he's not, he's fine, your hands are freezing, you resist the urge to pull away as he warms your palm.

when he looks up to smile at you, you see the exhaustion on his face, and, instantly, you hate yourself for it. for this.

"i'm sorry," you blurt out, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

his hand leaves yours and cups your cheek. "for what, baby?"

“i love you so much, osamu,” you tell him without thinking, voice thick and wet and miserable. you press the palm of the hand he let go of against his cheek, hiccuping when he closes his eyes to lean into your touch. 

“i love you, too,” he says, ready to apologize for the fight, but it's not about that.

not anymore.

you pull away. the confusion and hurt on his face is making everything worse.

“i love you so much,” you tell him, desperately wishing that he could understand. “but i—” you sob, “but, osamu, i can’t anymore.”

osamu presses his lips together, saying nothing. you hear him sniffle, and his fingers come forward to brush at the tears on your cheeks and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“i love you so much,” you confess. “i would do anything for you. and i have, i have for years. i’ve tried my best, but osamu, i’m so tired,” you sob. your voice feels like its giving out but the desperation makes the words claw themselves out of your mouth. “i’m so tired, i'm so tired and i'm so lonely, and—and—and i love you so much, but i have nothing left to give.”

you pull your hands away to hunch over and cry into your palms unable to face him. messily, you wipe at your face and push your hair back. you give him the most apologetic smile you can muster, but you're unable to see his face through your tears. “i’m so sorry i can’t give you more, osamu.”

you hear him sniffle and when you wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands, his eyes are glassy. then he closes his eyes.

the pain that washes over his face is absolutely unbearable. the furrow of his brow and the wrinkle of his chin, the lines by his scowl that you know is him trying his best to keep it together.

when he opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes are no longer glassy. your heart breaks for the pain he refuses to show. “what’s next?”

your smile is sad and wet with tears. “i think you know.” you brush his hair back and cradle his face with your hands. “let’s… let’s do this in the morning, okay?”

he nods, looking away. he licks his lips and shakes his head, and he turns to face you with a furrowed brow and a little more composure despite his watery gaze. but it doesn’t take long before his face crumples and he rushes to hide his face against your legs. his quiet sobs are pained and miserable, his chest shaking as he cries. 

you press your face against his hair and cry with him.

—

the morning greets you kindly, the soft sunlight bathing your room in a sweet glow. it’s early, but you can’t keep sleeping. there’s a lot to pack.

your eyes feel hot and swollen, and bones feel heavy beneath your skin, weighing you down from getting up from the bed. still, you fight. you push yourself up to sit and notice that you’re alone. unsurprising, really; osamu has been leaving earlier and coming home later. onigiri miya needs care, needs nurturing, so it’ll blossom and grow. you need to stop begrudging him for it.

you finish your morning ablutions in the bathroom and head out to the kitchen, but when you open your bedroom door, the smell of food hits your nose like a smack to the face. your stomach twists when you see a familiar broad back—osamu didn’t leave—and your fingers turn cold.

the door slides shut behind you and he turns. “good mornin’,” he says quietly, shutting off the stove.

“good morning,” you say, walking to your kitchenette. when you see the spread on the table, you gape despite yourself. “osamu. what is—what.”

he flushes, sliding a delicious looking steak unto a plate and setting it alongside the other plates—nearly every single plate you own, you note—and your dining table is bursting with food. “cooked breakfast.”

“for how many people?” you ask, incredulous. “i tried t'remember everythin’ you liked,” he said with a sniff, and your heart crinkles at the edges, because that means something.

“thank you,” you whisper, and you quietly take a seat while sets aside the dishware he used. 

when he finishes, he turns to look at you, leaning on the counter. it takes him a while. “when you leave,” he says, “i’m going to try again.”

you stare at him, confused. you say nothing and wait for him to continue.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he says, and he rubs his face in frustration. “but i know i’ve—i know i fucked up. i love you, and i never should’ve hurt you.” he inhales through his nose. “but i did, and i can’t change that.

“but i’m not giving up on you. not on us. you—” he clears his throat, and the dark circles beneath his eyes makes your heart feel tight. “i’ll… if i have to start all over again, i’ll do it,” he whispers, walking closer and taking your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “i’ll win you back.”

“osamu,” you whisper, and his face crumples again.

“i love you too much to let you go,” he says, voice breaking as he fights back tears. “and i know that makes me a jerk. but i’m… i love you, so much—so fucking much, and i hate myself for not making you feel that. for hurting you.”

he gets on his knees and tears are streaming down your face. “leave me if you have to,” he says brokenly.

“if you need space, i’ll understand. but please,” he begs. “please don’t give up on me.” 

he does the unthinkable. he curls over and bows, back curved and forehead pressed against the backs of his hands, pressed against the floor.

the horror that overtakes you is beyond words. 

you drop to the floor to pull him upright, not letting him do this. he won’t do this to himself, you won’t let him. not for anyone, not for you. you pull his face against yours and kiss him as hard as you can, crying as you do.

you won't let him do this.

later, you sit on the couch, arms around osamu’s middle as you lie on his chest. the idea that this could be the last time you held him like this made you want to burst into tears again.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, pushing your hair out of your face, gently guiding your chin up. “please, just… give me another chance.”

you look up at him, and your eyes meet.

—

“hey!” atsumu greets warmly as soon as you enter the restaurant, spreading his arms wide to engulf you in a hug. “it’s so good t’see you!“

“hi, ‘tsumu,” you greet, returning the hug. 

he motions for you to sit as he picks up the menu. “know what you want?”

you nod, not even bothering to pick up the menu. “how are you? how’s training?”

“’m good! training’s good. teammates are pretty good, too.”

"yeah? like who?"

atsumu makes a show of looking at the menu. "oh, i don't you know them."

you roll your eyes at his obvious ploy to get you to start talking. “fine. ask me.”

atsumu instantly leans in, conspiratorially covering his mouth with the menu and whispering, “how are you two? it’s been over a month now, right?”

“oi.” you twist your head to smile up at the newcomer. “stop bothering them, ‘tsumu.”

atsumu glares at his twin. “i’m the one who invited ‘em to lunch!”

osamu rolls his eyes and lays down a platter of onigiri in front of you. he snatches the menu and smacks his brother’s wandering hands with it before they get to close. “these are not for you.”

“but that’s a lot!" atsumu whines. "can’t i have any?”

“no,” osamu says resolutely, then turns to you and gives you the softest smile he can muster, pinning the menu by his side and arm.

"i haven't even ordered yet!" atsumu complains.

osamu ignores him. “let me know what you think.”

“okay,” you say with a smile. 

“and let me know if you need to take out anything,” he continues, “i’ll wrap it up for you.” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. “enjoy.”

“thank you, ‘samu,” you tell him before he turns to leave. 

he smiles back at you and heads back behind the bar.

atsumu has evidently forgotten about ordering, because his eyes shuttle back and forth between you two before nodding considerably. “so i take it things are going well?”

“yeah,” you admit, picking up an onigiri. “going really well, actually.”

“you’ve been…” atsumu searches for the word, “is it still called ‘dating’? you broke up. but… entertaining each other…?”

“don’t hurt yourself,” you joke. “but yeah. let’s call it dating. and it’s going well, thanks for asking.” you take a bite of the onigiri.

“does he still have a chance?” atsumu asks, genuine curiosity on his face.

you chew thoughtfully as you look back at osamu, who’s smiling at a customer. you remember that bright morning, when he helped you pack, helped you move into your friend’s apartment. when he cooked all that food, and you found it neatly packed away in a thermal bag that had a handwritten note, reminding you to eat well.

you remember the next day, when he showed up at your friend’s door, holding flowers and inviting you out to get some ice cream. you remember his messages, his calls, his check ins on you, littered across the days, asking you how you are or if you’re eating or if you need any food.

you could call him if you needed any help, if you needed anything at all.

but reality sets in when you think of how one phone call could be a mistake, it stops you from searching his name each time you pick up the phone.

in your mind, you see his bent form, his begging, his tears. you remember his smiles and his hugs and his ‘see you later’s, his gradually growing list of unbroken promises. you remember the effort, the time he’s putting into you, putting aside for you. you remember how hard he tries for you.

it's like everything is new again.

his eyes catch yours and he gives you a small wave, and you wave back, your stomach fluttering.

it's not new, you think. it's better.

you swallow your food. it's delicious.

“yeah,” you say softly, “he does.”