#that's literally RIGHT when I wake up. I am not awake enough to handle a phone call immediately after getting up.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

people stop calling me at 8am challenge

[wen-kexing-apologist]

LOSING MY MIND OVER UNKNOWN EPISODE 8

Another week, another incredible episode of Unknown, another shout into the ether that they do not fuck this up for me in the final four episodes. Chris and Kurt are so good together as scene partners, but I am definitely dubbing Episode 8, The Chris Episode because holy hell was Chris juggling so many different emotions from Qian throughout the entire episode in all its tense and awkward glory. 

I think I want to talk about eyes. Because I just recently rewatched Episode 6, and was losing it all over again at Qian’s complete refusal to make eye contact with Yuan from the moment Yuan says he’s suffering until he returns from the United States. Especially because in Episode 8, he barely makes eye contact with Yuan but for very different reasons. 

Bedroom 

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Qian wakes up the morning after Yuan’s return to find Yuan sleeping at his side. Now, knowing that Yuan is really only pretending to be asleep, and that he will continue to terrorize Qian throughout the episode, Yuan has positioned himself in such a way that the very first thing Qian has the ability to see when he wakes up is Yuan’s face. In the initial moment of wakefulness, Qian uses this private, quiet moment to study Yuan’s face, after years. 

And similarly to the end of Episode 7, we look through Qian’s eyes via close up of Yuan’s face on screen only to hear Yuan say “seen enough?” Which is where we get a very good microexpression from Chris because Qian’s eyes go slightly wider, surprised that Yuan is a) actually awake and b) able to tell that he is Looking. But Qian does not look away. 

Yuan opens his eyes, and Qian shifts, lifting his head up slightly as if he’s dialed in…but he is only able to maintain eye contact with Yuan for (literally) 2 seconds, before snapping himself out of it and sitting upright to take himself out of physical line (or plane) with Yuan. But he immediately looks back down at Yuan looking very dazed and at least slightly confused, and from my perspective a lot of that is informed by the fact that Qian is having to adjust to Yuan being back home. But the longest Qian can bear to look at Yuan is approximately 5 seconds. 

gif by @thecasualfkfan

Qian, man of few words, tries to cut the thick silence with a caregiving question ‘are you hungry?” cut to the mirror where we see a reflection of only Qian, a jarring site because typically when Qian and Yuan are in the same room, they are framed together. “I’ll take you to the hotpot place,” and Yuan says nothing, so Qian tries to cut the tension again by saying he’ll message San Pang and Xiong. 

“No need for the trouble. We can eat at home.” Yuan replies, and it gives Qian pause. Years have passed since he last saw Yuan, Yuan is established in his adulthood, successful, independent, confident, and sure. Qian has not been coping well, and the easy relationship, the familiar dynamic that he once had with Yuan is gone, he has no idea how to exist around Yuan right now. Qian turns his head slowly, to look at Yuan once more, but Yuan is up and out the door, leaving Qian to just stare at the space he left behind for a moment. 

We get the second isolated framing of Qian in the mirror as his eyes move from the space by his bed where Yuan sat towards the door that Yuan just walked through. 

So what I love about this episode is that Yuan knows his feelings, and I think he has a pretty good understanding of where Qian’s feelings rest now that Qian has called him home. Yuan has a goal, Yuan knows what he wants, the distance has very much helped to calm the storm of feelings that Yuan was having a hard time keeping a handle on when he was younger. Qian on the other hand, has a few more crises to work through before he can feel grounded in his changing feelings for Yuan. Which is what I think we are watching him parse through right before the intro when his eyes follow Yuan out the door and then close accompanied by a deep intake of breath. A moment to process what just happened. 

This episode is very aptly titled The Distance Between Us and Love because Yuan is doing nothing but playing with distance. He is being petty, he is pushing buttons, he is- I would claim -essentially edging Qian by getting just close enough to inspire physiological responses in Qian without completely closing the distance. 

Dinner 

And that distance also includes a demonstration to Qian about how Yuan is capable of maintaining an emotional distance from him now that Yuan’s priorities have changed and he is no longer blindly, overwhelmingly devoted to Qian. And it’s funny in the show because it feels petty, because it is a little petty, but under the surface there is a lot of richness in understanding that Yuan’s position as an adoptee, as a traumatized child, as someone that was saved and probably felt the need to maintain his place, who didn’t have the same level of security in the household as Xiao Bao has had, Yuan has made Qian his number one priority for a significant part of his life, so much so that Qian has fallen right back in to the routine of anticipating being cared for by Yuan upon his return, but it is subject to change. To me, this entire episode reads like Yuan telling Qian “you have the choice not to engage in a relationship with me, but the emotional distance and deprioritization you are experiencing right now will be the new normal, can you bear that?” 

gif by @ueasking

Qian walks up to the table and sees a truly impressive layout of food in front of him, and he looks somewhat shocked between the food and Yuan, the food and Yuan. Yuan has always been a helpful person, he has been trying to ease Qian’s burdens his entire life, but he’s an adult now and thus his reciprocated care means actually being able to provide for and support Qian holistically. Yuan walks out of the kitchen with a hangover cure, and Chris performs an inspired bit of improv and reaches for the glass, because Qian has slipped back into a world where someone cares about him first. But like I said, Yuan isn’t acting that way right now. 

I love that Qian looks to his right to see if San Pang caught his #awkwardmoment and that is sustained throughout the dinner as Qian keeps stealing glances at Yuan, but looking away before he can have any silent interactions with Yuan at all. My favorite part of this scene is Yuan’s interaction with San Pang who is also absolutely awkward with Yuan. In this scene we get a massive dig from Yuan to both San Pang and Qian, and on the surface it’s petty but if you look in an additional layer, there is so much disrespect behind Yuan’s words. 

gif by @ueasking

“San Pang. Thank you. I’ve thought a lot during my time abroad. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have the chance to go to the US and get what I have now. I’m grateful to you. Thank you.”

It is important, in my mind, that the end of this statement is followed with a cut to Qian’s face and not San Pang’s because it wasn’t San Pang that sent Yuan to the US. He was the one who delivered the news for sure, but it was the money Qian had saved over the course of years that sent Yuan abroad. There is soooo much disrespect in this statement because Yuan is ignoring Qian’s contribution to his time abroad and he is telling San Pang, essentially, that anything that happens between Yuan and Qian moving forward is directly because of him. 

And now, a commercial break for the funniest scene in the show to date: 

Bedroom 2

Here we start with the hands :) Yuan enters Qian’s room and immediately moves behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Qian is mad about San Pang and Lili and he is fully not making eye contact with Yuan, barely even turns in his direction when he enters the room, puts as much distance between himself and Yuan as he can in his room. 

“Ge. Have you ever thought that we can’t accept changes because we’re too used to the way things were?”

gif by @ueasking

And we get Qian finally and slowly looking in Yuan’s general direction, Yuan moves to the bed, to Qian’s side and over the course of the conversation Qian looks towards Yuan about three more times, but he never turns completely, he never looks directly. Not even when Yuan calls him “Wei Qian” which was a brilliant fucking move on his part when he’s trying to drive home the point that the nature of people’s relationships to one another can change. Yuan leaves and the camera cuts to him leaving exiting Qian’s room and entering his own and a few seconds later, Qian opens his door, standing in the doorway in a similar fashion to how we saw him at the end of Episode 6 right after Yuan had left the house to go to the States. 

At the Computer

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

As time continues, and Qian has not verbalized his own feelings for Yuan, Yuan starts pushing him a little harder. At first there was distance, then touch, and now he is getting bolder, literally getting in Qian’s face when he isn���t paying attention so that Qian is forced to look on in surprise and he’s asking Qian a question with his face so close there is literally no where for Qian to turn to. And Qian responds not only by looking at him, but by scanning his face, eyes flitting down to Yuan’s lips two separate times. Yuan lets the moment hang long enough for Qian to show his uncertainty around what is about to happen (is Yuan going in for a kiss?) before he breaks the tension by asking Qian a business question. But he’s been successful in shaking Qian because Qian looks back at Yuan twice in ten seconds, while Yuan just continues to stare directly at Qian to prevent Qian from stealing glances. 

Being Fed

gif by @ueasking

We cut to probably my favorite scene of the episode with Yuan feeding Qian, mostly because Qian has no fucking idea what to do about it. Also because it has absolutely one of my favorite blocking moments when Qian reaches for the bowl in Yuan’s hand at the same time Yuan leans forward to feed him. I love this moment a) because the execution of the motion is so smooth and b) because of the concept of food as love. Qian here is trying to take the food from Yuan while Yuan is reaching out with the spoon to feed Qian his love. Qian takes the proffered bite apprehensively, and then rejects the continued action by taking the bowl from Yuan. 

And Yuan as he usually is, spends all his time staring straight at Qian, so that Qian is forced to catch his eye if and when he looks in Yuan’s general direction. Qian is really struggling with his feelings for Yuan this episode so he rushes to finish his food and get the fuck out of dodge. Between each bite he looks to Yuan for just a second before turning his head further and further to the side so as not to catch Yuan in his periphery. 

“They say if you like someone, even if you wear a mask you can see it in their eyes” Qian cannot look at Yuan, because Yuan is bleeding his feelings for Qian. Qian cannot look at Yuan because Qian is bleeding his feelings for Yuan. But unfortunately for Qian, it is not just his eyes that give him away. Because he has not reckoned with his new feelings, Qian is incapable of interacting with Yuan without being the most awkward motherfucker alive. Because Yuan is confident in what he wants and Qian is still having to adjust. Qian finishes the food and hands the empty bowl back to Yuan, and just as he is about to remove himself from the situation, Yuan scoops up the very last remnants of the meal and starts to feed it to Qian. 

gif by @coffeelover5eva

Qian for just a second jerks his head back, in the same way that he moved his head slightly backwards when he turned to find Yuan staring at him in his bedroom. Much in the same way that he will take a step back later when Yuan moves to fix his collar. But because Qian does have feelings for Yuan and is fighting a losing battle, that instinctual reaction to put some distance between them, to not be cared for, quickly makes way into a deflated submission as he lets Yuan feed him those last little morsels. Yuan walks away as Qian just sits in quiet, annoyed, resignation. Chris’ face throughout this entire scene is just absolutely hysterical.  

Yet another commercial break, because I am dying at Yuan being a menace

I do think it is worth noting that Qian’s reaction to this is very similar to his reaction to Yuan saying he liked him in that first attempt where he physically and emotionally disengages, gives him a little pat and tries to remove himself from the situation at hand. 

Car

gif by @ueasking

Absolutely the most normal and relaxed Qian has acted around Yuan for this entire episode is in the scene where Lili is bailing on the family trip and he and Yuan are discussing what to do next. Is that little hand stopping the trunk from opening all the way a little desperate? Yeah I think so. But holy shit is it the least tense Qian has been with Yuan in quite some time. 

That does not last long though because once they get in the car, Qian sits there expectantly, waiting for the charged sexual tension that would come with Yuan reaching over him to buckle his seat belt. I love this show for giving us the parallel fishing trips, because Yuan originally tried to pull the BL Seatbelt Staple years prior without complete success, Qian does not get the luxury of a second chance to get butterflies in his stomach having Yuan that close. It’s fucking brilliant to have had the buckle before, because it means the audience very clearly knows what Qian is thinking and expecting when he makes no move of his own to buckle up.

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

What I love so much about this moment is that Qian has been trying to avoid these feelings time and time again since Yuan returned. And here we know he’s lost because for the first time in the entire episode he is waiting for Yuan to make a move. He wants Yuan to buckle him in. He can’t say it out loud, it’s embarrassing for him to have Yuan not buckle him in while having Yuan passively calling him out on his expectations. 

If Qian’s absolute inability to function with Yuan gone was not enough of an indication that Qian has lost this fight already, this is absolutely the point in which we know Yuan has won. Because after all the avoidance, those split seconds of jumping back, of adding distance, of trying to shorten the time the two of them are alone together, Qian doesn’t bail on the trip and Qian waits for Yuan to make a move. 

Fishing

First, it must be acknowledged that under the sunlight, Qian’s hair is very red. In other words. The boy has uke hair. 

“When did you get so good at fishing” Qian asks

“When I was abroad I used to go hiking and fishing by myself. I didn’t feel lonely when I imagined you were by my side,”  Yuan replies 

and Qian furrows his brow slightly because Qian did that too. Not the hiking-and-fishing part, but the curbing the loneliness by imagining-Yuan-was-there part. We can see it in Episode 7 when he smiles and toasts the air at his side with his beer can after Lili and San Pang leave for the Christmas market, and if you didn’t catch that moment the first time (I did not) we get it again in the flashback Qian has, remembering the brightness and the chaos of Lili and Yuan being in the house. 

“Ge, do you have something to say?”

“Zhiyuan, don’t keep your feelings for me anymore. Nothing will come of them” Yuan chuckles, which like…valid buddy, cause that is fucking hilarious. Not because Yuan doesn’t have feelings for Qian, but because something will definitely come of them. Because this is Qian’s last attempt at trying to maintain the status quo. Trying to be responsible and keep their feelings for each other at a non-romantic level. But it’s too late, Qian, you’re a goner. Qian looks at Yuan, but only in his peripheral vision, he dares not look at Yuan flat out at this point. 

“What makes you think I still have feelings for you?” Qian looks at Yuan immediately after he says that, and not just looks at his face, but down his body, and then out in to his own thoughts. 

“Ge, do you remember a long time ago you asked me what I would do if the person I liked got married?”

“You said you’d go crazy”

“My answer’s changed.” 

And with that Qian has the sharpest, fastest head turn we’ve seen from him all episode but for the first time in the entire episode, Yuan is not looking a Qian. He is giving Qian the space to look, to think. He tells Qian that he will be happy as long as the person that he likes is happy, and we immediately see this tension release itself from Qian’s forehead. Qian is looking pensive throughout the conversation, and his eyes only move once Yuan moves again that Qian’s eyes follow the motion of the lid. Yuan moves to sit on the container, which places Qian not only below him, but the camera angle shrinks Qian down so he appears even smaller than usual next to Yuan. 

Qian looks at Yuan when he sits down 

“Wei Qian. Don’t you like Wei Zhiyuan?” Yuan asks, and the moment his question finishes, Qian looks away, because Qian has been incapable of maintaining eye contact where any romantic feelings are involved, but he is actually thinking here. You can see that question weighing heavy on Qian’s mind. And he can’t just run away from it so he closes his eyes and looks away again. 

“If you do, is it only because we’re brothers?” and Qian’s jaw tenses considerably as he processes the question. You can see his lip move, you can see the twitching of his cheek as he clenches his teeth. But Yuan is done teasing Qian. Qian has become increasingly more obvious in his reactions to Yuan and now that Yuan has successfully riled Qian up over the past few days and they are alone where they had their first conversation about Yuan’s crush on an unknown boy. @romchat has already pointed out the reverse imagery for the parallel here but Yuan reaches out and clasps Qian’s cheek, the same way that Qian has done for Yuan countless times. 

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

When Yuan���s hand first makes contact, Qian looks at it but keeps his eyes trained downward. But the second time that Yuan’s thumb slides gently across his cheek, Qian looks up, looks straight into Yuan’s eyes. He does not tense any further, he does not fight against it, he does not shy away from Yuan’s touch or Yuan’s gaze. (@respectthepetty has a very lovely little breakdown of this scene herself here)

“This thing about us, is it that you don’t want, or you don’t dare?” Yuan asks and we move back to a wide angle shot that closes out the episode with the little title card. But Chris doesn’t stop acting just because there isn’t a close up on his face, oh no. No. Instead Qian’s face relaxes eeeeeever so slightly, and you can see him swallow hard. This is not a question he wants to be faced with because we all know what the answer is, and the answer is that he does want, but doesn’t dare. And the second that his fear of losing Yuan for a second time becomes stronger than his fear of changing their relationship? Game over. 

This show is putting so many worms in my brain, I love it so much, and I am so looking forward to episode 9 where I get to see my boys being put through hell at the hands of the gang. Torture my boys! They don’t have enough angst!!

[miracles-and-butterflies]

Mira, wake up, you cannot die. You got your leg into a trap, not lost your head

“Oh. Apologies. That is my fault, everyone.”

Warning, potentially sensitive topics below.

~~~~~~

Mirabel’s head was still going in circles. That was the first thing she registered.

The second was the searing pain. Mainly in her right leg, but she could feel it in her ears and neck too - albeit not as intensely.

The third was that said leg was propped up on a cushion, over the purple covers. Luisa’s room, her mind supplied after a beat. When did she get in here? The last thing she remembered was…

Mirabel’s idea of getting away was literally cut short as metal clanged and something stabbed deep into her leg, weighing her down. She screamed.

She covered her mouth with a hand to muffle her cries of agony, well aware that nobody wanted to hear them. Dolores especially.

Between the leaves and twigs and fabric, she saw a glimpse of what had happened to her. An animal trap of some kind. Clamped around her right leg.

She instinctively stumbled to get away, but the trap is completely stuck in her. And it’s heavy, making her drag her right leg like dead weight.

When she continued to squirm anyway, she could feel jagged, metal teeth digging deeper into the limb, ripping away fabric, skin and revealing trenches of gore.

Piercing her flesh, scratching bone and exposing nerves. It’s making her see black spots. As if her vision needed any more reason to be ruined without her glasses. She tries to sit down, but twisting her leg subsequently only puts her in more pain.

After a few attempts of trying to yank her leg free, cutting new wounds as she did, she stopped and tried a new strategy.

She jammed her fingers into where she could, slowly separating the metal. The cool air and release of pressure stung like hell, but she kept going. However, she just isn’t strong enough to counter the force long enough to remove her leg fully. It slips from her grasp back together, creating a new wound underneath the last. Unfortunately catching her ankle in the process.

With a desperate wail, she tried removing it again. This time, it snapped back above the previous two injuries, closer to her kneecap.

That’s when she noticed there were dozens of traps surrounding her. Because of her myopia, she hadn’t noticed them until she was directly on them. She tries to remain as still as possible, terrified of setting another one off. Or worse, altering the others to where she is.

Everything is starting to haze together and she can’t make herself think rationally about what she should do and the tears wouldn’t stop.

A donkey brays.

Did she faint?

She must have done.

“Hermanita?” Mirabel opened her eyes and saw Luisa looking over at her in concern. “You awake? How are you feeling?”

“What happened? Why am I— when did I get here?” Mirabel asked.

“I found you while herding the donkeys. Or, well, one of them did. And I took you back home to find Mama, but she was still out. So Isabela tracked her down for us. Mama fixed your leg and we came back here. Mama thought it best to keep an eye on you, so I took you into my room.” Luisa explained, slowly, giving her time to process. “It’s okay, don’t stress about it. You were in and out of it a lot, it’s normal for you to be confused. Do you want to talk about it?”

Mirabel shook her head, instantly regretting it. “No. Not right now, please?”

Luisa wasn’t sure if Mirabel remembered that she had already told her or not, but if she didn’t want to talk about it right now, fair enough.

“Thank you for helping me,” Mirabel goes on to say. “And I’m sorry. I should have been able to handle myself.”

“You don’t need to apologise. You didn’t do anything wrong, Mira. You were hurt.”

Mirabel bit the inside of her cheek.

Luisa sighed, gently. “How are you feeling now?”

She shivered, though she tried and definitely failed to hide it.

Luisa pulled out another blanket from under the bed and draped it over them, before pulling Mirabel close against her. She was so warm, she couldn’t help snuggling into her sister.

“It hurts so much.”

“I know. Do you want me to get Mama?”

“No, thank you. I’m sorry. I feel too sick to eat or drink anything.”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to. I can just distract you from the pain.”

Mirabel raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

Luisa smirked. She picked up a book from her bedside table. A Christmas Carol.

“I raided one of your many bookshelves, while trying to find your spare pair of glasses—”

“Oh, Pa broke them on accident two weeks ago. I haven’t gone to get a replacement yet.”

“Oh yeah, shit... I forgot about that. Anyways, I raided one of your bookshelves and picked out this. I thought you could read to me, like old times?” Then, she added teasingly, “Or I can read to you. So long as you promise to help me with the tricky words?”

Mirabel closed her eyes, relaxing a little. “Will you read it sensibly, Lu?”

“Pft. No. I picked Charles Dickens, I mean yeah, he’s one of your favourite fiction authors, but also because I need to then do the accent and give each character a different voice.”

“You don’t need to. You can just stick to one—”

“No, I’m doing it.”

[beautifulmindset111]

Heyyy guys this is my first post today im going to try to enter the void state with the lullaby method! I’ve been procrastinating for way too long and me,sister and my nephew are about get kicked out our home in 9 days !!! So I will be updating u guys on my progress !!! Please comment any tips for focusing!!!!!!!

Day 1- I listened to some brown noise for 13 mins and laid down in a my regular position (on my side) started affirming not for the void state but that my sister had 10k dollars to pay for the late rent bcuz I felt like I needed to that so we can have stable housing then the void state comes along. i turned the brown noise off and tried to just fall asleep naturally and affirm I feel asleep and I affirmed but not I fall asleep anyways , I kept waking up and I just affirmed and affirmed then at 4 something am I got into sats I think and I said I am in the void state and I am I started feeling symptoms like tingling I can’t really explain it but instead I should’ve kept affirming the thing I was affirming before ( aka my sister has 10k dollars) but thats basically it I’ll keep update of any other resultss ❤️! one more thing I think I’m gonna stay awake until I get very drowsy like half asleep half awake or sats something like that .

Final update: I didn’t get into the void state butttt WE ARE NOTT GETTING EVICTED!!!

Btw I will trying a new method to get into the void state! Im using yoga Nidra! And since I don’t know how to link the posts involved with it. you can look in my liking section it will be there!! I tried the meditation rn and it worked like a charm but I opened my eyes bcuz I forgot I had to affirm so I will be making a journey/progress post rn !!! I have so much faith in this method I know this method is going to work for me like NOTHING I MEAN NOTHING NO ONE CAN TELL ME THIS WONT WORK FOR ME LITERALLY THATS HOW I FEEL STRONGLY AND FIRMLY I AM GOING TO GAVE THAT DREAM LIFE NOBODY CAN TELL ME NOTHINGHGG. 😭a lil moment but yea this works so fast so im def going into the void with method and u can too it’s fast and it’s easy I wasted soo much freaking time on doing nothing and now im fed tf uppp so my plan is to try at 5:00 am before school I get to go to school at 10:00 so I have ALOT of time!!! I been seeing 444 1111 and numbers like that for so long and this is my final push. This is my moment to SHINE BRIGHT LIKE A DIAMOND ( in rihannas angelic voice😌💅🏾) I AMM SOOO FREAKING READYYY FOR THIS IM READY FOR A CHANGE NOW I GAVE BEEN SETTLING FOR LESS FOR TOO DAMN LONG I NEEEDDDDD TO ACHIEVE BAD BTCH NOT TAKING SHII FROM ANYONE TYPE GIRL TO COMR OUT OF MEEE! I NEED TO SHIFTT TO MY WR AND MY FAME DR TO GO TO POUNDTOWN WUTH MY VERY WEALTHY SWEET CARING HUSBAND AND I WANT TO SEE MY BABIEESSS IM GOING TO SMUGGLE THEM WHEN I SEE THEM FRFR IM SHIFTING TO THE TIME I WAS 5 MONTHS WITH MYLO (my son the youngest 🥺💙) BROOO IM SOO FLIPPING HAPPY RN ALL HIGH VIBRATIONS ❤️❤️❤️I CAN WAIT TIL I GO INTO THE VOID IM GOING TO TELL U GUYS EVERYTHING RIGHT I SAY WHAT I WANNA MANIFEST IM STRAIGHT SHIFTING TO MY WR INTO FAME DR I HAVE TWO MY MESSY FDR AND MY NORMAL FDR IM GOING THE NORM ONE FIRST. I HAVE SO MANY DRS IM JUST GONNA GO TO MY FDR AND TELL U GUYS SO MANY STORIES BRO IM GOING TO HAVE A FCKING BLAST. LIKE I RLLY NEED THIS BREAK RN (srry for the captions 😭) bcuz i js rlly need to yk get from all the bs happening with my family in general I feel so unappreciated I try my best but it never seems good enough for them. My sister makes me feels like im a burden to her so im js gonna manifest me a dad and leave I’ll still communicate with her I js don’t feel like i want to LIVE with her yk she got my nephew and that’s all she could handle our mother rlly js messed us up. Im js tremendously grateful i stumbled upon manifesting & shifting now i can change my life for the better i can heal finally and truly be myself i can literally travel to any reality to ANYWHERE AND BE ANYTHING I want to. I CAN DO ANYTHING I know I have the power to do it ik it’s within me im going to shoot for freaking stars now.

[yourbestpalpercy]

“That’s literally impossible, Tartar. They’re all dead! Are you absolutely sure it’s not an Inkling, Octarian or some other creature?” Mr. Grizz started to get up from his seat, placing on a coat and getting ready to head down to the metro.

“Extremely sure. They sleep like a rock so I was able to check for anything suspicious. It’s a human for sure. I-I don’t know whether to think I’m going crazy or to be extremely excited!” Mr. Grizz could already tell Tartar was bouncing up and down on the other side.

“...Fine, I’ll be down in 15 minutes, don’t forget to be careful. Remember, humans are just as dangerous as anyone else. My wolves almost went extinct at their hands. ..Though I guess it doesn’t matter nowadays…” Mr. Grizz grumbled before realizing that Tartar had already hung up. “Oh for the love of Cod…Tartar, please tell me you understand the risks…” Mr. Grizz grumbled as he left his office.

Tartar turned towards the human as they mumbled something in their sleep. ‘Stop bouncing! You look ridiculous!’ Shouted his thoughts before he grabbed the human’s hand and checked for a pulse. “Ooo, yes! You are still alive,” Tartar pulled away and readjusted his bowtie as he did. He had to look his best.

His slime covered hands were covered, right? He couldn’t imagine how this little human would feel if they saw the primordial slime all over his hands. Wished he could remove it but oh well!

OH, she’s waking up!!!

Tartar brushed his outfit off and watched them stir and stretch. “god…I’m an idiot..falling asleep in the middle of a…dark metro??” She started to slowly stand up, rubbing her eye. “Did I not learn a thing from Fern- Mother?” The human slowly looked up, seeing Tartar.

“Ah! You’re awake, gre-!” Tartar cut off when a sharp pain exploded on the side of his head. It hit the ground rather hard. Great, now it was dazed.

“Who are you!?” The pain in Tartar’s head was taking forever to ebb away. It slowly looked up at the human, she was wielding a golf club. Wh-When in the world did she get that!?

“I SAID WHO ARE YOU!? Don’t make me strike you again!” She pointed the end of the golf club at him. “C-Calm down! H-Hold your horses! Take a dam chill pill!” Tartar held up his hands. The human raised the golf club again, aiming for Tartar’s horn. “I-It’s– I’m just a t-telephone! Th-That’s m-my name actually! Telephone! Just calm down!” Tartar scooted away quickly from the human, a little more angry that the first human in forever attacked him.

“...” The human glared at Tartar before lowering her club. “Good enough, I guess. Why were you watching me sleep?” She growled.

“W-Well, you probably already know but all of humanity is extinct! I haven’t seen a human in the last 12,000 years! ..Which intrigues me..” Tartar stood up and leaned over the human, getting a curious look in his eyes. “Where did you even come from…?”

The human jabbed her club under Tartar’s head upon it getting a little too close. “And tell me why I should tell you ANYTHING!”

“I’ve been trying to bring back humanity? It’s what I was made for.”

“Ha! You’re made for transmitting calls. You’re a phone for a reason,” The human glared at Tartar. “I don’t see why I have to lie to you. I can sanitize you if I want. Human or not!” Tartar slipped off one of his gloves, revealing the slime underneath. The human looked uncomfortable upon seeing it.

“Let’s see…I have that dam monologue prerecorded somewhere…” Tartar started to crack his handle and make strange noises trying to find it. “Monol-?” Tartar held up a finger in a ‘one moment’ motion. The human crossed her arms with a huff.

“[DISABLING CONTEMPORARY SPEECH MODE]”

“I am TARTAR, an AI construct created 12,000 years ago by a brilliant professor. My prime directive is to pass on humanity’s vast knowledge on to the next worthy lifeform. When your kind became self-aware,” Tartar cracked his lever again, stopping the recording. “I don’t believe anything else is really important in that recording.”

“...Oh, well then,” The human now messed with their golf club. “Don’t expect me to tell you my name. You haven’t earned it yet…”

“Oh, I already know it! You’re Everest. Or 10,009,” Tartar folded his hands. “Having scan tools and being an AI is rather helpful.” Tartar put his glove back on, feeling confident that the human wouldn’t attack him again.

“...Don’t you ever do that again…” Everest growled and pointed the golf club at Tartar again. “I don’t think you understand that I don’t wish to hurt you, kid. I’m the Messenger of Humanity, not the Mass Murderer of Humanity,” He poked Everest’s nose. “Boop! As the kids say nowadays.”

“Oh back off, you invasive thing!”

“My point is, I want to help bring humanity back. I’m not here to harm anyone besides the scum, bile and seafood that have evolved to conquer the world left behind by the humans,” He adjusted his bowtie.

“...” Everest still didn’t seem to trust Tartar as she asked, “I should’ve stayed in the mountains…”

“The mountains! That’s where you’ve all been hiding, hm?”

“They wouldn’t take too kindly to a weird, telephone man..”

“Oh it won’t matter! I-I can change my form! I take on this form though because it looks most like an Octarian. Shocked you haven’t seen one yet, they’re everywhere underground..”

Everest started to back away at this point. Tartar made her feel a little overwhelmed with how excited he seemed to be. Humans were nothing special, so why the bouncing and cheer talk?”

“I haven’t seen a human in YEARS, centuries, decem millenniums!” Tartar exclaimed. “You’ll have to excuse how excited I am!” Tartar grabbed Everest’s hand with his own, freezing cold hands. “Hey-! Let go!” Everest yanked back, glancing at her club. “Take a chill pill, I’m not going to hurt you! How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“If you’re trying to trick me into taking you to my village, the answer is no.”

“What??? No! I- ha! I wouldn’t do that. Totes wouldn’t. You’re crazy my dude. Absolutely bonkers, home skillet!”

“Oh please, you started using way more slang, I know a trick when I hear one. You’re not going to the village.”

“Not even for a second?? Please!”

“I ran away from that place for a damn reason! I’m not going to listen to their culty BS about bowing down and offering mercy to those- those–! Those stupid waterblobs!” Everest shouted at Tartar, slightly calming him down. “They stole this planet from us and I’m not going back so I can hear more of ‘If we keep sacrificing sheep to The Leviathan, it will allow us to leave this cliffside’. I’ve grown tired of that CULT!!” Everest grabbed her hair and pulled some of it out.

“I-...I’m not going back…” Everest’s arms dropped to her side.

“A cult, hm?” Tartar picked up on Everest’s worry.

“Yes! A cult based around the bile here! I don’t want to go back, it would be better if they were all wiped out! The amount of people I’ve seen sacrificed to ‘The Leviathan’ is something else!!” Everest grabbed her head again.

“Hmm…” Tartar watched the slime run down his hand from under the glove. “Y’know, maybe you don’t have to go back. I’m willing to give you a sneak peak on my plans. I won’t even lay a finger on you if that’s what you’re scared of…” Tartar gestured Everest over.

Everest watched wearily before approaching Tartar slowly, grabbing her golf club tightly as she did. “None of the sanitized octarians should harm you. They follow my orders exactly. If I tell them not to harm you, they won’t.”

“What do you mean by sanitized?” Everest quickly asked as Tartar opened a small door in the ground. “Simple, I’m creating a primordial goop that will create the ultimate lifeform! I thought too small last time…I should’ve let 8 go. I acted in panic and anger. But this time, it’ll be proper. No one will find out until it’s too late. Especially with Mr. Grizz on my side, we’ll restore Earth to its former glory together!”

The inside of the lab was rather bright and the buzz of talking echoed through the hallways. There were a few signs of struggling, making it clear that not everyone here came here willingly. There were also dried bits of pink ink dotting the walls. When Tartar saw it, he looked disgusted and quickly ordered a nearby Sanitized Octarian to please get rid of it.

“What’s wrong with it? I thought the shade was…rather nice honestly,” Everest told Tartar, watching the octarian splat different ink over it. “No I-...” Tartar trailed off, seeing the octarian smile back at him and wander off. “...I’ll just leave it. Don’t want to hurt their feelings…” Tartar turned away to keep guiding Everest down the hallway. ‘I think mother would find me even more disappointing than she first thought. I thought that interaction was rather cute!’

Tartar soon guided Everest to a room with a large blender in the middle, full of…strange, bluegreen slime. A wave of illness and worry came over Everest. “...You don’t do what I now think you do…right?” Everest glanced at Tartar with clear sickness on her face.

“Well, tell me what you think I do first,” Tartar replied in a rather smug tone, climbing up and sitting on the top of the blender. Everest felt a little more sick as she responded.

“Uhm..well- there’s a blender for one…uh..” The idea of sacrifices fill her head. “...Please don’t tell me you pick off the octarians around you and…sacrifice them to..” Everest pointed a hand at the blender.

“Nope! Well- eh, close. The octarians around you are ones that have failed their tests. All or most of them. I select carefully. What you see here,” Tartar stood up, “Is a blend of everyone who’s succeeded in their tests! Only the most brilliant and greatest octarians end up here. It’s a blend of the most superior is what I’m saying. No one gets sacrificed. I’m not doing this for some false god. I’m doing this to create a lifeform on the level of humans!”

“...Will I end up in there some day…?”

“It’s a great-...what?” Tartar looked over the edge, down at Everest. She looked terrified. The soft glow of the sludge in the blender reflected in her eyes.“...N-No! Never! Absolutely not! I wouldn’t do that to a human!” Tartar leapt down from the blender, carefully holding Everest’s hands again, “I was actually wondering if you’d like to join me! Take back Earth from those slimy freaks above!”

Everest drew back from Tartar quickly. Luckily, he wasn't grabbing her that tightly. “I-I’m not sure I can trust you yet. …What’s in it for me?” Tartar seemed…way to ready for a reply like this. “Well, I doubt you wanna stay sleeping on that cold platform so I’ll make sure there’s a comfy place down here to rest. I’ll make sure you never have to return to your mountain cult, hm…”

Everest started to think. “I can’t let you leave after seeing this…? No, that’s too threatening and besides, you have way too much confidence. You’re the first person in years to strike me and land a good hit!” Tartar extended his hand a little.

“...I mean, all you really needed to mention was getting a nice place to sleep. The mountain is freezing. I’m shocked no one has gotten frostbite at all,” Everest slowly accepted his hand. “PERFECT! We’re in business, my home skillet!” Tartar suddenly scooped up Everest and gave her a tight hug.

“Mr. Grizz should be here so we can hopefully discuss more! Don’t worry, he might be a little intimidating at first but the bear’s a big softie! A total pushover at times even! He won’t hurt ya..” Tartar’s hug eased and it set down Everest.

“O-Oh…r-really??” Everest stumbled as Tartar left the room. “G-...Goodie..”

‘Oh Leviathan what have I gotten myself into…?’

[queeniecook]

"Love is in the Air" - Part 4

Within a half hour, things turned cold on the beach. Pak explained that happens sometimes in the Spring and Fall. We threw on some warmer clothes he had been smart enough to pack and walked around the beach, holding hands.

Pak stopped me by one of the bridges. He grasped my hands and I felt like something was going on.

“Evie. These past few weeks with you have been…the best weeks of my life so far.” Pak started.

Yes, something was going on. Naturally, I was thinking the worst. Maybe he was breaking up with me? I wasn’t sure how I’d handle that one.

“Getting to know you. Being friends with you and then dating you. Has been a honor.” Pak said and let out a nervous breath, before continuing. “I don’t like being away from you, ku’uipo. I feel empty inside. And when I see you again, it’s like I can feel again. That I can breathe again. I love you, Evie.”

I was wrong. He wasn’t breaking up with me. I was crying. I didn’t think anyone would ever say anything like that to me.

And then Pak started reaching in his pocket as he lowered himself to the ground.

“I want to go to bed each night seeing your face and wake up each morning seeing that same beautiful face.” He told me. He opened his hand to reveal a ring. An engagement ring.

My eyes almost popped out of my head. I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing for a bit, because I felt light headed.

“Evie Jean Grant. Will you do me the honor of becoming my mate. My wife. Will you marry me?” He asked me.

I stood there frozen and dumbfounded. I hadn’t expected him to propose. Ever. I finally remembered to take a breath and it came out as a gasp.

“I know we said we’d take things slow, but I’m sure that we’re meant to be. And I don’t want to waste anymore of our lives not being together.” Pak explained. Maybe he took my gasp the wrong way.

And then. It became clear to me. It was like one of those light bulb moments.

“Yes.” I whispered.  I wasn’t sure he heard me at first. But he did.

After he put the ring on my gloved finger, we kissed.

And I flung myself at him. Literally. Good thing he has quick reflexes.

“Take me home.” I told him. And he did. He carried me all the way to the car and drove me home.

We celebrated our engagement properly and pillow talked for a few hours about our plans. He was going to move in with me. He pretty much lived there already. I was concerned about him being away from the ocean, but he assured me he could visit anytime he needed to. We were going to take some time to actually plan a wedding. We were not going to just rush to the court house and get hitched.

Eventually, we fell asleep.

I woke up hours later, before the sun came up. I wasn’t sure why I was awake, I just was.

Salem was awake too, Cleo was asleep. I picked him up.

“Salem. Do you think Pak and I are rushing into all this? Am I doing the right thing?” I asked him.

His response sound more like “Meh” than a meow. “I can feel your opinion even though you can’t speak English.” I told him. I put him down and filled his food bowl.

I wandered into the living room and sat down, staring at everything in the room. I wanted to be with Pak. I felt so sure earlier when I said yes. I didn’t regret saying yes. I just felt we needed to agree on some things before marriage. That way fights we could maybe avoid wouldn’t come up later on.

<-previous

[wh3nturtlesfly]

Set Him Free (Chapter 8)

First | Previous | Next

Relationships: Slow Burn prinxiety and logicality

Word Count: 2695

Summary: Virgil receives a new job, though it seems this time he is not so pleased. Meanwhile, Janus continues with his plan…

“No, no way! I am not doing this!”

“Virgil, careful with your words,” Janus offered a warning tone, keeping his eyes locked on the angered thief.

“Don’t tell me what to be careful about! There is no way in heck that I’m getting stuck with babysitting duty!”

“Aw, what’s the matter Virgey? Is the itsy-bitsy-spider mad that he doesn’t get to handle the thievery anymore,” Remus taunted, flashing a wicked grin.

“You don’t get to say anything about this!” Virgil barked, “And you,” he raised an accusatory finger to Janus, “Are out of your mind if you think I’m going to spend as much as five minutes around him.”

Janus sighed, scribbling a few notes upon a piece of paper and handing it to Remus who giddily waved it in Virgil’s face. He snarled back, causing Remus' grin to grow wider. That only increased Virgil’s frustration, and he looked at Janus expectantly .

The latter only shrugged, “You know this is for your own safety Virgil. Seeming as you are a wanted criminal, the kingdom will be scouting for you throughout the towns. It is best that you don’t show your face within the city to avoid recognition. Simple precautions.”

“Since when were you one for precautions? We literally just kidnapped a prince. A prince as in royalty! Has this not registered within either of your minds?”

“It most certainly has, which is exactly why Remus will be performing our daily tasks. Would you rather be caught on the streets now swarming with guards and imprisoned for multiple counts of thievery as well as a suspect within a known capture?”

Virgil sighed, glaring daggers at Janus. If looks could kill, the whole kingdom would be dead by this point.

He sighed, tightly opening and closing his fists, “Fine. I’ll watch Roman, but you owe me for this.”

Janus smiled, clasping his hands together and spinning on his heels, “Good. Thank you Virgil.”

“I resent you,” Virgil grumbled as he slunk towards the main corridor.

“Not so bad yourself,” Janus called back, and as much as Virgil wanted to be angry, the corners of his mouth turned up at the remark.

He was right. If Virgil were to enter the streets right now, nothing good would come from it. Still, he hated to allow Remus of all people to do his job for him.

Each task would be done just fine, but the line of chaos that followed, though laughable, was never fun to clean up. Not to mention that all while this was occurring, Virgil would be stuck watching over Roman of all people. Nothing about this was fair.

The locked door lay at the very end of the hall, a dark iron latch kept fastened just above the door handle. Virgil inserted the key, dropping the open lock onto the floor with a dull thud. He pulled the door open.

Roman remained tied to the chair in the center of the room, seemingly asleep. Virgil glanced around the room. There were no other seats besides the one that the prince occupied. A smile crept onto Virgil’s lips as he took notice of this, turning to face the shelves that lined the side wall.

Shifting his weight onto his back leg, Virgil vaulted upwards, coming to settle on the top of the shelf. A leather satchel also occupied the space, appearing as if it had been tossed there recently and leaving Virgil curious.

He reached for it though was interrupted due to the cloud of dust that floated from the shelf. It teased his nose and triggered an unpleasant coughing fit. One apparently loud enough to wake the other presence within the room.

Roman startled, eyes darting frantically. The sound had caused him to jolt awake, leaving him wincing from the coarse ropes that had scraped against his skin.

His breathing was somewhat shaky, each breath sounding like it took an extra bout of effort. Though Virgil knew that the prince had not been greatly harmed, he could tell that he was in pain.

And just like that, Roman’s eyes settled on him, expression hardening. Any previous ounce of distress had disappeared, hostility replacing all, “How long have you been sitting up there?” he asked.

“About a minute. Why? Did I disturb your precious beauty sleep?”

Roman scowled, though kept his mouth shut.

“I guess you’re the only one who can ask questions then, huh. Good to know despite being a prisoner, you still believe you’re in control.”

“I don’t need to answer anything from you.” Roman spat.

“And why is that,” Virgil bit back, “because you’re the prince? Because you always get your way?”

“No,” Roman seethed, “Because you’re a villain. One who has committed treason and deserves no ounce of my respect.”

Virgil jumped down from the shelf. “I’m going to let you in on one little secret,” he hissed, and Roman drew back, “I don’t know what Janus wants from you, and I honestly don’t care. But if you think for one second that I will tolerate your stupid bravado, then you are greatly mistaken.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed, though he did not retort. He wasn’t going to give Virgil the satisfaction.

He watched as the thief again ascended the shelf, retrieving something from the top. Roman sucked in a breath at the sight of the object. Virgil’s gaze trailed down to him, then back to the item in his hands. A satchel. Roman’s satchel.

Keeping his eyes trained on Roman, Virgil lifted the leather flap and flashed a defiant smile much to the prince’s discontent.

He emptied the contents of the bag, eyebrows raising excitedly as if everything was nothing other than a lighthearted game. Much to Roman’s misfortune, it was quite the opposite. He watched as Virgil removed a series of pencils from his bag, a slight look of disappointment crossing the thief's face.

Roman frowned, but did gain a spark of victory at the thief’s underwhelmed reaction. Bored, Virgil tossed the pencils from the shelf. One of which bounced off the prince’s head, arousing a smirk from Virgil.

He again reached into the bag and pulled out a set of iron shackles, immediately dropping them to the floor with a heavy clank. This left him slightly troubled, but his curiosity took over once more.

The next thing to emerge from the satchel was a folded slip of paper. Roman recognized it immediately, flooded with the memories of all he had been taken from just a few days ago. Virgil however, glanced at it with a wavering uncertainty.

Roman watched his eyes scan the letters on the page, as if he had to read it multiple times to comprehend what had been written on it. Virgil raised the parchment to face Roman, “Where did you get this,” he said, the phrase sounding more like a demand than a question.

“Recovered from the castle gates.”

Virgil’s brow creased, and he took another peek down at the sheet. The same one that had detailed the blacksmith robbery and led to Roman’s capture. Pursing his lips, Virgil refolded the paper then tucked it into the folds of his cloak. He didn’t say anything else about the item.

Returning to focus, Virgil pulled out a silver dagger from the bag.

“Careful!” Roman shouted before he could stop himself.

Virgil glanced his way with a sudden interest. The prince felt his heart sink.

“I… that was my father’s dagger,” Roman explained.

He caught a flash of something within Virgil’s eyes. Maybe it was pity, or even a concealed sympathy, but moments later Virgil was sliding the dagger back into the satchel. Roman wasn’t sure what to think of it. The thief could've simply ignored Roman’s sudden request and used it as a tool for manipulation… but he hadn’t.

The satchel was returned to rest on the shelf as Virgil jumped to the floor with a thud. Crossing the room, he rested his hand on the door handle, “I’ll be right back, don’t try anything.”

“Like I really have the choice,” Roman retorted.

Virgil opened his mouth as if to snap something back, though stopped and shot Roman a glare instead. He slipped through the doorway, slamming the door much harder than necessary behind him.

As soon as he registered the latching of the door, Roman shifted his mind into focus. There had to be some way to slip free of the ropes that currently held him bound.

Roman strained for a glimpse behind his shoulder. The ropes were impossible to untie by oneself. Knowing that no one within his vicinity would willingly aid him, Roman would have to find some kind of sharp edge capable of cutting through the tightly wound threads.

His thoughts were interrupted as Virgil swung the door open, a needle and thread in hand. This time, he took a seat on the floor opposite Roman. Needle placed within his fingers, Virgil took up the hem of his cloak and began to get to work.

Roman observed curiously. “What are you doing?”

Virgil glanced up, irritation lacing his features, “Fixing the hem of my cloak which you managed to tear after pulling it last time.”

“It was justified as you were committing a crime,” Roman groused, “and I don’t see how you could be so upset, when you’re currently the one putting the kingdom in danger.”

“I’m not the one who decided to kidnap you princey. I’m sure the Queen is fine ruling without you and your precious input.”

“That’s what you think,” Roman muttered. Virgil raised an eyebrow in response, but Roman didn’t elaborate.

Virgil returned to his sewing, leaving Roman to- well, sit there, much to his discontent. However, he was not left to his own thoughts for long, as the click of the door latch caused both him and Virgil to flinch.

Janus strode in, and looking over to Virgil, Roman realized they were both in the dark as to why the inventor had entered the room. That was never a good sign.

Silently, Janus came to rest near the singular window in the room, tapping his fingers on the wooden sill. “I believe there is something I need from you Roman,” he said, turning to face the prince.

“You already know my answer to that,” Roman replied coldly, “If you’re looking for secrets, then go find someone else.”

Janus chuckled, “Oh darling, is that what you think this is all about?” He crossed the room, wandering through the space, “I do suppose you are partly right, but at this rate, I believe you need a little push before I can get what I want.”

“Nothing you do could ever make me concede to you.”

“Come on Roman, I only have a simple request.”

Virgil glanced up at this, seemingly curious. Roman scowled.

“No request from you could ever be so simple.”

“If you say so,” Janus hummed, grinning, “tell me the name of the palace messenger.”

“Never in a million millenia.”

“But my dear prince, don’t you want the people to know where you’ve gone? I’m sure your mother is worried sick.”

Roman’s lips pressed into a thin line at the thought of his mother. “What are you implying?”

“If you must ask, I will be informing the kingdom of your disappearance.”

Janus’ answer was rather vague, though Roman was becoming too trapped in his own thoughts to notice, “No-,” Roman whispered, “I refuse.”

“Haven’t you already done enough, prince? You wouldn’t want to keep them in the dark, panicked and distraught, would you?” Roman shoulders slumped, his gaze trailing to the floor.

Janus’ smile deepened. All too easy. “You must know they miss you, imagine how much they must be working to find you. All that distress, because of you.”

Roman’s face fell. He tried to push Janus’ words from his mind.

He’s a liar. Roman couldn’t trust a single thing he said, though the spirals of sentences wove around his head, trapping him in the very thing he was most afraid of.

It really was all his fault, wasn’t it? Janus couldn’t have lied about that, not when everyone in the kingdom knew how distraught the Queen could get. His poor mother, and worse- Patton and Logan. They must all be fretting beyond belief.

He hung his head, voice shaking, “Patton Aureole. Send your message to him, and the kingdom may be informed of my absence. Just, please- tell them I’m unharmed, that’s all I ask. I can’t bear causing them any more distress.”

“That can be arranged,” Janus drawled, spinning on his heel and giving a small nod to Virgil who turned to follow. “You’ve done well Roman, keep it that way.”

He shut the door, pushing the lock back into place.

They entered the kitchen, where a cream envelope lay on the table. Janus plucked an ink vessel from the nearby counter and scribbled Patton Aureole on the front. He gently blew on the ink, and allowed it to dry before handing the envelope to Virgil. He curiously took the envelope in his hands, removing the letter and reading it for himself:

‘To anyone who sees this, I have run away and I won’t return for a long time, possibly forever if I so decide.

It is nothing of your concern, I simply can't stand to be around the unstable nature of our kingdom any longer. I have tried for weeks to show my discomfort, but no one seems to want to listen. Clearly, I am not needed.

Please inform my mother and friends not to worry, there is just too much to explain and too little words. Do not come looking for me, I can assure you that I am unharmed and am in no need of your assistance.

Sincerely,

Prince Roman’

Virgil cocked his head, “This isn’t what happened. What are you doing?”

“Only what is best for us,” Janus grinned, “I did say that I would inform the kingdom of what happened, but I never specified I would be telling the truth. I even catered to his request and stated that he was unharmed. This way, we may shake them from our tail.”

“That… is incredibly cunning.”

“Why thank you,” Janus bowed, bringing a laugh from Virgil, “Now, can I see to it that you slip this letter past the castle gates?”

Virgil’s eyes widened, “You’d let me? But what about all the guards?”

“I thought about it, and I trust you Virgil. Just please be cautious. Stay away from the public and return as soon as possible.”

Virgil clutched the letter in his hands, “Thank you Jan, really. Thank you so much.”

“I believe I owe you after leaving you to watch the prince,” a genuine smile found its way onto Janus’ lips, and he waved Virgil away, “Now go, before I change my mind.”

Virgil slipped on his boots as fast as he possibly could, pulling the hood of his cloak over his face. He offered Janus a final smile, then rushed out the door and almost ran into Remus, who had just arrived, in the process.

“Be careful!” Janus called behind him, to which he could faintly hear Virgil call back:

“You’re such a dad!”

Janus chuckled, placing his hands on his hips. Remus strolled in, the day’s stolen items hanging from his belt. “Virge is right you know,” Remus snickered, “What if instead of Janus, we called you Father Jan, better yet, how about da-”

“No!” Janus shouted, covering Remus’ mouth before he could utter his next words, “Under no circumstances will you call me anything other than Janus,” he jerked his hand back, wiping his hand on his shirt as Remus dissolved into a fit of giggles, “Did you just lick me?!”

“Yup! Serves you right! No one can silence me!” Remus left to his room, still drawing out the ‘me’ portion until the sound of a shutting door could be heard.

The inventor sighed, pushing away the small burst of annoyance that emerged in his features. After all, there was too much to look forward to in the days that would follow. All starting with the cream envelope that found its way to a certain messenger’s desk.

[twig-gy]

tw like. self harm ideation. eating disorder ideation. suicidal ideation. i vent

i am haunted by the beauty of deprivation - i know i shouldn't say it. or talk about it. or feel it. but there's just something so - feeling empty is feeling empty and of course it isn't comparable to anything else and of course i shouldn't want to feel that way. but the thing is whenever you feel empty and then you start to feel things again, it seems like everything is beautiful - after you relapse and then you swing back to happiness the happiness seems so impossible in its goodness and it feels so . i want to feel bad to feel good again. maybe i just like techdog. i feel sick. like hunger-sick. i haven't actually eaten like real food in way too much time. and i'm recovering from being actually sick so i should eat. but anyway maybe i just want to feel what it's like to deprive yourself. i've always seen people with eating disorders with this sort of appreciation, like how could you go through all that? do you find pleasure in it? if so, how? i could never do that. after a day i'd have to make myself eat. but now it's kind of... i guess i want to be empty to see what the prism tells me. i guess i want to feel utterly, immeasurably, inexpressibly weak. i want to break myself down. i want to feel things that would be described as abjectly horrible, things even i can't find any beauty in. i want to empty myself entirely. maybe i should relapse and that would give me the emptiness i want

i am haunted by the beauty of violence. haunted. utterly. whenever my skin itches and whenever i see it mentioned and i get this weird awareness of my arms this weird awareness of i could do that. sometimes i look at the knives and i think i could just take one. take one and then run it down my chest. and then give myself a horrible wound. and then split my ribcage open. and then find my heart and cradle it. and then see whether that fixes me or not. and then feel amazing bright brilliant pain. when i imagine this i know the pain would be far far far too much to handle. i can't imagine it properly, it's like my vision goes hazy and all i see is how beautiful it'd be, all i can see is the exact right amount of pain, all i can think about is just. i want to be destroyed. irreparably. i want to take myself apart and i want to never wake up and never get fixed from it. it's like - i'm happy, sometimes. very happy. sometimes i am so content i don't even want to relapse, sometimes i just don't think about it. and then other times i lie awake at night, and it's horrible. and this is okay, i just don't like the middle part where i'm bored and have nothing to do and imagine doing things but don't actually do them. i don't want to cut myself with the crushing sense of despair and 'i shouldn't be doing this' and fading until the only emotion i can feel is naught. i want to feel manic while doing it. like it's good and pure and the only thing that can save me. that's my fantasy that's the ideal. and i have felt like that. rarely. but i have. and i want to feel it again. and i'm sick and i want to cut myself until i bleed. did you know i can't even do that? i'm not even strong enough to do that? i've bled a handful of times. i haven't hit styro. i'm simultaneously at the earliest stage of the addiction and then the part where it's ruining my life. only a bit. it's only kind of ruining my life. i don't relapse that often. and then i do. and then i'm haunted by it. and then i scratch myself out of pure reflex out of pure frustration and nothing else to do with it.

let me be upfront. i want to relapse. i want to take my knife and i want to run it down my arms over and over and over again until i literally can't think because of the pain and my breathing is hitched and weak. that's what i want. and i probably won't do it, because i'm a coward. but i think it'd fix me. genuinely. i think it'd be good. i want to.

[diaryofanaverageunicorn]

Sometimes, just give up.

Day 16

I successfully fell asleep around 4am. Sweet, sweet slumber... until about 8 when the sun decided to show up. Nevermind, nevermind... go back to speep... dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, drilling, drilling... WAIT WHAT? Drilling, drilling, fuck, fuck, fuck, what time is it??? oh fuck you and your fucking drill how do you even have a house... noo, I don't want to wake up I was supposed to sleep in, I am working today till 1 again, noooooo, shut up, stahp, I hate you and your endless DIYs... UGH. Fine. Cold. cofFEE, WHERE IS THE COFFEE?? Fuck it's Saturday. I put on the closest t-shirt, great, it's the cafe's merch, ah carp I hate it here... oh there goes the sudden burst of tears, great, great, perfect, my coffee isn't done but I ALREADY AM. What do you mean I've been awake for two and a half hours and have to leave in an hour?? I can't handle this... how sick do I have to be to skip today's shift?? No, no, I am working it, remember how low your last salary was?? And I had to work today cuz I messed up my counting so I moved my shift that coincided with the wedding I can't skip it. Gods, I'm going to get fired... No, no, I do a great job and they need staff, it'll be fine. Why doesn't mental health count as a sick day... well it does count as a sick day if you ask for it but I literally can't afford it I would be homeless... Ah great, we're back at dwelling on the capitalistic nightmare prison that we live in, great. Perfect. ARGH. I have to get my medication, so I have to leave half an hour earlier, *cries internally*, alright it's going to be fine, just breathe, there's sun out today! Fuck, it's -1 degrees. Never mind, still, sun, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN CLOSED ARE YOU CRAZY I NEED MY MEDICATION??? Ah crap I'll have to get up early tomorrow, great I'll start the semester just right -- sleep deprived and on the edge of a mental breakdown... FIne whatever, I'll get it tomorrow morning it'll be fine. Oh okay I guess I'll be early for work. Ah nice, Selroti is here, nice, they're super sweet. Nice five minute catch up. The whole cafe is on fire jeezus christ why don't you people have homes?? my entire body is screaming at me in pain after TWO HOURS WHAT DO YOU MEAN ONLY TWO HOURS HAVE PASSED????? I can't, nope, I shan't, I refuse, I will cry and scream get me OUT OF HERE I CAN"T HANDLE THIS WHY DID YOU STICK ME IN THE KITCHEN I HATE THIS I WANT TO BE HOME I AM IN SO MUCH PAIN... wait, wait, wait -- how much pain am I supposed to endure while at work? do I have to be absolutely fucking incapacitated? Injured beyond a bandaid?? Throw up in front of everyone, or faint???? ARE THEY PAYING ME ENOUGH FOR ME TO STICK AROUND WHILE I'M IN SO MUCH PAIN????? FUCK NO THEY ARE NOT!

"I DON'T FEEL GOOD, I WANT TO LEAVE". Two hours later I was out. Instead of doing an 8 hour shift I did 6. Barely. A coworker tried to guilt trip/shame/pressure me into staying. Ah, how about no. I came home around midnight and here I am writing my blog about the day I had. Horrible. Did not enjoy it. Remember, no job is worth causing yourself pain. More than you have to. Any kind of pain. Especially if you're a burnt-out neurodivergent potato. Fuck 'em.

Goodnight,

M.

[roosterbruiser]

𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 ☾☽ 𝐂𝐡. 𝐗𝐈𝐈

☾☽ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐚𝐲𝐞 "𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫" 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫

☾☽ 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: It’s been almost three years since the accident that took half of her, and Faye “Clover” Ledger seems fine, really. She loves her old house, she has a perpetually expanding vinyl collection, she’s got a job she likes on base, and she is only a short drive from the beach. She’s grounded--literally. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw feels like he’s been homesick his entire life. He’s always on the move;  jumping from one squadron to another, living one mission to the next. Somewhere in between losing both his parents and carving a successful career as a Naval aviator, he’s never found himself a home. When a call to serve on a high-priority mission with an elite squadron brings Rooster back to Miramar, he finds that home. Except it’s not a house that he finds--it’s the former backseater that observes and records the mission for the Official Navy Record. 

☾☽ 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟐𝟗𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗

The morning feels short. From the moment Rooster and I are awake we are helping each other: kissing each other’s closed lips and pulling the other out of bed, brushing out teeth at the same time but taking turns spitting into the basin. 

I dress myself in the dark, slipping into a cold pair of slacks and a cotton shirt that will hardly touch my skin--it’s supposed to be a scorcher today. And I leave Rooster in the bedroom, belting his pants, to start the coffee maker. It all feels very routine, very easy. 

He pours the coffee and I feed Stevie. The house was very dark, very quiet. 

In the foyer, as I am slipping into my block-heeled mules, Rooster leans against the doorway and watches me. His eyes are gleaming in the morning light, which is only just bright enough for us to see each other. His mouth is pink and clean and smooth. 

“What?” I whisper to him.

He exhales softly--his cotton tee ripples with his breath. He pulls his eyebrows together as he watches me, shaking his head just slightly. 

“I’m still sorry,” he says and his voice is not shy and quiet--it is clear and steady, “that I froze. That I didn’t know what to do.”

 He says this like I haven’t already forgiven every single bit of him--like we didn’t sleep in the same bed last night, like he didn’t wake me up by pressing kisses against my throat and slamming his hand down on my alarm. He says this like we did not shower together last night, holding each other under a stream of boiling water. He says this like he hasn’t already said it before. 

“Bob handled it,” I say, just as clear and steady, except I’m smiling just slightly. 

His eyes fall from mine to the middle of my chest. He stares there for a long moment, still just slightly shaking his head, his eyes untrained.

“You would’ve said something if it was me he was pounding into,” he says, pulling his arms to cross over his chest. 

I think of when Hangman brought up Goose--when they almost fought, when Hangman stalked out like a tomcat and had the audacity to wink at me. But I say nothing to Rooster. He is still staring at my chest, right where my heart is beating, when I cross the small space between us. Tenderly, I put my hands on his cheeks and hold him for a moment. I savor it--savor his warmth beneath me.  

“C’mon,” I whisper, smiling, “it’s take-your-girlfriend-to-work day. Can’t be late.” 

And then he brings his eyes to mine and a smile is dominating his face, eating his pretty pink mouth. I smooth my thumbs over his mustache and grow woozy just feeling it under the pads of my fingers. 

“Girlfriend, huh?” 

I bite my lip, nodding, pretending like my heart isn’t about to fall out of my body. 

“Maybe,” I say, still smiling, “unless you’ve had a change of heart--ow!”

He releases the skin of my hip from between his two fingers and now we’re both laughing, my mouth held open in mock-astoundment. He smooths his hand over my hip where he pinched even though he didn’t truly hurt me, would never, could never. 

My heart pulses because we have these things between us that are only ours. He pinches when I tease, I kiss his palms when he’s sweet, he smoothes the crease between my brows when I’m thinking too hard, and I take little pieces of his anger when his arms are full. Yes, these are only ours, him and mine. It makes my chest ache with want to be able to share these things with someone again, these small little actions that feel so minute and so gargantuan at the same time. 

“Kiss me, baby,” he says, crooning. 

And when we do kiss, he holds my body close to his, presses every one of my hills against every one of his valleys. I am throbbing entirely, tangling my hands in the ungelled parts of his hair, pouring every ounce of affection into his mouth and out of mine.

When he pulls back, still pressed tightly against me, he looks down at me with that silly loved-up expression that makes my knees weak. He pushes my hair behind my ears, kisses both of my temples. 

“Ohhh,” he sighs, still crooning just a little bit in that knucklehead way, “that feels good.”

It makes my chest tingle. Even in the darkness, even that early in the morning, he is so hauntingly beautiful. He was like a statue, standing tall and proud and broad, right here in my entryway. Something that could hold my coat at the end of a long day, but also something I want to see every time I come in and out of that door.

“That might’ve been a dealbreaker for me--hey!”

Then he’s all over me, pinching my hips and grabbing my arms and kissing my face. It’s good--just thoroughly, intrinsically good. We could stay right here and be good forever. 

The rising sun is lemon yellow, feeble and pale, against the cornflower-blue sky. It is a cloudless day and I sit in the middle of the bench on our first drive to work together, in the same car. 

And when we walk into the building together, our skin goosing under the fluorescents because of the frigid air conditioning, we have one more moment of aloneness before the building becomes crowded. I am holding the leather strap on my shoulder, biting a grin, and he has his hands on his hips. It is the moment right before I go left and he goes right. 

“See you in there,” I smile. 

He nods. I know he wants to kiss me again. 

“Looking forward to it,” he returns, pretending to be all sorts of casual, his jaw flexed, his eyes fixed on mine, “Lieutenant Ledger.” 

It is quiet when I walk into the lounge after lunch. The country radio station Hangman always tunes into is playing very lowly on the portable radio beside him, on the couch where he’s lounging. It’s playing so lowly that I can’t even make out what song is on, even as I set my bag down on one of the counters. The oscillating fan is on and whirring discreetly in the corner, sending sporadic wafts of cool air around the stuffy room. The sun is pouring in, golden as ever before, shimmering against the bleached tiles. 

My heels are the loudest sound in the room--maybe even the entire hallway.

Hangman glances up through his lashes at first--and I know it’s because he wants to make sure whoever just came in is worth turning his face for--then turns slightly on the couch to behold me unloading my bag. His face is still one of the most handsome ones I’ve ever seen--smooth and tan, but with just enough fine lines to make him seem real. His lip, though--his lip is swollen slightly and bruised the color of a pale plum. It’s scabbed over by now, just a line of red where his lip broke. 

Bob really got him good. It makes me want to hug Bob, look at his knuckles again. I’m still in mild disbelief that Bob even knew how to hold his fist, let alone the fact that he sprang into the action so suddenly and completely. Maggie would’ve bought him a beer for what he did to Hangman’s pretty mouth.  

“Clover,” Hangman nods and for once, his voice isn’t dripping with that melodramatic gallant tone. 

He sounds, at least I think, normal.

“Lieutenant,” I greet.

It’s the first time I’ve spoken to him since the bonfire, since he said what he said and did what he did. My voice sounds firm, but not unfriendly.

“No ‘Bagman’?” he asks softly before he sighs, “can’t tell if that’s better or worse.”

Everyone is calling him Bagman again--and they’re not being subtle about it. Politely, I give a single dry chuckle. Just one hah. Just one forceful exhale through my nose. He doesn’t turn away from me, even when I look back to the desk, setting my pens and highlighters beside my dictionary. 

His messages--I still haven’t responded to any of them. After the initial text, the one Rooster read with a sneer, only one more was sent. He didn’t try to call again and leave a voicemail, no, no. Just one more five-word message. 

Do you hate me now?

It was sent after Rooster and I had already showered and gone to bed, when we were already sleeping together, when I was praising a higher power for the hunk of man drooling into my naked neck and being lulled to sleep by his loud, heavy breathing. 

This is to say that it was sent late--too late for someone who has to be on base as early as he does. I imagine that maybe he laid awake and replayed the sequence in his head. Maybe he keeps having nightmares about it. Maybe he keeps thinking back to just one thing, one small part of it. Maybe the small part he incessantly thinks about is the blistering, inadvertent tears on my face when I staunched his wound. Maybe it’s my silence that he thinks about, the way I stared at him doe-eyed and slack-jawed as he mouthed off to me. Maybe, and I think this is the most likely scenario, he keeps finding himself awake thinking about the one moment we shared just before he did what he did; when he didn’t draw attention to me, when there was a secret between us, when he was just watching me and I was just watching him. 

Or maybe his ego is so inflated that he just can’t stand to be hated by anyone. This, though--this feels less likely.  

I know his shoulders are stiff now--I know he’s tense. I wish that I could just turn around and tell him to move on--that there are more important things to focus on other than the shitty things he said to me. It’s true, at least partly. When I think about what he said, or how he looked at me, it makes my throat tighten and alarm bells cry inside my skull. When I think about the pile of empty cans at his feet or the way he leaned forward to come close to me or the way he bit his words at me before I pressed cotton to his lips--it makes me want to draw into myself. 

I am still somehow embarrassed by what he did, what he said. 

“Everyone thinks Hangman’s the asshole,” Bob had told me during our lunch break, “so don’t fret.”

I was eating an apple then, sitting with him in the cafeteria at a table in the corner. We were sitting by ourselves, both of us propping our feet in empty chairs. I was strategically eating half of the apple in hopes he would grade me a granola bar.

I nodded. 

It was so like Bob to find that out, perusing conversations stealthily until he attained the general consensus. It was so like Bob to synthesize the information with his own free will and then relay it to me like it was his genuine job. 

“Doesn’t everyone always think he’s the asshole?” 

Bob, who was finishing his salad, pushed his glasses back up his nose as he eyed me. He chewed for a long moment, narrowing his eyes. Then he pointed his fork at me, swallowing hard. 

“Are you implying that my internal investigation is ineffective, Faye?” 

He’d been nothing short of perfect since the bonfire--validating me but not condescending me. Now he was back to calling me everything else besides Fee--which meant whatever pity he felt for me was dissipating. He was stepping down from his position as surrogate sibling, at least in one small way. He was back to teasing me, chiding with me. 

It made me heave a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.  

Even with my back turned, I know Hangman’s eyes haven’t left my form. I know he’s still watching me. And I can feel it, sense it, when he opens his mouth to say something to me--can feel that little intake of breath and the muscles in his face working to speak.

“Listen, I--!”

That’s when Rooster walks into the room, just as I turn to look at Hangman over my shoulder, at his bobbing Adam’s apple and sweat-spackled forehead. If Rooster heard anything Hangman said when he was walking into the room, he doesn’t show it. 

He’s smiling as soon as he sees me, but in a smaller way now than yesterday. I know the mission is weighing heavy on him, especially today when they are relentlessly running the fruitless simulation. His shoulders are pulled together tightly, just like Hangman’s, but his eyes are soft when he looks at me. 

“Hey, you,” I say softly, smiling, letting my hand rest on the table. 

His smile broadens a hair, just a hair. I think he is just about to reach out for me, just about to push my hair behind my ear or lay his hand over my own, when he suddenly realizes Hangman is in the room. 

I watch it--watch his eyes dart between Hangman and myself, watch the way his smile begins to falter. But then he’s looking at me again. 

“Hey yourself, Ledger,” he sighs, “who’s up?”

“Blue team,” Hangman says before I can, “Coyote, Phoenix, Bob.”

Rooster just nods, not breaking his eyes from mine. Still, I know, Hangman is looking at me, my back turned to him. It makes my throat burn.  

When Rooster is this close to me, I can see the sweat in his pretty hair from where his helmet was secured on his head. I can see how red his cheeks are, how bitten his lips seem. He’s stressed. No doubt about it. It makes me want to kiss his face all over, makes me want to serve him dinner in bed, makes me want to wrap my lips around him.

“Coffee?” Rooster asks. 

He’s close to me now, close enough that I can feel the naked skin of his arms against mine, close enough that my fingertips are tingling and my lungs are shivering and my knees are weakening. I want to touch him always--but especially when we are this close. 

“Yes,” I tell him, my voice thin, “please.”

“I take mine regular,” Hangman calls, smirking. 

Rooster pretends not to hear him, doesn’t even glance in Hangman’s direction. 

He winks at me, flirty and sweet, and lets our arms graze as he walks past me. He doesn’t have to ask me how I take my coffee, doesn’t have to ask how much I want. He throws one more glance at me before he enters the hallway again and I smile my prettiest smile. 

“What were you saying,” I immediately ask once Rooster’s form has disappeared, “before?” 

I don’t even turn around. I don’t know if I can look at him when he’s being sincere. So I make my hands busy with papers and pens and clips and sticky notes, pretend like I can’t feel the intensity of his gaze. 

“I know I’m a dick,” he says, “and I know I’m especially a dick when I drink too much, which I did.”

He sounds genuinely awkward for the first time, his smooth voice suddenly jagged as he navigates pauses and stammers. I still can’t get myself to turn around.

“I went…too far. I know I hurt your feelings,” he sighs. 

I nod. 

“Humiliated me,” I add and my tone is just as thin as before.

He inhales sharply and I think if I was watching him, he would be nodding, his eyes untrained as he stared down at the floor. 

“For what it’s worth,” he adds quietly, softly, “I am sorry.”

I am sorry. 

It almost knocks me off my feet. Hangman is the kind of guy no one has to know very long before they immediately understand that he isn’t a “sorry” kind of guy. It stuns me into complete silence. 

The silence between us swallows him and I let it, try to look busy still, try to look like I’m organizing my things and preparing my setup, preparing to listen to the comms, re-engaging after our lunch break. But I can’t get myself to move. 

“I take it you probably don’t like me very much now,” he adds.

I know then and there that he also isn’t someone who can sit in silence. He squirms in it--it makes him crazy. 

“I never said that,” I say quickly, finally turning so he can see my cheek.

Maybe I mean it, too. Maybe I just can’t help it. Maybe it’s because the man that danced with me at The Hard Deck, the one who was so cocky and sure of himself but still sweet with me, is still inside him somewhere. Maybe it’s because I knew even at the bonfire that he had drank too much--everyone did. Maybe it’s because I want to be punished for what I did and he was my unknowing, unlikely punisher. Or maybe he’s just too pretty to not like. 

He’s just looking at me, his face somehow both anguished and soft. His brows are pulled together and his lips are tightly pressed against another in a straight line. His forehead is lined with worry and so are the crinkled beside his eyes, but his gaze is soft now. 

Maybe he wants to say more. His jaw flexes, he inhales through his nose deeply, but then Rooster walks back into the room with two paper cups of coffee, beaming at me. 

“Thanks,” I say, taking the steaming cup into my palms. 

The heat burns intensely through the paper material--and in some ways, it brings me back to where I am right now: I am at work, in the lounge, and I have a job to complete.

Rooster is searching my face and just his eyes on me make me want to melt into the tiles. I want to lean forward and kiss him on his pretty mouth, on his perfect lips. But I just smile at him, biting my lip. Then I settle into the chair and pick up a pen. 

Hangman abruptly turns his portable radio off--a louder quietness fills the lounge. I can feel Rooster and him looking at each other, can hear the rustling of Hangman standing up and readjusting his uniform. Before I can even take the cap off my pen, before I can really blur them out and listen in on the comms, Rooster falls in place beside me with his cup of sugary coffee and Hangman falls into place a few seats away from me with his hands folded. 

The tension is palpable. Neither men are willing to speak first.

But I am at work--it would be silly for me to engage in whatever conversation is necessary between the pilots. 

“Could you turn the comm up?” Hangman asks.

His voice is still that same soft voice from before--the one that seems achingly normal.

Without looking between the two of them, I turn the dial on the radio and begin transcribing. Their eyes are burning holes into both sides of my face--both my cheeks are flushed and I can feel the blood spreading to my neck and chest. 

“Is it hot in here?” Hangman asks. 

I say nothing--wish the world would gobble me up. 

 ☾ ☽

There is a water spot on the drop ceiling, brown and big and ugly.  

I am sitting here in the waiting room of the closest hospital to base and I know that it is warm in here. I know that it is crowded with crying babies and crying mothers and whining children and bleeding men and pregnant teenagers. I know that the lights above me are bright white but feel like they’re neon. I know that the air conditioning isn’t working and that the staff is overworked and underpaid. I know that outside the sun is beginning to sink.  

But I can’t get myself to move--can’t adjust, can’t blink, can hardly breathe. And I can’t look away from the ugly, stupid water spot on the ceiling.

Vaguely, I’m aware that Hangman is on one side of me and Rooster is on the other. I know, I think I know, that they are both standing instead of sitting because they gave their seats to an elderly woman and a pregnant woman respectively. 

We listened to the bird strike--the three of us. We all listened to Bob and Phoenix burn in, listened to Maverick direct them to eject. Listened to their voices scream through the comms. 

“We’re going down, Phoenix! We’re going in! We’re going in!”

I don’t know how I did it, but I did not panic at first. I trailed behind Rooster and Hangman as they hurried to Hondo. I think my ears rang from the moment I heard the calls for ejection. And when Rooster and Hangman started for the parking lot, I was right behind them, my vision tunneling. 

Yes, yes, I was watching them in their flight suits and I could see the blue of the sky and feel the heat of the sun--but I was not really there, no. 

I was back up in our jet on that October day, in the endless blue sky, soaring above the snowy terrain of Somewhere, Europe. I was behind my sister, looking at her pink helmet with the scratches on the back. I was turning my cheek and spotting the third dagger. I was watching Maneater switch to guns. I was being pressed against my seat as we bustered. I was pressing the flare-deployment button and nothing was happening. I was listening to my sister call for help, listening to her scream mayday! Mayday! I was pulling my ejection handle, bursting into the sky in tandem with my twin. And then I was watching her die. That’s where I was--from start to finish, from top to bottom--that’s where I really was. Even when I was in the front seat of the Bronco, my hands folded in my lap, my eyes blinking at the road--I wasn’t there. 

I’m still not here. No, not really. 

When Maverick comes down the hallway, when Hangman and Rooster jump forward to speak to him, I don’t think I can move. They’re a million miles away on the other side of the waiting room and I am stuck here, in this stupid little chair, and the pregnant woman beside me is crying. 

Rooster keeps turning to look at me over his shoulder like I’m a toddler bound to wander off--or maybe that’s just how boyfriends are supposed to check in on their shell-shocked girlfriends. I don’t know. 

And very suddenly, all three of the men are looking at me, I can feel it. So I grip the sides of the chair, grip them until my knuckles are as white as rice, and pry myself out of the seated position. Even though I feel like I’m in the endless blue of an October sky, even though I feel like the plane is about to drop out from under me, I square my shoulders and walk in a straight and narrow line to the three of them. 

“Lieutenant Ledger,” Maverick says and his voice sounds so hollow and deep and if Bob is gone I think I will die, just fucking die, and I will wait to do it until I am out of the hospital so they won’t put me on a crash cart and pump my heart and give me oxygen, “they’re going to keep them overnight for observation, but they’re alright. Cuts and bruises.” 

So that’s when I nod solemnly and excuse myself to the restroom.

My vision is tunneling, but I don’t want to touch the walls. Bob’s face, Bob’s sweet and cute and familiar face, is all I can see as I stumble down, down the hallway and into the public restroom. It’s too bright and smelly and pink and ugly in here. It smells like bile and shit and bleach and antiseptic all at once. And it’s much, much quieter here. So quiet that I can faintly hear Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go by Wham! playing over the speakers.  

“Fuck,” I whisper and it really does sound like I am saying it from behind myself, like my body and soul have untethered.

Locking myself in a stall, I don’t even have time to fall to my knees or wipe the yellow piss off the toilet seat before my body is reacting to the porcelain toilet under me. 

The bile is acidic, burns me all the way from deep in my gut to my throat and to my mouth. The bile is somewhere between green and brown--coffee and apple and granola bar--and my belly is quivering inside my body. 

Fuck. What would I do if Bob died? My best friend on this empty fucking planet. The only boy in the class, the only boy in our degree interested in learning about Virginia Woolf. The boy who sang into my mouth, his breath hot and scented like UV Blue, at a fraternity party on a dirty rug in a dirty house. The boy whose hair I would cut in my little galley kitchen, who always wanted to listen to Aretha Franklin and Elton John. The boy who would pick me up at my apartment with an umbrella and walk me to my classes. The boy who loved my sister as much as I did. The boy who turned into a man somewhere between graduating college and living beneath the California sun. The man who asked my sister’s dates for their ID’s, who kept a folder on his phone especially for them. The man who hates dancing but will always dance with me when our song comes on. The man who memorized poetry and never showed it off, never became cocksure about it--just said it quietly in my ear. 

If he died today, if he burned in, he would die with a mangled fist because of me. His body would be stunted, perfectly branded by the one and only time he ever punched someone. And it was because of me.

Him, that boy, that man. 

The world would be mighty empty without him--my life would be hollow, echoey. 

And I’m crying now, crying as puke spews out of my nostrils and I have to cough so I don’t choke, but maybe I’m crying because I couldn’t guard him. My shield, the shield I thought was supposed to protect everyone else I love, was penetrable. I had more faith in the universe, in whatever being is controlling this life, before. I thought that I would get just one really, really bad thing that would happen and the rest of my life would be pulling the shards of it out of my skin. I thought if I loved someone hard enough, deep enough, then the shitty parts of it would reflect off me and onto them like a burning ray of sunshine. I thought my shitty thing would be their shitty thing. I thought, if nothing else, that the people I loved would be safe. So, so safe.  

When my heaving is dry, when my belly is empty, I straighten myself out. I wipe my face in the mirror, pushing the black mascara staining my undereyes off my skin with shaking fingers. My mouth tastes putrid--I know my breath smells too. So I swish soap in my mouth, ignoring the bitterness, and wash myself thoroughly with water. 

I leave the bathroom, one foot in front of the other, and pretend like I am okay. I’m fine. I just feel like I’m going to faint. Hangman is standing against an outdated poster wall and when he sees me, he nods in my direction. A nod that says come here. 

When I’m standing in front of him, he looks down at me, starting to survey my features, but I wipe under my nose and speak before he can say anything. 

“Can I see him?” 

His open mouth closes. He nods. The blue of his eyes deepens as he stares at the white tile below my feet. 

“C’mon,” he offers, “I’ll walk you.” 

I don’t need to ask where Rooster is. His best friend burned in, too. I know exactly where he is, where he should be. And I know why Hangman was waiting for me outside the bathroom. 

“You okay, kid?” 

Kid. He’s never called me this before. I almost have to strain to hear him over the ringing in my ears. 

“Fine,” I say, my throat still burning from the bile. 

“I know we aren’t the best of friends,” he starts and I look around us, at the blue-green curtains and the foggy glass windows and the pale people in dirty beds and the nurses with their tired eyes and I want to cry again, “but if you want to talk…”

He leaves the end of his sentence open, open for me to finish. 

Shaking my head, I look at the floor. Count my steps. One, two. Three, four. My feet fucking hurt. 

“I don’t,” I say. 

And now we are in front of Bob’s hospital room. Hangman lets his head fall when we stand in the threshold, not pushing his luck. He won’t go in. 

It’s a private room, one that is nice and spacious--too nice and too spacious for just one person with some cuts and bruises. Navy perks. It’s still terribly outdated and smells too much like body and antiseptic. There’s steel appliances and beeping machines and blinking screens and sterile sheets and trash cans and moving beds. But there’s a nice, big window beside Bob’s bed. He's watching the sunset from his spot in the middle of his big, big bed.

I come rushing back into my body and it feels like running full force at a brick wall and making it to the other side. The ringing in my ear subsides, the vision that is tunneled broadens until I can even see the view from his window. I can feel my body again, every single part and every single nerve, and it hurts so good. 

“Floyd,” I choke out, putting my hands on my hips. 

Bob snaps his head in my direction. His face looks perfect--unblemished with wounds, no matter how minuscule. Thank fucking God. 

“Faye,” he says and his voice sounds so relieved, so sad. 

Swallowing feels like such a task. Hangman is looking at my face and I’m growing pink. 

“You’re grounded,” I say, pointing at him and I don’t mean to but I’m choked up again, my eyes watery, “forever. For the rest of your life.” 

Softly, I hear Hangman chuckle quietly. Then Hangman nods one time, sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” he mumbles and just before he spins on his heel and starts down the hallway, he glances at Bob, “don’t die on us, Floyd.”  

Bob is shrugging at me, smiling very small, very shyly. 

“You’re the boss,” he says to me, to Hangman. 

Hangman starts down the hallway by himself, his hands in fists by his side. And now I’m walking to him, putting my arms around him, being careful to navigate the IV in his arm, being careful with his body that suddenly feels very small and precious in my arms. 

Stay here. Stay here with me. Don’t move.

He still smells like he just took a shower, still smells like a clean infant. But he also smells like hand sanitizer and sweat and hospital laundry. His hospital shirt is thin and papery against my arms as I hug him to me, as I let my head fall onto his shoulder. 

“Scared me,” I choke, tears rolling down my face, “you asshole.” 

Even though he’s soft under me, I know that his face is becoming wet now, too. I know he was scared. I know that the breath was knocked out of his lungs when he launched out of the burning jet, I know his chest was heavy with the weight of the atmosphere. I know his belly dropped and he felt like he was soaring, falling. I know he thought of me, of Maggie. I know he was worried about Phoenix--I know he shot out first, flying high above the canyon and in those split seconds where he was alone, I know he was worried that he’d left her behind. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry.” 

Maybe he’s saying sorry because he scared me. Maybe he’s saying sorry because he knows that if he died, knows that if he was gone, that I would be thoroughly and completely alone here. 

“Are you okay?” 

I pull back and my nose is running and I can smell the remnants of vomit that came out of my nose but I hold his arms in mine and try to see his body, even if my vision is obscured with fat tears. His hair is messy and I think there’s a cut there, splitting the skin of his scalp, but it’s small and bandaged. His hands are a bit gnarled, I can tell from the amount of bandage on them, but other than that he looks okay. Perfectly okay. 

“I was scared,” he says quietly and that’s when I realize his glasses are bent and sitting lopsided on his pale face, “but I’m okay. I’m good.” 

Chewing my lip, I nod, just watching his sweet face. I told him I would see to it that he is okay. And for some reason, as I watch his eyes land on the spot of vomit on my shirt, I know that I don’t have that ability. I cannot see to anything, not here, not when I’m on the ground. Perpetually below everyone, everything. 

I want to tell him that if I lost him, I wouldn’t be able to move on. But what good would it do? What purpose would it serve? 

So I just hold his face in my hands; my best friend. My hero. I can feel myself frowning.  

“You two did everything right. Everything. You’re the best WSO.”

The earnestness surprises him. His blue eyes glaze with tears and I stroke his cheeks very softly, very sweetly. The fluorescents are burning my skin. 

“Now that you’re grounded I am,” he whispers. 

I can’t help the wet laugh that falls from my mouth. It hurts and it feels so, so good at the same time. Sweet Bob, his face between both my hands. 

“Okay, I’m gonna say it,” I warn him, widening my eyes. 

He nods a few times. 

“I love you, Bob,” I say, shrugging, “just can’t help myself.” 

“Who could?” He asks. 

 ☾ ☽

We meet between Phoenix and Bob’s rooms, in the empty vast hallway that connects them. I am slumped over by now, too tired to straighten my shoulders, my belly very empty and my eyes suddenly too dry. No more tears to cry, no more bile to heave. 

Rooster doesn’t look much better. His hair is falling, his mustache drooping under his frowning lips. His flight suit is unzipped halfway, black t-shirt clinging to his skin. He can’t get himself to perk up either.

“Hey,” I whisper to him, meeting in the middle, face angled towards him, “she okay?” 

His hands very softly find my elbows and he holds them solidly, looking down at me with his brow furrowed deeply. He’s holding himself steady, grounding himself with my weight. It makes me plant my feet more surely on the tile. His eyes are downcast to look at my parted lips, my pale cheeks. 

“She’s fine,” he says, his voice crackly and deep, “Bob?” 

I nod, coming a little bit closer to him, close enough for my folded hands to touch his canvas flightsuit. 

“Fine,” I whisper. 

The intercom over us is mumbling something, there is distant 80s music playing somewhere near the nurse’s station, babies are crying, machines are beeping. And in this quiet, but also not-so-quiet, hallway we just stand there. His hands over my elbows, the backs of my hands pressed against the flat plane of his belly. We are both looking down at the floor, down at our feet.

“I’ll drive you home,” he whispers to me. 

I nod, looking at the stuff on the toe of his laced-up boots. 

“You aren’t staying?” 

I make my voice flat when I say it--can’t possibly give him anymore grief today. He’s been through enough--too much even. I just want to lay him down on my bed and let him sleep. 

He pushes my knotted hair off my shoulders then lets his hands come to my waist. He grips me, holding me tighter but not closer. My eyes flutter shut. His hands feel like bathing in a pool of warm, soapy water. 

“Have to go back to base,” he whispers, “but I’ll come back late tonight. That okay?”

That okay? As if he couldn’t show up on any day, any time and I wouldn’t have a glass of sparkling wine waiting for him. Like there wouldn’t already be cookies in the oven.

“Whatever you want, Bradley,” I whisper and I really mean it--mean it with every piece of myself. 

Finally, he closes the distance between us. When he wraps his arms around me, really wraps his arms around me, everything else melts away like we’ve just stepped into the shower together. All the shit, all the awful. Every single bit of the day washes away.

If only we were together during the worst parts of each other’s lives. If only he was here when I was discharged from the hospital after the accident, when I was wheeled outside the automatic hospital doors without my twin sister and my parents cried in strange silence. If only I was there when his mother passed, holding his hand as he held hers. If only we had stood beside each other at the funerals--then maybe we wouldn’t have been so lost. Then maybe things wouldn’t hurt so wholly. 

But then I jolt, jolt myself back to reality. Because if something bad could happen to Bob, Bob who I’ve known for what feels like my entire life, then something bad could absolutely happen to Rooster, too. And then it wouldn’t matter how lost either of us ever got because it would be over. Then I would be the one alone, standing over the grave, the blank shots of the rifles ringing through the--

Without a single word, Rooster kisses my throat very tenderly. He kisses my four freckles, still doesn’t speak. But it is enough. It is enough right now to keep me here with him. 

Rooster doesn’t release me, his nose finding its way back in my hair. I don’t interrupt him, just stand here, gripping him, digging my nails into his flight suit. Stay here with me, baby.

“Lead the way,” I whisper finally, pretending like I hadn’t just imagined standing over his open grave, pretending like the smile on my lips is really authentic, really me, “tramp.” 

When we walk back through the waiting room, we both see Hangman at the same time. He is leaning against the wall by the exit, his eyes on the floor as he incessantly rubs the scab on his lip. His hair is falling, too, but the most prevalent part of his being that Rooster and I seem to also both notice in tandem are the purple bags under his eyes. 

I think about his message late at night, think about how early he had been on base this morning. And now it’s night time and he is still here in this dingy waiting room. 

“Hangman,” Rooster says softly when we approach him, our hands joined. 

Hangman snaps to attention immediately, hands dropping to his sides, his lip red with irritation. 

He looks at Rooster with his bloodshot eyes widened just slightly--then flickers his eyes to mine. He looks small standing here by himself, like he is our forgotten child. And I wish I could help it, but my heart throbs because I suddenly want to take care of him, too. I want to run him a bath and let him stay in my bathroom for as long as he wants. I want to pour him a glass of wine and let him pick a movie. 

“They’re good?” 

He is looking between us again. I nod sharply. 

“Fine,” I whisper.

His shoulders drop, chest loosens. I wish that my fingers weren’t tingling, wish that my heart was not throbbing, wish my eyes weren’t so glossy right now. Rooster squeezes my hand and I squeeze his, too. I wish I could press my lips against his palm right now, right this moment. But Hangman is looking down at me very seriously, very gravely. 

“Can I walk out with you guys?” 

Then they’re both looking at me, both of them so exhausted, so stressed, so tight. I think about Bob calling me the boss, think about Rooster looking to me for every decision now. So I nod again, biting my lip. 

“Of course you can.” 

So we walk out together, the three of us. Our eyes are half-shut and our walks are stilted by tight joints and even tighter, more stressed muscles. The night is dark and wide and our cars are parked very far away. Fuck, my feet fucking hurt. 

“Hold on,” I mumble to them before we can even get ten feet from the hospital entrance. 

They both pause, looking back at me as I slip my shoes off and fall back onto the earth four inches shorter and a million pounds lighter. I have to smile at them, smile very small. Silently, Rooster reaches out and takes my shoes from me, holding them. It makes my throat tight--makes me think of the suitors that would hold Maggie’s shoes for her when she got tired of wearing them. Oh, Lord. 

“Do you want dinner, Hangman?” I ask. 

Rooster glances at me from the corner of his eye, mouth flat. I squeeze his hand again. It’s okay. It’s fine. And he seems to understand this--understand that I cannot help but forgive. I cannot help but move forward and take care of everyone. I have always had a soft spot for pilots. 

Hangman is pretending like he isn’t shocked. He’s blinking rapidly at the night around us, his hands in his pockets, his spine straightened. 

“That would be nice,” he says tightly, “thank you.”

Rooster drives me home silently, the headlights from Hangman’s purring Jaguar lighting our silhouettes. I am sitting in the middle of the bench, my head on Rooster’s shoulder. He drives with one hand, his legs spread, his arm draped over me and his free hand holding on tight to my arm. 

Going to California by Led Zeppelin is playing now. 

 It is peaceful in here, listening to the cars whizz past us, listening to the radio, feeling the night air leak in through the cracked windows. Life will not be peaceful for a long time after this. No, no. This feels like the last stop in a while. 

And when we pull onto Mulberry Street--the street with the house that I own, the street where my sister used to drive down all the time--he finally speaks. He clears his throat first and I look away from the eucalyptus trees and the purple sage and desert mariposas being illuminated by the Broncos headlights, look up at his serious face and his flexed jaw. He’s watching the road very seriously, his lips parted. 

“I love you,” he says and I hear it clear as day. 

It sounds like being called home when the streetlights turned on. It sounds like the dinner bell is ringing. It feels like my entire body is being dipped in nectar. It sounds perfectly correct. 

His grip on my arm tightens slightly, just enough for me to notice. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the road, doesn’t dare glance at me. He just keeps watching the street before us, keeps waiting for my breathing to even out. 

“I know,” I finally say because I do know, I really do. 

His face slacks, his grip lessens. 

We pull into my driveway as Hangman parks on the sidestreet. And then Rooster looks at me and the motion light above my garage blinks on. We are just sitting, our thighs pressed together, looking at each other in the warm July air. Here we are, at my house, and he is not going to come inside. 

I stroke his cheek, his skin like smooth leather beneath my cold fingers.

“Come back, okay?” 

He nods, mouth flat, eyebrows pulled together. He’s looking at my mouth. 

“Okay,” he whispers.

And we both know what I mean. We both know that I mean tonight--and every single night after. He knows I mean the mission, if he’s chosen. We both know that I mean always. Come back always, okay?

He presses his lips to mine and we kiss softly, tenderly, sweetly.

And then I’m squeezing his knee and climbing out of his car and closing the door and standing there with my leather bag and my heels in my hands and waiting for Hangman to approach me, his hands in his pockets. He falls in-step beside me and we both wave to Rooster, who is watching us with his throat tight. 

We silently watch the Bronco pull out and start down the street, darkness falling over us, Rooster just a dot of cyan in the dark. Crickets are chirping and somewhere distantly, cars roar on the highway and seagulls cry out fleetingly. If we strain and don’t breathe, don’t make a sound, maybe we can hear the tide coming in.

“Do you like prosecco?” I ask, turning to Hangman. 

The motion-sensor light blinks off. 

It’s almost eleven o’clock when I set our bowls in the sink, dirtied with spinach and white-wine and little pieces of spaghetti. I refill our glasses, taking a deep breath alone in my dark kitchen, my cheeks red and my eyes tired. And then I hold them in my hands, push through the kitchen door, and return to the living room. 

Hangman is sitting against the marmalade ottoman, his legs spread open as he twiddles with the fibers in one of the rugs he sits on. He takes the glass from me thankfully, holding it with two hands. 

I go back to the couch, where I lay against its plushness, my feet on the coffee table. The candles are lit and the curtains are drawn. There is a distinct sense that we are both just waiting for Rooster to come back to us, to come home. 

The Rolling Stones’ album Sticky Fingers is spinning. Wild Horses is playing.

We haven’t said much to each other. He sat at my kitchen table while I cooked and was polite when I served him. We ate in almost complete silence, too, and I don’t know if it’s because we are so tired or maybe because the day has been so long. Or maybe we don’t have anything to say to each other. 

It’s only been an hour since Rooster left us here together, only an hour and a half since we left the hospital as a trio. Not very long at all since we came into the living room after dinner. 

In place of words, Hangman has been looking around my house with shining eyes. It’s the same way other people look at my house when they see it for the first time. Filled with so much color, so much exuberance. It is so interesting to see how I live, the researcher who exclusively wears linen earth tones. My home is beautiful, I know this. I know this because it has been built with my hands, with my brain, with my love. It is everything I have ever wanted in a home. 

Finally, he speaks. 

“Your house is nice,” he says quietly. 

I nod, glancing at him on my floor. He’s looking down into his glass. 

“Thank you,” I whisper, “took a long time to get it here.” 

Another beat passes and he sucks in a breath, looking up at me with his tired eyes and his mouth a singular plane on his face. A shadow is beginning to appear on his face--stubble, a very dark blonde. 

“I like you, you know,” he says and it’s not hasty or reckless. He just says it. 

My eyes fall to my glass, too. Fuck. I say nothing. My throat is tight. 

“You’re a good person,” he continues, “like an actual good person--no bullshit.” 

Graceless lady / You know who I am / You know I can't let you / Slide through my hands 

  I take a long, long drink. The bubbles are making my nose tingle. Stevie is sitting on top of the stairs, blinking slowly at Hangman the same way she blinked at Bob. Well, you definitely aren’t Him. 

“Thanks,” I mutter. 

I wish he would stop talking now. My heart is in my throat. But there is also that need to keep him talking, to let him cry on my shoulder, to spill all of his feelings so I can sweep them into a dustpan and keep the floor spick and span. 

“When I say I like you…” he trails off and I let him, blinking at the sofa, measuring my breaths, “but you haven’t thrown me a second glance. I know you only have eyes for Bradshaw.” 

Fuck. Fuck. 

“You two deserve each other,” he says again, “he’s crazy about you.”

My throat aches with a dry laugh. He’s looking at me.

I can’t help it--it’s the prosecco, it’s the image of Bob in a hospital bed, it’s Rooster’s confession in my driveway, it’s the ghost of my sister in the room with us. 

“Why’d you do it?”

I finally turn and look at his face. I can’t stop looking at the spot where his lip is split. His mouth is ajar, his hair is messy. He’s blinking at me, incessantly rubbing his finger around the rim of his glass. He knows what I’m asking. I don’t have to spell it out for him, I don’t have to point at the elephant standing in the corner. He just knows.

“I just told you why,” he says softly, shrugging. His voice is almost a whisper, which is the first time I have heard him speak so quietly. 

He sounds kind when he speaks to me quietly--sounds real and grounded.

Except he’s talking like he just tugged on my pigtails at recess. He’s talking like he just cut in line in the cafeteria and stuck his tongue out at me. He’s talking like he’s a little boy and I’m a little girl and we still abide by the societal rules of the youth. Be mean to girls when you like them. Pick on them. It makes me a little bit sick to my stomach. 

I actually scoff out loud, loud enough to make him blink in surprise. 

“How elementary of you,” I say, taking another long drink. 

He shakes his head, his eyes falling down to the empty space beside me. Don’t fucking sit here. Don’t move. I feel like anything in the world could happen if he moved and sat beside me. We are two people who should not be alone in a room together--two people so exhaustively different, so on two opposite ends of different spectrums. This empty couch around me, this space beside me--it is not for him. 

He doesn't move.   

“Never said I was a complicated guy,” he responds. 

There’s another beat and I can’t stop thinking about the way his entire body softened when I pressed the cotton to his lips, when I was crying and couldn’t help myself, when I felt like I was on fire. 

“But you don’t hate me,” he says before continuing, “you don’t even dislike me.” 

I shake my head, furrowing my eyebrows just slightly. 

“No,” I confirm verbally, rolling my cheek to my shoulder to look at him again. 

He has turned so his entire body faces me. He is still leaning up against the ottoman, his legs splayed before him, his feet slightly obscured by the couch. His face is warm in the candlelight. 

“Why not?” 

Now I blink in surprise. Why not?

“Because then what’s the point?” I say and I mean it, I really do. 

What is my purpose here, on this earth that my sister is buried in, if not to love? What is the point of my own being, my own entire being, if not to forgive and push forward? Who am I if I am not taking care of anyone--of everyone? What is the reason for my existence if not to nurture? 

I can’t say any of this to him, though--this I am crucially, keenly aware of. 

“The point of what?” He presses. 

I gesture to the air around me. 

“Of this,” I chuckle humorlessly, “of anything.”

He slouches back against the ottoman further, his chest sinking. 

“See,” he quietly says, eyes falling to the rugs, “there it is. That goodness.”

I want to roll my eyes. I want my sister to be here beside me to lighten Hangman up. He is so wholly deflated, sitting here in my house with his belly full of my pasta, and I don’t know how to pump all that cocksure air back inside him. 

“I’m not that good of a person,” my voice quivers, “you know that. Everyone does now.”

Even I know that blow is low when I say it. My face is hot. He doesn’t seem fazed. 

“Having a high body count doesn’t make you--!”

He stops talking when he meets my eyes. I can’t help the expression that holds my features--my eyebrows sloped, my mouth pursed, eyes narrowed. It is a mom look--a look of disappointment, a look that says shhh. A look that is still, in its own way, nurturing. 

But as soon as he feels his face flatten, he inflates a bit. He sits up a little straighter, setting his glass on the ground beside him. 

“Okay then,” he says, “I’ll bite. What makes you not that good of a person?”

 I gape at him for a moment, chest flushed. Fucking pilots. 

“Lots of things.” 

My addiction. The booze. Not knowing I was pregnant for fourteen weeks. Not knowing who the father was. Being in rehab on mine and my sister’s 25th birthday. Wanting to die with her in the woods. Wanting to make my parents whatever parents are when they lose all their children. 

“Like?”

 He’s really pressing now. 

I scoff again. 

“Why do you wanna know?” 

My voice is that silly, unintentional bitter voice that I get when I’m upset.

He gestures to me with wide eyes. Oh, right. Because he likes me. It makes me soften, makes me pull my legs into myself.

With my eyes downcast, I pick lint off my pants and say, “What, you want me to talk you out of having a crush on me?”

I don’t look up, but I see his head when it nods one time, just one solid jerk. Fucking Christ. But I am not ready to give him all the parts of myself that I have given Rooster--not ready to let him know me like Bob does 

“Because I’m still messed up after what happened to me,” I say, “and I saw things that nobody else should have to see.” 

He’s staring at me and my throat is raw. I take another drink, my face so hot that it could make a cake bake. 

“Like what?” 

I snap up at that. His face is soft, plain. He isn’t challenging me. He’s inviting me in a strange, strange way. But no. No, no. These things I’ve seen--they will be mine until I die. Because no one needs to know. I will put her to bed, let her rest, in that small way. No one needs to know about the smell of her body or the way her eyes were wide open. It’s just for me--we were born together and her death will die when I do. 

“You really, really don’t want to know.” 

When I say this to him, my voice is thin and flat. 

“What if I do?” 

I have to bite down hard on my lip. He sounds like Maggie--challenging me in that quiet, intense way. 

“Trust me, Jake,” I say a little bit louder now, emptying my glass before I finish, “you don’t.”

Then I stand up and cross the living room, through the kitchen door, and open my fridge. I am shaking so badly that I almost let the cold bottle slip out of my grip and onto the floor. But I just pour myself another drink and come back into the living room with my glass and the bottle. 

He watches me set the bottle on the table, watches me return to my spot, chewing my lip. 

“That doesn’t help,” he says. 

His voice is calm. That doesn’t help him not like me? I could puke again. 

“Well, fuck me then,” I sigh, exasperated, throwing my hand up and looking at him. 

Then I realize what I’ve said. We both shift in our spots and I shake my head, that silly blush creeping up my chest again. 

“I don’t listen to music past 2016,” I start and I don’t even have to tell him that it’s because it was the last year I was able to listen to music with my sister--the last year she was alive, “and I want to get married and have kids and buy project houses. I don’t want to be in the Navy forever.”

His face is pulling together, lips pursing, eyes narrowing.

 “Maybe I just don’t know you very well, but I’m guessing those are the last things that you want, right?” I ask. 

He nods. 

“Well,” I sigh, smiling, “there you go. Crush averted.”

A quietness falls over us. I get up and flip the record, running my cold hands over my face before I sit back on the couch. He is more pulled into himself now, his legs criss-crossed. 

There is a strange energy in the air--somewhere between buzzing and limp. He’s looking at me still, fingering the carpet beneath his hands. 

“Faye,” he says, his voice profoundly big and loud in this living room. 

It’s the first time he’s ever called me by my name--my actual name, the one that was dissected from my sister’s.

Our eyes meet. 

“I never meant to make you cry,” he says and I know, can tell, that he means it. 

I can’t help but smile. He is such an asshole. He would be so, so perfect for someone like Maggie. He could make a different girl very happy, fill her up so nicely with his words and that face and his body. 

But even as I sit here in his sweet gaze, I am radically and indisputably in love with Bradley Bradshaw. There is not even the beginnings of a single doubt. It is intrinsic to me, the same as forgiveness and kindness is to me. 

“No one ever does.”

After one more moment, one where he rakes his hands through his hair and finishes off his glass and throws his legs out in front of him again, he grins at me. His inflating bit by bit.

“You wanna know what made me text you?”

No, no. Not really. Not at all. Because this is making me very dizzy. Because this is making me ache for my sister in a way that I usually don’t ache for her. I wish I could go give her a panicked phone call in the privacy of my backyard and beg her to come save me. Fuck, she would have a hay-day with this. Relentlessly teasing the two pilots pining after me. Me of all people. Fuck.

I don’t answer, so he just says it, before I can stop him. 

“It was when you came back to get your things,” he says and he still sounds soft but there’s an edge to his voice, “and I said another shitty thing to you--on top of the shitty things that made Bob of all people actually punch me in the face--and instead of shitting on me too--you took care of me. My lip--the cotton. I made you cry and you were still cleaning up my face.”

It makes me embarrassed when he explains it. It makes me embarrassed because I did not attack him the way Maggie would have--all teeth and torn flesh and sharp nails and decisive strikes. No, no. I froze--just like Rooster--and let Hangman say all the shitty things that he said and then I went back and took care of him. 

“You don’t think that makes me weak?”

The voice that says this hardly sounds like my own--so meek, so doubtful. 

He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing. 

“I think it makes you better than the rest of us,” he says gently, “tougher, really.”

“Tougher?” I echo.  

He’s watching me bite my lip. He nods again.

“Yes,” he confirms, “tougher.” 

I’m biting my lip so hard that I taste metal. I wish Rooster would come home now, right now, and interrupt whatever energy is invading this room. Hangman is being too friendly, too sweet--it’s starting to scare me. Maybe he’s delirious. Maybe today has traumatized him more than we thought before.

He’s just looking at me now, smiling faintly, softly. He’s looking at me the way Rooster looks at me--his eyes just a touch too bright, his face a touch too open and pretty. I swallow hard. 

Moonlight Mile is playing now. 

It’s when I move my eyes from his, my chest starting to hurt, that he looks down at his glass again. He sighs very deeply, seems to be thinking about something very hard. I wish we weren’t alone--I wish someone else was seeing him like this so they would understand why I am so soft in some spots. 

“It’s also when I realized you were too good for me,” he says, a little louder now. 

My chest is burning, pulsing. Fuck. I can’t get myself to say anything else--no words will come to me. Not now, not when he is being so obscurely soft. 

“I think I should go,” he tells me. 

I nod, biting my lip. 

“Okay.” 

So we stand up and he looks tired as he ever has before, his lip plum-colored and still swollen. The rest of his face is so pretty that it’s actually mildly offensive. He takes his glass to the kitchen without me saying anything and I trail behind him and cork the bottle before putting it on my fridge. 

There’s that silence again. We don’t say anything as he washed the glass with his hand, don’t say anything while he dries it with a linen tea towel, don’t say anything when he turns to me with his face golden and rosy.

I am just living to be lying by your side / But I'm just about a moonlight mile on down the road 

It isn’t until he’s on my front porch that we say anything to each other. I’m holding the door open with my foot, leaning against the doorway with my arms crossed. He is meandering down the steps, but pauses and turns to me. He looks very tired--his eyes are red. 

“Did I stand a chance?” He asks. 

How could I be anything but honest when he’s standing there looking like that?

“No,” I sigh, “you didn’t.”

This gives him some sort of solace. He nods, sucking his lip under his teeth. If his ego is wounded, he doesn’t say anything to me. He doesn’t let his expression run free with the good grief of the situation. 

“Right,” he says, nodding. 

“If you’re too tired,” I say because I have to, because I really have to, “you can sleep here. On the couch.”

He blinks at me a few times before roses paint his cheeks. He shakes his head determinedly. 

“No,” he tells me, “I might get the wrong idea.” 

He winks at me a final time before he finishes the trek to his car, which is parked dutifully on the street and glowing under the moonlight. 

Fucking Christ.

He waves from inside the car and I smile, raising my hand, too. It isn’t until he’s driving down the street that I finally close the door. 

☾☽ 𝐚/𝐧: I literally can't help myself, I love Hangman so much...such a complex character. and I really love writing dialogue for him!!!

☾☽ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

[vaguely-yandere]

I love yandere girly so much… I just love them being desperate and so cute for their darling <3 is there any… nsfw headcanons you have for them? 👀 with a consent darling if possible… a darling that is feeling hot for them and has a crush on them ykyk

GIRLY YAN <3333333

okay okay i actually do have a few nsfw headcanons and just so everyone knows, girly yan is typically written in high school setting but ONLY for aesthetic purposes, none of my lil tropes are underage nor will they act like it! <3

okay okay first hc is that they love marking you in all ways possible. hickeys, bruises, cuts if ur into that, literally fucking anything. they love more subtle stuff as well, like you wearing their jewelry or makeup or clothes, anything they own, it just makes their heart do funny things and they can't seem to keep their hands off you!

has a thing for somno. not full blown, just some groping (if they're brave enough) and heavy petting but in the AM, in the complete darkness, with you next to then wearing next to nothing, thats when theyre at their most depraved. panting, whining, staring at you with their eyes basically GLOWING in the darkness, rubbing their legs together as they desperately try not to wake you up. it's just too much!! they especially love slowly tracing your body, just feeling your skin underneath their fingertips, watching your chest slowly rise and fall as you breathe, watching you like you are the most interesting thing in the world and their heart is racing, they feel so guilty touching you like this when you aren't awake but they can't help themselves! you're just so pretty! they won't remove clothes below the belt or even touch your sex due to, well, consent but also they just wouldn't be able to handle it!

SOOO INTO PRIMAL PLAY ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY!!!! wants nothing more than to fuck you or have you fuck them right after they spent the night hunting down a rival, adrenaline rushing through them, muscles thrumming, feeling like they're too big for their own skin as they desperately fuck you, covering your body with their own and if you two are still near the scene of the crime? they barely last a full minute before they're pitifully whimpering and cumming all over themselves. also ADORES doggy style with them on top so they can cover you with their body and bite your neck like an animal and leave more marks so ppl know your theirs <33 also loves "hunting" you, chasing you through the woods or the house, trying to catch you and breed you <33

speaking of breeding, has a big breeding kink but hates kids. doesn't want em. thinks pregnancy is icky but wants nothing more than to creampie you over and over and over again and watch their cum drip from inside you <3

to stay on brand with my whole submissive yanderes schtick, i will say that they love topping but are insanely submissive for you. service top all the way. loves hearing you tell them how to fuck you, how good they're being, how good they feel and god <33 bend over in front of them and tell them to fuck you until ur tummy bulges from their cum and they'll go fucking insane

call them your wife and they'll cum. you know how a lot of friends will call each other "wife" or "wifey" as a joke? do that to them and they'll spend the entire day squirming in their seats, biting their ring finger, imagining being your pretty little wife! and if you do it over and over again in public, theyll be an absolute mess, hiding their face as they try to control their spasms as you hold them close and say "is everything okay, wifey?"

loves letting you watch them masturbate. loves it. nothing else to add, they're just slutty like that

has the stamina of a GOD. can go for hours on end, all night long! luckily, they're very sweet and give you plenty of breaks and make sure you're enjoying it but even with all the breaks in the world, you're gonna wake up with drool all over your cheek, sore everywhere, your brain absolutely turned into mush and girly yan between your legs, giving you some morning head

also very into anything animalistic which ties into the primal play. scenting you, covering you in the blood of their "rivals", literally anything, they fuckin love it. hard turn off tho? can't get horny if there's an animal in the room or if they hear one. just can't. starts gagging uncontrollably if they try to fight through it while they're cat is meowing outside the door sjsnsjsjdn. a stray bird? fine. a passing squirrel? whatever. but if it stays around for more than ten seconds, it's ruined for them. can't do it. they don't know why it's such an ick for them but it makes they're insides recoil and they end up cuddling you instead <3

[teamconductors]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Lost Tracks of Time, Chapter 29

Summary: Ingo and Emmet return to Unova.

Author’s note: I intended this chapter to kinda-sorta follow Ingo’s perspective (to contrast with last chapter sorta-following Emmet), but that did not pan out.

I once again feel the need to apologize to the Nimbasa Trio. And apologize in general. I’m sorry.

Mild/implied body horror ahead! I thought I was done with needing the content warnings. I was not.

Thank you @furiouskettle!

(Shippers DNI)

Emmet woke up at Lady Sneasler’s Seat. He slept on a pile of hay and leaves across the cave from the nest of Lady Sneasler’s kits. Though Emmet got accustomed to a Sneasel’s toxins thanks to Ingo, he still got poisoned from handling them. He wanted to avoid waking up sick again because a baby Sneasel cuddled up to the weird new human.

Next to Emmet were the first two pokemon he caught in Hisui: Shinx and Porygon. He caught Shinx immediately after Ingo taught him the back-strike technique for catching pokemon. He found Porygon when he saw a space-time distortion and charged in full speed ahead. The only reason Emmet exited with a Porygon without fainting was because Ingo literally pulled him out.

Emmet sat up and stretched his arms. Based on the faint lighting past the Seat entrance, the sun just began rising over Mt. Coronet. He put on his coat, which he used as a blanket. Ingo was gone, but Emmet used the time to see if his determination stayed with his through the night. Was it time to depart from Hisui?

“Good morning, Emmet,” Ingo said. He kept his voice as low as he could, but a couple Sneasels stirred from his greeting. He carried handfuls of twice-spiced radishes and sitrus berries. “I apologize for the lackluster sleeping arrangements, but I hope you got enough rest to begin our morning checks?”

Emmet nodded.

“Is something the matter? Did you hurt your back?” Ingo asked. “I suppose sleeping on hay is not comfortable for us as humans – human-shaped, rather.”

“…I am Emmet. I am… ready to take the new route,” Emmet said.

“A new route?”

Emmet looked serious. “…I want to go to our origin. I want to go to Unova.”

Ingo almost smiled. “Very well! According to Dialga and Palkia, we should be able to leave this station and return with no time difference. After we refuel, let us go test if that is the case!”

“Thanks, Ingo.”

Once they finished breakfast, the two left the cave and pondered over what the nearest reflective surface could be. Lady Sneasler’s Seat was in Primeval Grotto, so they determined that the bay of Fabled Spring River would be closest. Since it was early morning, the Gyradoses were not awake to stir up trouble, and the wild Nosepasses and Probopasses would not witness them defying the rules of time and space.

Ingo crouched to look at the water’s surface. “The river is running… Will this be reflective enough for our purposes?”

“We can find out.” Emmet took out the Rail Spike of Time. He crouched next to Ingo and placed the pointed end of the spike in the water.

“This does not feel like a good idea, but alright. Full speed ahead!” Ingo stood up and stepped back. He took out the Spike Maul of Space, waited for the handle to change to the right size, and swung down on the spike.

Against all common sense, when the hammer struck the spike, the spike remained in place as though it stood on a solid surface. A single ripple spread out from the spike, calming the surface of the bay into one large reflective body. The gems on the tools glowed bright. The reflection faded from the pink and orange sky to the dark swirling Distortion World, specifically showing the same island Ingo and Emmet entered Hisui from.

“Excellent! Bravo! That exceeded my expectations!” Ingo said. “Shall we depart?”

“Follow the rules and drive safely! We are headed for victory!” Emmet said.

“ALL ABOARD!” Ingo and Emmet, with their tools in hand, jumped into the bay.

***

Ingo and Emmet jumped out of the same waterfall. Because they jumped into the portal, they flew a fair distance and skidded on the island ground, getting pinkish-red dirt on their clothes.

“Welcome back,” Giratina said, having watched from above them. “How long were you there?”

“Four days and 15 hours,” Emmet said.

“Wow. For me, you two were only gone for a few seconds!” Giratina said. “Alright, where do you wanna go now?”

“If I may ask, we would like to travel along the route to Unova,” Ingo said.

“I can do just that.” Giratina started to fly down to grab the twins, but they stopped. “Oh, hold on. I can just do this.”

From out of the corners of the twins’ visions came two shadow hands. One arm wrapped around one twin and placed them onto Giratina’s back.

“Bravo! Thank you, Giratina!” Ingo said.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you to where you need to be.” Knowing that Ingo and Emmet held on, Giratina flew off through the Distortion World once more.

“Giratina, may we ask you to return our appearances to our younger selves?” Ingo asked.

The Almighty pokemon nodded. “Yeah, close your eyes and hold on.” They knew that the twins listened to their command, so they began the process. “This reminds me, you two saw each other transform into Sneasels back when I was forced to attack you, right? I cannot believe Arceus let you remember that – no, wait, I’m not surprised at all. Arceus is an idiot.”

Ingo tried to respond, but to his surprise and horror, he literally could not speak. His heartbeat sped to the pace of a locomotive as he tried to rationalize the change. By the time Ingo realized it was likely intentional on Giratina’s part, the nausea associated with the transformation faded. Ingo and Emmet opened their eyes, satisfied with being shaped like Subway Masters once more.

“Done,” Giratina said. “Once you’re done doing your first visits, we need to start teaching you how to do this.”

Ingo hummed, partially to help him think and partially to check that his voice returned. “Giratina, I apologize in advance for derailing the conversation, but if the difference in time between us departing and returning is mere seconds, and we ask you to journey between each stop like a train, wouldn’t you be constantly flying around your world?”

“Yeah, you’re right. But I do owe my life to you two,” Giratina said.

While Emmet was listening to the conversation his brother had with Giratina, he continued to mull over his words for Elesa. Saying sorry wouldn’t be enough. Even if his train of thought wasn’t on the right track back at Spear Pillar, he still didn’t act like a proper conductor. He had to tell Elesa. He needed to say that he really did care. She might never forgive him, but at least the weight would be off his soul.

“Okay, have it your way,” Giratina said in response to something Ingo said. “I’ll figure out something later. We’re here!”

The group arrived at their destination. The island itself was smaller compared to the island with the window into Hisui. The island’s waterfall was likewise thinner, appearing more like a curtain than a roaring tower of water, but the top of the falls faded into the black void.

Once Ingo and Emmet stepped off Giratina’s back, they got a better view of the glimpse into time the waterfall had.

“I am Emmet. I am verrrry surprised!” Emmet’s voice almost matched the excitement he felt. His hands shook strongly enough to turn into flapping from joy.  

“Giratina, you found a direct line to Gear Station! Bravo!” Ingo clapped for Giratina’s achievement.

“Oh, is that where it is? I just found the most obvious portal,” Giratina said.  

“It’s been…” Ingo’s eyes widened. “Emmet, I haven’t stepped foot in Gear Station in years!”

“We can fix that.” Emmet pointed to the waterfall. “Next stop: Gear Station. All aboard!”

“All aboard!” Ingo took off to the water. Emmet caught up to him, and the twins jumped through the portal in unison.

***

The reason that they knew the portal was at Gear Station was because of the aerial eye view of the main entrance. Neither twin thought about why the portal showed that image. Ingo and Emmet jumped out of one of the glass planes that made up the large window above the entrance of Gear Station.

The smell hit Ingo all at once. Gear Station was a well-used hub for travelers and smelled like it, but to him, it was a sign of how much work they do to transport passengers to their destinations. Tears welled in his eyes, not only from the smell of home but also him realizing he and Emmet were falling.

Several onlookers and passersby, many of whom just wanted to go home after a long day, witnessed the disappeared Ingo and Emmet emerge from a window. No glass shards followed them. It was as though they came from the light itself bouncing off the window. There were gasps and screams as they fell, as their height should have resulted in a couple broken limbs at best. Instead, the two Subway Masters flipped and landed on their feet, no worse for wear.

“I am Emmet. That was… interesting…” Emmet’s sentence trailed off as he and Ingo realized several people and pokemon began surrounding them.

Ingo had to think. Their plan for this era was to feign ignorance and act as though they didn’t remember anything from where they went. Any other claim could be cross-referenced and likely expose their cover. He and Emmet would need to lie more blatantly than either desired, but it was all they could think of.

Ingo saluted the people. “Good day, everyone! Are we at Gear Station? I’m not sure how we arrived here, but I am glad we are here!”

Chaos ensured. Amongst the cacophony of noise were concerns of safety, camera snaps from Rotom phones, and prying questions. Gear Station’s architecture emphasized the noise into near-unbearable levels. The two of them coming from the quieter, less populated Hisui region made the sounds feel louder. Ingo suppressed his instinct to cover his ears out of politeness.

Before Ingo could even begin to answer questions as some of the Gear Station employees arrived, a pokemon with a familiar aura approached the station entrance.

“My Ch-!” Ingo could not finish his exclamation before his own pokemon ran into him.

Chandelure wrapped their arms around Ingo’s torso, trapping him in a ring of metal. They buried their head in Ingo’s chest. The flames billowed directly in Ingo’s face, but he was unharmed. Chandelure cried tears of fire onto his coat, but they did not burn the material, thanks to Anthe’s modifications.  

“I am glad to be back at this station as well,” Ingo said. He petted Chandelure’s head as he tried to find any visual different between this Chandelure and the Chandelure that lived for hundreds of years in the future. The clearest different was this Chandelure’s flames possessing a sharper hue.

With Ingo and Chandelure drawing the crowd’s attention, Emmet looked up at the window they came from. The image of the Distortion World, still visible past the Nimbasa City night sky, faded until it was gone. He heard no comments from others about the image, so hopefully no one else noticed that.

Ingo and Emmet eventually got to the terminal for the Super Multi line for some peace. The area was blocked off with barriers to prevent entry while the Battle Subways were shut down.

“And now we have a moment to rest,” Ingo said. He sat down on a bench, and Emmet joined him. “I cannot remember the last time talking with guests and Gear Stations team members have been that exhausting! Usually, I take pride in hosting guests…”

“That was not as bad as I thought,” Emmet said. “But there is a major delay in our operations.”

“You are referring to the window to the Di-“ Ingo interrupted his own sentence when he remembered that Chandelure still hugged his torso. “My Chandelure, will you please release me and allow Emmet and I to talk in private?”

Chandelure shook their head, still clinging tightly to their trainer’s chest. He had been gone for two months. They didn’t want to let go yet.

“I know what you are talking about, Ingo. Yes. It should still be there. We can use Quick Attack to climb up the wall and strike the rail spike, but it is not that easy.”

“Hm… How can we do that without arising suspicions? Even if we carry out the mission at a time where Gear Station is mostly empty, the odd guest or security personnel could see us! And that is to say nothing of the security cameras…”

“This is not going to be easy.”

“Not this first time, but after we complete the journey, we will be able to depart from any location of our choosing! But yes, this is a troubling conundrum…”

“We should return to our origin,” Emmet said. His hands shook as soon as he finished saying that. He wanted to see his pokemon so badly, and his brother already got a head start.

“Yes! We can find a solution after we reunite with our teams. Let us depart with haste! All aboard!” Ingo said, pointing to the direction of the Gear Station entrance and the ground.

***

Ingo and Emmet walked to the outskirts of Nimbasa City to get to their house. They tried to minimize the amount of attention they could gather by going through lesser populated paths. The walk also allowed them to refamiliarize themselves with Nimbasa City and the world where pokemon and humans lived together.

“I don��t see outward any signs of disrepair,” Ingo said once they got to their house. Chandelure still hugged Ingo’s torso. “Are you ready, Emmet?”

Emmet nodded. “I am Emmet. I am ready.”

Ingo approached the front door and knocked. “Hello? Is there anyone present at this station?”  

After a moment with no response, the front door opened. Eelektross’ eyes were wide as he stared at Ingo and Emmet. Unlike his future self, he was of normal size and barely had to hunch over to meet Emmet’s eye level.

“Is it… really you? Are you… real?” Eelektross asked. The twins barely heard his voice.

“I am Emmet. You are my Eelektross.” Emmet held his hand out, expecting his pokemon to hold it like his future version did.

Instead, Eelektross dove forward to wrap around Emmet. Because Eelektross was of normal length and Emmet was not a small Sneasel, Eelektross only had to wrap around his trainer a couple times to engulf him. Eelektross further wrapped his arms around him, mirroring how Chandelure hugged Ingo.

“You’re back…!” Eelektross spoke next to his trainer’s ear.

“You are clingier than I remember,” Emmet said. He did return the hug with some back rubbing.

A dozen Joltiks crawled out from crevices in the living room shadows. “It’s them?” “It’s Emmet!” “Ingo is back!” “Tickets please!” The Joltiks scattered in the direction of the backyard training grounds.

“Perhaps we should go inside before we have a pileup outside our house,” Ingo said.

Ingo recalled how Emmet described their living room. When he and Elesa lived together to keep up with Emmet’s health, there were letters and flowers and gifts scattered about with no regard to organization. Now, the letters sat on a side table in neat stacks. Vases were either empty or housing old but living flowers. The table was cleared of most items, save for a few special letters and a mug once filled with coffee. The clean areas were only undermined by some cardboard boxes filled with used tissues and remnants of pokemon food.

“Elesa did this,” Emmet said. There were significantly more letters and flowers than when he was last there. Why did she take the time to clean up the living room?

Ingo and Emmet both heard the voices of their pokemon outside.

“We are about to enter a rush hour! My Chandelure, while I am quite pleased to see you once more, may I ask you to clear the station for the others?” Ingo asked.

Chandelure shook their head.

“Chandelure, please make some room…” Eelektross said as he let go of Emmet.

Ingo petted his pokemon’s head one last time before they slowly let go of him and floated to the side.

Several pokemon stampeded into the living room from the backyard. Ingo found himself tackled by Haxorus, Garbodor, Durant, and Crustle. A small sea of Joltiks piled onto Emmet, followed by Galvantula, Archeops, and Durant. The only reason the Klinklang twins didn’t join in was because they could literally crush their trainers.

“You’re back! You’re back!” Haxorus said. The rage nestled in her body had melted away.

“I was wondering why Chandelure ran so fast,” Crustle said.

“What a pleasant welcome!” Ingo said.

“Where have you been?! And what happened at Spear Pillar?” Archeops asked.

Excadrill wanted to join in on the pile, but he sniffed the air and halted. “…Are we sure that’s them, guys? They don’t smell right.”

Ingo’s heart twinged. This was what Emmet was afraid of, right?

“Excadrill, I get being scared, but it’s them! They’re back!” Garbodor said.

“No! I don’t think it is!” Excadrill showed off his claws.

“Haxorus, what happened to your horns?” Ingo asked. He brought his hand up to feel Haxorus’ broken horn.

“Well, you know…” Haxorus laughed with nervousness as she felt the edge of her horn. “That’s what happens when you’re not strong enough to carry your trainers…”

“Do you feel bad for what happened the day I left?” Ingo asked. Emmet said that Haxorus kept training herself nonstop when Arceus took him. “I always say to move to greater heights and to improve yourself! But please do not be harsh on yourself for your previous state. You did what you could, am I correct?”

Haxorus smiled. “You’re right, Ingo. Thank you.”

Excadrill fiddled with his claws. “Haxorus, I know you can smell them. Durant, you too! This has to be a trick! It has to be!”

Ingo kneeled to see Excadrill at eyelevel. “You did your best as well, my Excadrill. Please do not punish yourself too harshly.” He scratched under Excadrill’s chin and around his neck.

Excadrill’s adamance about the twins’ identities wavered. Ingo knew exactly where he liked to be scratched.

“Hey, what happened at Mt. Coronet? I don’t remember a thing since Emmet went up the stairs…” Galvantula asked.

“I wanna know, too, but do you think they know what we’re asking?” Archeops asked.

“Sorry for our delay in return,” Emmet said, addressing all their pokemon. “We have no clue as to what station we visited. But it feels like we have been gone for a while. Now we are back!”

“After a few days of rest, we can reopen the Battle Subway and resume our schedule!” Ingo said.

“I am… so happy…!” Eelektross said.

“I’m here…” a voice said from the other side of the closed front door. The door opened.

The pokemon got off Ingo and Emmet and cleared the living room. Emmet’s hands shook. Their most anticipated terminal was here.

The guest was Elesa. Normally, she wore some amount of color in her outfits – she liked to be an electrifying presence, she said in the past. She now wore a black longcoat and black boots. Apart from her signature headphones, no color was present in her outfit.

She stopped walking in when she saw Ingo and Emmet.

“Good day, Elesa! I am so happy to see you!” Ingo said.

“Hi… I am Emmet.” He only took nervous glances at Elesa.

Elesa’s hands tightened into fists. “It’s as I thought. I heard people say that Ingo and Emmet were back. I wanted to believe them, so I came back to their place. But you… You’re not them.”

“Elesa, what are you talking about?” Ingo’s frown expressed his concern along with his words for once.

She put her foot down. “Stop pretending! I know what my friends look like. What are you, a couple of Zoroarks?!”

“Why does everyone think we are Zoroarks?” Emmet asked Ingo.

“...Fine. If you won’t drop the disguises…” Elesa pulled out a pokeball from her pocket. “Then my shining pokemon and I will make you!” She threw the pokeball and sent out Zebstrika.

Zebstrika took one look at Ingo and Emmet and gasped. “You’re back?!”

“My Zebstrika, use Volt Tackle!” Elesa held her arm out and swept it for emphasis.

Ingo held out his arm in front of Emmet. “Elesa, Zebstrika, please halt! We are not Zoroarks!”

Zebstrika sniffed the two. “They… kinda smell like them. Are you really Ingo and Emmet?”

“My Zebstrika, why are you hesitating? Isn’t it obvious?” Elesa asked. “There is no way this is Ingo and Emmet! Ingo vanished off the face of the earth, and Emmet is dead!”

Ingo turned to look at Emmet. Emmet froze. He could barely see his brother breathe.

“I don’t know, Elesa…” Zebstrika backed away from the twins but kept her eyes on them.

“Zebstrika, we saw Emmet die! He walked into the sky and never came back down! Not even his pokemon knew what happened! He’s… gone.” Elesa’s hands shook. “And now there’s some pokemon here wearing their faces and giving people false hope!”

“Elesa, please…” Ingo stepped forward. “You are an important passenger for us. I apologize for disappearing, and I know Emmet is, too… No, wait. I shouldn’t speak for him here. Emmet, what would you like to say to Elesa?”

Emmet’s smile stretched from one ear to another. He held his hands together much like when he talked to guests. He was completely frozen. His plan to talk to Elesa had completely broken apart. He knew that leaving her at Spear Pillar was not a wise decision as a conductor, but she believed he died. She believed he died.

Ingo placed a hand on Emmet’s shoulder. “Emmet, I’m here for you.”

Elesa stared down Ingo and Emmet. Despite her intense gut feeling that something was wrong with these apparitions of her friends, another part of her said it was them. Ingo and Emmet said that they always return to their station at the end, so why not now? Elesa was a person who made people’s dreams into reality. What if, this time, her dream became the reality?

But she didn’t want hope. She and Emmet had hope that they would find Ingo, and Emmet marched straight into heaven instead. She reported that Emmet went missing and that she was the last person to see him. The detectives and international police reassured her to finding her friends, but days upon days passed. She understood why Emmet turned to his own devices about finding his brother. She heard some people suspect her of Emmet’s disappearance. That hurt.

But her spark was gone. She tried to throw herself into her roles as a gym leader and model, but her battles and words and poses felt hollow. The gym leaders, especially Skyla, tried to comfort her and get her electrifying self back, but the attempts bore no fruit. Her pokemon tried the same, and they were the closest to succeeding. But her best friends were gone.

“Stop this nonsense! My darling Zebstrika, if you can't do it...” Elesa had to prove if her instinct was right. She recalled Zebstrika into her pokeball. She then grabbed the nearest thing she could find – an empty mug from the table – and brandished it as a weapon. “I’ll destroy the Prankster illusion myself!”

“Elesa, please stop!” Ingo completely stood in front of Emmet. Either of them wouldn’t suffer lasting damage from the attack, but he still didn’t want his brother to get hurt by their friend.

“I.. I am…!” Emmet’s entire body shook. He covered his mouth with both hands. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to vomit out the words he had been practicing for days. His legs gave out, and he hunched forward while still holding his mouth. Despite the obvious sorrow consuming him, his face still smiled beneath his hands.

“Emmet!” Ingo dropped to the floor. He placed an arm around Emmet’s shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. This is not an express train ride. Take your time.”

Elesa stared at the twins and realized what she was doing. She placed the mug back on the table and crouched down. She watched tears squeeze through his closed eyes. “…Emmet?” she asked softly.

Emmet nodded.

“And Ingo?” Elesa’s voice got quieter.

“I truly apologize for our delay of our return,” Ingo said.

“No, please don’t give me hope.” She rubbed her eye with a single finger and flicked off the tears. “Just end this cruel prank!”

“This is not a prank!” Emmet finally said. Before he knew it, he sprung forward to hug Elesa. His hands dug into her back.

That was it. Elesa finally allowed herself to shed tears. She hugged Emmet back so hard that he might snap like a twig. Then again, he hugged back with almost the same force.

Ingo placed a hand on Elesa’s shoulder. He wanted to join them, but he knew how this was important for Emmet. “I am truly glad to see you again, Elesa. Both of us are.”

“You guys can be real jerks sometimes. People thought I went crazy. I thought I was crazy!” Elesa said. “…I’m sorry for almost hitting you.”

“I am… sorry, too…” Emmet couldn’t speak above a whisper.

“I believe you. Emmet… listen. I can’t forgive you for what happened at Spear Pillar. I can’t forgive all the stuff that happened… But I don’t think I can stay mad at you forever,” Elesa said.

Emmet nodded. He understood not being forgiven. He wasn’t sure it was deserved anyway. He just needed to tell Elesa he was sorry and that she was a great friend, even if he couldn’t outright say it.

Ingo, satisfied with what happened, stood back up. “Elesa, Emmet, why don’t we-?”

Ingo’s train of thought derailed when he looked down at Emmet and Elesa again. He covered his mouth to supress his gasp.

“Ingo? Is something wrong?” Elesa asked as she turned to face him.

Emmet tried to ask the same question, but no words came out of his mouth. His voice was gone.

Ingo’s mind raced to find a way to isolate himself and Emmet. “Elesa, unfortunately it appears that Emmet and I must make an immediate departure!” He grabbed Emmet by his forearm and dragged him to standing position.

Elesa stood and turned toward the twins, who were running up the stairway to the second floor. “Where do you think you’re going?!”

“I apologize, Elesa, but this is an urgent situation, and we will return once it is resolved!” Ingo ran to Emmet’s bedroom with his brother in tow. He slammed the door behind them.

Ingo looked around his brother’s room. Between the unkempt bedsheets, full trashcan of wrappers, and scattered books and papers of several nights of research, he finally saw the results of Emmet’s time in emotional solitude.

“Emmet, please remain calm. Look at your hands,” Ingo said.

Emmet nodded and held up his hands – or rather, he held up his arms to look at where his hands should be. His hands were gone. Emmet raised his arm to shake his coat sleeve up and see if anything was there. When he got his answer, he let his sleeves hang like when he wore the coat as a Sneasel.

Ingo took a deep breath. “Are you able to talk?”

Emmet gave his brother an awkward smile and shook his head.

Ingo frowned harder. “It’s as I feared. I noticed during our transformations that we become unable to speak. Emmet, I have no idea as to the cause, but I think you’re transforming!”

Emmet couldn’t hide his fear even if he wanted to. Familiar nausea crept up on him. He silently pleaded to Ingo for help, but when he looked at his brother, he saw something bad. Emmet’s eyes widened. Emmet pointed to Ingo’s head with his arm.

“Is something wrong with me?” Ingo asked.  He then noticed that his vision darkened in one eye.

Emmet nodded. The dizziness associated with the transformation was worse than in the past. With his legs straight, he fell forward, and the process overtook him.

Ingo darted to Emmet’s closet. He knew his brother had a full-length mirror to properly inspect his uniform everyday before they travelled to work. Ingo’s cap had slid down his head and covered his eye and part of his face. He took off the cap. He didn’t like what he saw.

“Am I…” Ingo lost his voice in the middle of his sentence. The dizziness made him fall, and the transformation overcame Ingo as well.  

***

Several pokemon stormed up the stairs and gathered outside Emmet’s bedroom. Chandelure and Eelektross led Haxorus, Excadrill, Archeops, Garbodor, Durant, Galvantula, and Crustle up the started. Several Joltiks hanged out on the walls and ceilings. Ingo was never a quiet person, but the walls muffled his exact words. He sounded in distress.

Elesa followed the pokemon and knocked on Emmet’s door. “Emmet! Ingo!” After waiting a moment for a response, she knocked hard enough to jiggle the door. “Guys!”

“They’re not answering?” Garbodor asked.

“Something has to be really wrong. At the very least, Ingo would respond instead of ignoring us,” Crustle said.

“Ingo! Emmet!” Elesa knocked on the door. “If you don’t open up, I’m coming in! Your pokemon are here, too. If something is wrong, you can’t keep us all in the dark!”

“Does anyone else have a bad feeling?” Galvantula asked.

“You mean the one I had the entire time?” Excadrill asked.  

“They have to be okay…” Eelektross said.  “…Right?”

“THAT’S IT!” Elesa turned the doorknob and swung the door open.

Elesa and the twins’ pokemon saw what was inside Emmet’s room. Eelektross gasped and embraced Archeops and Durant. Excadrill jumped into drill formation to shield his eyes. Haxorus, Garbodor, Crustle, and Galvantula backed up to the wall opposite of the hall, trying to get away from the sight.

Elesa closed the door at a Slowpoke’s pace out fear of getting the… beings’ attention. She laid her back against the door and slowly slid down as her knees buckled. Chandelure floated above her and stared at the door like they could still observe what happened inside.

“I was right… It really wasn’t them…” Elesa curled her legs up to her chest. Those weren’t Ingo and Emmet, but they weren’t Zoroarks either. She had no idea what she saw. Was she sleeping? Was she having another nightmare?

“What did we just see?!” Durant asked.

“I can’t believe Excadrill was right,” Crustle said.

“I really wish I wasn’t,” Excadrill said, his voice slightly muffled from his drill formation covering his head.

“I… should’ve known…” Eelektross began to crush Archeops and Durant from his hug. “Emmet is my best friend… I should have known this was a fake!”

Garbodor rubbed Eelektross’ back as a sort-of gesture of comfort. “It’s okay, please don’t be hard on yourself.”

“So… what do we do with the pretenders?” Galvantula asked.

“Let’s battle them! I can finally test my sharpened horns!” Haxorus said.

“Okay, but what type are they? Dark? Maybe poison?” Galvantula asked.

“Assuming they’re pokemon…” Archeops said.

Tears dripped onto Elesa’s knees. “Why is this happening? I just want my friends back.”

Galvantula crawled over to Elesa and grazed her leg with her conical feet. Elesa interpreted the gesture as a beg for pets, which she obliged with. Galvantula’s fur sparked and tingled her fingers, but she was accustomed to the sensation from raising electric-type pokemon and loved it. Galvantula knew this, thus why she approached Elesa.

“Why do I feel like we’re missing something?” Archeops asked.

“…Chandelure, why are you so… calm?” Eelektross asked. After he asked the question, the rest of the pokemon present turned to Chandelure, who still stared and floated less than an inch away from the door.

“Why are we Sneasels again?!” “Ingo” said from the room.

All the pokemon turned their attention toward the voice. Excadrill loosened up back to standing position, and Eelektross dropped Archeops and Durant. The voice sounded like Ingo, but he spoke their language. He spoke like a pokemon.

“This is a trainwreck,” “Emmet” said.

Elesa lifted her head and slowly turned behind her. Those were the noises of pokemon – Sneasels, based on what the word they kept repeating – but their voices were uncanny. If she asked Ingo and Emmet to imitate a Sneasel, they would sound like that.

“No, perhaps this is salvageable. If the portal is still present at Gear Station, we can contact Giratina to get our human shapes back!” Despite the optimistic claim, “Ingo” did not sound confident. “This is… quite a delay for us, but once we get our bodies back to human-shape, we can resume our duties as Subway Masters. Though I must admit, it might be difficult to explain our impromptu departure to our friends…”

“They saw us, Ingo,” Emmet said.

There was a pause.

“Please tell me you are making a bad joke,” Ingo said in a lower tone than normal for him.

“I am Emmet. I am serious. You didn’t hear the knocking and the door open and close?”

“…They actually saw the transformation process… Your assessment of this being a trainwreck is correct. We drastically broke the rules. Our friends are never going to trust us again!” Ingo’s voice began to break. “This is all because of my insistence of making this journey! I apologize deeply, Emmet! This is all my fault.”

“Please brake. I wanted us to come here, just like you.”

Something strange sparked in Elesa’s heart. If the pretenders wanted to keep tricking her into thinking they’re Ingo and Emmet, why would they sound like Sneasels? Why did they sound so heartbroken?

“While that is true, Emmet, it was my desire to return that led us here. I take full responsibility… for hurting our loved ones. I apologize, Emmet. I don’t know how we can fix… any of this.”

Chandelure couldn’t take it anymore. They did not know Psychic, but they turned the door handle with their available powers and blasted the door open with Shadow Ball. Since Elesa still sat and leaned on the door, she fell backwards to the floor.  

Elesa recovered from the fall and looked up. There were no remnants of the horror show that Elesa and the pokemon saw. Two Sneasels stood inside Emmet’s bedroom. One was an ordinary Sneasel while the other possessed an unfamiliar color scheme (possibly a shiny Sneasel?). The first Sneasel wore Emmet’s coat and cap – in fact, the same one “Emmet” wore, based on the dirt and scuffs at the tailcoat. The purple and white Sneasel wore “Ingo’s” excessively damaged coat and cap.

Chandelure scooped Ingo into a hug. It was like the one they gave to him back when they first reunited.

“Chandelure?! What are you doing…?” Eelektross asked as he ran into the room after his partner. Galvantula, Archeops, Haxorus and Garbodor followed. Durant, Crustle, and Excadrill kept their distance.

Ingo was swung around like a rag doll as the realization washed over him. “Did you all hear that?!”

“Pretty much,” Garbodor said.

“So… are you Ingo?” Archeops asked, looking at the white Sneasel.

Ingo’s heartrate skyrocketed as he fully processed that their pokemon and Elesa were seeing them in their Sneasel shapes. His hands began to tremble as he brought them up to cover his face. “Everyone, please… There is… There is…” He couldn’t immediately piece together any semblance of an explanation for their condition without mentioning time travel or Arceus or them almost dying twice (thrice, in Ingo’s case). It was bad enough they heard him mention Giratina.

Elesa still sat on her knees. She stared at the normal-colored Sneasel. As a model, Elesa developed a good eye for clothes and appearances. It was likely why she felt so strongly that Ingo and Emmet looked wrong, even if she could not place exactly why she felt that. But now, something about the way these Sneasels moved – how the normal-colored one’s hands shook and kept on a wide smile, how the shiny one barely made expressions but spoke with intense emotion in his voice – was eerily familiar.

“I am Emmet. I am Emmet.” Emmet’s smile was so wide that his face cramped from trying to keep it up. The fur around his eyes dampened as he cried once more. In the entire weeks that Emmet spent to prepare for meeting their pokemon and Elesa, he tried to imagine the worst-case scenario. This was not close to what he imagined. Emmet wrung his shaking hands. He had no plan. He had no script or spiel. He just fell back on a comfortable phrase, secretly begging that Elesa could understand him through the pokemon speech. “I am Emmet. I am Emmet, Elesa… I am…”

Elesa fully stood up to get a closer look at the Sneasel Chandelure held.

Ingo looked into Elesa’s eyes. He was still being cuddled by Chandelure. “Elesa, we know how strange this all appears, especially if you did witness part of the transformation. I apologize for keeping this information from you.” He turned his head. “I say the same to you, our pokemon. I am truly sorry.”

Eelektross approached Emmet and held him up with both hands like a stuffed toy. The Sneasel continued muttering Emmet’s favorite phrase. “…Why do I want to believe you?”

“…Oh, now I know why." He looked over to Chandelure and Ingo. That Sneasel was having a crisis, and Eelektross could tell from the way his gaze is drawn to his friend’s flames that they wanted to use their hypnotic power to calm down the Sneasel. "Chandelure, you knew the truth the whole time… right?”

Chandelure nodded.

“Knew the truth?!” Crustle asked as he entered the room to get a closer look at the Sneasels.

“So… this is Ingo and Emmet?!” Archeops asked.

“How are they so sure?” Durant asked.

“…Oh! Chandelure ran away earlier to meet with “Ingo” and came back here with him,” Garbodor said. “But if these two were imposters…”

“…Then Chandelure wouldn’t be acting this friendly!” Haxorus said. “I get it now! It really is you!”

“You believe us?” Emmet asked.

“…Yeah. I really wish Chandelure would talk to us sometimes. Could have saved us a lot of trouble!” Excadrill said. “…Sorry for doubting you.”

“No, it is completely understandable, Excadrill,” Ingo said. His heart couldn’t slow down, despite the complete turnaround in attitude of this pokemon. After all, there was still their dear friend Elesa.

Though Elesa could not hear the exact words the pokemon said, Elesa closed her eyes to better think. After a few moments of silence, Elesa started to giggle. She tried to stop, but she only laughed harder and harder until her stomach cramped.

“What’s so funny?” Emmet asked, pointing to Elesa and the ground. The familiar pose was not lost on the rest of the group.

“I think I’m in shock! The entire time we were talking, Ingo and Emmet, it felt like you two were hiding something,” Elesa said. She put held her chin in her hand as she talked. “Now I see why. You two…”

Ingo and Emmet waited for Elesa to complete her thought.

“…are super cute as Sneasels!” Elesa said with a big grin.

“What,” Emmet said at the same time Ingo asked, “Excuse me?”

Elesa started laughing again. “This is so weird in the best way possible! Well, seeing the horror show wasn’t fun. I don’t know what was up with all the… goo, but that was involved in you two looking like this now, right?”

“That is correct,” Ingo said. Emmet nodded to better communicate their answer.

“That’s electrifying! I’ve heard of some models who get their clothes sewn onto them, but this is a whole new level!” Elesa put up Emmet similar to how Eelektross did. “Look at you, Emmet! You’re so small! I wanna put you in a little outfit and show you on stage!”

“Please stop trying to recruit us as models,” Ingo said.

Elesa placed Emmet down to pick up Ingo. “And you, too!”

“What Elesa said! They are really cute!” Haxorus pinched Ingo’s cheeks. “You’re so fluffy!”

“Please exercise some caution, Haxorus,” Ingo said. The way she pinched his cheek hurt.

“...Sorry, I just realized this is probably weird for you guys…” Elesa set down Ingo next to Emmet. “I just… wanted my dream of us reuniting to come true, but I could never have imagined this.”

Emmet found a couple of tears running down his face. “I am happy, Elesa.”

Ingo smiled. “As am I.”

“Are we really going to not talk about the things we saw…?” Durant asked.

“…Looks like it. It might be better to just… pretend we didn’t see… any of that…” Eelektross said.

“I am fine with that plan,” Crustle said.

“Okay, but why are you Sneasels?” Archeops asked.

“And why Sneasels? Of all pokemon?” Galvantula asked.

“Was… there a particular species of pokemon you would expect us to turn into?” Ingo asked.

Several Joltiks, who watched from the ceiling both in the hallway and in the bedroom, provided some answers. “Zoroarks!” “Reshiram and Zekrom!” “Kecleons!” “Plusle and Minun!”

“…Those are weird suggestions,” Emmet said.

“No weirder than you being Sneasels!”Garbodor laughed.  

“Hey, so you looked like your human selves a moment ago, but now you’re Sneasels for some reason. Can you turn back to being humans?” Elesa asked. Her question caught the attention of the other pokemon as well.

Emmet shrugged. “Yes, but there is an extended delay.”

“There is a route we can take to contact to the pokemon that helped us-“ Ingo’s explanation was cut off.

“Giratina, right?” Excadrill asked.

“…Perhaps,” Ingo said. “But we cannot contact them at this precise moment. Our tracks are disconnected right now, but we will try to resolve the delay as soon as we can. Emmet and I did get sidetracked by talking to everyone here, but that was time well-spent.”

“…Wait! Ingo, I have an idea,” Emmet said, flapping his coat sleeves about. He gestured Ingo over and whispered in his ear, holding one hand up to shield his mouth.

“Emmet, that’s brilliant!” Ingo said after his brother finished saying his idea. He and Emmet both threw of identical bronze bracelets, and only Ingo threw off a white watch.

“All aboard!” Emmet picked up the Rail Spike of Time and threw off his coat and cap. He marched out of his bedroom with his arms and legs swinging straight.

“Everyone, please remain at this station! Emmet and I will return momentarily!” Ingo grabbed the Spike Maul of Space, threw off his own uniform, and followed Emmet.

“Hey! Do you really think I’ll let you go on your own again?!” Elesa grabbed the coats and caps, carrying them with one arm. She then ran after the two Sneasels.

***

After the end of the night, a lone man sat outside Gear Station. He heard that the Subway Masters came back and caused a large commotion at their station, but by the time he arrived, the station was closed, and no one was around, save for some straggling employees.

He took off his backpack and sat on a bench, observing the view of the main street traffic. Spotlights from the nearby amusement park stretched and dissipated into the dark sky. Humans screamed in terror mingled with delight.

Two Sneasels – one teal and red, the other white and purple – ran to the station. The former carried a large nail while the latter carried a hammer. The man turned to see what they were going to do with such destructive tools.

The Sneaslers climbed up on the outside of the station to the center of the giant window piece. They prepared the tools to seemingly break the window, but when they swung, nothing happened. He may be far away observing the scene, but the man figured he should have seen and heard glass shatter.

With their apparent prank failing, the two Sneasels jumped off the building and ran away into the shadows of the city.

A minute later, a pretty woman ran toward Gear Station. The coats she held looked familiar. She yelled for an unknown friend and ran in the direction the Sneasels went, possibly chasing them.

The man smiled and let out a chuckle. If he was younger, he would’ve chased after them, too. Instead, the man just said, “Huh. Interesting.”

***

Ingo and Emmet ran in the direction of their house, but they kept running and entered Route 16. The route lacked the trainers that hanged about during the day, and the only pokemon roaming at that time of night would be Liepards, who kept to themselves. The brisk early-winter air kept them full of energy.

They ran into the trees while avoiding Lostlorn Forest. Once comfortable that no humans or pokemon were nearby, the twins’ run slowed to a walk.

“Do you see anything reflective?” Ingo asked.

“Not yet,” Emmet said.

Elesa caught up to her Sneasel friends. Moonlight reflected off the sweat on her skin. “Listen, I love a late-night jog, but I would’ve appreciated it if you kept pace with me!”

“Please forgive us, Elesa,” Ingo said with a bow. “But Emmet and I wanted to go a place where others are extremely unlikely to cross paths with us during our rendezvous.”

“There is a puddle,” Emmet said. He pointed to a nearly puddle, which froze over from the inescapable chill.

“Excellent! That should work for our purposes.” Ingo turned to Elesa and held out a hand. Emmet copied him. “Pardon us, Elesa. May we have our uniforms?”

“…Oh, you want the clothes?” Elesa handed the twins their respective coats and hats. “You’re lucky I remembered to grab them after you left!”

“Yes! Thank you, Elesa!” Ingo said.

Elesa smiled. She still couldn’t understand exactly what her friends were saying, but she knew that they appreciated the gesture.

Ingo and Emmet, with their uniforms once again on, stood in front of the puddle. Indeed, it had a thin layer of ice that could barely reflect the moonlight and depict the leaves.

“That’s a rail spike and spike hammer, right? Wanna show me what they do?” Elesa asked. She surprised herself with remembering the proper terms for those tools. She retained more information from Ingo’s infodumps than she expected!

“…Can we show her what they do?” Ingo asked Emmet.

“We already broke several rules. Let’s not break anymore,” Emmet said.

Ingo and Emmet nodded to each other. They tried to push Elesa away – but because they were Sneasel-shaped, they only succeeded with nudging her legs a little.

“What, you want me to go away?” Elesa asked.

“Just for a moment! We cannot have guests in the station for this operation!” Ingo said.

“Please trust us,” Emmet said. He had to admit, though, they didn’t really give her a reason to trust them.

“Okay, okay… I’ll go.” Elesa begrudgingly took a short walk away from her friends, hiding behind one of the trees.

“Very well!” Ingo turned around the Spike Maul of Space in his hands. He changed his stance to prepare for the strike. Likewise, Emmet placed the tip of the Rail Spike of Time on the ice. Without a word, Ingo struck the spike. The gems on the spike and hammer shined, beaming pink, yellow, and blue lights onto the tree trunks. The faint reflection on the puddle was replaced with the clear image of the Distortion World.

“Whoa! That was dazzling!” Elesa said.

“She saw it,” Emmet said.

“Elesa, your curiosity is often appreciated, but not today.” Ingo turned to the portal “Giratina, please report to the station!”

“Please report to the portal,” Emmet said.

After a second, Giratina flew toward the connecting waterfall. They noted that the twins’ voices only had slight differences between their human-shaped and Sneasel-shaped selves, and they noted they sounded more like the latter. This was immediately explained upon reaching the waterfall. The first thing they noticed was Ingo and Emmet not being shaped like humans.

“Whoa! That’s Giratina, right?” Elesa asked. “How did you two meet Giratina?”

Giratina’s gaze darted between the two Not Sneasels and the human, unsure of which to mention first. Instead, they settled for a third option: a simple “…What the fuck?”

“Huh, didn’t expect a legendary pokemon to cuss,” Elesa said.

“Greetings, Giratina…” Ingo tipped his cap to the Almighty pokemon. “You probably have a number of questions!”

“She can hear you?” Emmet asked.

“Telepathy. Ingo and Emmet, I have a couple of questions. One: why are you two Sneasel-shaped? Two: who is this human?” Giratina asked. Ingo expected Giratina to be angry, but they did not sound angry at all. On second thought, though, that might be worse.

“I’m Elesa. I’m a gym leader and a model, and most importantly these two’s friends. Are you the reason my friends are Sneasels, Giratina?” Elesa asked.

Ingo wanted to bow to Giratina, but because they were talking through a puddle, he was already hunched over. “Please forgive us, Giratina! When we met with our pokemon and Elesa, whom we deeply wanted to meet again, we transformed back into Sneasels in front of them! It was completely unexpected, and even when we tried to hide ourselves, they still saw it.”

Giratina looked to Elesa. “You SAW it? That’s unfortunate. Also, can you understand what Ingo and Emmet are saying?”

“No. I mean, I get the feeling that I know what they’re saying because we’ve been friends for long enough,” Elesa said.

“...Alright. Let me fix the language barrier,” Giratina said.

Ingo and Emmet both felt tickles in their throats. Emmet held his hands to his throat, while Ingo tried to cough. It faded as soon as it started.

“Done. You two, say something,” Giratina said.

“That was unpleasant,” Emmet said.

“Oh! Emmet, I heard that!” Elesa said.

“Elesa can understand what we say now?” Ingo asked.

“Sort of. I changed your vocal cords into the ones from your human-shape,” Giratina said. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you back to your full human shape after I get an explanation as to… Okay, how the hell did you two transform back into Sneasels involuntarily?!”

“I have no idea!” Emmet said.

“Let me retrace our route. We arrived at Gear Station, Chandelure found us, we travelled to our house, we reunited with our pokemon, we met with Elesa…” Ingo hummed. “And I noticed Emmet beginning to transform while he and Elesa hugged.”

“Ingo did start to transform after I did…” Emmet said. Ingo covered Emmet’s mouth.

“I need to think about this.” Giratina chuckled. “What is with you two and doing impossible things?”

“Is it that impossible?” Ingo asked.

“I didn’t think it was possible to transform without intending to! Well, I know my transformation is tied to which realm I’m in, but that’s not the case for you two!” Giratina laughed.

“Um.” Elesa figured that Ingo and Emmet went on some wild adventures since they were able to become… unspeakable horrors and also Sneasels, but hearing a legendary pokemon talk about it was surreal to witness. “When you’re back to being human, can you explain to me where the heck you guys have been?”

“…Are we allowed to talk about it?” Ingo said.

“You brought Elesa to our little meeting and you’re asking me for permission?” Giratina asked.

“Yes,” Emmet said.

“…Listen. The stuff about your bodies should be kept a secret only because I don’t want you two to end up on a dissection table – or worse, shunned for being different,” Giratina said, their gaze turned to the side away from the Nimbasa Trio.

“Been there, done that,” Emmet said.

“So, hiding the Not Human or Sneasel thing isn’t as critical as hiding… the other things. Unless they know about it, too?” Giratina glared at Ingo and Emmet.

“There’s other secret things?” Elesa asked, raising her eyebrow at Giratina. “What can be worse than whatever is going on with all this?” She gestured to Ingo and Emmet vaguely, referring to their bodies.

“…We will arrive at that station if we are permitted to,” Ingo said. “For now, do we need to fully reenter your station for you to transform us back?”

“Yep. Also, once we finish this business, I need to start teaching you how to control the transformations. This can’t happen again!” Giratina’s wings twitched with their audible frustration.

“Agreed!” Ingo and Emmet said.

“We will be a short round-trip, Elesa! We will return,” Ingo said.

“You better,” Elesa said.

“All aboard!” Ingo and Emmet said together.

Emmet jumped into the puddle, and to Elesa’s surprise, he was fully submerged. Ingo followed suit and disappeared into a body of water that should have only come up to their feet. She had no idea why she was surprised. She looked back into the puddle.

“Don’t look,” Giratina said with a strange smile. A set of shadowy hands blocked the image of the pokemon as though they didn’t trust Elesa to follow the command.

Elesa closed to eyes to help her think. When Emmet showed her the book with the picture of Ingo, he stood next to a pokemon that somewhat resembled what he looked like now. Was that related? And those cracks… She had never seen a Sneasel with a damaged gemstone like they had. What happened?

“Done,” Giratina said. The shadows that hid the human’s view of their realm were gone.

“That was lightning fast!” Elesa said.

“Yeah. The transformation is faster when it’s controlled,” Giratina said.

“All aboard again!” Ingo and Emmet said together from the other side of the portal.

First Ingo was launched out of the puddle portal. Emmet quickly followed suit. They flew high enough to graze some tree branches, but they landed safely on two feet. Elesa gasped from the sight; they both looked human again.

“Hey! You’re back!” Elesa hugged both her friends.

“I am Emmet. We have returned,” Emmet said.

“Thank you for your patience, Elesa,” Ingo said. “I must admit, I didn’t expect you to identify us when you saw us as Sneasels.”

“I surprised myself, too. Maybe I just know you two too well… Or it’s something from my years of modeling and paying attention to appearances. One of those two,” Elesa said.

“I think I figured out why this all happened,” Giratina said. “You two managed to crack your gems from sheer stress, right? Which I don’t know how you did that when you’re not psychic pokemon.”

“Where are you conducting us?” Ingo asked.

“My point is: you two were both really stressed for this meeting, right? Emmet, I think the stress you had was so extreme that, when you relaxed after they accepted you, you body relaxed with you and caused the transformation,” Giratina said.

“…Oh” was all Emmet could say to that.

“As for you, Ingo… Well, besides the stress and relief, you saw Emmet start to transform. I guess that was enough stress for you to meltdown.” Giratina shrugged – or did a movement with their wings that resembled a shrug.

“Oh, so it’s my fault…” Though Elesa intended the statement to be a joke, her sentence came out gloomier than she expected.

“Elesa! You are not at fault for what happened to us,” Ingo said. “You are our valued friend and passenger. I would take this trainline again if it meant being with you again.”

“Ideally without revealing our inner workings, but yes. Without a doubt, I agree,” Emmet said.

Elesa smiled brightly. “Thanks, guys. You know how to bring my spark back.”

***

Though Ingo and Emmet quickly got their human-shaped bodies back, they could not return to their routine as Subway Masters straight away. The detectives in charge of finding the twins wanted to know where they went, if they were kidnapped, if they were harmed, and if a pokemon was responsible. As per their plan, Ingo and Emmet claimed complete memory loss of the events. The detectives also suggested to get them checked by a doctor, but they declined.

At Gear Station, the mechanics needed to check that all the trains specially designed for battles were still in good condition. The pokemon trainers needed time to prepare their teams once more. Ingo wanted to return to work as soon as possible, but Emmet had to get him to take their time. After months of being on high alert, they had a chance to relax – not even being in Hisui was relaxing due to the constant barrage of hostile pokemon.

And, of course, Ingo and Emmet wanted to spend more time with their pokemon and Elesa. They still needed to decide how to explain the Sneasel transformation and connection to Giratina without mentioning time travel. At least the others were willing to be patient with the explanation.

As for Giratina, they followed through on their promise. They began teaching Ingo and Emmet how to voluntarily transform their bodies. The twins had to start small – changing their hands, for example. It would take a while to learn, but Giratina had more than enough confidence in the impossible twins.

The day before the Battle Subway would open again, a doorbell rang through the twins’ house.

“Approaching the front door!” Emmet said as he marched with straight arms and legs.

Emmet opened the front door. Standing in front of him was an unfamiliar man. His long blond hair was tied back yet still covered his left eye. The man looked no different than anyone who would visit Gear Station to travel to their destination, yet something about the man felt… wrong. In fact, something had to be very wrong if Emmet got this feeling from someone.

Emmet saluted to the guest. “I am Emmet. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Emmet! I lent you a book a while ago, and I would like it back please.” The stranger spoke with a tone that reminded Emmet of his own, in terms of formality and courtesy.

“A book? I don’t recall borrowing a book from you.”

“Like I said, I lent it to you. It was called Land of the Sinnoh: The Hisui Region.”

Emmet’s smile nearly slipped off his face, but he forced it to grow wider instead. “You gave me the book?” His mind took off and began building steam. The strange book came from nowhere, providing proof of where Ingo was. It drove Emmet to climb Mt. Coronet and challenge Arceus. The book led to reuniting with Ingo, going to the future to meet Sneasler and Eelektross and Chandelure, and saving a legendary pokemon, allowing him and Ingo to return to their primary origin. Elesa said it neither came from Lenora nor Cheren, so she did not want to trust it. They never found out who sent it – until now, that was.

“I am Emmet. Who are you?” He tried to remain calm, but he could not hide how his hands shook, even when he held them together.

“Emmet, is everything well?” Ingo said from upstairs, overhearing his brother’s tone. He walked into the hallway above the living room but stopped at the top of the stairs when he saw the guest’s face. Ingo audibly gasped. "Emmet, that's Volo!"

[allmightluver]

**bnha spoilers** I'm just sat here with renewed realisation of what All Might is going through. 40 years. /40 years/ he held and refined that power and dedicated his every waking (and sleeping if Vigilantes is anything to go by) moment towards the goal of defeating AfO and creating a society in which people could feel happy and safe. And now as it turns out AfO is still alive, society is broken and he has given a literal piece of his soul to this young boy leaving himself with only phantoms

Yes. I don’t think people quite grasp what all he’s going through.

It’s been shown recently to us that some, if not most, heroes have underlying ambitions in becoming a hero. Whether for money, glory, fame, popularity, doesn’t matter. They’re ultimately in it for themselves. Toshinori’s intentions from the beginning have been the most pure- he wanted to be a symbol that people can look to and know things will be ok. A symbol of hope. This boy was only around 14 years old when he decided this. What kind of 14 year old sees the world that clearly? Sees that people have no hope, that a veil of darkness covers them. The only thing I can think of is- Toshinori did not have a good childhood. Something had to have happened to a boy that young to stop seeing the joy in life so early, and see the world’s flaws. Truthfully, I believe he was an outcast- due to his quirklessness. Most likely an orphan, perhaps abandoned by his parents, as we’ve never seen him have any family. I do truly believe Toshinori has been alone all his life. I don’t doubt more could have happened to him as a child before he met Nana. 

Some may argue that Izuku is the same age, and therefore it shouldn’t be that hard to see why Toshinori wanted to be a hero at such a young age. BUT, Izuku had someone to look up to, ever since he was a child of four years old, to inspire him to be a hero his whole life *cough cough* All Might. Izuku also was quirkless, much like Toshinori, and an outcast because of it (hence where I assume Toshinori was much the same). But ultimately, Izuku wanted to save people because he saw his hero do it. It really wasn’t until Izuku was a bit older, has been in UA, has been on rescue missions, has seen what the heroes see, that I think he’s truly realized how dark the world really is. Toshinori didn’t have that. He didn’t have someone to inspire him as a child, someone to look up to, a hero to inspire him to help others. At that time, heroes hadn’t become as popular as they are in present times. Toshinori saw the world for what it was, on his own, at a tender age. I think that day Nana ran into this blonde hair kid, she eyed him up, noticed his scraggly form, looked into those captivating blue eyes, and saw a man who’s lived through the world’s horrors- experienced the worst it has to offer-, and wants to save everyone he can from the same fate, all in a 14 year old boy. 

Then after only a few short years with the woman he saw as his mother, she’s killed in front of him because of his own weakness- he wasn’t strong enough yet to protect her. The only other person his life, Gran Torino, literally abused him. He beat him to a pulp, taking his own emotions out on a teenager, and I doubt Toshinori said anything of it. He probably thought he deserved it. He’s still afraid of Gran Torino to this day, remembering the beatings and expecting more for his failures- even if he doesn’t know what they are surely he’s at fault for something, but he’s the only person who’s stood by his side for this long. Even while at a distance, and spouting nothing but criticisms along the way. But Toshinori had to put aside his own emotions to be that hope for everyone. He left everything he knew to go to a new country on his own, to learn how to be a hero, to be that hope for someone.

Vigilantes showed us just how hard he worked. Toshinori literally stayed awake with no sleep for days on end- 3 in the chapter I’m referencing- because people needed help, people needed saving, and no one else stepped up. He fought villains, rescued civilians, repaired damage, cleared rubble, (even accept and eat food that was against his dietary restrictions after his injury) whatever the public needed, all while draining himself further. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion because he had no help, once literally falling asleep while mid-leap across the city because he simply could go no further. 

^^These happen in succession of each other^^

No one stepped up to say “Hey, Mr. Number 1, you’ve been working hard lately. Let me help you!” No one tried to take over his position. Even the Number 2 hero, Endeavor, never tried to take some of his burden. His only goal was to try to be better than All Might in terms of power- he was never trying to be the hero that the people relied on All Might for. Everyone relied on him when things looked grim. He was the back up plan. And all of this happened before Toshinori’s injury. 

The only thing he ever wanted to do- help people- he can’t do (at least the way he’s always known how to). The ability to save people has been taken from him in the most gruesome way. He was finally able to fight the man that killed Nana, and in a rage that I’m sure echoed with all of the emotions of the previous users, he smashed that man’s head like a grape. But not without consequence. Several organs are gone. The pain is excruciating. He wears that man’s mark on his body for the rest of his life, never truly able to rid himself of the filth.

Then we have Nighteye’s betrayal. The man that helped him as a sidekick, the man that grew to be his only friend. Now some people may ask why Toshinori flipped like he did to Nighteye looking into his future when he was concerned about him making it through his injury. What I believe is Toshinori didn’t want to know when he would die (and really, who does). Now he knows he’s on a time limit, knows the clock is ticking. Time is running out to keep the world at peace, and with him as he is now, how long can this go on? 

I think the betrayal, doing something that Toshinori specifically asked him not to do, is what hurt the most. How can he trust Nighteye anymore? He already can only count on one hand the people he can trust, let alone befriend.

He’s wasted away into a skeleton, a shell of the man he used to be. He can’t over exert himself without his only lung bleeding in protest. It’s canon in the side books that he really doesn’t eat much, which isn’t good for his diet without a stomach now (he’s supposed to have several small meals a day). He is quite literally punishing himself by starving. (Granted, he doesn’t feel hunger anymore.) He’s a sick man, beyond medical help at this point. They can only stabilize him and hope for the best. For five years now he’s in constant pain, every day. He loses blood like sweat. Surely his veins are bruised and collapsed with how many times he would have needed to be hospitalized. Whether from losing too much blood, being too dehydrated or starved from “forgetting” to eat, or an organ failing as body continues to fall apart. “...even as my body rots and grows frail...” - Toshinori People are bound to stare at him as he walks down the street. A tall, willowy, skeleton with a grimace on his face and blood stains on his clothes as he coughs up more into his own hands. There would be the ones who outright ignore him when they walk by, the people who offer pitying smiles and sympathetic glances or just outright stare, and then ones who are afraid of his appearance- children screaming at the mere sight of him and running to their parents to hide from the monster. Each one is another knife in Toshinori’s side, an ache in his chest. If only they knew who I really am.

Losing Nighteye took a toll on his hero work as well. Mirai was a huge help in the past, and took care of all Toshinori’s paperwork, while also reminding him to take care of himself. Without him, Toshinori was even more buried beneath his responsibilities. Plus, now he was on a time limit. He even snapped briefly in his first meeting with Tsukauchi, accidentally revealing himself as All Might because he was under too much pressure, and telling the detective he literally couldn’t handle doing everything by himself (who graciously took over the paperwork side of things for him). 

He was living a double life now, having to lie to people left and right about who he was while in his small form, about how he became so sickly, why he was here in the first place who the heck is this skinny old guy. Surely he had multiple visits to the doctor while continuing to repair the damage done by AFO (there’s a limit to how much the body can handle at once. And things I’m sure continued to fail as time went on). Then he would be bedridden for as long as the doctors could keep him strapped to a bed, until he couldn’t take the people’s cries for help any longer, and would jump into action. (It’s also revealed he has something of a super hearing- able to hear danger- which may have been a form of danger sense of OFA that was never fully unlocked?. Either way, he surly could sense disasters happening while he could only lay and heal from his latest surgery. Those poor doctors must have had to re-stitch him several times). People blame him for not preparing society for his retirement, that he failed in passing on the torch so to speak, but in reality he did everything possible to keep society from falling for 40 years, doing all within his power just to keep things afloat. He is only one person. One human being, he can’t do everything despite trying to. Society failed All Might.

People blame him for not being a good teacher. He didn’t exactly have the greatest teacher himself to learn from. He’s never had to teach anyone anything, he just punches! He’s learning. And for his own credit, he’s an incredibly wise man, he has years of experience under his belt, and an intelligence score of 6/6, scoring up there with Nezu! He may not always have the right way to bring something up, but he’s doing his best. Yet even he blames himself for Izuku not being able to control his quirk better. Every time the boy hurts himself, it’s just another tally on the chalkboard of Toshinori’s failures. He himself knows the boy deserves better, better than him. Useless. Pathetic.

Then his friend from America, Dave, essentially became a villain trying to preserve Toshinori’s legacy after Toshinori told him about his injury. Dave went behind his back, threatened people, injured people (pretty sure people died), all for Toshinori’s sake. Something he didn’t want to begin with. Having to put your only other friend in jail for trying to help you surely couldn’t have been easy.

Oh, by the way? All For One isn’t dead. All Might will fight him again, publicly, have his weakened form exposed to the world, and have his own emotions toyed with as he finds out about his master’s grandson in the villain’s hands. Would Nana hate him for leaving her son alone like she’d asked, and dooming her grandchild to be raised by the greatest villain? Could he have done anything to save him? But Toshinori isn’t allowed to feel, he has to smile and push his own feelings aside once again, because there’s a villain to be fought, and only he can fight him. Despite coming out on top, he’ll have suffered severe head trauma, broken left arm, destroyed right arm, and several cuts and bruises that are sure to scar. And then, his quirk, the only thing that’s been allowing him to help people, the gift given to him that he carefully held for 40 years and molded into his own until his very consciousness was permanently carved into it, blows out like a match in the wind. And he’s done. Used up. Empty. Broken. Hollow. Alone, again.

He overhears his student, Bakugo, admit that he blames himself for All Might’s retirement. If he hadn’t been captured, All Might wouldn’t have had to save him, and he wouldn’t have had to fight AFO. Of course Toshinori knows that’s not true, his time was about to run out anyway. It would have happened one way or another. But how can he explain to this child that he wasn’t the cause of his hero, the world’s greatest hero, fighting for his sake, bleeding for his sake, being forced into retirement to keep him safe. Every time Bakugo sees the bandages covering Toshinori’s body is another reminder of the pain and sacrifice Toshinori willingly gave to keep him safe. Toshinori wasn’t held when his mentor died. He wasn’t told it was ok to be sad, that grief and mourning was a natural process, that it takes time to heal. He wasn’t told it was ok to cry. Instead his feelings were beaten out of him as he wondered if Gran Torino blamed him for Nana’s death. He already blamed himself How then, does he comfort a child mourning for him? For what he lost.

And then he gets the call to come to the hospital. Mirai, Nighteye, his old sidekick friend, has been gravely injured, much like he himself was only a few years ago, and most likely won’t survive the night. And to his horror, Nighteye is happy to see him, smiles at him, says he doesn’t hate him for what happened, only wants Toshinori to be happy. He can’t accept that, at least let him apologize, reconcile his sins before it’s too late! But it is. Another fractured piece of his heart gone.

Of course, seeing your students beat up and their arms completely destroyed must have hurt. Instead of being able to save these kids, they’re the ones that hurt themselves to save everyone else. And if Bakugo had kept OFA, things could have been very different (especially with what we know now of OFA and people with quirks). Toshinori wasn’t mad at Izuku for transferring it away, he’d never regret choosing Izuku, and I believe he still would have stayed by Izuku and Bakugo’s side should it have stayed in Bakugo, doing whatever he could to help.

As he tells Aizawa, “I’ve decided to live,” -that statement seems so melancholy, besides obvious reasons. It sounds more like another task he has to accomplish. He didn’t die he was supposed to die with the AFO fight, and now the whole life he lived is over. The world has no use for him anymore. If not for Izuku, he’d have nothing left keeping him here. But because his boy made him promise to live, he’ll do so. Though it almost seems like he says those words with regret. “I’ve decided to live.” Not, “I’m going to live!” “Nothing can kill me!” “I won’t go down without a fight!” No. “I’ll live if I have to, only because you asked me to.” The man is obviously and outwardly depressed. He has so many things against him. No doubt has severe PTSD, anxiety, among others. Not to mention his own physical health. Every day hurts. It’s painful to be alive. Why would he torture himself if he doesn’t have to? For you, my boy. You’re the only thing keeping me here. The only light in my dark world.

He tries to help Izuku find out the previous holder’s quirks, to help his boy in any way he can now that he’s worthless, and goes days on end without sleep, running his body into the ground. He even forgets Christmas. Only to find that by giving the boy the same gift he had received, he may have just doomed him to an early death, among psychological torture (danger detection). (Granted, he really doesn’t know how everything works, and he’s afraid to talk to anyone about it). His boy could live only half a life.

It’s only been a few months since he retired, and society has fallen into shambles. People are blaming him. People are dying. He watches helplessly as his colleague fight his fight for him, and end up battered, bruised, crippled, dead. He students, his boy, battle the monster he should have killed. Children are bleeding. This shouldn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Is everything he worked for, everything he fought to protect, to build up, to inspire, is all for naught?! Did he live a foolish dream and doom the world? Was all the the friends he lost, tears he shed, the organs he destroyed, the pain he endures on a daily basis from the hole in his side, and the blood he continues to bleed every day, for nothing? The public, the ones he protected for so long, mourn his absence, but surely there are those among them who also blame him. The statue from his last fight in Kamino one that he never asked for was decimated in a mock of his catch phrase- the one that was supposed to give hope.

Now he can feel his own vestige speaking with Izuku in the OFA realm, even with out OFA in his own body anymore. His clock as nearly reached it’s limit, Nighteye’s prediction is due any day now. The only thing he wants is to see his boy smile at him, to give him some shred of hope. Yet the child remains unconscious, and Toshinori can’t even hold his hand from the bandages covering his arms. Will he still be able to fight? Is there any coming back from this now? Did I break him?

With all Toshinori has been through, I’m honestly surprised we haven’t seen him just outright break down. Anyone, anyone, else should have crumbled under the pressure of holding up the world for 40 years alone. And instead of being able to pass it on to someone when he can no longer bear its weight, it simply falls to into the abyss. People don’t credit All Might enough for everything he’s done. Most don’t realize the sacrifices he’s made. His character is so unbelievably profound and deep, it’s more than just the “I am here!” people focus on. He’s a deeply troubled, layered, complex character. And I can’t find fault within him.

[indigoh4ze]

party || rafe cameron

warning- SMUT // vaginal fingering, eating out, vaginal penetration, mentions of intoxication

rafe cameron x fem!reader

a/n- so this is my first time writing for outer banks, im terrible at writing actual interactions so im sorry its so bad at first lmao. also disclaimer: rafe in this fic is nothing like he is canon, so his characterization is off. enjoy :)

also feel free to request for any outer banks characters i write for

turn on notifs here - @slvt4fakerealities-library - to be notified when i post a new fic

join taglist (add yourself to the outer banks section)

the lights were blazing, different colors zapping throughout the room as you made your way over to the couch. your head was slightly fuzzy from the intoxication, but you managed.

since the couch was empty, you took the chance to sprawl your whole body out on it, head on one arm and feet dangling off the other. you watched as everyone danced and made out and filled their bodies with even more toxins. soon, you found yourself just dazing up at the ceiling, lips opening and closing slightly as you lip-synced in a whispering tone to the loud music.

after what felt like hours, but could’ve only been a few minutes, you felt something nudge your thigh. without moving your neck, you let your eyes flash down to find the source of the movement.

hovering over you was rafe cameron. his dirty blonde hair framed his face messily, a single cross earring dangling from his left ear, a red solo cup in his hand as his free hand poked at your thigh.

“what?” you slurred, now moving up on your elbows and blinking back the haziness.

“i wanna sit,” he said, taking a sip from the cup. even in this state it wasn’t hard to notice how good the boy looked, tilting his head back and gulping down the liquid, eyes never leaving your own.

you groaned, pulling your knees to your chest and allowing rafe to throw himself onto the cushion. you were now facing his side, as his hands gripped your legs and pulled them back to their original position, except now they laid over his leg. giving him a curious look, you laid the side of your face on the back cushion and fidgeted with the bracelet around your wrist.

“shouldn’t you be like- getting shit faced or something.” rafe snickered at your words, sending you a glare before looking back down to his cup, which he was also mindlessly playing with.

“sorry, did i interrupt your little..nap?” he teased with a hint of amusement, referring to the previous state you were in, and you scoffed in return, mind clearing a bit more and making room for annoyance.

“whatever.” and then, you were pulling your legs off him and standing up, albeit wobbly as you almost fell to the side, caught by rafe’s firm grip around your arm.

“you good?”

“‘m fine,” you dismissed the boy, confused as to why he was even talking to you in the first place.

the truth was, you never liked him, he was rude and careless and selfish and way too much to put up with. but you couldn’t deny the attraction you felt towards the boy, and the tension that was always evident when the two of you were together.

but you always just pushed those thoughts aside, because even the thought of anything happening made your mind whirl with a plethora of emotions, not good ones by any means.

but then, you also couldn’t deny the recurring fantasies of things that could happen. could but wont, because he’s rafe cameron, and not even you’re desperate enough to be one of his bitches.

“hey?” a light tug of your arm pulled you back to the present, and you turned to see rafe at your side, cup forgotten as one of his hands molded around your waist and the other wrapped around your bicep to steady you.

“i’m really fine-.” you pulled away from him, and right as you did so, you felt someone back up on you, pushing you towards rafe and into his chest as a cold liquid spread from the lower half of your head and down your back.

you gasped in surprise, suddenly awake and alert as you sharply turned to see a boy standing there, cup tilted and empty as all its contents spilt on your back. he mumbled a quick apology, then took off laughing with his friends about something they said that probably wasn’t even funny.

“you sure about that?” rafe inquired, eyebrow raised in amusement as you stepped away from him, this time more cautiously. “c’mon, we’ll clean you up.”

although you wanted to say no and tell him to fuck off because you could handle it yourself, you were too exhausted from the long night to put up much protest other than a dramatic groan. then, you nodded, and rafe led you away from the crowd of people with a tug of your wrist.

—//—

now, you found yourself in a bedroom, rafes bedroom, waiting expectantly as you stood in front of the boy.

“what now?” you ask, palming your eyes and yawning, looking back at rafe with glossy eyes now, which were sending waves of tingles through the boys stomach.

“take a shower,” he implied, as if it was obvious. you scrunched your brows as he pointed to the bathroom on the other side of the room.

“i don’t have any spare clothes.”

“i’ll find you something to wear,” rafe shrugged, “go on,” he urged you to the bathroom, and you followed obediently, not having it in you to put up any sort of fight or ask questions.

“i’ll be right back,” rafe said from the room as you closed the bathroom door, only to hear the door to the bedroom close as well, meaning rafe left.

your mind was filled with the thought that he just ditched you, which was a possibility, but you ignored that thought and slipped your shirt over your head. once all the articles of clothing were thrown onto the cold tile floor, along with your shoes which sat messily in the corner, you lift a foot into the tub, stepping in.

immediately, you played with the oddly fancy knobs and managed to turn them on, warm water rushing through the shower head as your tilted your head back into it. the odd colored drink washed away from your hair, falling onto the floor of the tub and down the drain smoothly. you searched for soap, quickly cleaning up and scrubbing your hair twice for good measure. the smell of the soap reminded you of rafe, not surprising considering it was literally his own soap, you told yourself, annoyed by your current thoughts.

the feeling of the slightly cold water hitting your skin was enough to wake you up fully, but you were too lost in the blissful feeling of the water to pay much attention to your surroundings.

that was until you heard the door to the bathroom open, and you peaked your head through the curtain to find rafe, setting a towel on the counter, along with a shirt and a pair of shorts.

“who’s are those?” you questioned, making rafe jump as he realized you were watching him.

“sarah, i just took some from her,” he shrugged, and now you were even more confused.

first, he started talking to you randomly. then he’s helping you stand. then he’s taking you to his room..so you can shower. then he’s getting clothes for you to wear? how much did you have to drink? you started to ask yourself, questioning if this was all you just being wasted.

but it wasn’t, you felt pretty much fine. so there had to be something you were missing.

“just hurry up and change, i’ll be in the other room.” without another glance towards you, rafe left the bathroom, leaving you standing there, wet hair dripping forward from the way you had tilted your head to peek through. you went back to getting the soap out of your hair, rushing a bit more now.

meanwhile, rafe was in his room, just outside the bathroom, sitting on his bed with his head in his hands. what the fuck am i doing? was his only thought.

he was honestly just confused as you were. it started when he saw you laying on the couch, mouth agape as your eyes sketched shapes on the ceiling. you just being there was tempting enough, but after that he just had to make his way over to you.

the two of you hadn’t had many conversations in the past, at least no genuine ones. most were just bickering, to be honest. but, just as you thought, the tension was undeniable. the feelings weren’t one sided, that was for sure.

when he caught you from falling over, you had leaned into his warmth and something almost turned in his stomach, which was quite nauseating on his side. it was annoying how fucking worked up he got around you. his mind would spin with options of what to do with you. did he want to just kiss you, fuck you or annoy you to death? he had no idea, but it was overwhelming, to say the least.

so when he invited you to his room to clean up, he wasn’t really thinking about it, because everything was happening at once. he even searched his sisters room for goddamn clothes for you.

interrupting his inner monologue, a door opened and out came your figure, except you weren’t wearing the clothes he had given you. no, you were just in your towel, actually. your skin looked slightly damp still, but your hair had been fluffed out and dried a bit from the towel.

“what are you- where are the clothes i gave you?” rafe asked, standing hesitatingly.

“dunno, wasn’t my style i guess,” you shrugged, looking around his room casually, taking in the very rafe feel it gave.

rafe just scoffed, messing his hair up and stepping closer. “well, you can’t really go out in a towel now, can you?”

this reminded you that there was still a party going on, although it was muffled and a bit quieter as people began to call it a night.

“then i won’t go out.” you stepped closer, looking up at rafe with an expression of uncertainty, trying to identify the look behind his eyes, figure out what the fuck he was up to. but you saw nothing. if anything, there were just a bit of nervousness hidden there.

“and what exactly do you plan on doing, then? since your obviously so wise.” now his guarded demeanor was back up, though he had taken a step closer so your heavy breaths were hitting each other perfectly, hands close to grazing one another’s.

“i don’t know.” then, another reminder flashed in your mind, and you looked back at rafe, “wait, why are you even here? isn’t this like- your party?”

“well, technically topper wanted a party, i wanted to go to bed and sleep for a year.” you chucked at this, figuring he had already gotten fucked up today and didn’t feel like another party. then, taking a risk, you leaned in just a bit, and rafe didn’t pull back. actually, he pushed forward, bringing his large hands to wheel around your waist, setting fire through your veins.

it was as if both of you snapped at the same time, first eyeing each others lips, then pushing forward and taking said lips between your own. the kiss was hungry and long waited, immense relief flushing through you, which took you both by surprise.

not even a few minutes of this passed by before rafe was tugging at the towel, still clinging around your naked body, droplets of water probably wetting his floor.

before letting the fabric reveal your body, rafe looked at you, pulling away for a moment and looking over your features, silently asking permission. a quick nod was all it took for the material to be ripped off and throw to the side, rafe spinning you both around until the backs of your knees hit the bed and you fell back onto the mattress.

rafe looked over you with a smirk, eyes skimming over each and every detail of your body as if savoring it. a lick of his lips was all it took for your thighs to rub together, anticipation becoming too much as you waited for him.

this obviously pissed him off, because now his hands were tearing your legs apart, exposing your bare cunt inch by inch. “don’t even try to cover this up, got it?”

his voice was demanding, and luring, enough to make you nod, eyes softening in obedience, resulting in a snicker from rafe.

he leaned back in, delving down to leave kisses along your collar bone and suck on the flesh until bruises built against your skin, making you whimper and grab his dirty blond tressed with your fingers.

the sound of your whimpers made rafe go crazy, but he tamed the need inside him long enough to work his way down your stomach, placing teasing kisses down your inner thighs, but not once touching the spot you needed the most attention in.

“please, rafe,” you pleaded, not sure where it came from but gong with it once you saw the way he looked up at you, lust blown eyes and parted lips, waiting to be against your cunt.

“please what, hm? tell me what you want me to do, baby,” rafe cooed, fingers clenching around the inside of your thighs so he could push them apart and kiss your inner thighs, resulting in your back arching and hips begging upwards.

“n-need your mouth.” your face blushed with embarrassment of having to speak the words, but rafe just tsked, one hand moving upwards as he used his thumb to draw circles around your cunt, only passing your folds, earning a cry from you.

“i need more than that, doll.”

“fuck! please, j-just need your mouth on me, rafe, need to feel your mouth on my pussy, please!”

it seems that was acceptable for rafe, his thumb pausing just above your clit, then dragging down, finally grazing over the sensitive bud and stimulating it perfectly. your hips jerked at the sensation, but you grew accustomed to the feeling once he began working in small circles.

soon, his mouth was on your cunt, tracing paths over your folds and rubbing at the nub with a flat tongue, constantly sending shivers through you as you moaned with pleasure. his hands stayed at your side, ring clad finger’s cold against your flesh as his tongue dug inside you and began fucking your hole with no remorse.

the shapes and letters his warm tongue carved into you were almost too much, and when you reached down to rake your fingers through his hair, you fought the urge to push his head down and allow him to bury himself completely between your thighs.

“f-fuck! rafe, oh god, feels so good,” you sobbed, voice becoming louder as he hummed into you, a smirk on his lips, no doubt, from seeing you fall apart for him.

rafe pulled away within a second, licking his lip and keeping his eyes on your cunt, calculating his next move. you watched as he did so, suddenly feeling exposed as he raked his eyes over the slick coating your folds and your clit throbbing painfully through them. you squirmed at the emptiness, about to squeeze your thighs together, but you were too late as rafe brought a hand up, middle and forefinger pushing through your folds and embedding themselves within your walls.

a loud gasp escaped your lips as he did so, and you bit down painfully on the cushion of them as his fingers pumped in and out of you with nonstop speed. rafe looked up at you, his own lips parted beautifully as he watched moans flow easily out of your mouth.

“you like that, baby?” came his husky voice, only intensifying your already great pleasure that ran through your body. you nodded at his inquiry, not able to form coherent thoughts under his gaze. and that was when his fingers made a hook and pressed against your most sensitive part, making you squirm.

his smirk became bigger, and his fingers fucked you harder, a desperate attempt to ruin you right there. then he was leaning down, still pumping his fingers, and began to lick your clit with fervor, flicking the bud and sucking without resistance until your thighs were clenching around his head and you were a complete moaning mess.

“oh fuck- i’m g-gonna come rafe, pleaseplease,” you begged pathetically, having no time to be embarrassed as he hummed, nodding his head while still sucking on your clit, and permitted you to let go.

the orgasm took over in a huge wave, which came surprisingly fast, and the only thing on your mind was the bubbling in your stomach that was finally freed. moans and gasps fell from your lips as you wet his tongue and fingers, and rafe didn’t let a drop go to waste as he lapped up your slick, helping to prolong your orgasm.

hands reaching for his hair in dazed motions, eyes closed and lips parted, you mumbled, “t-too much, rafe,” which was the boys que to give you a final kiss on your clit, then remove his head and fingers from your cunt.

now, rafe stared up at you, swiping a ring clad thumb over his bottom lip, which was glistening with your arousal. his thumb then moved to enter your mouth, and you dutifully took in the digit, sucking with starry eyes, and whimpering when he removed it from your grasp.

rafe rose to his full height, still in his shirt and pants, which were no doubt keeping his hard dick from standing tall. suddenly, you felt that flush arise to your cheeks from your being nude, and you bit your lip and reached a hand out to grapple at his shirt. he took this as a sign to pull the material over his head, then going in for his buckle as well. the sound of the metal clinking as he loosened it from its straps was enough to send you into a spiral of anticipation, eyeing his clothed prick impatiently.

rafe had that smirk plastered to his face still, throwing his belt aside and then his pants, making sure not to go too fast as he tormented you.

you let out a whine as he hooked his fingers around his boxers, not pulling them down fully but revealing his v line. “rafe,” you pouted, and he decided to be nice and let them fall down, now unclothed as he kicked off his shoes and settled ontop of you, marking your chest and neck immediately.

sighing with content, you held him close and let his lips suck on your flesh, until the arousal was too much and he began to grind against you, slowly. your cunt was already becoming slick again as he rubbed against your thigh.

rafe lift himself up to his knees, pumping his cock, the point of his tongue poking out from the side of his mouth in concentration. the image of your breasts on display for him, and your lips parted and chest thumping was enough to make the boy cum on the spot.

he raised a brow at you, making sure you were still okay, and once getting a quick nod, he pressed the head of his cock against your folds. in the next second, he was thrusting into you, earning a loud gasp from you, which he covered with a hand on your mouth.

“shh, ‘m gonna fuck you good, okay? just lay there and look pretty,” he teased, but you nodded, wanting nothing more than to do as he said.

the thrusts started out mild, but soon quickened tempo, hips stuttering against yours as he wrapped a hand around your leg and pulled it over his shoulder. this allowed a better angle, and you moaned with him as he repeatedly pounded into your already sensitive cunt.

you slid a hand down your bouncing breasts and stomach, then to your throbbing clit, soothing it with your gentle fingers before rafe slapped them away, as if saying “mine.”

his own hand went around your propped up leg to thumb at your clit, whilst the other made a path over your hips and breasts, fondling with the mound of flesh and pinching your nipple.

the overstimulation was rushing through you violently, his thrusts becoming sloppy, orgasm at the brink. you watched his head fly back, eyes rolling and mouth a gape, hypnotized by how pretty he looked even when he was fucking you.

“rafe,” you repeatedly mumbled, forming no other words in your clouded mind.

“hm? does it feel good? d’you like the way i fuck you, pretty girl?”

“y-yeah, so good,” you hummed, your own head rolling back onto the pillow, hips thrusting up to meet his and satisfy the hunger that once again boiled in your core.

“i’m gonna cum on your tits, are you gonna be good for me?” he said just as your orgasm was about to wash you away, and you nodded fast, once again wanting to be the best you could for him.

then, you came, waves of pleasure splashing through you before he pulled out, still thumbing your sensitive bundle of nerves, using his free hand to fist his cock which hovered over your breasts.

you held your tits in two shaky hands, squeezing them together and massaging them while rafe came, painting your breasts and stomach until he had milked out every last drop he could. he mumbled yes’s and fuck’s, along with your name until his high died down.

breathing harshly, you set ur sight to the ceiling, deep intakes of air causing the ends of rafe’s lips to turn upwards slightly. he leaned down to place one last kiss on your flushed cheek before letting himself fall onto the mattress beside you.

“let’s clean you up,” rafe said, turning to look at you, “the party’s not over yet.”

uhhhh yeah idk how i feel ab this i hope it wasn't terrible ig. reblogs appreciated :)

@o-rion-sta-r @saggyb1lls @rylynn-m @dobbysockcollection @arcaneslut @arianagreyy @el-imaskingforyourlefthand

[allywritesforfun]

hey i really enjoyed your nightly routine post with wilbur? i was wondering if you could do something similar but in the morning instead?

awe my love! I'm glad that you enjoyed the nightly the routine... here is the morning routine!

{Morning Routine} Wilbur Soot x Reader

summary: you and wilbur made a nightly routine video that blew up more than you have thought, so now its time to do a morning routine!

pronouns: not mentioned

word count: 2280

trigger warnings: swearing, mention of a knife for going chop chop, this was too cute for even me to handle and it came from my hands

a/n: my god is this long! I really got carried away. I could've made this into two parts but whatevs

a/n pt 2: takes place after the “Nightly Routines” but not directly connected 

regular masterlist

wilbur masterlist

You deeply groaned as you fluttered your eyes open. This was not a great time to wake up. You really wanted another hour of sleep, but you knew you had work to get done today.

You looked behind you. You smiled at the sight of Wilbur in his sweet slumber, his arm lazily draped over your waist. Wilbur very much loved to be in bed with you. If he could, he would spend all day there, just you in his arms and some soft lofi in the background. 

That was something very rare to get. Being a streamer and musician, Wilbur was busy almost all the time and rarely took a day off. Mornings and nights were dedicated to you. However, there were times that you would stream with him, or stop by the office to give him food, but nothing was compared to waking up with him.

“Oh shit,” You whispered, “We’re supposed to do morning vlog today.”

You looked around for Wilbur’s camera, which was no where to be found. You settled on stretching over to nightstand and unplugging your phone. You looked back at Wilbur to make sure he was still sleeping. You could tell he was by the gentle raise and fall of his chest and subtle “Ah-woo”. You just knew that was the perfect way to start the vlog. You recored him for about ten seconds of him doing his ‘not really a snore but definitely something’ and giggled almost the whole way through.

You would think that after living with him for two months and the multiple sleepovers that you’ve had with him, that you would be used to it by now. But even today you still giggled just like you did when you first woke up with him. 

You snuck yourself out of bed and made your way to the kitchen. Once arrived you did the intro, “Good morning chat! It is currently about 6:30 in the morning, and as you realize, I am the only one awake. As you saw, Wilbur is still sound asleep and that how it is every morning. So we’re going to vlog our morning routine today, which I promise is way more interesting than the nightly routine vlog. So, Wilbur is literally the best person ever and deserves the world. And his world, besides me of course, is his morning coffee. So I’m going to use our Keurig to get his coffee started.” 

You stopped the recording and decided to get some of your creativity out. You weren’t musical like Wilbur and can't draw for shit, so videography was your way of being creative. You set your phone the in the corner and opened up the blind to let a little bit of light through. It still looked basic so you moved your plant to the background, which added the perfect look. You started brewing and hit record. 

While that was going, you measured out the creamer and syrup and grabbed your sippy cup for your chocolate milk. No judgement here. We all know chocolate milk tastes better in sippy cups. 

The brew came to a slow stop and you grabbed the camera, “Wasn't that a satisfactory angle chat? Now, I am more of an iced coffee person, so in the morning I have water or chocolate milk, and today is definitely a chocolate milk day.” You raised your cup to the camera and fake ‘clinked’ it, cutting the recording when it was closest to the camera. You finished up making Wilbur’s coffee and set it on the living room table. 

You looked at the time, 6:50 am, now was a good time to get Wilbur up. You always let his coffee sit out for a little bit, that way he could drink it the second that he woke up. You threw some napkins under your drinks and moved another plant over there. You wanted your place to look aesthetically pleasing, even if it was a little bit staged. You did a transition with your cup, this time now on the table.

“Okay chat, we all now mr. simpbur is a snuggler so we don't have breakfast in the kitchen, instead we share on the couch, that way we can get all of our snuggles in before he has to leave for the office. I have everything set up, normally I would prepare breakfast too, but I feel like cooking with Wilbur this morning. We’ll do this about once a week for some bonding time, so let's go get him up,” You decided to keep recording, just in case Wilbur woke up from your loss of presence. 

You creaked the door open, Wilbur was still asleep. He adjusted his body for that he was hugging a pillow, who you assumed was your replacement. You laid down next to him and just took a moment to admire him. It was moments like this that you forgot that you were internet personalities. This was you. This was Wilbur. Both of you living your life without needing to exaggerate yourself. This was Wilbur at his purest form. He was all relaxed, not even aware that he was being recorded.

You scooted closer to him and intertwined your legs with him. You brushed his bangs with the back of your hands and gently placed your lips on your forehead. He stirred a little bit, but not enough to wake him up. You took the pillow from him and wrapped your body around his, “Wilbur, my love, it's about seven, you need to get up.”

You could tell he woke up by him pulling you closer and burying his head only you neck. You gently massaged his head and twirled his curls between your fingers, “Come on Will, I got your coffee made already. We need to start breakfast.”

He shook his head and kissed your shoulder, “Mine.”

You laughed, “Yes Will, and ‘yours’ is hungry, let’s get up and eat.”

He slowly nodded and pulled you closer, “Mmmm... I love you.”

“I love you too, simpbur.”

He snapped his head up at the nickname and saw the camera, “Fuck-that’s today?”

You giggled and detached yourself from, “Say good morning to chat.”

He shook his head and buried it in his pillow out of embarrassment. You stop recording and put your phone on the stand. Just seeing Wilbur all flustered was enough to make you go back to bed. You laid back down with him and pulled him on top of you.

“We’re gonna have to re-record that part,” Wilbur mentioned.

You rubbed his cheek with your thumb, which he happily leaned into, “No bubs, we gotta keep it in. It was a very cute moment.”

He shook his head aggressively, “No! That was embarrassing!”

“Too bad, it’s on my phone so I get to chose what goes in.”

He huffed and grabbed your hand, accepting defeat, “You said you made my coffee?”

You two got up and sat down on the couch. Wilbur took you into his arms the second he took his first sip, his personal way of saying ‘thank you, you’re the best person to ever exist’. 

“What are you feeling for breakfast?” You asked.

“You,” Wilbur joked, kissing your temple. 

You gently pushed him, “No actually, I really want yogurt, so pick something that goes well with that.”

“Can we just make a fruit plate?”

You excitedly nodded, if it wasn't for Wilbur, you would not be eating healthy. He really made sure that you were going to live as long as he did. Neither of you could live without the other. If something crazy didn't happen to you, you were going to die from a broken heart.

Wilbur grabbed your phone and started recording, “So um, good morning chat, I’ve had some coffee and more awake now. What you just saw- no you fucking didn't. We’re on the sofa right now and we decided on a fruit plate with yogurt this morning, trying to be a little healthier considering we had ice cream at one am last night. So we’re gonna make that off camera, because if you guys get us to six million subs, we’ll do a cooking stream!”

“Oh we are now?” You questioned. “I was never told about this.”

Wilbur laughed and kissed your temple, “Well you know now, that's good enough innit?”

You shook your head and placed your hand over the camera, Wilbur stopped the recording. You go the fruit out while Wilbur prepared the sink for rinsing and knives for chopping. 

You made the plate look all nice and took it back to the couch. Wilbur placed his arm back over you and grabbed the remote with is free hand while you centered your phone.

“Okay chat, we’re gonna eat and watch tv for a bit, then you're gonna get ready with us. Wilbur has a test shoot at the office today, so we gotta make him look all pretty and obviously personal hygiene is a must... so yeah, brb.”

You two set up another game show to watch, it sorta became your go to show. Especially because there was no storyline and you could talk when you wanted. This was a pretty chill morning, you two enjoyed each other's presence. 

When you finished up, Wilbur took the dishes and you went to the bathroom and cleaned up a little bit. You heard Wilbur go into his closet, so you started recording, “Okay chat, last thing we do before he leaves is actually get ready. Wilbur is getting changed right now so I’m gonna brush my hair out. I can get a little aggressive with the snarls and Wilbur always thinks I'm ripping my hair out so I always do it when he's not around to make sure he doesn't get worried.”

You set the phone in the corner and set it up to record a time lapse. You heard off in distance some light pop type of music, so you knew that Wilbur got his speaker out.

“Are you playing copyrighted music?” You called.

“It’s released Lovejoy!”

You smiled, you always got giddy seeing how happy Wilbur was able to make himself with his own music. You set your brush down and started to wet your toothbrush, Wilbur slid into frame, already jamming out to his own music.

You covered your mouth with your hand stifled your laughter. Wilbur laughed with you and tugged on your waist, trying to get you to dance with him. You aggressively shook your head no, you hated dancing. You would think by now that you would be used to Wilbur and his random dance breaks, but you never came around. 

You looked down in shame as Wilbur attempted to get you to spin around. Once you made it clear that you were not in the mood to dance, Wilbur turned down the music and waddle over to the counter.

You grabbed the camera, “If someone wants a very tall British man, you can come get him. Warning: not fun dance outbreaks.”

“Oh come on now, y/n!” Wilbur wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his head on yours, “Stop pretending like you don't like to dance.” “You know I hate dancing,” You reminded him.

“Well chat, apparently I’m not allowed to have any fun in the morning? But anyway, that was a joke, but- we do really have to get ready. Should we do this Disney Channel style?”

You laughed and shook your head, “No, I think I just want to make sure you don't miss your meeting.”

“That’s at nine! We have time! Please let me have fun with you! It’s going to be such a stressful day!” He pouted with the cutest puppy dogs eyes.

There was no way that you could say no to him, “Alright, what fun we having?”

Wilbur said nothing and prepared his toothbrush like yours, “Last one to finish brushing their teeth has to do the dishes tonight.”

You hated dishes. You were winning this one. You didn't even wait for a countdown. You instantly grabbed your toothbrush and turned on the water with lightening speed. 

“What?!” Wilbur yelled. “That’s not fair!”

You did your best to bump him away, but it literally did nothing. Both of you were laughing very hard but Wilbur quickly caught up. You both fought with your hands, trying to cup a decent amount water. You both managed to get the water into your mouth and you turned to face Wilbur, it came down to who could rinse the fastest. You two just stared at each other, wishing the water around. You were dead serious. You were not doing the dishes tonight. Wilbur kept flaunting his hands around trying get himself to go faster, which ended up in him completely breaking out in laughter and spitting all over your face. It took you by surprise and all that you could you do was laugh to yourself, you eventually spit the water out in the sink, raising your hands in victory. 

“I am so sorry, love!” Wilbur took your hand and guided you into his arms, gently running his hand up and down your back, “I didn't think that would be that hilarious.” “It’s okay,” You laughed and looked back in the mirror. You were completely drenched shoulder up, “It was fun. Better to happen to me than you, you look really nice today for the shoot.” “Thank you,” Wilbur blushed and turned you around, “I think that is enough recording for today. All that we have left to do is leave so... thank you for watching! Subscribe now and remember, cooking stream at six mil! Bye guys!”

[blessedlance]

pretty baby.

[r18+]

[wc:] 4k

[cw:] sub!atsumu, softdom!reader, femdom, oral (f. receiving), riding, pegging, mommy kink, puppy kink, minor dacryphilia, collar-play, restraints

! haikyuu manga timeskip spoilers. atsumu is 24. !

a/n: oh my god i haven’t written for leisure in literally 10 years i hope this is bearable LOL. @luvsicksubs​ wrote a lil tidbit about sub!atsumu a while ago and i have not known peace ever since so big thank you to ari for the inspo! pls enjoi :9

Atsumu’s been gone lately. A lot.

 Too much.

 You know it’s not his fault. The Jackals' practices have been brutal lately. So when Atsumu does eventually trudge his way back to your shared apartment every evening, he can only muster up enough energy to shower and collapse into bed. You’ve had to wake him more than once, chiding him to get up and at least dry his hair before bed.

“You can’t afford to get yourself sick by sleeping with wet hair, ‘Tsumu.” You’d whisper, shaking him gently awake. Usually he’d just groan in response and bury himself further against your body heat beneath the comforter--unwilling to give up even a second of precious, blissful sleep. You’d even gone so far as to physically pull his heavy, six foot athlete’s body out of the bed and into the bathroom to dry it for him once or twice.

It’s for his health, you reason. You can afford to pamper him a little--especially when he’s been working so hard. And the way his body slumps while he sits, his features softening--long eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks as he dozes off into half-sleep at the feel of your fingers tussling his hair with the gentle heat of the blow dryer… He becomes so soft in those moments, like putty in your hands.

It’s dangerous, because it makes you crave the sight of him like this--fragile and reliant on the comfort of your touch--even more.

You sigh. Reminding yourself again, for seemingly the millionth time since this excessive practicing for the championships started,

‘It’s not his fault.’

He’s been good. So, so good. Trying so hard to make sure you know he loves you and he’s sorry. Texting you to check in whenever he has the chance.

 > how are you today?

> how’s work going??

> what’s for lunch??? ლ(≧ڡ≦ლ)

 Sometimes sending videos of himself and Hinata hashing out new plays (only the ones they’ve mastered, though. You may be intimately familiar with every embarrassing piece of him, but he still wants to try to look cool in front of his girlfriend.)

And it helps. It really does. But you also know the texts are just as much for his own sake as they are for yours. You know how needy Atsumu gets when you two are apart.

 You remember the time he’d called you from his hotel room after an away game in Tokyo. How he whined into the phone at the sound of your voice when you whispered.

“Touch yourself for me.”

The way a soft cry escaped him at your command--your name leaving his lips with a breath.

 You want to feel him like that again. To see him beneath you, squirming and desperate--begging for you to just touch him, just sit on his face, his cock, anything you want just please--

 You abruptly stop your line of thinking--not daring to continue dwelling on this recurring fantasy. Atsumu doesn’t deserve the punishment you crave to dole out on him to relieve this frustration.

 … But he might want it.

 Championships are tomorrow. Just 24 hours stand between you and the feeling of Atsumu Miya’s taut muscles beneath your fingertips.

You take a breath, summoning the remnants of your willpower.

You could do this. You would make certain that the wait would be worth it.

For both of you.

 ---

 The Black Jackals win their first match because of course they do. Honestly, sometimes you feel a bit bad for the opposing teams. Their skill, their teamwork, their passion, their absolute willpower to win is stifling. Atsumu texts you that they’re going out for celebratory dinner and drinks. Bokuto’s idea. (Obviously). He promises he’ll be home as soon as he can. They’ve all got tomorrow morning off, and a whole day before the next round of matches. Some indulgence is well-deserved.

You type out your reply.

 > Take your time and enjoy yourself! You’ve earned it. 💕

 Knowing you’ve got at least two hours or more before the boys’ exhaustion ushers them all home, you decide to spend some time... preparing.

 You’re reclined on the couch, watching something you can comfortably give your half-assed attention to while scrolling on your phone. You hear the front door unlocking, the handle turning, and your heart leaps into your throat. The thought of finally, finally having Astumu all to yourself makes you absolutely giddy.

You turn expectantly, and can’t help the way your lips curl upward into a smile.

Atsumu pushes the door open and turns toward you, already smiling when he opens his mouth.

 “Hey.” You murmur.

 “Hey.” He breathes back, and you watch the way his features relax at the sight of you. The way the confident, assiduous Atsumu Miya--a man who wakes up every single day and strives for perfection in everything and every one---melts into something softer.

Something that’s silently begging for you to tear him apart and piece him back together again.

He slips off his shoes, drops his gym bag to the floor, and brings his long, heavy body to lay over yours on the couch.

His face--tinted pink (presumably from the drinks)--buries itself against your neck, lips pressed to your skin.

Your fingers assume their familiar position, nestled in the blonde locks atop his head.

 “Missed you…” You say lowly against his ear.

The small shiver that runs down his spine does not escape your notice.

 “I’ve been here every night!” He protests.

 “You know what I mean.” Your fingers press against his head, tugging on the strands the slightest bit.

 “Mmm…” He affirms softly--your skin keenly feeling the gentle hum against its surface. He knows what you mean. He’s been here, yes, but it’s felt more like the ghost of him--wisping into your bed for a few hours and gone again in the morning.

 “You were really in the zone today.” You comment. “I felt bad for the other team.”

 He huffs out a small laugh. “Don’t. They played fine. We were just better.”

 “Hmm…” You take your unoccupied hand and run a single finger up the curve of his spine.

 He exhales, and you listen for the tremble in his breath you know will be there.

Just a little more.

 “Either way, you were so good.” You can’t contain the coy lilt your voice takes on. You know damn well what you’re doing--using the very words that always make him quiver. He knows what you’re doing, too.

Atsumu thinks he doesn’t mind.

 It’s quiet for a beat. The two of you simply basking in the warmth of your bodies pressed against each other. You stretch beneath him, and… readjust yourself in a way that presses your breasts against him just a little bit more...

And Atsumu finally, finally breaks.

 He inhales sharply, and lets the subsequent exhale freely pass against your neck. A muffled word that sounds a lot like a plea leaves his throat.

 “What was that?” You ask, purposely grazing your lips against his reddening ear.

 “Please…” He begs.

 You consider being mean for a moment. Consider pushing him to his limit in desperation. The way those sharp brown eyes would turn glassy and tearful, his dark brows pulled together, pleading you to hurry up and take him--touch him--let him touch you--fucking anything. However you want, wherever you want. Make him vocalize that burning desire, and only concede when he well and truly begs.

 But that can always be arranged another time.

You’re far too heady with desire yourself to enact such cruelty on him right now. Not after he’s been so good.

 You shift your weight, moving to switch your positions by sitting up and pressing him beneath you. Your straddle his hips, purposely pressing your weight down against his pelvis ever-so-slightly.

 “You’ve been working so hard, ‘Tsumu…” You murmur, lowering the top half of your body to lean over his. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, running up along the taut muscles that tremble at your touch. “Such a good boy…”

Atsumu’s bites his lip in an effort to stifle the deep moan that leaves his chest. The way his body almost involuntarily reacts to that phrase every. single. time… It’s just too good to pass up.

You wet your lips.

 “Let me make you feel good.”

 And you press those lips ever-so-softly to the juncture between his jaw and neck. Soft touch turning to a light bite, and then back to a soothing kiss.

 Atsumu is crumbling--his hardening length pressing insistently against you.

 “I got everything ready. We can use whatever you want: rope,” and you press a slow open-mouth kiss to his neck,

“your collar,” then one to his collarbone,

“a toy,” traveling down to his pecs,

“the strap…” ending just beneath his belly button.

You look up at him from beneath your lashes, watching keenly for his expression to shift in interest at any certain one.

 Atsumu doesn’t give an immediate answer, his gaze unable to meet your own. Your hands trail back down his body, grazing a nipple with your fingernail just to see the way he twitches at the sensation. 

 “C’mon baby, how am I supposed to treat my good boy if he doesn’t tell me what he wants?” You purr, bringing your hands to the hem of the worn, oversized t-shirt covering your top half down to the juncture of your thighs. You’d snatched it from his dresser earlier to lounge in. Another carefully plotted detail. You knew just how riled up he got at the sight of you wearing his shirts. Even more so if he lifted it only to find those black and gold lacy panties underneath… Or if there was nothing…

Stretching your body, you pull the shirt up and off of your torso, tossing it aimlessly behind you. Atsumu’s gaze immediately returns to you--spotting that very set’s match: a black bra with intricate gold stitching around the lace adorning your skin. His hands are on you in an instant--palms sliding up your ribs to reach your breasts and gently squeezing around them.

Astumu had never been good with the concept of patience.

 Normally, you’d stop those big, calloused setter hands in their tracks--admonishing him for not asking permission, first. But this was about him. About fulfilling every whim his exhausted mind and body had the energy left to want. You could allow a little insubordination tonight.

 “You even wore my favorite.” He grins, that cheeky, self important tone of his sneaking back out. You smile coyly and tilt your hips downward, pressing your bare core against his still-restrained cock. He inhales sharply--dropping the attitude once more.

 “Part of the reward.” You grin. “Now, what does my good boy want?”

 His eyes drift upwards from their fixation on your breasts, meeting your gaze.

 “I want…” He bites his lip. “Wanna make you feel good.”

 Your eyes widen at the admission, but he’s speaking again before you can inquire.

 “You’re always so patient with me when practice gets like this. I just want to... To give you a reward, too.”

 You’re taken aback for a beat, pleasantly surprised at the acknowledgement. Atsumu still manages to surprise you with how observant he is. One of the more unexpected traits he shares with Osamu. Your eyes soften and you reach up to gently cup his face. He turns his head to kiss your hand and murmurs against your palm.

 "Let me taste you. Please."

 He knows how you get when he’s busy like this. How--despite your authority and confidence in the bedroom--you still long for his affection and crave his touch when he’s gone.

And this… This is the perfect way for him to express his gratitude while still pleasing both of you.

 “Okay.” You breathe, moving to kneel over his face. “Whatever you want,” you gently drop your weight toward his mouth. “my sweet boy.”

 He practically preens at the praise, moaning against your core. Again, Atsumu demonstrates his struggle with patience and savoring the moment. In an instant, he’s gripping your thighs and pulling them closer against the sides of his face. You know you could sit your entire weight atop him and he’d thank you, but tonight calls for something gentler. It’s enough to know you’re the only person who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to watch the diligent, cocksure Astumu Miya, one of--if not the--best setters in Japan, become so vulnerable and desperate beneath you.

 He flattens his tongue and runs it slowly up from the start of your opening to the top of your clit.

 “Fuck, ‘Tsumu…” You moan, hands rushing to grasp at his hair. He groans, too, at the sensation of your fingers tugging--the hum sending a vibration through your body. You grind your hips, silently urging him on, and his tongue laves at your clit with small kitten licks. The feeling of those tiny, gentle laps against your most sensitive spot, so diligent and soft--it’s like electricity coursing through you, running up into every limb.

 “Mmhmm.” He hums against you. He knows just how you like it. When he services you like this--like the obedient puppy he is. “So wet… Y’taste s’good...” He says, hot breath fanning against you while he catches his breath for a moment.

 You press yourself back against him insistently. “Who said you could take a break? Use your fingers, too.”

 His mouth is back against you immediately, right hand sliding beneath your thigh to reach your opening. Carefully, he presses two fingers against it--testing the give, while his tongue continues to lick and suck at that sensitive nub. Spit has dribbled down from his mouth to where his fingers are pressed, and he slides his digits against the wetness, adding to the natural lubricant. Then, finally, he pushes those long middle and ring fingers up and into you. They slide in easily despite the way you feel yourself clench around the intrusion. He was right--you’re soaked. He finds a comfortable rhythm to compliment his tongue’s lashings easily and your head falls back, a deep moan escaping past your lips.

 “‘Tsumu… ‘Tsumu, fuck just like that--you do it so well for me, baby… Right there--”

 You’re cut off by the feeling of his fingers curling within you--searching, and then pressing against that spot so nicely.

Your thigh muscles twitch against his cheeks--breath fleeing from your lungs at the sudden rush.

 “Yes, ‘Tsumu--fuck yes.”

 You chance a look down at his face. Those long lashes closed, brows knit together in concentration while he pleasures you. Atsumu’s a pretty boy, but you think he’s prettiest like this.

 Fuck, you want more of that desperate expression. Want to edge him over and over until he’s drooling and can’t remember his own fucking name.

 You’re getting close. That climbing ecstasy rising dangerously high within you. You pull yourself off him before you can climb too high, and the release of suction from his mouth makes a small, wet pop.

 “You eat it so well, baby. So, so good for me, pretty boy.” You coo, caressing the sides of his face. His lips are pink and wet and you return your hips to their place atop his length. His lip wobbles with a whimper, back arching against you in search of more.

 “I think you’ve earned your reward now, don’t you?” Your eyelids fall, half-closed seductively while you lean your chest toward his face. You reach behind your back and release the clasp of your bra. His hands tighten themselves into fists, trying to restrain the urge to reach up and touch. The fingers of your left hand splay out against his chest, holding your weight, while the right moves down to pull off his boxer briefs. Then, your wet folds are sliding against his erect, bare, length. Slowly, up and down.

 “Mmm please can I--can I touch--”

 You interrupt him with a small lick against those still-wet lips and chuckle quietly to yourself.

 Oh, so now he’s ready to ask first?

 “You can.” You affirm, reaching down to line him up with your entrance. His breath is coming harder now, those hardened pecs rising and falling beneath you. The anticipation is rapidly unraveling him. Atsumu’s hands are on your back, tugging your chest back down towards him. As they slide forward around your ribcage to grasp your breasts, his gaze flits up to you.

 “Can I--?”

 “Mmhmm.” You nod--knowing what he wants. His mouth closes around your nipple, sucking with that perfect amount of harshness to tighten the coiling pressure in your lower body. His tip rests right against your opening. You can see the precum dribbling out of him--can feel the way he’s pushing himself slightly further up--desperate to get inside. Were this any other time,  you’d reprimand him for such impertinence. Tie his hands above his head and deny him completely. ‘And you were being so good, too, asking permission and everything. You wanna be inside that bad, maybe I should remind you how it feels to be on the receiving end, hmm?’

But, honestly, he’d nearly tipped you over the edge with just his mouth earlier. You were becoming impatient, yourself. 

 Finally, blessedly, you sink yourself down onto his cock, revelling in the way his mouth falls open and his head flings backward against the couch pillow with a cry.

 “Mmm.. ‘s it that good, baby?” You tease.

 “‘S been a while… So tight…” He hisses, almost like it’s too much.

 “Yeah?” You tease. Your hips are gradually picking up speed. Slowly rising up, up, up, as far as you can go before it feels like he might just fall out of you, and then your hip fall again, taking his full length deep inside.

 “‘Tsumu…” You say, rising back up again. “I wanted to pamper you tonight... “ and you slide back down. “Give my cute, sweet boy a reward for all his hard work.”

 Atsumu keens, whimpering beneath you.

 “But I think I wanna be a little selfish, too.” You breathe, leaning in close enough for your breath to fan against his face. “Is that ok baby?”

 A high pitched moan leaves Atsumu’s throat, and you clench around him.

 “Yes…” He sighs between ragged breaths. “Yes... Please, I--”

 “Please, what?” You interrupt him.

 “P-please…” You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. “Please, mommy…”

 “Ohhhhh, that’s my good boy.” You moan, restarting the rise and fall motion of your cunt around him. “Gonna make you feel so good. Just the way you deserve, ‘Tsumu. But you have to promise you won’t cum until I say so, mmk?” You’re holding his face, running your right index finger along the line of his jaw with a feather-light touch.

 And Astumu Miya shudders beneath you, staring up in reverence. The way those big brown watery eyes look at you… He’d look so cute with a collar clasped around his neck right now.

 He nods. “I--I won’t. I promise. Please.”

 Your hand moves up to stroke his hair softly. “Good boy.”

 You restraighten your back in your seated position atop him. Your hands come to rest against his chest for leverage, and you begin riding him in earnest. Atsumu’s eyelids fall closed again, head thrown back while his mouth hangs open in pleasure.

 “Is this what you wanted ‘Tsumu? Just want to feel me fuck myself on you until I’m satisfied?” You tease as you bounce. You slow to almost a halt and grind your hips in a circle, feeling the way his cock buries itself to the hilt. Atsumu’s hands are balled into tight fists against the couch. He’s moaning freely now--little cries escaping him as your cunt eagerly swallows him down over and over and over again.

“So good… You’re so good inside me, ‘Tsumu. Stretching me out so much every time. I know you know how good that feels.”

 “Ahnn--!” He keens at the memory. The way your soft hands had pressed his legs up against his chest. Wetness from the lube dripping down so tantalizingly slow between his ass cheeks. The cock of your strap buried within him. How utterly full he had felt, stretched around it while you softly cooed praises at him, stroking his cock.

 Fuck he wanted to cum like that again.

 More than that, he just wanted to cum. His hands clench and unclench--mouth hanging open while he revels in memory--in the feeling of your tight, wet, heat sliding up and down him just how he likes--how he needs.

 “I told you it was OK to touch, baby.” You reach down to grasp his hands with your own, bringing them to rest on your hips. “Hold onto me while I fuck myself on you.” You whisper.

 Atsumu’s eyes open at that, watching your body bounce on him. HIs left hand hastily comes up to grasp a breast, relishing the feel of the soft, pliable skin in his grasp.

 You gasp lightly at the sensation of his hand grazing your sensitive nipple. “Fuck yeah. So good for me baby--so good. Gonna make you cum in me like this--”

 Atsumu’s head falls back against the cushions again, his expression knotted in pleasure. “You feel so good. So good… Please… Please I’m-- Ahh!-- I’m getting close.”

 “Aww you’re close already? You wanna cum baby?” You shouldn’t tease. You know you’re close, too. That cresting peak getting closer and closer with every push of his cock into your deepest places. Your breath is ragged from the exertion of your body. You reach behind you blindly, refusing to miss an instant of Atsumu’s delicious expression. Eventually, you find the small bullet vibrator you’d stashed beneath the cushions earlier. You bring the toy to your clit and immediately feel it; that powerful wave looming just behind--threatening to take you over the edge. You steele yourself the best you can, inhaling deeply.

 Atsumu slides his eyes open at the sound and unleashes the mostly ungodly, moan. His voice trembles when he speaks.

 “Can I--can I come? Please--please baby let me come. Let me come.” His hands hold fast to your hips, grip growing steadily tighter as the sensations continue to climb. Faster now--exponentially faster. He’s not sure he could stop if he wanted to.

 “Mmmm hearing you beg like that… Good boy. You can cum, baby. I’ll even cum with you for being so good. Go ahead. Cum in this tight pussy.” Your words are rushed, breath catching here and there. “Give it to me.”

 And Atsumu shatters.

 The way his cry lilts up--high-pitched and unabashed. That wave crashing into him so hard and so completely it takes you down under with him. Atsumu’s mind is empty. Nothing but blinding white as he expends everything he has in him in an instant. His name spills past your lips over and over like a mantra while you ride out your high. The two of you so in-sync, it feels as though your cunt convulses in time with his every pulse. Everything feels so, astonishingly good and intimate.

 You’re both breathing heavily, eyes shut tight as that shared bliss slowly dissipates. You let yourself come down to rest on his chest. It’s suddenly very quiet save for your shared breaths. Eventually you rise onto your elbows, face directly over his.

 “I love you…” Atsumu murmurs, eyes slightly flitting about while he studies the intricacies of your face. He memorized them all long ago, but even in this he is never sated. Your eyes soften, chest fluttering at his tone: so tender and soft.

 “I love you, too.” You say, gently caressing his face. “So much.”

 Atsumu can’t help the smile spreading across his face. In one quick motion, his arms are around your neck and tugging your face down toward him. His head tilts, lips melding themselves against yours when they make contact. The kiss is unusually tender, his lips trying to convey what his words cannot: how he is so thankful and lucky to have you. You, who understands how dear his passion, his career, is to him yet helps him remain grounded so that it does not consume him entirely. You, who remains so, so patient when he is away. You, who is always there to help him take care of himself when he is too busy or exhausted. You, who holds him when he finally fractures under the stress of giving his everything all the time--and who helps him put his pieces back together again and get back at it.

 Your head returns to its resting place on his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath you, lulling you to sleep. You both need to get up, clean up, and get into your actual bed, but the bliss of finally feeling Atsumu’s hard body beneath you. Knowing it is completely yours, at least for a short while… You don’t want to relinquish it for even a second.

There’s another beat of silence before you speak.

 “Wanna go to ‘Samu’s and get tuna tomorrow?” You ask.

 Atsumu groans his approval loudly--so much so one would think he hadn’t just finished a massive meal with the Jackals. That signature cheeky grin returns to his face.

 “Oh my god I love you.”