#and have a separate dash for each of those

[conspiracydawg]

the sad fact of the matter is I've turned on post notifications for too many people. it's gotten to the point where I avoid checking tumblr on mobile because it takes like an hour to get through all of them once a day. but you're all good blogs and I don't want to miss your posts... what's a man to do...

[babachira]

an assassin and his healer

nagumo yoichi x doctor!reader

── ⟢

+ having graduated with an assassination-medical major, a very small sub-department in the JCC where only the skilled in human science are found, you're technically a licensed doctor for any regular citizen who wants a simple check-up. you have a job in the clinic near sakamoto's store during the day, but during your assassination hours, you deal with injuries ranging from critical to a scratch. you took four years of apprenticeship under granny miya, so you tend to follow her ideology of 'the patient can be healed as long as they're not dead'.

+ your graduation was a special case. the JCC considered scrapping your department due to the lack of applications, but you excelled in combining the assets of poisons and weapons, making equipment like a portable bandaid or even discovering the smallest of pressure points that could enhance someone's strength, which floored their views. after witnessing a presentation of your projects, they decided to keep it up and running just to see what you were capable of, and thank god they did, otherwise, you would've had nowhere to go.

+ you met the famous trio during their prime when you were all 16, and you were fully aware of the fact that if they had no interest in someone, it would be drastically clear. you thought this was the case for you too since no one really appreciated your work because it wasn't 'strong' like the assassination majors, but when you received a personal congrats from them, it took you by surprse.

+ hell, when you saw them enter your lab without a word, you quirked your brows, pausing from pulling the trigger of your flamethrower. upon request from your weapons department friends, you were in the middle of melting a large batch of energy-fuelling pills. you slowly put the flamethrower down on your desk. "if i knew i was having such esteemed guests, i would've cleaned the place up a bit. to what do i owe the pleasure?"

+ but before they could answer, the three of them were hovering over your pile of books, empty beakers and box of surgical equipment. rion plucked a grey glass bottle from your top shelf, which you reserved for your most expensive creations, before popping the lid off.

+ she sniffed the top of it and gave a "hm!" of approval before taking a swig. "wow, this is actually pretty good," rion said, smacking her lips together and offering some to sakamoto, who only took the bottle from her hands, "what's this one for? my stomach feels like it's doing backflips."

+ you folded your arms. "that's because it's for serious internal bleeding. you're only really meant to take it when, you know, you're only puking an alarming amount of blood." rion nodded in acknowledgement and dangled the empty bottle with a grin. "ah, gotcha. no internal bleeding for me now!"

+ "mmm, i prefer this flavour." your eyes flit over to nagumo yoichi, the insufferable student that had all the girls swooning in seconds, swiping four potions from your shelf and stuffing them in his pocket. "i'll come back again to try more!"

+ "wait, you just came here to take my stuff?" you asked, stopping the three in their tracks. sure, it's . . . fine that they stole your things without permission, but your lab was usually off-limits for those who didn't belong in your department. well, now that you think about it, when did these three ever follow rules?

+ rion waved her hand. "we'd love to talk, babes, but we gotta dash. will use these potions well, though!"

+ and nagumo added with a more enthusiastic wave, "keep a separate shelf just for me!"

+ and they left, leaving you to finish your work of delivering pills to the weapons department. they were a funny bunch, you always thought as you sometimes passed by them in the hallway. rion would always strike a conversation whenever you bumped into each other. she was always so sweet to you. sakamoto occasionally asked how your projects were going since it was a season of missions being carried out more often than ever, so you were ever-so-busy with surgeries. nagumo had the biggest grin on his face as he bombarded you with requests like a strawberry and lemon flavoured potion for his fatigue. they were strange but fun all the same.

+ since then, they made a common appearance, sometimes it was just rion who wanted to have a chat. you got along well, getting to know her likes and dislikes, laughing along when she verbally tore sakamoto and nagumo apart like they were shreds of paper. other times, it was nagumo alone and when it was just him, it was like a spitfire of insults after insults.

+ when nagumo is fiddling with one of your brain-relaxing equipments that you made just a week ago, he realises that you're a lot quieter when it's just him, when rion and sakamoto aren't present. "hm? why is it when akao and sakamoto are here, you have so much to say, but you're silent when it's me?" and honestly, it felt like a big slap to the face because wow, it was true.

+ ". . . shut up," you said, earning a chuckle from him. "the whole building will be able to hear you yapping."

+ today, a few years after their first intrusion in your lab, nagumo is taller and different at the age of 19. he wasn't more mature per se, but he definitely carried a more confident wittier aura that you didn't recognise from before. you, at 19 were renowned for your fantastic creations. one of your best moments was when you received a commission from an order member albeit a small one. your efforts were so well-recognised that applications for your department were growing much to your pleasure. rion congratulated you a lot, sakamoto actually used your creations and nagumo had never broken his streak of making sure to visit you almost everyday.

+ and you don't know when you started to feel this way, but whenever nagumo entered the room, time seemed to go painfully slower as though he was staying in your lab for longer than you thought. your equations for perfecting brain damage potions seemed harder than normal and you just couldn't seem to find that one blueprint that was always in its same place. even nagumo went, "it's this one, no? it was right under your hands" much to your embarrassment. your brain was scattered whenever he was near you and you really hated it.

+ and what was worse is that he noticed all this and was enjoying it.

+ "is my (name) . . . a little distracted?"

+ yes, yes. infuriatingly so, you think as you watch nagumo bounce over to where you stand in the far corner of your lab. he has that mischevious grin, the one that you want to melt off his annoyingly-handsome face. did it never occur to him that you couldn't work at your best whenever his talkative ass was in the room? is he really that stupid that you have to say, "nagumo, i need to do my work," then deal with those big eyes of his begging to stay? if he was a little less insufferable, maybe you would've─

+ you freeze. wait, he said 'my?'

+ and nagumo, his face creased with laughter, sees the cogs whir in your brain as you finally realise that he really just indirectly labelled you as his.

+ "don't tell me you've been ignoring me for that long."

+ and much to your dismay, it hits you that yeah, he's always been there. "wow! my (name) seems to like today's lunch! i don't see you here that often!" he once commented when you sat with him at the cafeteria. "the food's not always so great, but today seems ok."

+ or the other time when you had a first-year student schedule an appointment with you because he wanted advice for his weapons. nagumo saw him waiting outside your lab. "hmm, my (name) is a bit busy today! why don't you come back later?" he said while he was opening the door to waltz in, "ah! my (name) i've come to bother you!" he sang before slamming the door. you didn't manage to see the poor kid because nagumo took up your entire evening.

+ and you really did find yourself making a separate cabinet just for nagumo. even to this day, at the ripe age of 27, you made soothing creams for burns, motion sickness pills and gums for him to chew on for whenever osaragi would drive. his placement as an order member made him busier but never enough to keep him away from you. whenever you're at the clinic for your day-job, nagumo made frequent appearances. he'd lean on the front desk and request for his usual "lovely, lovely and beautifully perfected doctor," even when you're literally standing there, typing away at the computer. "yoichi, you're really doing this on my shift." it would never stop him. "i am your shift!"

+ he's surprisingly romantic for someone with little dating history. he's had a few girlfriends in the past but because of his occupation, they obviously don't last long. with you though? though not a fully-fledged assassin yourself, you're part of that world, his world, so you understand the burden and pressure that comes with it. just like nagumo is tasked with completing his missions with no mistakes, you're equally expected to never fail a surgery, always finish on time and come up with new ideas. it's a cycle where you both have each other backs.

+ like, as much as he jokes, he's very proud of your achievements. as an order member himself, he'd probably commission you a lot and if anyone needs surgical assistance or high-tech weapons, he'd be quick to mention your name. of course, he hesitates just a little because he doesn't want to share, but for the better of your work, he puts your name out there.

+ he doesn't get heavily injured because he's scarily skilled. his 'gold assassin's license' that he boasts about keeps him protected, but just to rile you up, he'd limp in through your clinic or house, crying for the kiss of the doctor that he's come to adore. if you're at the clinic, you need to appear more professional because you have people you see everyday watching you care for this grown ass man wailing his guts out. if you're at home, you're much more relaxed and honestly, so's nagumo as he leans into your delicate touch.

+ generally, he's so proud and whipped about the fact that you're a doctor and are so capable of doing what you do. he has extensive knowledge on poisons, so he tries to add his recommendations from time to time and he's grateful whenever you take it. on the rare case that you don't, he acts hurt, "oh . . . my (name) doesn't like my idea," and he'd jokingly mope until you kiss his ego better. anything can solve this man's problems if you silence him with a kiss.

+ sakamoto's like ". . . please tell me you did not get with nagumo," and nagumo finds this hilarious. he's like, "i have an idea! let's go on double dates with you, me, aoi and (name)!" to which sakamoto rejects. he doesn't mind the idea of you being friends with his wife, of course, but he doesn't want to take nagumo anywhere.

+ sometimes, he'd disguise himself as you and nonchalantly act as if he's doing chores in your house until you come back home. so when he sees you, he points and goes, "an imposter!" and at this point, you play along, "there's my doppelganger. can you give me back my boyfriend, please." and as soon as you say that, he transforms back and grabs you.

+ life with this mf is a wild ride, but honestly, you signed up for it, so good luck. once his eyes are set on someone, he goes all in and is not about to give it up. especially when he knows how serious you are about him and he is for you. a match made in heaven!

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

SUPER BELATED Spring Cleaning 2024 Sale

okok the whole starting a separate part time job kinda threw me for a while but I've GOT MY SHIT TOGETHER!!! IT'S STILL SPRING!!!!

Basically, I have way too many print designs, and I've selected 9 of the older/less popular ones to phase out. I've put the following listings on sale for 25% off, and when they're out, they're OUT (unless people years down the line ask for a reprint batch or two). I updated the inventory quantity in each listing to accurately reflect how many of each print is left

this sale is gonna last a month, whatever's left over after the sale ends I'll just end up recycling. And from there on I'll be looking into creating funky NEW print designs for yall!

This sale doesn't affect the remaining 20-odd designs I have in the shop at the moment, you can still buy those whenever

1) why do they call it oven when you of in the cold food

2) Smashed Mouthe: Put Thy Show On

3) I may not know my flowers....

4) Born in a Graveyard Raised by a witch...

5) The only thing better than collecting BOG MUMMIES is BECOMING one! it's NATURAL, it's ORGANIC, and it's COMPLETELY FREE OF CHARGE!!!

6) Pinpath: A poem I wrote about my cross stitch needle, available in uncial and italic hands

7) Gaymer House (this one does well actually but I could have designed it nicer. Might just be selling out these old ones and come up with a new design for June)

8) Dummy Thicc Telltale Heart

9) Yeah, I'm into Battles Dragons Swords and Magic

The sale should be live! clicking those links should take you to the discounted listings, have fun yall!

I'll be boosting this a few times in the next day or two and then i'll limit boosts to once every few days or so in order to not fuck up anyone's dash

[zhelin-thames]

@purplereaderfans enjoy

The Phantom Twins were legends in Amity Park. Two ghostly figures, identical in appearance yet distinct in energy, defending the town from spectral threats and melting the hearts of Amity’s teens. No one suspected that beneath the heroic visages of Danny Phantom and Dan Phantasm were two very real, very human twins—Danny and Dan Fenton.

Their parents, Jack and Maddie, had expected only one baby, but fate had other plans. The twins grew up inseparable, sharing everything—except their tempers. Danny was easygoing and lighthearted, while Dan had a fiery intensity that balanced him out. When the accident in the portal turned them into half-ghosts, they fought side by side, taking on the ghosts that plagued their town while navigating high school life.

Danny’s relationship with Dash Baxter, of all people, had been a shock to many. The so-called "bullying" had been a mask for feelings Dash didn’t know how to express. Once they worked through that, Dash became one of their strongest allies.

But nothing could have prepared them for him—Dan’s ghost from the future. It wasn’t a fusion of Danny’s and Vlad’s ghost halves; it was Dan’s own ghost half, ripped away from him. The horror of seeing what he could become haunted Dan, even as Danny helped him through it. The future was not set in stone, but the fear of what could be never left them.

Then came the day Pariah Dark awoke. They sealed him back into the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, standing victorious where Vlad had once failed. But with victory came an unforeseen consequence: by right of conquest, the Phantom Twins were now heirs to the Ghost King’s throne.

For a time, they were left alone. Then the bad reveal happened.

Danny was taken by the Guys in White. Dan was taken by their parents.

The twins were separated for the first time in their lives, caged and dissected by those who were supposed to protect them. They endured pain, tests, and endless days locked away. They screamed for each other, but no one listened.

But their friends did.

Jazz, Wes, and Valerie took charge of rescuing Dan from Jack and Maddie’s lab. Sam, Tucker, and Dash infiltrated the GIW facility to free Danny.

Neither operation went smoothly. Battles were fought, alarms blared, and lives were risked. But in the end, the eight of them escaped together, bleeding, exhausted, and desperate.

They ran.

Gotham was not an ideal place to hide, but it was the only option. Crime Alley was the kind of place where people disappeared every day—it made sense to disappear into it. Sam had enough saved-up money to secure a small, run-down apartment. Jazz, as the only legal adult, became the primary provider, while the rest helped however they could. They tried to lay low.

They failed spectacularly.

Gotham’s vigilantes were everywhere.

The first encounter with them was a disaster.

The twins had just taken down a group of armed thugs threatening a local shopkeeper when Red Hood, Nightwing, and Robin appeared from the shadows. It wasn’t a casual meeting—it was an ambush. The vigilantes saw two unknown metas operating in their city and reacted accordingly.

The fight was intense. Danny and Dan had experience, their ghostly abilities making them formidable opponents. But the Batfamily had tactics, training, and numbers. Jazz, ever the protective sister, threw herself between her brothers and the vigilantes, demanding they stop.

Then Batman arrived.

The battle came to an abrupt halt as the Dark Knight observed the situation, his calculating gaze taking in the exhausted, battered teens. It wasn’t long before Oracle dug into their background. The truth came spilling out—what had been done to them, who was after them, and why they ran.

To their shock, the Batfamily didn’t turn them in. They didn’t threaten them. Instead, they offered help.

Wayne Manor, Later That Night

Danny slouched in the chair, arms crossed. Dan leaned against the wall, eyes flicking between each Bat vigilante. Jazz stood in front of both of them, radiating the kind of protective energy that made even Jason take a step back.

Bruce, standing at the head of the table, let the silence settle before speaking. "You're safe here. No one is going to take you back."

Dan snorted. "Forgive me if I don’t take the word of a guy dressed as a bat."

Dick sighed, rubbing his temples. "Oh great, we’ve got another Jason."

Jason grinned. "I like this one."

Jazz took a step forward, eyes narrowing. "We appreciate the help, Mr. Wayne, but let’s be real—what’s your angle? You don’t just take in random kids."

Bruce met her gaze evenly. "Actually, I do."

Danny blinked. "Wait… you're Bruce Wayne? The billionaire?"

Tim snorted. "Took him long enough."

Danny groaned, burying his face in his hands. "We are so out of our league."

Dan grinned. "Speak for yourself, nerd."

Bruce leaned forward, his expression softening ever so slightly. "You have nowhere else to go. The GIW and your parents will keep looking for you. But if you stay here, I can make sure you’re safe."

Jazz hesitated. "And if we say no?"

"Then I’ll make sure you have everything you need to survive. But you won’t be alone anymore."

Danny looked at Dan, then at Jazz. None of them wanted to admit how exhausted they were. How tired of running they’d become.

Finally, Jazz sighed. "If you hurt them, I will end you."

Bruce nodded. "Understood."

Danny leaned back, exhaling. "Guess we’re Waynes now."

Dan smirked. "Great. More brothers."

Jason grinned. "You're gonna love it here, kid."

Danny rolled his eyes but couldn't help the small smile forming on his lips. Maybe, just maybe, they had finally found a home.

The Phantom Twins had been heroes before.

Now, they were Waynes.

[flowersdiceandlove]

hi @allpiesforourown I just saw your Winx Club fandom Binghe post and it made me think of an au. So, modern au, both Shen Yuan and Binghe are involved in multiple fandoms and are both legendary posters in each of them. The thing is...they hate each other. Their online fights go down in fandom history. The Epic Battles of Peerless Cucumber and the Heavenly Pillar. There are fan accounts and Youtube videos dedicated to explaining their messy fights. There's a whole wiki page about it. Binghe has the most unhinged takes and Shen Yuan drives himself mad trying to reasonably dismantle those takes and why they are stupid and what is wrong with you?!?! But, Binghe comes back with somehow solid sounding arguments? That are somehow so crazy and make you lose all sense of right and wrong and turn everything on their head that you actually are like "wait, this guy might be onto something" until you actually remember the context and go "this guy is batshit insane! lock him up!"

So, they go head to head. A lot. Across many fandoms because they actually have the same taste in media to the point that they feel they can't escape each other. Every time they enter a new fandom, they see the comments and posts in the online communities and are like "you got to be effing kidding me!! That guy is HERE too?!?!?!!" Binghe also posts the same type of scathing reviews that Peerless Cucumber is infamous for, which are good, except for the unhinged takes sprinkled in with the logical. And that's what drives Shen Yuan so crazy. Because this "Heavenly Pillar" is actually a good critic and able to comprehend complex themes that so many others miss or misunderstand. He also completely misconstrues stuff with his unhinged takes.

And Binghe, he's just gonna fight to the death to defend his blorbos and ships.

The thing is, Shen Yuan is Binghe's tutor or something irl and Bingbing's got the biggest crush on him. Obviously. And, they talk about shows and books sometimes, and have good, deep discussions about them, finding they have a lot of the same tastes. Shen Yuan will lend Binghe a book or recommend a show and vice versa. They have fun. They do not share their online handles. Shen Yuan does not want this sweet little white sheep he's been tutoring since middle school knowing about some of the stuff he reads and messing up his image (he has an irl reputation to uphold!), and Binghe doesn't want his crush to know exactly how crazy he is and about all the teacher/tutor x student stuff he posts about, thinking it will dash his chances with his precious, sweet Yuan-gege. He's in college now, he might finally have his chance! So, they keep their online lives separate from their irl ones, not just with each other, but with everyone in their lives. Best not to mix them.

And so, things continue until one day, Peerless Cucumber suddenly becomes the Heavenly Pillar's number one supporter. He's going back and ripping apart everyone who's calling the heavenly pillar a lunatic and to lock him up saying "you don't know what's been through! there could be reasons he's like this! and are those takes really that bad!?!?" (yes. they are) People are reeling at the 180 seeming overnight that came out of nowhere after years of rivalry and hate thrown between them. He's also backing the Heavenly Pillar's takes and headcanons up by saying "yeah, I can see how it could be viewed that way. Totally valid." and then presenting a bunch of canon moments and bts and creator interviews to support it. (It's still all totally insane. But now there's two of them) It makes people actually start to question their sanity because Peerless Cucumber is normally the voice of reason, so if he's agreeing with the Heavenly Pillar, then are they the ones that are actually crazy??

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan is in his apartment, reading webnovels on his phone with his new boyfriend's head resting in his lap, idly petting his fluffy hair. Binghe's never been happier.

And, in case you were wondering, Binghe's Heavenly Pillar account has basically turned into a Peerless Cucumber Fan Account. He gushes in his replies to Peerless Cucumber, praising him, and saying how amazing his analysis' are. He'll also, in his own comments and posts, reference Peerless Cucumber posts constantly.

Yes, people are shipping them (they have for a long time, but now it's becoming a more widespread thing). Yes, they have wiki ship page. Yes, their ship name is PillarCum.

[blueboybot]

Your Husband Is A What?

Damian/Duke is trapped in a weapon (like one of those cool big ass anime swords) and it's up to Danny to get him back to normal.

Travelling back to the past seemed fun but unfortunately all the other heroes think he's a little crazy, and yes, he may have a few screws loose but his husband really is trapped in this weapon damnit.

_______

How they met could be made into a book with the title Love At First Fight, because that's exactly how they met each other.

Danny had taken a route that was basically a dark alley, so there really wasn't no surprise when a couple of guys tried to rob him. Well, Danny was not one to back down and with a trusty steel pipe he found right next to the dumpster he began taking them down.

In the aftermath Danny's jeans had become ripped jeans but he wasn't sure if they could be considered proper clothing to wear anymore, which pissed him off so he got one more hit in with the steel pipe to the nearest man next to him.

Footsteps as light as they were still alerted Danny to one more thief in his vicinity. Without much hesitation he turned swiftly and dashed towards his opponent. Steel meet steel as his attacker counteracted his attack with a weapon of their own. Danny still had powers though, so using a bit more strength he sent the other's weapon flying in another direction, giving him the opportunity to strike.

He didn't know when he lost his own weapon but somehow him and his attacker were now fist fighting on the floor. It was only after the adreneline had calmed down somewhat that Danny was able to see he was fighting one of Gotham's heroes.

Quickly separating himself from the hero he profusely apologised before dashing off to deal with the action of beating up one of his favorite heroes.

What followed afterwards were a series of events that always ended up with the two meeting each other and engaging in a 'battle' of sorts. One thing led to another and for some reason they ended up kissing in the same dark alley they first met, away from any prying eyes. After that night things changed significantly.

Danny always knew the indentity of the one that became his love because of the otherness he could feel beneath their skin that reminded him of himself and eventually he told them about Phantom.

It took a lot more meet ups in secret before they were finally comfortable enough to officially meet each other's family and it had gone a lot better than they were expecting.

Sometimes they would help each other out on missions and this time was no different. They were dealing with another crazy magician who thought he could take over the world by using the power of an ancient deity. They managed to stop him but before he could be detained he fired of one more spell that trapped his boyfriend in his weapon and used some sort or artifact to send them careening through a portal.

Luckily for them they ended up with the JL, unluckily for them no one seems to know who they are.

____________

Flash: Are we sure he should be in the watchtower?

Black Canary: He's not doing anything bad, look at him.

Phantom using his lover as a swing: ^o^

Green Arrow: He thinks that's his husband trapped in there.

Black Canary: He could be.

Flash: How old is he anyways, he looks too young to be married.

Superman: C'mon everyone let's not talk about him while he's right there.

Greenlantern: Look at him! Does it looks like he cares?

Phantom still using his lover as a swing: ( ≧ᗜ≦)

Superman: It's still rude.

____________

Based slightly off of Aba from Guilty Gear.

I imagine Danny pulling a Sayaka (from Madoka Magica) and stabbing the sword through him for a power-up and everyone panics for a hot minute before realizing he's fine.

[wheeboo]

mine | joshua hong

SYNOPSIS. in which joshua is the best thing that's ever been... yours. PAIRING. joshua hong x gn!reader (ft. cheol, jeonghan, soonyoung, mingyu, chan - they don't rlly have dialogue tho lol) GENRE. fluff, some angst, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, established relationship WARNINGS. a very very brief shirtless joshua moment LMAO, implications of reader having a toxic ex, mentions that reader's parents have a rocky relationship and separate, kissing, terms of endearment, reader and joshua have a lil argument WORD COUNT. 3.6k

requested from @staranghae: joshua + mine by taylor swift for the 2k followers event please 🩷🎀

notes: i am fluent in this song!!!! whenever my love playlist comes on and this plays i literally scream lungs out!!! and shua fits this vibe so much <3

join the 2k celebration!

ONE. "i was a flight risk, with a fear of falling / wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts..."

Maybe you've always underestimated how the feeling of fresh air hitting your lungs makes you feel so replenished, free, like a single whiff blows away those gusts of worry in an instant.

Your fingers carry a tight, secure grip on Seungcheol's surfboard𑁋you volunteered to carry it for him so he could unload the other things from the van����soft sand meeting your toes the second you step onto the beach for the first time of the summer season. Salty air tingles at your nose, the late afternoon sun baring down on your shoulders, and the expanse of the ocean opens up right before your eyes.

This place had basically watched you grow up. It carries a lot of memories that you hold dear to your heart.

You see Soonyoung already digging into the sand with an abnormally large stick, and Mingyu carrying a bunch of firewood in his arms before dropping them down onto the ground (and accidentally one on his foot, but you won't say anything about that).

However, your eyes drift and land on a figure running up from the beach shore. His dark hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, chest and arms revealed in all its glory before quickly covered up by a white, somewhat lacy button-down shirt that still doesn't do much in concealing the muscles underneath. For a moment, you nearly loose the grip on Seungcheol's surfboard.

Joshua Hong seems to spot you from even a mile away. He's running up to you before you even have the minute to breathe, a grin splitting his face that's as warm as the setting sun. Sand clings to his damp flip-flops and the hem of his black shorts as he nearly skids to a halt in front of you, chest heaving and out of breath. His shirt isn't even buttoned, dammit.

"Hey," he greets you breathlessly, letting his eyes take you in for a second. "Glad you could make it."

A soft smile of your own blooms on your face. "It's good to see you too, asshole."

A flicker of feigned hurt plays across Joshua's features. "Come on. That was so two years ago! I didn't want to push you in the water. You should know that by now."

"Wow, you care so much about me, don't you?" You nearly swing Seungcheol's surfboard playfully in his direction. "You listen to Jeonghan more than your own little brain."

"I swear, it's changed. Everything's changed since then," Joshua reasons lightly. "You have my ears for the entire night, I promise."

His words hang in the air for a moment, and there's perhaps a sliver of fondness in his eyes that you catch when your gazes meet. You feel a certain warmth spread through your chest that you try so hard to ignore each time he's around you.

You brush it off with a roll of your eyes before strolling past him, hoping that Seungcheol's surfboard was enough to cover up the slight flush creeping up your cheeks. The smile to your face still lingers as you walk towards to where Soonyoung and Mingyu are, whom dash up to you the moment they see you to engulf you in a welcoming hug.

Mingyu is almost done setting up the bonfire by the time you and Seungcheol bring all the food and supplies from the van. Jeonghan and Chan had arrived by the time the fire is lit up and crackling, casting a warm, inviting glow on the beach scene. And it isn't long when the yearly traditions of a group bonfire and beachside barbecue commence.

The smell of grilled food fills the air, mixing with the salty breeze and the crackle of the fire. And just for those moments, you forget these fuzzy feelings swirling around you as familiar laughter and camaraderie take over instead.

You've known all of your friends for different amounts of times, but being here with all of them makes it feel like time hasn't passed by at all. Inside jokes are exchanged, memories from as far as childhood resurface, and stories are told that leave you all doubled over with laughter (and Soonyoung nearly choking on a marshmallow).

It's almost natural in the way your eyes seem to search for Joshua's every single time that feeling of happiness threatens to overflow within you. The fire flickers upon his face, his eyes crinkled deeply when he smiles. Happiness looks good on him, you think. It always has.

...does his eyes search for yours too?

By the time the fire dies down, you find yourself sitting near the edge of the beach, with your legs stretched on the sand and the waves barely lapping against your feet. Seungcheol and Mingyu are already out on the ocean on their surfboards, then there's Chan and Soonyoung struggling to get their sandcastle to stay up, and Jeonghan is already knocked out on a beach towel. It's just you, and wherever the hell Joshua is.

"Something's bothering you, isn't it?"

The voice snaps you away from your thoughts, and you pick your head up to see Joshua walking up to you. A cool breeze flows through his strands of his hair as he approaches.

You blink at him. "What?"

He sits down beside you on the sand, close enough that the warmth of his body brushes against yours. "You were too quiet earlier."

You face back towards the water, cowering your head down as if guilty of some sorts.

"Oh," You murmur, somewhat to yourself. "Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Joshua asks, nudging you lightly on the shoulder. "I told you earlier that I would be all ears for you."

You smile faintly at that. Would you still be all ears if I told you that I've been such a coward with my feelings for you?

"It's... just boy problems, I guess," You respond, though you feel a twinge of regret for wording it like that. It's more than just simply boy problems.

Joshua's jaw seems to tighten at that. "Did that jerk contact you again?"

You know who exactly he's talking about, and you let out a sigh. "No, not him. I... I blocked him a few months ago when he tried spam calling me again. Sort of gave me a good scare, to be honest."

At the corner of your eye, Joshua's hand digs aimlessly into the sand, clenching and unclenching a fistful before smoothing it out again.

"I'm glad you're okay," he says softly, gaze fixed on the grains of sand slipping through his fingers. "You deserve someone way better than him."

You chuckle at that, and a bittersweet pang shoots through your chest. It's true, you deserve better. But really, the problem isn't just jerks and bad relationships. It's the thought of falling for someone again and it all comes crashing down... again.

But it's not like you could hold back from falling when you've already fallen. The truth is undeniable at this point𑁋your heart already beats a little faster for the boy right next to you.

"Guys! Look at the sunset!" Chan's voice rings out into the cool, evening air, pointing an excited finger towards the horizon.

Simultaneously, you and Joshua bring your eyes up tot the sky together. The last rays of the sun are painting the sky in a breathtaking display of fiery oranges, pinks, and purples, like a fleeting masterpiece before nightfall takes hold.

"Wow," You mutter out in awe. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Joshua cocks his head to the side, a low hum leaving his lips. "Hmm, I could think of something more beautiful than that, honestly."

You scoff, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. "You ruined the sentimental moment, idiot."

Joshua lets out an amused laugh, a sound that sends those flutters blossoming in your stomach, one you haven't realised you've missed until this very moment. A small giggle of your own escapes your mouth as you bring your eyes back to the sunset together.

Then a low yawn stifles out of you. Maybe everything that has happened the past few hours are finally catching up to you. You let out another yawn, hoping Joshua doesn't notice. But of course, he does.

"Getting tired?" he asks you.

You give a small nod. "Just a little."

A few moment pass, before you feel an arm drape casually over your shoulders. The scent of Joshua and his warmth seeps within your bones. You almost want to protest, but the words get caught in your throat, and you lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

Perhaps you could spend a long time staying in this position and hope the silence is able to spill all the words you've been meaning to say for all this time, but you know it's easier said than done. Because what's the point of confessing anymore if you know it won't ever last? That you know it'll ruin everything you've built up to get this far?

You've seen it happen around you𑁋with you, your parents, hell even strangers online. It's taught you nothing but to run. That's what your mind tells you to do, but not your heart. And maybe you listen to your mind more often than not.

"Yo, Josh!" Mingyu's voice hollers out from the ocean, and you feel a certain pressure be lifted up from your head (when did he lay his head on yours?) as you catch the sight of Seungcheol and Mingyu motioning to their surfboards. "Wanna hop on?"

Joshua briefly glances down at you, and you meet his gaze, seeing the indecision in his features.

"I don't mind," You tell him. "I'll be fine here."

He hesitates. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me." You pick your head off from his shoulders. "Go have your boy-fun."

Joshua gives you a small smile, though there's a hint of reluctance in his expression. He shouts back to Mingyu and Seungcheol before standing up and brushing the sand off his shorts. You could hardly pull your eyes away from him as he does so.

He starts trotting away as you face back toward the ocean with a sigh, relinquishing the moments you get to have to gather up your thoughts.

"Hey, Y/N?"

You pick your eyes back up to Joshua marching back towards you. He stops in front of you, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You look beautiful today, by the way." Then he gives shoots you a wink before turning back around. "Just wanted you to know."

The kiss you leave to his cheek later on was really worth the risk.

TWO. "you learn my secrets and you figure out why i'm guarded / you say we'll never make my parents' mistakes..."

A picture frame of a four-year-old Joshua is staring back at you. He still has that same silly grin on his face, the one that has his own eyes smiling as well and makes your heart feel lighter every time you look at it. You reach out to touch the frame, tracing the outline of his little face with your fingertip.

Sometimes, you wish you could experience what he was like at this time𑁋to grow up with him, to know what exactly led him to meeting you. But then again, he's already here with you now, and maybe that's all that matters.

"All ready for bed?" Joshua's voice popping in makes you swiftly place back the picture frame back on his desk. You turn around to see him leaning against the doorway with a soft smile playing on his lips, clad with a simple white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants.

"Mhm," You hum out in response as you settle back under the covers of his bed.

It isn't the first night you've spent with him at his place, but you seem to seek the feeling of his comfort more often than sleeping in your own bed. Jeonghan has been kind of nagging you the two of you to move in together at this point, but that's a leap you're a bit hesitant to jump right now. But the drawer of your own clothes in his wardrobe is a bit of an argument that's hard to defend.

Joshua crawls his way into the spot right next to you, slipping under the duvet and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you more into his embrace. You feel his breath meet the nape of your neck, warm and soothing against your skin, and your eyes flutter to the feeling.

You shift your position so that you're facing him. His eyes are already closed, lips pursed up slightly, and even then he still looks absolutely stunning. But you know he isn't asleep. Not yet, at least.

"My parents had uh... another argument today," You confess lowly, hesitantly.

Joshua's eyes open up slightly, adjusting his head so he can look at you better. A faint crease of concern appears between his brows, the arm around you tightening imperceptibly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You bite at your bottom lip anxiously. There are times you feel as if the only thing that could get you talking is always something revolving your parents, and you wonder if Joshua ever gets tired hearing about all of it. The thought courses insecurity to crawl in your veins, tightening your throat.

But Joshua's patient gaze towards you cuts through the uncertainty bubbling in your chest.

"Just same old, same old, you know?" You attempt to explain. "It just feels like they can't see eye-to-eye anymore. There's like... I don't know... nothing left between them, I guess. And it scares me that... it'll happen to us."

The last sentence suspends thickly into the air. Even then, you know it's more than the truth𑁋you've grown up witnessing and overhearing arguments from your parents that laid down this pessimistic view on the world around you.

You could feel your heart racing from all the anticipation. There's a wave of emotions that washes over Joshua's face, then he takes a deep breath and squeezes you tighter in his hold.

"Hey," he mutters. "Look at me."

You hesitantly meet his eyes.

"We're not like them, okay?" he assures you simply, bringing his hand up to cup your face oh-so gently in his hold. "We may argue sometimes. But the difference is, we communicate. We listen to each other. And we may not have all the answers to everything, but we'll figure it out together, alright?"

You swear you can feel the way he's holding your face also on your heart, like he's protecting you in a way from any doubts that might creep in. A small sigh escapes you, the tension leaving your shoulders as his words wrap around you comfortingly. The faintest, appreciative curve appears to your lips as you feel Joshua's thumb brush against your cheek.

He dreamily smiles at you as well, despite his face being half-buried in the pillow. And the thought of being able to wake up to this sight every single day suddenly feels a lot less like a leap and a whole lot more like a promise.

Somehow, the gap between the two of you disappears as your lips meets his. He kisses you so tenderly, mouth moving against yours with a delicate urgency, and the tiny sound that leaves you brings that smirk you could feel forming on his face.

You feel almost dizzy when you pull away, nothing but a shy look gracing over your features.

"Feeling better?" Joshua asks softly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

You could only gaze at him, wondering to yourself how he's even in real, how someone like him could exist with his sleepy smile, messy hair, and perfect features carved by the angels above, yet cherish you so dearly.

"Can you..." Your eyes flicker from eyes to his lips. "Can you... keep kissing me?"

It feels really silly to ask that, however Joshua just chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest as he peers at you with nothing but adoration.

"Of course," he replies, leaning back in. "Whatever you want."

THREE. "braced myself for the goodbye, 'cause that's all I've ever known / then you took me by surprise / you said, 'I'll never leave you alone...'"

The tears streaming down your face burns through the concrete below like acid.

"Y/N, wait𑁋"

"I told you that I-I can't do this right now."

The leaves crunching at your feet echo in your ears as you walk away from Joshua, each step feeling heavier than the last. It's around two in the morning or something, and you can't remember the last time you felt this lost and broken ever since your parents' separation. It's like the ground beneath you has crumbled away, leaving you suspended in midair, grasping for something𑁋just anything𑁋to hold onto.

You've been here before, standing at the edge of this cliff of vulnerability. It's easier to leave before you get left, easier to build walls than to let someone in only to watch them walk away.

But you've come to understand that Joshua isn't one to give up easily. He catches up to you quickly, his hand gently grasping your arm to stop you in your tracks. You try to shrug him off, but his grip only tightens slightly as he turns you around to face him.

"Talk to me," he pleads insistently, and the subtle tremble to his voice has your chest clenching. "If you're just going to keep pushing me away, then𑁋"

"Then leave." The words leave you before you can stop them, fueled by the ache in your chest and the fear in your heart. "You don't have to stay with me when all I-I do is push you away. Don't you think you deserve someone better?"

Joshua's grip on your arm loosens at your words, but it doesn't fall. His eyes scan over your tear-stained face, the quiver to your lips, and all of it has you bracing yourself for the inevitable, final blow𑁋for him to turn and walk away like so many others before him.

But instead, he just steps closer to you.

"This isn't about me staying because I have to, Y/N," he explains. "It's about me wanting to stay because I love you. I knew what I was getting into the second I realised I was falling for you. So no, I'm not going to leave you. And I'll never leave you alone because I know you're worth fighting for."

Your breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through you like a bullet straight through the heart. Even Joshua appears out of breath himself, as if he's poured his own heart out to you in those few simple sentences. The silence stretches between the two of you.

With a quiet sigh and a faint smile, he lets the tension simmer down by trailing his eyes over you.

"When I look at you, I think... I think I fall in love with you all over again like the first time I saw you," Joshua admits shyly, followed by a sheepish chuckle to himself. "It's cheesy, I know. But I can't help it. It's hard not to look at you."

You feel the heat crawling up your face as you blink away your tears clumsily, peering up at him inquisitively. "Really?"

This just draws another laugh from him. Joshua steps closer to you, trailing a hand to cup your face and the other to slide to your back to shorten the gap between the two of you even more. He places a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulls back slightly to meet your gaze.

"Really," he confirms, voice gentle yet firm. "I meant every word I said, darling."

This brings a genuine smile to your face as if it was the first one that night. You instinctively lean more into Joshua's touch, letting your eyes close for a moment to the simple feeling of him holding you.

"I'm sorry," You mumble, voice barely above a whisper. "for pushing you away like that. It's just... I'm scared."

Joshua takes one of your hands into his own to bring up to his lips, pressing a reassuring kiss to your knuckles.

"It's okay," he assures you. "We can be scared together."

FOUR. "do you believe it? / we're gonna make it now / and i can see it / i can see it now."

A pair of arms snake around your waist from behind, the relaxing melody of a piano floating through the air of the kitchen. You take in a deep breath, leaning back into Joshua's embrace as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"Smells amazing, honey," Joshua murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You smile contentedly, feeling the peace of the moment wash over the two of you. The enticing smells of the pasta you were cooking waft around the kitchen, mingling with the scent of fresh herbs, garlic, and Joshua's presence right behind you.

"It should be ready soon," You say, clutching the wooden spoon in your hands to give the sauce a final stir.

Joshua's eyes arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer as he sways gently to the music. You hear the sounds of his hums hit your ears as you turn to the heat off to the stove. And as you attempt to pull away from him to grab for some plates, Joshua's grip on your waist hardly budges.

You groan exaggeratedly. "Shua, I need to𑁋"

"Marry me."

You freeze immediately, and you swear time halted right at that moment. Turning around in his hold, you're met with the sight of Joshua's eyes on you. You try to pinpoint any doubt in them, any sign that this is some sort of joke, but his gaze remains unwavering, dark eyes serious yet painted with a shine of hope that tugs right at the strings of your heart and the walls of your hesitation.

There's always that fear gnawing at in the back of your mind. But beneath it all, a warmth spreads through your chest, a certainty that feels as natural as breathing.

And perhaps, you see nothing but forever in him.

You can see it in the way his eyes soften, in the way his hand trembles anxiously against your waist, in the way his lips part ever so slightly as he waits for your response. You can see it all in him. You've made it.

You kiss him just seconds later. It's a question your heart has already answered long before the words left Joshua's lips. You lean more into his touch, feeling your heart overflow past the brink of joy, and the feelings all melt together into the singular realisation that he's the best thing that's ever been yours.

When the two of you finally break away, a single word escapes your lips, "Yes."

another note: sorry this ending was slightly rushed T-T

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[akaakeis]

going on a drive with them -- multi .ᐟ.ᐟ

pairing(s) : bokuto kōtarō, kuroo tetsurō, suna rintarō, sakusa kiyoomi, and kiyoko shimizu x gn!reader (separate!!)

wc : ~200 each .ᐟ

notes//cw : happy 300 posts !! this is me brain dumping bc i haven't posted any writing lately,, food is mentioned in suna's and kuroo's,, they are the ones driving in this hc- let me know if u want a ver. w the reader driving!,, i think that's it tho!! lmk if i missed anything <3

𖥔  oh gosh... a car ride with kōtarō bokuto is never dull.

𖥔  he loves randomly taking you out for drives!!

𖥔  he's gonna keep a hand on you AT ALL TIMES!! like he'll either have it on your leg or you'll both be resting your arms on the compartment between the seats, holding hands.

𖥔  he will BEG you to take the aux cause he loves your music taste <3

𖥔  if he knows the song well enough he will sing along as you two drive!!

𖥔  not simply singing along though...

𖥔  he will lock in and shout out those lyrics, eventually getting you to sing along with him

𖥔  he probably took you out for the drive a bit before the sunset... yes he planned that!! but akaashi suggested the time LMAO

𖥔  when the sun starts to set, you guys drive into an empty area by the side of the road, and you guys get out of the car

𖥔  and he'll get you both up on the roof of the car!! he brought blankets and stuff too

𖥔  the two of you just sit on the roof of the car and watch the sunset together, all huddled up in the blankets he brought <33

𖥔  on the drive back home, you play softer music and yap about your days together :)

𖥔  it's not a drive with tetsurō kuroo unless it's a late night!!

𖥔  he would be trying to fall asleep but fail miserably, resorting to just waking you up 😭

𖥔  "wanna go drive thru somewhere?"

𖥔  you, in a half-awake state mutter an agreement, getting out of bed and into the car

𖥔  he'll hold your hand as you guys drive and you take the aux out of habit

𖥔  it's safe to say you guys end up having a full on karaoke session in the car once you wake up a bit more!!

𖥔  you guys drive through some random 24hr drive thru and pull into the (extremely empty, desolate even) parking lot to eat your food

𖥔  the two of you end up chilling in the car for the rest of the night!! you use your phone and pull up a show the two of you have been watching and you prop it up on the dash of the car LMAOO

𖥔  so the night turns into a binge watching of some tv series accompanied by a drive thru and some karaoke!!

𖥔  "oh my god we have morning classes tomorrow."

𖥔  yeah maybe it wasn't the best idea BUT AT LEAST IT WAS A LOT OF FUN!!

𖥔  you both end up speeding home and knocking out asap in an attempt to get some rest before pounding your head with information right when you wake up

𖥔  yeah... rintarō suna only takes you on late night drives too.

𖥔  he would randomly start spam texting you in the middle of the night saying "let's go to (some 24 hour drive thru)"

𖥔  and you were still awake so why not?

𖥔  he has a DEATHGRIP on having the aux... in the car, don't expect to get the aux unless he's converted you into a severe underground music glazer.

𖥔  he'll be playing the most unknown songs to mankind... but they're honestly pretty good!!

𖥔 it's a pretty chill car ride, honestly

𖥔  you'll be leaning over on his shoulder and just vibing out w the music

𖥔  he'd be telling you about the song and the artist too :))

𖥔  when you're done with that car ride you will have like... 5 new music artists that you like

𖥔  anyway you guys go through the drive thru pretty quick and you head straight home!!

𖥔  once ygs get home you go to his room and continue listening to his playlist and chat while you eat your food <3

𖥔  it ends up becoming a gossip session LMAO

𖥔  ALSO!! you guys pull an all nighter together

𖥔  kiyoomi sakusa took you out for a drive because you weren't able to sleep <3

𖥔  he thought that going for a drive would help to calm your nerves and make you sleepy

𖥔  honestly he was right because he's a really good driver... the ride wasn't bumpy at all!!

𖥔  he holds onto your hand as you guys drive and he lets you use the aux- you opt for calmer music so that he enjoys it too :)

𖥔  he also tells you about his day since he knows you like the sound of his voice

𖥔  just random yapping so that you get to listen to him talk... his voice is so soothing!!!

𖥔  did i mention when he's holding onto your hand he's running his thumb back and forth on the back of your hand

𖥔  he doesn't notice at first when you fall asleep but when he does? he shuts up and and finds himself smiling at how cute you look when you're asleep

𖥔  he drives back home and carries you into the house, putting you into bed before crawling in after you

𖥔  it was a super duper peaceful night <33

𖥔  kiyoko shimizu had a plan before taking you out for a drive!!

𖥔  she didn't tell you anything and was purposely vague about where you would both be going <3

𖥔  LITTLE DID YOU KNOW!!! THE AURORA BOREALIS WAS GOING TO BE VISIBLE THAT NIGHT!!!

𖥔  she took you out for the drive when the sun was setting, and you guys were aimlessly driving around for about an hour while listening to music on the radio <3

𖥔  you guys got to chat a lot during the drive, and for the entirety of that time, she had one of your hands pulled onto her lap as she drove!! <3

𖥔  when the lights were finally showing up in the sky you guys were in a very rural area, just so that you could see it better

𖥔  the two of you sat on the hood of the car and watch the lights until they went away <3

𖥔  and!!! you guys were cuddled up and sharing a blanket that she always keeps in the back seat of her car for you :)

𖥔  you took a bunch of pictures of the lights- mostly her, but also a couple of the lights-

𖥔  while you guys were watching the lights, you ended up talking about your plans for the future and how she was a part of them <3

𖥔  it was a very soft night for you guys!!

notes :: 

okay i kept giggling while i wrote this 

i love hcs because you dont have to expand on them its just what it is

happy 300 posts!! (im not even at 100 followers yet BYE IM A SPAM POSTER!! I CANT HELP IT!!)

if you enjoyed this, please consider checking out my masterlist!

and following maybe 😋 

btw requests are always welcome!! id love to write stuff for you guys <3

have a lovely morning/afternoon/night!!

🏷️ :: @bokukos + @iiwaijime <3 (i just realized i messed up your user... sorry alina!! 😭)

[arecaceae175]

Hello! I noticed that some of your fics on Ao3 are tagged "Screen Reader Friendly," and I wondered what makes a fic screen reader friendly. Is it just about formatting, or does content matter too?

Hi, thank you so much for asking this question!!! Disclaimer I am not visually impaired so all of this information I have learned by seeing blind or visually impaired people talk about this issue.

It’s primarily formatting! I’ll list everything I do to try to make my fics accessible here.

Line breaks!!! Use the ao3 line break code instead of adding a bunch of symbols. This is the biggest thing I had to change once I realized my fics were not screen reader friendly.

HOWEVER some screen readers won’t pick up on the horizontal line, either. Another good option is to use a short series of symbols, for example: “~~” or “- - -“

Basically, just don’t use more than three symbols in a row. I used to use “~~~/\~~~” with a delta symbol in the middle to look like the triforce, but a screen reader would see that and say “asterisk asterisk asterisk delta asterisk asterisk asterisk” which is pretty annoying lol

Most screen readers don’t differentiate between regular text and bold/italics. It’s fine to have those in your story, but if the bold/italics significantly changes the plot or the implications of a sentence then it is not screen reader friendly

Screen readers can’t describe a line break that is just an empty space. For example, in one of my fics I have a character reading a note, and I have an extra ‘return button’ space before and after the note to make the note distinct from the rest of the text. To make that fic more screen reader friendly, instead of just an empty space, I wrote “[Line Break]”. That way, a screen reader can say “line break”, and readers still recognize it as a line break

If you have any sort of chat fic (AND this goes for hashtags on tumblr too!) with screen names, be sure to distinguish the separate words in the screen name. You can do this with by capitalizing the first letter of each word like this “ScreenNameHere” or with dashes in between each word “screen-name-here”. That helps screen readers and also people with things like dyslexia who have trouble distinguishing words if they aren’t capitalized or separated in some way.

Screen readers can read image emojis like this smiley face 😁 because they have embedded alt text, but they can’t read text emojis as an emoji, like this one “:D”. If you use any of those in your fic, add a description like this: “ :D [Image description: text emoji of a smiley face with a big, open mouthed smile. End description].”

Also, this one doesn’t have to do with a screen reader, but if you have an image embedded in your story, keep these things in mind:

Be sure to describe the image so anyone who is blind or visually impaired can still experience the image. I don’t think it’s possible to add alt text to the actual image, so I usually put this below the image: “[Image ID: description of the image. Note the important details, but be as concise as you can. /End ID]”. Including the image description instead of some sort of alt text is good for DeafBlind people who can’t see the image well enough but don’t use a screen reader.

Some blind or visually impaired people don’t use a screen reader and instead zoom in on the text. If an image is embedded in the story, be sure it is sized correctly. If it isn’t, it can make scrolling sideways to read zoomed in text more difficult because it makes the webpage much wider than the text itself.

Not all my fics have the screen reader friendly tag because 1. There might be a few I haven’t updated yet, and 2. I didn’t include the tag on fics that have weird formatting or are accent heavy. For example, in Kinship I wrote Twilight’s dialogue to represent his strong accent, and those kinds of things with apostrophes and half-words don’t come through well with a screen reader.

I personally don’t think it’s good practice to include a ton of apostrophes or shortened words to distinguish an accent. Even for people not using screen readers, it’s hard to read. For me, if I see a fic with things like that, I won’t read it. Maybe try having a few words that the character’s accent comes through on, or write something about their heavy accent outside of the dialogue.

The “Screen Reader Friendly” tag isn’t an officially recognized AO3 tag yet, but the more people who use it, the sooner it will be!

Those are all the things I can think of right now. If anyone has any other tips to add, please do so!!

[marcsburnerphone]

And they were roommates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: separation, John being John.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7 - part 8 - Part 9 - part 10 - part 11 - part 12 - part 13 - part 14

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

“Oh my god i’ve missed you!” your sister says as she gets into your car at the train station and although a piece of home has left it also feels like a piece has come home.

“Thankyou for coming.” you smile pulling her into an uncomfortable hug over the center counsel. 

“Coffee and a good movie that perhaps includes phone time?” she says as you pull away.

“Good god you mastermind.” you two laugh while  backing out of the busy parking lot. 

“So tell me everything, like what the hell this is?” she asks while grabbing the photo strip of you and john you keep on your dash.

“That day we went to the winery and they have a really popular black and white photo booth.” She smiles at the way your eyes light up when speaking about him.

“You complement each other well.” 

“Thank you, you’d love him, maybe when he gets back you could meet him.” The suggestion isn't one you'd ever see yourself making again after your last embarrassment of a boyfriend.

“Of course.” she says with a soft smile.

—-----------------------

“Do you think she’s okay?” John asks Simon who sits next to him on the foreign base.

“I do.” 

“I wish I could call her already, just to be sure and shake this feeling.” He was told calls weren't permitted until clearance that the location they’re at is secured.

“Captain, she can handle herself, she's going to be fine and if this goes to plan we’ll be back in no time.” John just sighs, his breath making a cloud into the cold air. By no time Simon means a month, a whole thirty days without you, he might just die from heartbreak. 

“You think you'll marry her?” Simon has always been one for deep conversation but it’s always random and spontaneous.

“Jesus son it hasn't even been seven months.” John says with an awkward laugh knowing he has an answer to the question.

“That's not what I asked the captain.” Simon replies.

“I'd be lucky to, I'd give everything to make that woman my wife, it’s just too soon, I don’t want to scare her off.” he says with a hopeless sigh.

“Time is an illusion, captain, don't wait forever.” 

“What are you, A fucking poet?”

“Yeah.” They both laugh as Simon opens a pack of cigarettes offering one to John and grabs one from the pack for himself. 

“Like I said if I'm lucky.” 

“I think the perfect woman falling into your hands proves you're as lucky as it gets, i mean look at those idiots.”he says gesturing towards johnny and gaz who arm wrestle on a wobbly table.

“You're right.” 

—----------------

The days have been stretched long, you think to yourself. It was good though, the distractions of shopping and hanging with your sister was nice and relieving but now it's four in the morning and she's fast asleep beside you and your eyes won't even shut for more than five minutes before the anxiety becomes too much.

It's been a long time since you’ve had a night like this and you don't wish to have many more but while johns away you most likely will. 

You get out of bed quietly and head to his room to grab a shirt of his, anything to feel closer. Walking in you realize you and john are very rarely in here and dust collects on the clothing drawer you open.

“I've missed these.” you say pulling your favorite pair of undies from the bottom of his pajama shirt drawer wondering when he could've gotten them then it hits you, these are from the night of your first date, you laugh quietly before putting them back.

You pull the shirt over your head right then and there, discarding the one you had on before, leaving it somewhere on John's floor before heading back to bed.

“Where'd you go?” your sister mumbles, scaring the life out of you.

“John's room real quick sorry for waking you.” you reply in a whisper.

“Yeah I thought a man got into bed with me.” you figure you've become a little blind to how strong his cologne can be and apologize. 

“Night.” you say before sliding under the duvet.

—-------------

“That was close too close, almost got caught.” John says very sternly to his task force who just returned from their first outing in this foreign country.

“But we didn't.” gaz says, and it's true was it close yes but there've been many other occasions just like it.

“But we were close!” The captain's booming voice makes them all fall silent.

“Next time I say to pull away you listen, do you understand, let me expect more from you.” he pointed at simon.

“Understood.” he says with a nod. 

“I'll see you all in the morning.” the captain says before walking away and into his tent. The boys all spare eachother side glances before Johnny starts.

“He needs to get laid immediately.” 

“He just has something to live for now I think and it's scaring him.” ghost replies and it's troubling him, because although he understands his captain has to get his emotions under control before this mission blows up in their faces.

“Go talk to him Lt.” Gaz says pointing towards where the silhouette of John is visible through the tarp of his tent. Simon gets up without another word walking to the tent asking if he could open it.

“What do you want?” John says to him, still agitated.

“Captain i understand your emotions are high right now you miss her and you're not allowed to call yet but understand we are soldiers and as a team we understand each other-”

“I'm the captain and I'm glad you understand each other but it's my job to understand the situation.” 

“You're trying to understand the situation here and at home, and it's going to get us killed.” Simon says before leaving. John realizes then he has had his mind in two places and he can't afford that. Swallowing his pride he approaches the team who's still sitting where he left them.

“I apologize for my outburst, let's reread some files and figure out an action plan for tomorrow.” 

—-------------

It's been nearly a week and not a sound from John, you're worried sick and there's nothing anyone can do about it. Your sister has a life to return to and you'll be alone with these thoughts for however long.

“Alright babe till next time.” she says hopping out of your car back at the same spot you picked her up from. You get out to help her get her extra bags that she acquired from shopping. 

“I love you, call me when you get home.” you say giving her a big hug trying not to cry.

“Will do, love you.” you watch her board before leaving. You're back home before you know it, getting back basically on autopilot.. You decide to call it a night at six, the emotional baggage of the day and the possibility of going another day without speaking to John is enough to get you to sleep heavily. 

And sure enough not only another day passes with no contact but another week goes by.

—------------

“Good job out there today, that was beyond successful.” John says, patting everyone on the back as they all file back into their temporary base.

“Hey captain, have you spoken to the little lass?” he was cleared his fifth day here to call home but simply hasn't.

“No I haven't.” 

“Why not?” it takes soap by surprise, the captain went from being worried sick about you to not even mentioning your name.

“It's a distraction I can't handle right now.” Simon's ears pick up on this and he just shakes his head in disappointment, that man only ever hears what he wants to. 

“Okay, she probably misses you though.” soap continues.

“Don't johnny.” the captain demands sternly leaving him to just walk away.

John misses you he does, so much so it makes him sick but he can't afford to think about you more than a little before it consumes his thoughts, what're you doing?Where are you?How are you?It's all too much.

He stares at the phone he was issued long enough to the point where he picks it up and dials your number and of course you answer first ring.

“John, good god hon i've missed you.” he doesn't say anything just listens to your voice fill his ears.

“John hello you there.” he stays silent trying to hold in this rush of sadness he hadn't expected.

“Johnnnnnn hello, i think your connection is bad or maybe it's mine.” he feels guilty for doing this to you, just like he gets the comfort of hearing you again you deserve that too but he just can't bring himself to speak, so he hangs up and sets the phone down leaving his tent to drown himself in work and whatever else there is to do.

—------------

The confusion and uncertainty that followed with the click of the phone was immense but there were no tears left to cry by now. You've just accepted the fact that he couldn't talk right now reminding yourself that you knew what you were getting into when he asked you to be his girlfriend or as he says it his partner.

—------------

Another week, then another passes

“He hasn't called, I'm just worried.” you say while on facetime as you fold laundry.

“Maybe it isn't allowed.” she says trying to comfort you by making that stupid face people make when they don't know what to say.

“But he told me he could, so I just don't get what changed you know, but maybe you're right, I just miss him.” 

“And that's okay, it's healthy.” Since she's left, her phone is full with nothing but you and your rants about life, your day, how much you miss john.

“How long has it been now?” 

“Four weeks going on five.” you sigh while getting up to put some clothes away in your closet.

“Well he'll be back soon hopefully, I got to go when my break is over.” she says while blowing you a kiss through the phone.

“Okay bye.” —--------------

You're woken up at four in the morning the next night from your phone buzzing under your pillow, excitedly thinking  it's John. You quickly grab it looking at the number and although it's similar in area code some numbers are different but nonetheless you answer.

“Hello.”

“Hey it's Johnny we’ve met. I'm a friend of johns.” soap says into the phone simon and gaz next to him listening.

“Hey is everything okay, is john okay?” you say in a bit of a panic.

“Yes yeah everythings okay we’re or I’m just calling to see how you are, make sure you're okay?”

“Yeah I'm fine are you?” You say a little mind boggled that Johnny is calling you before your partner.

“Yeah I’m well actually.” He says as if this is casual conversation.

“Johnny, why isn’t John the one calling me?” You finally ask, he doesn’t know what to say he looks at the two other men who shrug and are obviously thinking of what to say. 

“I don’t know.” Gaz rolls his eyes and Simon pushes the side of Johnny's head at the obvious lie.

“Oh okay. If you can tell him I miss him and that I love him.” All their heads fall into their hands as the choke in your words is obvious.

“I will.” 

“Is he avoiding me?” This hadn’t even been a possibility in your mind until right now.

“No, I'm sure he’s just um he’s just busy.” They hear the captain tent start to unzip.

“Okay lass got to go stay safe and do not ever tell the captain about this.” He says before hanging up without another word.

—————

“Who were you talking to?” The captain mindlessly asks as he approaches them sitting down beside Johnny. 

“A little lass I met not too long ago.” Not a lie but not the truth.

“Okay, anyways Tomorrow should be our last day. We've got to secure one more piece of information then we’re out of here.” 

“Excited to get home?” Gaz asks.

“Yeah but I’ll probably stay at the base a little longer to do these files.” 

“Why?” Simon questions, wondering what childish excuse his captain will come up with. 

“I’ll be distracted at home.” Simon stands without another word leaving into his own tent.

“What’s his deal?” The captain asks the other two remaining.

“Just being himself.” The captain nods even though there’s definitely more to it. 

——————-

Thank you for reading, comments and reposts are immensely appreciated<3

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[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLOVE IN THE LUNCHBOX * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where it's part of Matt's routine to prepare breakfast and pack his girlfriend's lunchbox every day.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Sunlight began to filter through the half-open curtains, painting the room in soft shades of gold.

The sound of Y/N's phone alarm echoed abruptly, interrupting the silence of the morning, waking Matt who, with a sleepy sigh and eyes still closed, stretched his arm over his girl's body to turn off the device that rested on the bedside table.

His blue eyes slowly opened, finding Y/N's serene face beside him, lightly crumpled by the pillow and with strands of hair over her forehead and cheeks.

With a gentle smile, he leaned forward, brushing the strands out of the way before placing soft kisses on the soft skin of her face, spreading them across every visible space. Each touch was full of affection, as if he wanted to express all the love he felt for her in those small gestures.

His slightly dry lips from sleep finally found hers, sealing a sweet kiss over her numb ones, his beard tickling her chin slightly.

Y/N mumbled something indistinctly, still half asleep, ignoring his attempts to wake her up and just snuggling closer, sinking into the soft sheets and his warm chest. She didn't want to leave that moment, that comforting hug, but she knew she needed to start the day, or she would be late for work.

Reluctantly, Y/N pulled away from Matt and stretched, feeling completely enveloped by the feeling of warmth and security he provided. The girl slowly got up, hearing Matt's low laugh - who was watching her with loving eyes - still feeling the echoes of drowsiness, walking towards the bathroom.

While Y/N enjoyed the invigorating shower, Matt stealthily headed to the kitchen, determined to go through the motions of his daily routine and prepare his girl's breakfast. With eyes still tired from sleep, he began to gather the necessary ingredients, listening to the low sounds coming from Nick's room, who had probably woken up earlier than them - if he had even slept.

Waffles were Matt's specialty, and he knew exactly how to make Y/N's favorites. Skillfully, he mixed the dough until it reached the right consistency, adding an extra dash of vanilla. When it was ready, he placed it in the toaster, ensuring they would become golden and crispy.

While they cooked, Matt carefully cut a papaya into separate slices, arranging them on a plate with a sprinkle of oat flakes and honey on top, in the exact way his girlfriend ate it every morning. Next to it, a bowl of fresh berries waited to be added.

While the delicious aroma of waffles filled the kitchen, Matt prepared the typical black coffee, adding to the scent that surrounded the room.

When everything was ready, the boy delicately organized the breakfast on the wooden table, arranging the waffles with the berries on top above the pink plate with small heart designs, the papaya next with a spoon and a Harry Potter mug with steaming coffee.

With breakfast ready, Matt dedicated himself to preparing Y/N's lunch.

He knew that she worked incessantly at the office and that, despite having an hour's lunch break, she almost never managed to complete that time - always needing to return to her desk as soon as possible, which often resulted in her not being able to eat properly, or because of the type of food or whether she needed to buy it from a restaurant.

That's the reason why, when Matt discovered this situation a little over a year ago, he started to include the task of cooking Y/N's lunches everyday, and preparing her bag to take to work.

It's easy to say that his love language was acts of service.

Matt opened the fridge and took out some of the food previously prepared the night before - rice and seasoned broccoli, before taking out the raw steak, which he would fry at that moment, choosing a healthy and nutritious dish that he knew was her favorite and simple type.

"Good morning." Nick's voice sounded behind him, the oldest triplet opting to lie down on the couch while he waited for Matt to vacate the kitchen, as he did every day.

"Morning." Matt replied in a low tone, keeping his focus on his main task, not noticing his brother slowly falling asleep while hearing him using the many utensils.

He took a frying pan from the cupboard under the sink, placing it on the stove and pouring in a small amount of olive oil, waiting a few seconds for the ceramic surface to heat up enough for him to place the beef steak, turning it slightly and once in a while, making sure it was medium cooked.

Carefully, he divided the whole meal into individual portions and placed them in vacuum-sealed containers that could be reheated in the microwave hours later, ensuring that each one remained fresh and flavorful.

Before closing Y/N's small cooler bag, Matt took a sheet of pink post-it from one of the drawers on the counter, fishing out a black pen and writing a cute little message, expressing all his love and wishes for her to have a great day, before drawing a little heart. He placed the note on top of the containers, knowing it would be the first thing Y/N would see when she opened the bag.

With everything ready, Matt placed it next to the top of the stairs that led to the front door of the house, making sure Y/N didn't forget it.

With her work clothes already on and her hair still damp, Y/N walked out of the room she shared with Matt, feeling refreshed after her morning shower. Her light footsteps echoed down the small hallway until she reached the kitchen, where she found Matt leaning on the counter, busy washing the dishes he had used to prepare her breakfast and lunch, her eyes finding momentarily Nick asleep on the couch, letting out a nasal laugh.

A warm smile lit up Y/N's face as she approached her boyfriend, enveloping him in a hug from behind, her arms encircling his bare torso, caressing the exposed skin of his belly. She rested her face on Matt's shoulder, breathing in the natural scent of his post-sleep skin.

"Thank you for taking care of me, pretty boy." Y/N whispered, planting soft kisses along his right shoulder, up to his neck. Y/N's lips left small lipstick marks along the way, making Matt blush slightly, and a silly smile formed on his face, his blue eyes shining with love.

"All for you, petal." Matt replied, turning to look at her tenderly. Their eyes met, overflowing with love and mutual admiration.

Y/N pulled away slightly so Matt could finish washing the dishes - not before kissing his lips for long seconds, finally sitting down at the table to eat the breakfast he had prepared.

As she enjoyed the waffles and coffee, they chatted idly about Y/N's company gossip and Matt's plans for that week's videos, enjoying each other's company.

Time seemed to pass faster in Matt's presence, and soon, it was time for Y/N to go to work.

"Thank you for the breakfast and lunch, honey. I love you." Y/N said goodbye with a tender kiss on her boy's lips.

"I love you more. Keep me on your mind."

"Always, babe." Y/N affirmed, promising to think about him throughout the day.

With a heart full of love and gratitude, she walked out the door with her bag in hands, ready to face another day of work, knowing that she would have Matt waiting for her when she got home.

© vanteguccir

[theressaicon]

m!Android caregiver x crazy psychiatric patient gn!reader

part 2

Before reading this part, look at the part 1!

Warnings: psychotic behavior, schizophrenia, hearing voices, seeing floating eyes, hallucinations, taking medication, displeased Alois (shortly), body to body contact,...

Otherwise: soft caregiver android, gentle with gn!reader, understanding, fluff, willing gn!reader in love~, confused android Alois because of his feelings (?)

Timeline was far from your mind, your consciousness wandering through corridors that were constantly changing shape. The constant search for something unknown was exhausting for you.

An hour might have passed. Maybe it was half a day? A minute? Sadness enveloped your entire body. Your thoughts were drowning and you had to breathe manually. Steps. Annoying sound, repeating itself. Loud.

The door to the room creaked open. If the straitjacket didn't hold your arms, you'd block your ears. Everything around was drowned out by voices whispering, shouting, speaking or laughing. However, with one single sentence, everything fell silent. „Greetings, Y/N, I apologize for the wait. I hope you weren't too lonely for those ten minutes."

With a quick jerk of your head to the side, you saw your caregiver again, coming to your bed, where you were lying. Your vision was blurry, his voice sounded like he was talking to you through glass. You were in a psychiatric hospital for a reason, but you weren’t stupid. It was clear that the state you were in was caused by all those pills. The only way they knew was to drug you down completely, just to make you a little less of a threat.

His presence brought a smile to your face. While Alois was untying you, he told you that he is going to help you brush your teeth. Normally, you would hiss, growl, squirm, and panic. How was this different? Why do you trust a humanoid robot? Alois had prepared a wheelchair so that he could transport you to the bathroom. In the hazy state you were in every morning after breakfast, it was impossible to get you on your feet… Still, you secretly hoped that instead of a wheelchair, he would carry you to the bathroom in his arms like prince would.

Your dreams were dashed when your wheelchair was already pushed ahead of him. You tilted your head back, looking at your robot. His neutral smile was driving you crazy more than your broken brain. After Alois noticed your gaze, he started a small talk with you.

„Are you okay, Y/N? Your head tilted like this looks a bit uncomfortable." You just kept watching his upturned face. Eyeballs occasionally flashed around his head, staring at both of you. Every time the eyeballs appeared around the previous caregivers, they crawled into them and turned them into monsters, demons, who repeatedly attacked you. You defended yourself by attacking, biting their fingers off, gouging their eyes out, and trying to harm them in any way you could. Every time you managed to defend yourself, other people came to punish you.

Every day carried the same principle. However, no eye entered Alois. He was like a holy figure, immune to all the threats you saw. In the ward where you were for the first few days before they moved you to isolation, the bathroom was connected as toilet, shower, and sink. Now each room was separate for your safety, but especially theirs. The room with the sink was medium-sized. There was nothing more in it than tiles and a sink with a chair.

In the mirror hanging above the sink, you saw yourself in the wheelchair, Alois behind you and... a whole crowd of eyeballs. There were hundreds of them, different sizes, different iris colors. It was a wonder how many eyeballs could fit into the room, but the rule was that they all stayed behind Alois.

The drugs in your body had completely paralyzed you. The only part of your body you could control was your head. Otherwise, your body was like a rag doll. Alois sat down on the chair across from you after wetting a toothbrush and putting a toothpaste on it.

„I'm asking for your cooperation. Your mind may be foggy right now, but I need you to concentrate and open your mouth as wide as you can." Alois spoke calmly on a monotone.

He held the toothbrush to your closed lips and waited. You were about to open your mouth, but felt an unpleasant presence at your right shoulder. Your eyes lifted to the mirror hanging behind Alois where you saw that unimaginable multitude of eyeballs. The largest of them, with a red iris and pulsating veins, hovered near your head on the right side, hypnotizing you. You froze.

„Something is wrong." Alois stated. It was not a question, just a harsh statement. „I detect increased cardiovascular activity and heavier breathing." he added before leaning closer to your sweaty face. His inhumanly blue eyes scanned you, watching every movement to the smallest level, every twitch and jolt.

„Tell me—," Alois started in a half whisper „—what do you see that I don't?" Heartwarming, he was willing to listen to you and solve whatever was bothering you at that moment. You wouldn't have spoken, even if you weren't under the influence of various medications. So you started moving your eyes to your right side and back. He glanced the same way, back to you and then nodded.

„Do I have your permission to... move and seat you in another way?" You wanted to shout 'Do whatever you want with me!' but you had no choice but to nod your head in agreement again.

Without further ado, Alois placed his firm, cold hands on you. The blood began to color your cheeks as you realized he had placed you on his lap. You were sitting on his left thigh, while your feet were resting on his right one. He was supporting your back with his left arm, while he held the toothbrush in his other hand.

Then he turned his gaze to where you had been pointing with your eyes before. You saw all those eyes behind your wheelchair, not moving, just floating there in place. Staring. „Do you feel safer now?" Alois's voice spoke above your head. You answered him with a smile. „I am pleased."

While brushing your teeth, he paused now and then, handing you a cup to spit into. If the doctors saw how willing you are to cooperate, they would pull out all their hair in disbelieve.

While Alois focused on your teeth, you got lost in the sight of his attractive face. He was so focused, handsome, kind,... A true replica of a caregiver. He turned to the sink for the cup one last time, this time filling it with water and leaving it standing there. „You're going to rinse your mouth now."

He stood up with you in his arms and you expected him to put you back in the wheelchair so he could lead you closer to the sink. Instead, he quickly turned the chair he was sitting on with his foot so that it faced the sink. It made a loud creaking sound, the chair was metal and quite heavy. If a person tried that, they would break their leg.

Now you sat on his lap facing the mirror and with his help you rinsed your mouth. You looked in the mirror one last time and at the reflection of all those eyeballs staring at you before Alois picked you up again.

„Should I place you back in the wheelchair, or do you want him to carry you?" Your choice was obvious. The wheelchair remained in the room with the sink, while you snuggled into Alois' chest in his embrace.

There was no time left to focus on the eyeballs, you decided to ignore them for the moment. You wanted to enjoy his closeness as much as possible. „I've noticed this morning that you're the calmest around me. Your comfort and happiness are my priority, I'll arrange something for you."

You were head over heels in love. If you were in an anime, love effects would be racing around your head. You could almost hear the sparkles. The hall seemed short, you were back in your empty room in no time. He laid you on the plain bed and hovered above you for a while.

Alois's instructions were clear: To follow your routine and make sure you were as calm and comfortable as possible. After brushing your teeth, he was supposed to tie you to the bed again and not untie you until lunchtime. He thought hard about this action, trying to find any solution that would accomplish his task without having to torment you further.

„I am assessing the situation, please wait." His eyes were blank for a moment. Finally, he knelt down next to your bed and described his decision. „You are to supposed be tied down while waiting for lunch. Your straitjacket fulfills this duty, there is no need to tie your legs and chest if you show no sign of disobedience. I will also keep you company here so that you feel safe."

A couple of eyeballs that were in the room started shaking, as if they were very angry. You were elated and wanted to hug him. Nevertheless couldn't. You turned on your side to look directly at him. You two talked for a long time, well, he talked and you responded with your face.

□▫︎■▪︎□▫︎■▪︎□▫︎■▪︎□▫︎■▪︎□▫︎

At least an hour has passed. "How about we practice speaking, Y/N?" Alois suggested. You had troubles with talking, but you would really like to express yourself in words. Any communication with Alois would make you grateful.

He helped you sit up and brushed your hair out of your face. 'Such a caring gesture!' You thought. Everything he did brought a smile to your face. You were already feeling less under the influence of the drugs, still a little groggy but able to concentrate.

„Before you start speaking, let's practice your articulation. You will repeat the movements of my lips, according to what I say. Do you understand?" You nodded. „Great. I would start with the sentence; 'I have been very good today.' because it is very truthful. I remind you that now you only need to move your lips without using your vocal cords."

Alois always said a piece of the word very slowly and waited for you to imitate it with your lips. He repeated the sentence several times, slowly speeding up. „You are doing really well, I have to commend you." Your cheeks were red and you were smiling from ear to ear.

„Now we're going to try to exercise your vocal cords. I noticed that you have no problem with making sounds like whining, groaning, etc. So I'll ask you to make any sound now." Making any noise for no reason felt a little awkward to you. „I understand it may feel embarrassing in this situation. May I help you to make a noise?"

Perverted thoughts raced through your head. 'Damn yeah, help me make a sound for you-' Your face turned smug. With your consent, Alois took one of your feet in his hands and began to tickle you softly, which made you laugh out loud. „Well? Listen to that pretty voice of yours. Laughing effortlessly."

Stopping to tickle you for a moment he continued in his speech. „While you're laughing, move your lips according to the words. Let's start... 'I'.." Everything worked so well, it really sounded like you were talking. You repeated the words over and over until you got the sentence perfect.

„I have- hahah.. been v-very hihi!.. good toda-hay! hahah!!" Alois smiled contentedly. „That's right, very good patient of mine." You enjoyed this activity, you hadn't laughed like this in a long time, it was a nice change and you liked Alois even more, if that was even possible.

You tried some more sentences until Alois announced that it was lunch time. Your whole body was shaking in excitement that he's going to carry you again. Oh how you were wrong.

„You are able to walk on your own two feet again, I can't just carry you everywhere." Alois explained to you, trying to drag you into the hallway by your arm. You protested like a brat and decided to use your You are able to walk on your own two feet again, I can't just carry you everywhere. Alois explained to you, trying to drag you into the hallway by your arm. You protested like a brat and decided to use your proven tactic; using your weight and collapsing to the ground.

Alois crossed his arms, unamused. „So that's how you are deciding to play, hm?" You did puppy eyes below him, to no avail. He bent towards you and spoke. „It is good for us both when you cooperate, I wouldn't want you to mess it up. Please stand up." You continued to frown. „Okay then, we'll do it the hard way."

You were expecting bad things to happen. Will other people come and force you into the lunchroom? Will Alois drag you along the floor? Could he possibly raise his hand and hit you? Beat you up like people always did when you didn't behave? None of this happened. Even worse.

Alois turned and started walking down the hallway. He was walking slowly, but it was unbearably painful for you. The annoying voices around you started to get louder, eyeballs started to rise both behind you and between you and Alois.

You felt sick from your stomach and panicked. You started to whine and lay on your side with your knees close to your chest. Alois turned in your direction, but you didn't see him with all those eyeballs in front of you. It was disgusting when feeling them touching you, something whispering in your ear something you didn't understand.

You gave up, you needed his help. As you practiced, you took a breath, screamed, and mouthed his name. In a second, the eyes near you melted away and Alois was stroking your shoulder. „Deep breaths." he somewhat ordered. „That's it, slow your breathing."

You looked around, agitated. Eyeballs were still there, but further away. In the back of your head you heared distant screams, drowning out Alois's speech. However, his suddenly gruff voice silenced them. „Now. get. up."

Gulping, you rose to your feet with his help. You stared into his now blank eyes in dismay. There was the urge to apologize, only your voice was lost once again. „Walk." was his last word before he put his hand on your back to guide you forward.

The walk down the hall was silent, almost disturbing. 'Was the hall always this long?' You asked yourself. In the room where you were served food, Alois tied you to the armchair like he did in the morning. You didn't risk another protest.

Alois then left to bring a table trolley with the food and a drink. When he returned, he saw you leaning back in your armchair as hard as you could, tears streaming down your face.

He sat down in front of you and addressed you. Without your reaction, he moved his chair closer, to which you finally reacted. He slowly reached his hand to your wet face and wiped your tears. „The chefs prepared rice with pork and vegetables today." You sniffled and glanced over the table trolley.

Alois first put some rice with peas and carrots on his fork and held it in front of your lips. „Open your mouth and taste it." But you were not able to. You kept sobbing and couldn't even take a proper breath.

„What is the reason for your tears?" He asked you as he put the fork back on the plate. „Could this perhaps be because of my reaction to your stubbornness? You have learned from your mistake, there is no need to continue your punishment." He leaned closer in your direction and asked further.

„Or is it because you feel in danger from something you see in the room?" You were sad about both, but cried mostly because of those eyeballs that wouldn't leave you alone.

You pointed with your eyes to your right shoulder, where one was touching you. Alois started waving next to your head as if he was trying to shoo away a fly, and it actually worked! He did the same on your left side, your breathing finally normalized.

„Is it better now?" Nodding, you wiped your remaining tears off with your straitjacket. After a few bites, Alois put the fork down for a moment. „Smile for me, please?" He requested as he bent to your tied feet and tickled one slightly. It made you crack a smile which was enough for him so he kept feeding you.

Behind Alois's back, there was still one big eyeball floating, which made you lose your attention repeatedly. Alois noticed that you were staring behind him. He snapped his fingers a few times to get your attention. „Eyes on me, don't look at that." Gulping, you took another bite from the fork he held. He tried to distract you with small talk.

„I was thinking about what activity I should prepare for you this afternoon." Silently, you chewed your pork with rice, listening. „Would it be to your liking to get creative?" 'To get creative' could mean many things. Your face still seemed uninterested. „Drawing perhaps?" You hadn't drawn in a long time. You remembered the old days when you sat at your desk and drew instead of paying attention in class. No voices, no eyeballs, just paper, pencil and you. Good times.

The corners of your lips began to rise, forming a smile. „Judging by your expression, you'll be happy with such activity." When you finished eating, Alois offered to take you to your room first and then take the food and the table trolley away. You started shaking your head aggressively. You wanted him to stay in the room with you afterwards. If he took you there first, he would have to come back to tidy that and that would take too long. Nu-uh.

And so Alois tasked you with counting to ten for the second time today. You closed your eyes for a moment so that you could concentrate only on counting. It didn't do you much, not even your eyelids made the eyeballs disappear, you could still see them. You couldn't hear your own thoughts, let alone how you were counting. You didn't even realize that you had started counting out loud. At number nine, Alois returned and praised you for hearing your voice.

After untying your legs and chest, he helped you down from the armchair. „You are going to be a good patient and walk. Right?" Although Alois asked it sounded more as a statement. You nodded your head in agreement. He led you down the same hallway for the sixth time today. Eyeballs circled you, dodging the android caregiver.

The pale yellow walls reflected the bad feelings that were mixing inside you. You knew that you were going to get another injection and that Alois wouldn't be able to see you for two hours. You wouldn't cross the line (not again), but you had to try to hold him in as long as possible.

You nuzzled his left side, trying to get his attention. „Y/N, I know what you're trying to do." You raised your head in disbelief. „It won't work." Pouting, you continued the nuzzling. „Your character could be compared to a cat." He began as he led you to the bed. „At first, without trust. You bit, scratched, made warning sounds and defended yourself. After a while of coaxing, you calmed down and slowly started to trust." He had already laid you on your bed and tied your legs and your chest. „And now look at yourself. You want attention and cuddles."

You took a breath and tried your best to speak. Alois listened carefully so he wouldn't miss anything. „Mm.. Wh-hat.. aanim..mal.. uh.. you?" was the best you could do. „What animal would I represent?" Alois made sure you meant your question like this. „I am afraid that I do not have a certain personality that could be compared to an animal."

Your eyes wandered over his handsome face. You didn't know what kind of animal would suit him either. He was so kind and caring… yet serious and authoritative. Opening your mouth caught his attention again. „S... Stag.?" You couldn't have come up with anything better.

Deep in thought, Alois raised his head. „If you were able to think of an animal for me, could it…it probably means that.." Your gazes connected. „That I do have my own personality." You could have sworn you heard happiness in his voice. With the widest smile you'd ever seen from him, he pat your head and stood up.

Nervously, you looked at the eyeballs above you. Alois's white cloak, which he had just taken off, flashed before your eyes. He covered your body with it, with words: „Here, this will protect you until I come back for you." Cupid's arrow pierced your heart and your cheeks turned red. You didn't even have time to react to the sting in your thigh from the injection Alois had just given you. Before he left, he closed your open mouth with his finger and stroked your cheek lovingly.

You wanted to scream your lungs out, but they were clogged with love! Alois waved to you one last time before closing the heavy door. The eyeballs above you were shaking with absolute rage. Angry voices could be heard in the distance, but all you could hear was the beating of your heart. You sniffed the cloak you were covered by. Unfortunately, Alois didn't have his own scent, but it smelled nice of laundry detergent. That was enough for you to fall into a pleasant sleep. Now all you had to do was wait for your angelic prince of metal to return.

□▫︎■▪︎□▫︎■▪︎□▫︎■▪︎□▫︎■▪︎□▫︎

A fever dream was playing in your head, the kind you won't remember when you wake up. You felt a hand caressing your forehead, a warm presence protecting you from your own thoughts. You felt like you were being watched, but that was nothing new to you, you had experienced it every minute you were awake.

Your body was slowly but surely waking up and the dream was coming to an end like a movie. However, the feeling of safety did not leave you, it was strange to hear nothing but pleasant silence. Where had those voices gone? That fear and nervousness? Was it perhaps the calm before the storm? Opening your wet eyes, you examined what was happening around you.

Not a single eyeball in sight, not a single stray voice in earshot. Only Alois squatting on the floor next to you. He was the one caressing your forehead, his eyes were the ones watching you. „I didn't want to wake you, you looked content." He confessed in a low voice.

A pink pillow was placed in the middle of the floor with a stack of papers and crayons. There was also a plate with... a sliced apple? You were eager to ask how long he had been keeping you company. Eventually, he shared this information with you himself without you having to ask.

„It's currently twelve past two, are you ready to start?" 'Did I waste almost a quarter of an hour by sleeping?' The cloak of his must have been magical since it put you to the best sleep you've had in probably months.

After he put on his white cloak again, he untied you and helped you sit up. „I'll take off your straitjacket." When the caregivers used to take off your straitjacket, you had to listen to an endless lecture about what would happen if you didn't cooperate, what would happen if you tried anything and so on. You were always either chained, tied, or wearing a straitjacket. Even when they showered you.

All Alois asked of you was to: „Be good." It felt great when you could finally stretch your arms. You were now wearing only hospital pants with your dark brown short-sleeved T-shirt. „I'm glad to see you relaxed." He said and offered you his hand, which you took with a smile. He sat you down on the pink pillow and sat across from you on the floor. You knew very well how cold the floor was, but Alois probably didn't have temperature sensors on his… well, his ass.

...Even so, it seemed unfair to you. As he started preparing the paper with the crayons, you felt an unpleasant presence behind you. The eyeballs were farther away from your body, but you still felt uncomfortable. Even though you didn't like looking at them, it was much worse to feel them there but not see them.

You tried to suppress the feeling, but as soon as you turned back to Alois, they started to come closer. You got a little scared and leaned closer to Alois. „Can I help you somehow, Y/N?" 'Oh yes, of course you can!' You shouted to yourself. You stood up slowly so it wouldn't look like you wanted to attack, which you did often and you were sure Alois knew about your erratic behavior. Crouching, you walked over to him and pulled his sleeve.

„Should I get up?" He asked and you nodded gently. As you demanded, he did. You grabbed his cold, hard, iron but loving palm and led him to the pillow you had been sitting on a moment ago. Pointing at it, you wanted to make him sit. „You don't have to worry about me, that pillow is for you so you don't catch a cold. I don't have temperature sensors on my-" Before he could finish, you forcefully pushed him onto it. You dramatically wiped the sweat from your forehead and looked back at those eyeballs.

As you thought, they retreated even more, some regrouping on the other side of the room. You felt proud for solving half of your problem. „What is with that smug face?" Alois interrupted your moment. You stared at each other for a moment, speechless, before you turned and sat in his lap. You were stiff, unsure if you were going to get into trouble. „I'll let this one slide." Alois shrugged eventually.

He leaned over you to hand you the paper that was lying a few inches away, giving you a little squeeze. And ohh how you loved him leaning over you, being so close… No thoughts in that twisted head of yours, just 'AAAHHH'.

When Alois straightened up, he placed one hand behind his back for balance. „This will be a somewhat challenging topic for you, but I would like to ask you to draw what your eyes see, what makes you feel so panicky. If you don't feel like talking, you can also communicate with me through writing."

No one had ever done this activity with you before, and you thought it was brilliant. At least you wouldn't feel so misunderstood anymore. You looked ahead on your 'still life' and grabbed a black crayon. Alois watched as your hands fluttered on the paper over your shoulder.

You chose different colored crayons and depicted the irises of all those eyeballs. You drew them all looking into the center of the paper, where you then drew a little imitation of yourself.

You held the paper up in front of you so Alois could see it better and next you pointed in front of you. He followed where your finger was pointing, however wasn't able to see what you were seeing. At least now he understood better why you were so nervous and almost always restless.

„Seeing floating eyes all the time would make me a patient here pretty soon as well." Mocking a laugh, you grabbed another paper where you sloppily drew one big eyeball with a red iris across the entire paper. On another piece of paper, you tried to draw Alois as best you could. You spent at least ten minutes working at that drawing. From time to time you looked up at him so you didn't miss a single detail. Then you put both pieces of paper next to each other and moved Alois' picture closer to the eyeball, which you moved away.

He understood that the reason you were holding him as close to your body as possible all the time was because he could drive away those eyeballs. Of course, you could have just written him this information, but when else would you have had the opportunity to draw something? Finally, you put the papers on the floor and drew a small heart next to Alois's sketch with a red crayon.

„I will do everything in my power to rid you of these visions." He promised, while grabbing the red crayon. "As your personal caregiver, it is my job to take care of you, to keep you happy and safe." He also drew a small heart next to the sketch of your little figure on the first drawing. "—And I will fulfill my duty."

Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, reflecting the light from the ceiling. You slowly turned to face him and hugged him around the neck. Alois patted you on the back in return, waiting patiently for you to sit down again.

„Let's not forget that apple." He told you, handing over the plate. Then he wiped your tears off with the sleeve of his coat while you enjoyed your snack.

For just a moment, he looked back at the drawings you had drawn and then at the place you had pointed to. Whether there was something or not, he was starting to worry a little about whether it was really safe to leave you alone with these... entities.

He discreetly took a piece of his cloak and covered part of your legs with it. He wasn't sure why he made the gesture, but it felt right. You felt right. Right there, in his lap with a smile on your face.

Alois watched you longer than he should have, but couldn't take his eyes off you. You held the last piece of your apple in front of his mouth. You knew very well that he probably wouldn't be able to eat it, but you wanted to show that you cared for him anyway.

„I assume you haven't forgotten that I'm an android." Your hair brushed across your shoulders as you shook your head. Ready to pull your hand back Alois shocked you by taking the piece between his lips made of synthetic skin. He accepted your 'gift' in gratitude. For a short while he held it between his lips for a moment before instinctively leaning towards you. He wasn't sure what he was doing or why he was doing it.

Touching your lips with the apple resting between his lips, he waited for you to take it. As soon as your teeth gently bit into the apple, Alois let go of it and straightened up again, maintaining eye contact. He noticed the blood rising in your cheeks, but he kept it to himself. You looked away as you started chewing, thinking your head was going to explode like a volcano.

To distract you from what had just happened, Alois tasked you with drawing something else than eyeballs. While you were leaning over the paper and still sitting on his lap, he was trying hard to put together those new informations in his database. He realized that all the data he had about you was not complete. He was programmed to complete the tasks that were assigned to him. But the tasks he was given had no set limits. His system was overheating and you felt his hands, placed on you, getting warmer.

On another paper next to the one you were drawing on you wrote a question: „You are able to change your body temperature ´･ᴗ･` ?" His eyebrows furrowed at the fact that you noticed this change. „Yes, I am able to heat certain parts of my body on a command. Although it takes more time to cool down afterwards." 'Cool..' you thought, then continued to write. „Why did you warm your hands? If it was for me, thank you, but I'm not cold (˃ᆺ˂)."

Alois got stuck in his answer, as he was forbidden to lie. He could twist the truth, but he couldn't and wasn't allowed to tell a straight lie. His pause seemed suspiciously long, you hoped everything was okay. He was staring straight ahead without moving. You looked in the same direction but all you saw were eyeballs. It was as if he was looking directly at them but… that was impossible. You reached out to touch him, but you quickly flinched at the boiling temperature of his neck.

'What is going on!?' You were afraid that Alois broke down. However, this thought turned out to be false when Alois grabbed your arms and stood you both up. Then he sat you down on the pink pillow he had been sitting on and moved himself to the spot across from you where he was originally supposed to sit. You were so shocked that you didn't even make a sound.

You had no idea what was happening, if you had done something wrong or… And then the door opened. „Good afternoon, colleague, how can I help you?" Alois greeted in a neutral voice. One of the caregivers who was also a doctor stood in the doorway, wearing the same uniform as Alois. You had seen him before, the last time during a check-up when one of the eyeballs had entered him and turned him into a monster that tried to eat you. They drugged you so much for the rest of that day that you didn't wake up until the next afternoon.

„Hi, I'm just checking in. There are no cameras in this room, so we want to make sure… they're not being naughty." Spoke the chubby man with square glasses and looked your way. „Don't leave them loose for too long." he added incredulously. You saw two smaller eyeballs sink into his legs. His entire figure slowly began to turn black from the bottom up and you felt as if someone was talking to you from behind.

„My patient is behaving well and causing minimal problems. I know how to do my job and if something happens that I can't handle, my program will send a signal to the control center." He announced and took one paper from the stack of papers and put it in front of you. You started looking around in confusion because your drawings of eyes and Alois had disappeared somewhere.

The man started talking again but all you heard was a wail and a roar coming from his toothy mouth. It was no longer a person standing there, but something else. You started to shake and covered your ears to keep from going deaf. The only thing that drowned out the noise was Alois's calm voice, saying that he would stop by later.

After that the door closed, there was silence. However, the feeling inside you persisted, you were on the verge of tears. „I'm sorry." His voice sounded, less monotonous this time. „I must have confused your mind with my quick movements." He apologized while pulling out the drawings you were looking for from under his cloak.

You didn't even notice that Alois had hidden them, everything happened too fast… why did he hide them though? „Please don't be angry at my earlier reaction." He searched your glassy eyes for forgiveness. Peace engulfed him only after you smiled and wiped away one of your tears.

You spent the rest of the time explaining to him through drawings and writings what all those eyeballs do. How they turn people into monsters, how they try to hurt you, how much you're afraid of them. In the process, you ended up back in the position where Alois was sitting on that pink pillow and you were on his lap.

His body had cooled down during that time. Before the end of your afternoon session, he helped you practice your speaking. You laughed a lot while doing so, Alois noted the development in his program and knowledge, through your positive and negative emotions.

He wrote down and recorded information about your every reaction for himself. Alois didn't understand that all the data he got about you was so terrible. He imagined 'a problematic person' differently.

„Although your drawing skills are admirable, I would suggest that we destroy these two drawings depicting eyeballs and the one with a monster. Maybe the negative emotions they carry will disappear too." You agreed and tore up the first one. Alois crumpled up the remaining two and put all three of them in his coat pocket. You took the sketch of Alois and held it up to the wall above your bed. „Do you want to decorate your room with this?" He asked and you started nodding happily. Alois promised to stick it on the wall later.

Alois picked up the straitjacket that was lying on your bed, you understood that it was time again when he had to put it on you and leave you for a while. There was no troublemaking in your mind. Only one last thing you wanted… no, needed to do. You walked over to him and hugged him tightly around the waist. His middle was harder than the rest of his body, but it was still the best hug. He put his hand on your shoulder and stroked it.

When you released him after a few moments, he put the straitjacket on you and helped you lie down on the bed. „We'll see what you're having for dinner." He said as he tied your legs. You looked at him like he was an angel, his face relentlessly smoochable.

„I'll be back in an hour." He promised you and smiled sweetly. You tried with all your might to get one short sentence out of you as a goodbye. „..B..Bye, m-my st..ag." Alois stroked your hair. „See you, Y/N, thank you for behaving for me. You're such a good patient." That was enough motivation for you not to go completely crazy for that hour. His praise was the best reward.

When he closed the door behind him, the annoying eyeballs and malicious voices started to bother you again. You had no idea that Alois was still standing outside the door, starting to overheat again.

part 3

@liv-007

[fontseeker]

The Story of Letraset’s Quicksilver typeface

I’m Dean Morris, the designer of the typeface ‘Quicksilver’ that came out in 1976 as part of Letraset’s Letragraphica range of rub-down typefaces — the stylishly aggressive ones in the yellow pages of the catalog. I named the typeface Quicksliver because it looked like bent thermometers (quicksilver is an old name for mercury which is used in thermometers), and because the word Quicksilver has some of the cooler letters such as Q, K, E, and R. I never meant it to suggest glowing neon.

The name Quicksilver was my second choice, however. Letraset Englishly felt that my first choice, ‘Polished Sausage’, would be ‘rather unpopular in foreign markets’. I designed it as a 16-year-old kid at John Glenn High School in Bay City, Michigan (born in Mercy Hospital 3 months after Madonna), and sent Letraset a xerox of a tight marker sketch of 3" letters letterspaced with the heavy outlines slightly overlapping as I originally intended. I drew only a skinny S without an alternate, and submitted no punctuation. I knew nothing about submitting typeface artwork and I assumed there’d be, you know, discussion.

But Letraset wanted it, and they must have wanted it REAL FAST (fifties nostalgia and disco were WHITE HOT then, remember), because they sent a letter and contract soon after, and they did the finished art themselves at 5" high (they can’t have known my age, maybe they had no confidence in my technical skills), starting with the E as did I in the design stage. And what a gorgeous rendering job they did in the pre-Mac days of ruling pens, straight-edges, and compasses (they shunned rapidographs!) — and they hand retouched the curves where they met the straight lines! Letraset sent a 5" sample E for approval, but I’m sure they had already drawn all the characters. They followed my sketch very closely, designed the punctuation, and suggested an alternate but weird wide S, which I approved, figuring there was probably no other decent way to design it. I don’t know if the thematically wrong heavy-overlap-line on the P came from me or them.

I assumed the punctuation would match the stroke width of the letters, but they drew them narrower and slightly oddly (what’s with those little dots in the periods and commas?), but I figured what did I know from diacriticals. I found out later that they produced a separate sheet of Quicksilver dots and dashes without my knowledge!

If you looked at the structure of the A, B, E, F, K, N, Q, R, or Y and wondered, ‘What was I thinking?’, I’ll tell you. I was simply trying to ‘draw’ as many letters as possible in the wrong direction — I thought I was SO clever! For instance the E cross-stroke goes right-to-left rather than left-to-right, like, oh, ANY OTHER ROMAN CAP E IN HISTORY. R and Q diagonals started waaaaaaaay on the other side, N goes waaaaaaay around the wrong way to form the diagonal. ‘Chrome’ letters can branch, but these ‘glass tube’ letters shouldn’t (did you hear that, dollar-sign?).

The first album cover I saw with Quicksilver was Men At Work’s first smash LP, Business as Usual , then punk pioneer Stiff Records’ logo appeared on 45-rpm labels with a clearly Quicksliver-inspired F. And it was popular, of course, for sex, drugs , and rock and roll. For about ten years I, family, and friends collected food packages, tear sheets and posters, and took photos of signs from around the world. I think it’s about the easiest typeface to mishandle ever. My friends dared each other to use it in 6 point body text.

Eventually home computers, Fontographer, scanners, etc. empowered amateur and professional designers alike. Crash went sales of rub-down type, my exclusive 15-year contract expired, and artwork was pirated without my knowledge and beyond my control, which I don’t condone, but I totally understand. I stopped trying to look for and collect examples of it. Maybe I’m overestimating its popularity now after 30 years (I totally forgot about it for about a decade), but still seeing it around at all is itself a rave. I can’t remember why I Googled ‘Quicksilver Letraset’ two years ago, but what I found was a whole community of sites for font identification with lists of their various names, where many bothered to accurately credit me as the original designer, which gets me RIGHT HERE. It makes me feel less forgotten even though I don’t see royalties. BTW, I never did, nor did Letraset ask me to, design a lower case version.

Feel free to pass along this modest piece of graphic microhistory to any Letraheads. Thanks for your interest in this historic cultural oddity called Quicksilver, the Citroen deux-chevaux of typographic aesthetics, that looks lame from any angle! Visit my Quicksilver museum and feel free to send me more examples at deanmorris_nyc@yahoo.com.

— Dean Morris, May 2009, New York City

[wethotcrazy]

Parallel Lines

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Olympic Figure Skater! Reader

word count: 6638

i've had this marinating in my brain for a bit. i just think that racing and skating have such interesting juxtaposition so here it is.

Sagamihara always had a sleepy kind of charm, but Yuki and YN felt something else in the quiet mornings and late nights, the stillness only broken by the hum of dreams in motion. Growing up here meant routines and rituals, like early morning alarms and empty streets, the cold air pinching at their cheeks as they walked out to different but parallel paths.

They’d seen each other countless times over the years: two kids with big dreams crossing paths by chance, brushing against each other’s lives without ever truly touching. YN was always the girl with the figure skates slung over her shoulder, eyes bright and posture poised even at dawn. Yuki, in contrast, was the scrappy boy with an endless supply of karting posters and racing memorabilia, always dashing toward the next practice with the fierce focus of a kid who already knew his path.

When they passed each other, there was always a nod, a polite “Good morning” or “Good night,” exchanged in those shared spaces—two people who understood the solitude of dreams.

The first time Yuki saw her was on his way home after a long day at the track, dirt and oil streaked across his cheek. YN was on her way to the rink, her skates glittering in her hands, her hair pulled back in a tidy ponytail. She looked ready to take on the world, and he couldn’t help but admire that, even as he ducked his head slightly, embarrassed by his own disheveled state. She’d simply smiled, nodding in that small, knowing way, and gone on her way.

Yuki didn’t know it at the time, but that look—the look of someone fully consumed by a dream—was something he’d come to recognize again and again over the years.

As they grew older, they kept moving in the same direction: toward ambition, toward something beyond Sagamihara. But they’d drifted apart in other ways. Yuki’s weekends became filled with karting, and then, one day, with plans for Europe—his sights set on Formula 1. YN’s weekends were consumed by rink hours, the constant, punishing quest to perfect each routine, each jump, each spin. They still crossed paths, sometimes outside the ice rink or the train station, exchanging those same fleeting nods.

It was strange—Sagamihara wasn’t large, yet somehow, they’d managed to orbit each other like planets, moving along parallel paths that never seemed to converge.

One summer evening, just after dusk, they crossed paths again, older now, YN carrying a gym bag and wearing a jacket from the national team, Yuki carrying a helmet, his clothes scuffed from a day of karting. They stood there, paused on the quiet street, and he couldn’t help but break the usual silence.

“You’re still skating, then?”

She nodded, her eyes warm with a familiar determination. “And you’re still racing.”

“Planning to stop anytime soon?” he teased.

Her smile was small, but it held a kind of fierceness. “Not until I make it.”

“Same here.”

The weight of their dreams hung in the air between them, the invisible wall that had always been there but that they’d learned to accept. There wasn’t any need for explanation, just that shared understanding. They were alike, but separate, and they knew the sacrifices and loneliness that came with chasing something so big.

Years passed like that, each of them watching the other only in passing—Yuki catching glimpses of her in news clips, her routines sharpened with an artistry that almost seemed untouchable, while she’d see photos of him in magazines and on TV, headlines proclaiming his meteoric rise through the ranks of motorsport. Every success felt like a nod to each other, a reminder of the dreams that had been born back in Sagamihara.

One winter, when Yuki was back in Japan for the off-season, he found himself walking through their old neighborhood, a rare moment of quiet for him. Snow had settled on the streets, muffling the sounds of the city and creating that same early-morning hush that he remembered from childhood.

At the ice rink, he spotted her just coming off practice. She noticed him, her eyes widening a bit in surprise, then softening in recognition.

“Yuki,” she said, her voice warm in a way that held their shared history, even if they’d never shared much more than a nod. “You’re here.”

“Just for a bit. Off-season,” he replied, feeling that same familiar ease, as though they’d just picked up an old, comfortable habit.

They didn’t need to say much; that was the thing about two people who’d been chasing dreams their whole lives—they’d run out of words long ago. Instead, they sat side by side on the cold metal bench outside the rink, their breaths visible in the chilly air. For a moment, it felt as if they were kids again, those same two quiet strangers in the early hours of Sagamihara, bound by something unspoken but unmistakable.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Yuki murmured finally, glancing over at her. “How we’ve always been here, but never really…here.”

YN nodded, looking out at the snowy street, her skates resting by her side. “Maybe we’ll always be a little like that. Parallel. Just…passing each other.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Maybe. But I think I’m okay with that.”

And in that moment, they both knew it was true. They’d never really needed each other to understand. Their connection was there, solid but silent, like the hum of the early morning streets of Sagamihara that had once seen them both grow and rise, side by side.

As Yuki settled into his off-season routine, blissfully unaware, an unexpected storm was brewing on the internet. It began when a fan account posted an old, grainy yearbook photo that seemed to have no apparent significance—just two kids from Sagamihara, tucked into a corner of the page. Yuki Tsunoda, grinning with that familiar spark in his eyes even at a young age, and right beside him, YN, with a shy, focused look that hinted at the grace she’d later bring to the rink.

The photo alone might have gone unnoticed. But within hours, more yearbook photos appeared, retweeted and reshared by fans who’d pieced together the fact that these two seemingly unrelated athletes had shared more than just a hometown.

One especially dedicated fan managed to dig up an old article from a Sagamihara newspaper, “The Rising Stars of Sagamihara,” a feature highlighting young, local talents. In it was a tiny column dedicated to a 10-year-old Yuki Tsunoda, “the lightning-fast karting prodigy,” and a paragraph further down, highlighting YN, “the local ice princess.” The two write-ups were paired with side-by-side photos: Yuki in a helmet, hands on his karting wheel with that mischievous grin, and YN in her skating attire, her posture proud and determined even at such a young age.

Fans started to piece it together: the fact that they’d grown up in the same neighborhood, gone to the same schools, and even shared the same early mornings and late nights, each in their own world yet strangely intertwined. And it wasn’t long before the discovery of an old, archived video from a local TV broadcast surfaced online—a brief segment from years ago that fans began to pass around excitedly.

In the clip, the young, wide-eyed Yuki stood outside his local karting track, excitedly describing his dream of one day becoming a Formula 1 driver. The interviewer had asked him, “What’s the best part of racing?” Yuki had grinned, eyes lighting up in a way that was still familiar to his fans today. “Going fast,” he’d said simply. “And getting better each time. I want to be the fastest in the world.”

The video then cut to the local ice rink, where a young YN was carefully lacing up her skates, so focused on the task that she barely noticed the camera. When the interviewer asked her what drove her to skate, she’d answered with quiet conviction, “I just love it. I want to make it to the Olympics someday. It’s…where I need to be.”

The segment was barely two minutes long, but it captured two kids with dreams that stretched far beyond Sagamihara, two kids who, even back then, had an uncanny sense of direction and drive. Fans, both of Yuki and of the Olympic skating world, couldn’t help but feel like they’d uncovered a rare glimpse into a shared story—two kids from the same neighborhood, their paths woven together by dreams, even if only in the way they passed each other.

Social media blew up with fan theories, speculating on how often their lives must have intersected, how many times they might have passed each other on their way to training. Photos surfaced, sent in by locals who had watched them both grow up in Sagamihara—some just vague, fleeting memories: “I remember seeing them both at the train station on winter mornings!” or “I used to watch Yuki at the track and YN at the rink. They were both so intense, so dedicated, even as kids.”

Yuki had been mostly offline during his break, enjoying a rare stretch of quiet, until one of his friends finally texted him about it. Amused, he clicked through the screenshots and articles, surprised by how far fans had gone to piece together these memories. He hadn’t even remembered half of them himself. One of the photos, an old class trip snapshot, brought a small smile to his face—YN and him standing near each other, neither of them smiling for the camera, both distracted, probably thinking about their next practice.

Meanwhile, YN caught wind of it from one of her friends, who sent her a link with a message: “Look! You’re practically trending!”

She’d laughed at first, scrolling through tweets and posts, memories flashing back like scenes from an old movie: her hurried mornings at the train station, those late-night practice sessions when she’d sometimes catch a glimpse of Yuki heading home from the karting track, their nods and polite hellos. She couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic—she hadn’t realized how much those quiet moments had mattered to her, how they’d become part of the story of her dream.

One night, not long after, Yuki texted her.

“Have you seen the whole internet making us childhood rivals or something? Lol”

She smirked, fingers tapping quickly to reply.

“Or ‘childhood sweethearts,’ depending on who you ask.”

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed with his reply:

“They’re not totally wrong. Not the rivals part, anyway.”

She chuckled at that, surprised by the warmth the message brought. There was a comfort in knowing that he remembered those early days too, that those moments of passing each other had meant something, even if it had been unspoken.

“Maybe they’ll call us ‘parallel dreamers’ next,” she replied.

And as she lay back on her couch, scrolling through the old photos and shared memories, she realized something: maybe their paths had been parallel, and maybe they’d drifted apart in pursuit of those dreams, but Sagamihara had left its mark on both of them. It was their shared starting line, the place where they’d both learned to dream and to fight, even if their paths had rarely converged.

A few days later, Yuki was in Tokyo for a media event, and on an impulse, he texted her again.

“Coffee? For old times’ sake?”

When they met at a small, tucked-away café in the city, there was an ease between them, as if the years and distance hadn’t changed a thing. They laughed over the fan theories, traded stories about the yearbook photos and old video clips, and shared some of the strange, wonderful feeling of seeing their quiet little corner of Sagamihara suddenly brought to light.

“I always thought you were so intense back then,” Yuki teased, raising an eyebrow. “Every time I saw you, you looked like you were going into battle.”

“Look who’s talking, Mr. Formula 1,” she shot back, rolling her eyes. “I’d see you at the track, looking like you were in some kind of racing trance. You know, you used to scare me a little.”

He laughed, a sound that was so warm and familiar. “Guess we were both a little intense. Guess we still are.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching the bustling street outside, each of them thinking back to those early mornings and late nights in Sagamihara, to the unspoken connection that had somehow brought them back together, even in the vastness of their separate worlds.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asked quietly, her gaze softening. “Sagamihara, I mean. Those early days?”

He nodded, his expression wistful. “Sometimes. I think I miss the simplicity of it. The way it felt to just…dream.”

She looked at him, and in that moment, she felt the weight of all those years, of all the mornings and nights they’d shared in passing, two strangers who had never truly been strangers at all.

“Me too,” she said softly. And for the first time, it felt like they weren’t just passing by—they were here, in this moment, together.

The whole thing still felt surreal to YN. Figure skating had always been a quiet pursuit, one that seemed to exist in the background of mainstream attention—until the Winter Olympics came around, when suddenly, the whole world seemed to tune in. But this recent surge of attention felt different. It wasn’t just about her skating career anymore; it was as if her whole childhood was being reexamined through this strange, nostalgic lens. Fans couldn’t seem to get enough of the idea that she and Yuki had spent their earliest years unknowingly sharing the same road.

And, somehow, the more the fans uncovered, the more it actually brought her and Yuki together.

They began to message each other regularly, trading stories from their childhood that they hadn’t even realized they shared. YN would find herself laughing as she read Yuki’s late-night messages, recounting moments she’d almost forgotten—like the time they’d both been late for school on the same day because they’d each missed the early train, or the little neighborhood shop where they’d each spent their allowances on sports magazines and energy drinks, practically standing side-by-side without knowing it.

One evening, YN received a message from Yuki that included an old photo she had completely forgotten about. It was a group photo from a school field day, and there they were, standing a few feet apart in their gym uniforms, each of them looking off in different directions, probably already thinking about the next practice, the next goal. The caption he’d written was simple:

“Look at us, already daydreaming.”

She found herself smiling, typing back:

“I think we were both always somewhere else.”

To her surprise, Yuki replied almost immediately.

“Maybe we were just waiting to catch up.”

Something about that made her pause, her heart giving a small, unexpected flutter. She hadn’t expected this sudden closeness—hadn’t expected to find herself confiding in him so naturally, like they were picking up a conversation they’d started years ago but never quite finished.

The fans, meanwhile, were relentless. More photos and old stories kept surfacing, and every new discovery seemed to send the internet into a frenzy. Some old classmates even came forward with their own memories, adding to the charm of it all. One of the most popular was a story from a girl who remembered how Yuki and YN would always be the first ones out the school gates after the last bell, each headed in different directions, both of them racing the clock to get to their practices on time. “They looked like they were in some kind of secret competition,” the girl had written with a laugh. “They never even knew they were competing.”

The two of them found it all endlessly amusing, and they often texted each other late into the night, reminiscing and teasing each other about the memories fans kept unearthing.

Then one night, YN found herself scrolling through her messages with Yuki, reading back through the familiar exchanges that had slowly become part of her days. She felt a pang of nostalgia, and on a whim, she texted him:

“Hey, do you remember that old café near the train station? The one with the melon soda floats?”

He texted back almost instantly.

“The one where I spilled a whole soda on myself? Yeah, I remember. Want to meet up there?”

The next afternoon, they found themselves back in that cozy, faded café, sitting across from each other with melon soda floats, just like they had years ago. She watched as Yuki took a sip, and they both burst into laughter as he wrinkled his nose, clearly not used to the sweetness anymore.

“Wow, it tastes exactly the same,” he said, putting the glass down with a mock grimace. “How did we drink these all the time?”

YN laughed. “Guess we didn’t know any better.”

They sat there, talking easily about their childhood routines, each one of them filling in gaps in the other’s memories. Yuki told her about the hours he’d spent working on his kart at the local track, about the old man who used to stop by and offer him tips, and she found herself captivated, imagining the younger Yuki she’d only ever seen in glimpses.

She told him about the hours at the rink, practicing spins until her legs shook, the evenings when she’d watch the last of the sunlight filter through the windows and think about what it would feel like to one day skate for an audience that stretched far beyond Sagamihara.

As she talked, Yuki looked at her with a softness she hadn’t quite seen before. “I remember,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of awe. “I remember seeing you after practice, with your skates hanging over your shoulder. You always looked…so focused, like you were in a world of your own.”

She smiled, feeling a warmth blossom in her chest. “I always thought you looked like you were ready to take on the world.”

They sat there, a comfortable silence settling between them, and for a moment, it felt as if they were back in Sagamihara, just two kids chasing their dreams, both of them trying to make sense of a feeling they hadn’t quite had words for back then.

But this time, it was different. This time, they were here, and the world wasn’t pulling them in opposite directions.

That night, after they’d said their goodbyes and gone their separate ways, YN found herself thinking about Yuki long after she got home. She scrolled through her messages, re-reading the conversations they’d shared over the past few weeks, the memories they’d uncovered together, the fragments of their shared past that had slowly pulled them closer.

And as she lay in bed, her phone buzzed with one last message from him.

“Thanks for today. It was…good to be back. With you.”

She smiled, her heart warm with a quiet happiness she hadn’t quite felt before. She typed a quick reply:

“Good to be back, too. And hey—don’t forget, I beat you to practice every time back then.”

The next morning, as she headed to practice, she found herself smiling as she passed by familiar streets and old buildings. For the first time in a long time, she felt a kind of peace settle over her, a sense that maybe, just maybe, she’d finally found a piece of home in the most unexpected of places.

And perhaps, she thought with a quiet hope, this time their paths wouldn’t just cross—they might actually find themselves walking side by side, together.

At first, it was subtle, almost like a game of hide-and-seek played by two people who didn’t really want to hide. YN’s posts were usually quiet, focused on her routines, her performances, the ice rink early in the morning or late at night when it was empty and calm. But lately, fans had noticed a difference. There were little hints—a second coffee cup on the table, a shadow beside her in the mirror at the rink, a half-smile that seemed directed at someone just out of view.

And then, there was Yuki. His own fans, well-attuned to his habits, noticed he was a little more active online than usual, sharing bits and pieces of his days that were uncharacteristically… soft. He’d always had a down-to-earth presence, but now there was something more thoughtful to it—a kind of quiet happiness that seemed to radiate from even the simplest posts. A casual photo of him at a cafe would have a book next to his coffee, open to some obscure passage about ambition and the journey to reach it. In another post, he was on a quiet Tokyo street at dusk, the caption a single kanji: “帰” (home).

Most fans brushed it off as coincidence—until the first fan sighting happened. It was a quiet Tuesday, and Yuki and YN had snuck away to a tiny ramen shop tucked into one of the side streets of Tokyo, hoping to escape the city’s usual rush. They were deep in conversation, heads bent close together, laughing at some shared joke as they slurped noodles. Neither noticed the two fans a few tables over, both of whom sat in stunned silence, glancing at each other with wide eyes.

Photos surfaced on social media within hours. The fandom went into an instant, thrilled frenzy as fans dissected every detail—the relaxed way they seemed to sit together, the way Yuki had looked at her while she laughed, the unmistakable ease and familiarity that only came with years of shared history. And as more fans pieced together the clues that had been scattered across their social media, the internet’s interest in “the childhood rivals” reignited in a big way.

Some fans were quick to pull out old screenshots, examining the places YN had been posting about recently, pointing out landmarks that seemed to match up with places Yuki had been seen as well. Others dissected old interviews and clips, spotting the subtle changes in their expressions whenever their respective childhoods in Sagamihara were brought up. It was as if, now that fans knew what to look for, the hints were everywhere, woven quietly through both of their lives.

One day, YN’s manager pulled her aside, gently asking if she’d seen the fan reaction. She had, of course, though she’d tried not to look too closely, letting herself stay in the bubble of their quiet, everyday moments. But curiosity got the better of her, and that night, she found herself scrolling through post after post, watching fans piece together their shared past like some kind of romantic detective story.

There was one thread in particular that made her pause, an almost absurdly thorough breakdown of all the times YN and Yuki had likely crossed paths as kids. It included everything from their school schedules to their practice times, even a speculative timeline of when they might have seen each other at the train station.

One of the fans had written, “I think what I love most about this whole thing is that they were just… there, for each other, all those years. Even if they didn’t realize it. It’s like they were connected without ever needing to say anything.”

As she read, she found herself smiling, remembering those long, quiet mornings, those nods exchanged across empty streets. And when her phone buzzed with a new message from Yuki, she almost laughed at the timing.

“Guess they’re onto us, huh?”

She typed back, fingers moving almost without thinking.

“I think they like it. Us. All those years we kept passing each other.”

A few seconds later, his reply appeared.

“It’s kind of nice, actually. I didn’t know it’d mean this much to people.”

“To me, either,” she replied, pausing, feeling the weight of those words. “But I think they see it now—how we’ve been part of each other’s lives, all this time. Even if it was just little things.”

And that was the heart of it, wasn’t it? She’d grown up knowing his silhouette from across the street, his familiar nod, the way he’d look at her with a small, tired smile after a long day, as if they were acknowledging the quiet cost of their dreams. Those small gestures had added up, building something she hadn’t fully realized until now.

A few weeks later, when the off-season was almost over, Yuki suggested they meet at the old track in Sagamihara. She was surprised—after all, they’d both moved on, their worlds much larger than they’d been as kids, but something about the idea felt perfect.

When she arrived, Yuki was already there, leaning against a guardrail with a nostalgic grin on his face. The track was empty, just as it had been in their childhood, and he waved her over, his smile widening as she approached.

“Welcome back,” he said, his voice soft, filled with a quiet happiness she’d grown to recognize.

They walked around the track, sharing stories from their childhood that felt both old and new. Yuki told her about his first time racing there, how he’d stayed up all night the day before, too excited to sleep. She laughed, admitting she’d once done the same thing before her first competition, spending the entire night pacing around her room, practicing jumps she’d already perfected a hundred times.

They ended up sitting side by side in the stands, looking out at the track, lost in memories. After a while, YN spoke up, her voice barely a whisper.

“Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we’d actually been friends back then?”

Yuki tilted his head, considering her question. “Maybe we were, in a way. I mean, we were there for each other, right? Even if we didn’t talk much.”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “I think we were, too.”

He looked over at her, a gentle warmth in his eyes. “Well, we’ve got all the time in the world to catch up now.”

The simplicity of his words settled over her, filling a space she hadn’t realized was empty. She smiled, reaching out to lightly nudge his shoulder. “Guess we do.”

The fans, of course, noticed the Sagamihara track photo she posted later that night—a wide shot of the track at dusk, golden sunlight pooling over the asphalt. No sign of Yuki in the frame, no hints in her caption, just a simple line: “Sometimes, going back means moving forward.”

But to her, it felt like a quiet declaration—a way of honoring the years they’d spent running toward their dreams, passing each other like strangers on a shared road. And even if the whole world knew about them now, it didn’t change the fact that this was, at its heart, theirs alone: two kids from Sagamihara, two dreams that had always run parallel, finally side by side.

The end of the break came faster than either of them expected, and with it, a quiet sense of loss that lingered as Yuki prepared to leave for Europe. For years, leaving home had been easy, almost routine. But this time, Sagamihara felt different. It was as if his small hometown was charged with a new kind of energy—one that came from having someone there who felt like home in a way he hadn’t fully expected.

But, even though they couldn’t be in the same place, Yuki and YN settled into a rhythm of staying close despite the distance. Texts flew back and forth, little jokes and stories from their days. The hours spent on FaceTime became a kind of ritual, each call bringing with it a familiar warmth and comfort that reminded them both of those shared streets and the quiet dreams of Sagamihara.

One evening, on a call, Yuki mentioned an idea that had been buzzing in his mind for a while.

“You should come to a race,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes bright. “I mean, if you’re interested. It’s not exactly like a skating competition, but… it’s something you’ve got to experience live.”

Her face lit up on the screen. “Are you serious? I mean, I’ve watched some races since we started talking, but I’ve never seen it in person.”

He grinned. “Oh, it’s totally different live. The sound, the atmosphere… it’s like nothing else.” He paused, then added, “Besides, it’d mean we get to see each other again.”

It didn’t take long for her to say yes.

The day of the Grand Prix arrived, and as YN stepped into the bustling paddock, she was hit by a mix of excitement and nerves. She’d seen glimpses of this world through Yuki’s stories and posts, but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer intensity of it—the colors, the noise, the energy crackling through every inch of the place. There was a sense of purpose everywhere, a buzzing energy that felt so different from the serene calm of an ice rink but somehow familiar, too. It was the feeling of athletes chasing something, pouring themselves into every detail, every second, every breath.

And then, there he was. Yuki spotted her from across the paddock, weaving through the crowd with a wide grin, looking more animated than she’d ever seen him. They met with an easy hug, as if no time had passed since they’d last seen each other. She couldn’t help but laugh, taking in his racing suit, his excitement radiating off him in waves.

“It’s even crazier in person,” she said, glancing around, trying to absorb everything at once. “I didn’t know it would be like this.”

He laughed, looking both proud and a little sheepish. “Yeah, it’s… it’s a lot. But you’ll get used to it. I wanted you to see it, though. This is… well, it’s my version of the rink, I guess.”

They walked through the paddock, with Yuki explaining everything from the intense setup behind each car to the team’s relentless preparation. She could see the pride in his eyes, the way he moved around his car with a sense of ownership, a reflection of the countless hours he’d spent on tracks, working toward this dream. And she could feel it—this was where he belonged, where every step and sacrifice from their childhood had led him.

He introduced her to a few members of his team, laughing as they teased him about finally bringing a friend to a race. She watched as he interacted with his team, realizing for the first time just how much responsibility he carried. The boy she remembered from Sagamihara had grown into someone steady and sharp, someone whose determination had molded him into a presence that filled the space around him.

When the race started, she was in awe. The sheer speed, the roar of the engines, the crowd’s cheers—all of it combined into a visceral thrill that went beyond anything she’d ever experienced. She found herself gripping the railing, watching Yuki’s car flash past, feeling every twist and turn like it was happening to her. She hadn’t expected to be so captivated, but here she was, heart pounding as if she were skating a program of her own.

After the race, when things quieted down, Yuki found her in the paddock again. He was exhausted, his face flushed, but his eyes sparkled with the high of it all. She threw her arms around him, feeling a surge of pride she hadn’t expected.

“That was incredible,” she said, still breathless from the excitement. “I didn’t know racing could feel like that.”

He grinned, a little bashful. “It’s different when you’re here, right?”

They spent the rest of the evening wandering through the emptying paddock, the buzz of the race still lingering in the air around them. As they walked, she told him about her own competitions—the nervous energy that would settle over her before she stepped onto the ice, the strange kind of stillness that would take over the rink just before she launched into her first jump.

And for a moment, they were just two kids from Sagamihara again, two dreamers who’d spent their lives working tirelessly toward something that felt bigger than themselves.

She looked over at him, her heart warming at the honesty in his expression. “I get that. I always felt the same way about skating. But I think… I think it makes a difference, knowing someone else understands it.”

They found a quiet spot near the track, sitting on a low wall overlooking the grandstands. The stadium lights cast long shadows over the empty space, and for a while, they just sat there, letting the silence fill the spaces between them. It was a kind of peace they hadn’t realized they’d been looking for.

“You know,” YN said, her voice soft, “when I was younger, I always wondered what it’d be like to actually talk to you. To know you, beyond just passing each other on the way to practice.”

Yuki looked over at her, his gaze steady. “Guess we’re finally getting that chance now.”

They sat in silence again, a comfortable warmth settling between them. And in that moment, with the empty track stretching out before them, they both felt it—the quiet realization that they’d found something here, something that had always been there, waiting for them to finally catch up.

As they sat there, Yuki reached out, a small, tentative movement that spoke volumes. She took his hand without hesitation, their fingers lacing together easily, naturally. It was a small gesture, one that felt both familiar and thrillingly new, like finding home in a place they’d both thought they’d left behind.

And in that quiet, empty paddock, with the echoes of the race still hanging in the air, they found a kind of peace they hadn’t known they were looking for—a sense that, no matter where their paths led, they’d always be able to find each other, side by side.

By now, Yuki and YN were inseparable, no matter how many miles lay between them. It was a connection that felt both effortless and profound, the sort of bond that didn’t need big declarations or elaborate plans to make sense. They’d found something in each other that went beyond their childhood familiarity and beyond the worlds of figure skating and racing—something that was uniquely theirs, a relationship that had grown quietly and steadily, almost as if it had been waiting for them all along.

Anyone who spent time with them could see it. Fans had a field day piecing together every time YN was spotted near a racetrack or every time Yuki happened to be in the audience at one of her competitions. There were moments when fans speculated wildly, building romantic theories out of mere glimpses, but Yuki and YN never fed into it. For them, what they had was too precious to make a spectacle of; this was theirs alone, and they were happy to keep it that way.

Friends and family saw it too, though their reaction was less of a surprise and more of a quiet understanding. For years, everyone who knew them had seen that glimmer of connection, the kind that didn’t fade with distance or time. Their friends laughed about it sometimes, joking that Sagamihara must have woven their destinies together before they even knew it themselves.

Even other drivers, those who saw Yuki at his best and his most vulnerable, couldn’t miss the subtle shift in him. There was a calmness to him now, a steadiness that came from having someone who understood the cost of his world, someone who’d been chasing dreams just as big. In the garage, Yuki would occasionally have a little grin on his face as he read a text, or he’d walk into the paddock with a quiet happiness that his team members hadn’t seen before.

“You’re different these days, you know?” one of the drivers remarked one afternoon, a teasing smile on his face as they sat together after a race. “You’ve got that… settled look. Like someone who finally knows where he’s going.”

Yuki didn’t deny it. Instead, he just shrugged with a slight smile. “Guess I do.”

And then, there were moments when they found themselves together in the same place, and it felt like the whole world disappeared. No matter how loud the roar of the crowd or how many people surrounded them, they had this ability to turn everything else into background noise.

One weekend, after one of Yuki’s races, they found themselves in a quiet corner of the paddock, hidden away from the bustling crowds. They had little moments like these, stolen pockets of time when the rest of the world felt a million miles away. YN leaned against the wall, watching Yuki as he recounted moments from the race, his eyes bright with excitement. She knew she’d never tire of seeing him like this, his passion shining through every word.

“It’s funny,” she said, smiling as he paused to catch his breath. “When we were kids, I’d see you after a long practice, and you’d look just as exhausted but never as happy.”

“Back then, we were both just pushing, you know?” he replied, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. “We were both fighting so hard to get somewhere, to make something of ourselves. I think we both forgot it could be this… good.”

She nodded, understanding completely. There was something different now—a balance, a kind of peace that came from knowing they’d reached the places they’d fought for, and that they had someone to share it with.

He reached out, his fingers finding hers, lacing together in a way that had come to feel so natural. “Do you ever think about how many times we must have passed each other? Back in Sagamihara, at the train station, or even just walking down the street?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly, a smile playing at her lips. “It’s like we were both so focused on our own paths that we didn’t even realize we were following the same one.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the moment, their hands still intertwined. There was a quiet magic to these moments that no audience could ever see, a depth of understanding that went beyond words. In each other, they’d found a quiet kind of solace, a shared understanding that had blossomed into something more, something as vast and unshakable as the dreams they’d chased all their lives.

When she finally had to return to Tokyo, they shared a hug that lingered a little longer than usual, the unspoken promises between them clear. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, his voice soft but sure.

“Soon,” she echoed, knowing that, wherever they were in the world, they’d always have this unbreakable thread tying them back to each other.

As she walked away, he stood there for a moment, watching her go, a feeling of certainty settling over him. What they had was beyond the limitations of time zones and stadiums. It was something far bigger than Sagamihara, beyond racing circuits and skating rinks. It was something timeless, something that was just theirs, waiting patiently for them all these years.

And as Yuki turned to head back to the track, a quiet smile on his face, he knew that whatever twists and turns lay ahead, he’d always have this piece of home with him—something that had started long ago, on quiet mornings and late nights in Sagamihara, and had grown into something far more beautiful than he’d ever expected.

[edenspoem]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

 ��Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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[starcurtain]

I love your post so much I love how everything is backed by evidence. I wanted to ask for your opinions on ratio and aventurine's relationship (relationship in general, not necessarily in a romantic sense).

My mind keeps goes back to Aventurine and "Aventurine"'s conversation about Ratio's fake betrayal part of the plan and Aventurine says "Or maybe he wasn't acting at all?". I just keep thinking about how even though Ratio did exactly what he was supposed to do to help the plan succeed, Aventurine can't help but doubt the motives of the person that he's working with even when he does exactly what will benefit his plan. I've just been thinking that maybe it's another part of Aventurine where he can't completely trust anyone. I've seen a lot of post where people state that they had a great deal of trust in each other and that's why the plan succeeded but ignore what that line means for how Aventurine might've felt about it.

And then on Ratio's side of this, I do think he cares about Aventurine's well being but only does what he can to help him because if he tried to force Aventurine to be better, to treat himself better, it wouldn't really change Aventurine's mind on his self if it's for someone else's sake instead of his own. The little flavor text of Ratio's sticker in 2.3 mentioned how he's "just doing what a supporting character should do." which is, supporting the main character I'd think. Ratio does genuinely care for humanity so I can't think the only reason he sticks around Aventurine is "because he makes an interesting conversation partner than most."

I just can't stop thinking about how they're undoubtedly connected for another reason besides just their work, and I am just so curious about what the writers have in mind for their cooperation in the future. sorry for my trash heap ✌️ if this is too incomprehensible I understand not answering it

Okay, the full answer to this ask is over here in a separate post, since I thought it might stretch people's dashes a bit if I didn't, BUT before we get to that, there is one little thing I wanted to say and don't have room for in the other post:

You mention: Aventurine says "Or maybe he wasn't acting at all?" I just keep thinking about how even though Ratio did exactly what he was supposed to do to help the plan succeed, Aventurine can't help but doubt the motives of the person that he's working with even when he does exactly what will benefit his plan.

And while I agree that Aventurine has TRUST ISSUES stamped on his forehead, I also think that a lot of people kind of gloss over one major aspect of the scenes between Aventure and "Future" Aventurine, which is that:

Aventurine spends most of those scenes convinced he's actually talking to a manifestation of Sunday's power.

Aventurine starts off suggesting the "Future" Aventurine is a dream or psychotic hallucination.

He rejects the idea that "Future" Aventurine is actually himself at all, and asserts that this "Future" figure is a "newborn of the Harmony's power." He even has a throwaway line asking if he's about to become an Emanator of the Harmony himself. (And the Ena-Gaiathra fans rejoiced.)

Normally I would say that's all there is to this, Aventurine just not wanting to accept this ghostly version of himself and the harsh truths it keeps bringing to light.

But, throughout the entire lead up to the end of 2.1, we get weird moments where the "Future" Aventurine asks for information it should already have. A lot of these are passed off as "Well, I just want to hear you say it yourself!" but... if it's truly Aventurine himself and knows all there is to know about him, why does it need to hear the info from the real Aventurine?

Why do we continually get exchanges that strongly call into question what the "Future" Aventurine even knows?

And:

Later:

(Shouldn't it have already known?)

Repeatedly, the "Future" Aventurine says things that imply it is still learning about the real Aventurine:

Even up their very last scene together, the "Future" Aventurine was constantly pressing the real Aventurine to reveal every detail of his plan:

"Future" Aventurine goes through the cornerstone shuffle, guesses at Ratio's involvement, pushes Aventurine to reveal the broken Aventurine cornerstone, asks what tactics Aventurine intends to use to win his gamble, how the IPC fits into all of this, and finally comes to the realization that Aventurine plans to use Acheron to create "death."

We could go very deep with this and suggest all these weird "Did you or did you not know this information? Are you really me or not?" exchanges are just meant to show Aventurine's doubting nature, that his mind is a mess and that he doesn't, even at his deepest, understand himself, but I don't think the devs did this accidentally. We're being given plausible deniability on purpose.

At the very least, we players are supposed to ask ourselves: Could it be that this really is the Harmony and not Aventurine himself?

Until the very last scene, when "Future" Aventurine completely changes his tune to gentle empathy, real Aventurine is definitely convinced that he's still talking to a manifestation of Sunday's power.

Right after the line about Ratio's betrayal supposedly being real or not, Aventurine is still saying:

Or, an even clearer indicator that real Aventurine was convinced he was talking to Sunday's manipulations: The "Future" Aventurine is listed as ??? in the dialogue option all the way to the very end, when Aventurine at last accepts that he may be speaking to himself, and the name card finally changes to "Aventurine."

So, what to make of this line then:

Personally, I think there's enough dubiousness to the whole situation to suggest that we can't really take this line at face value.

Is Aventurine genuinely doubting Ratio here... or, convinced that he's still talking to the Harmony, is Aventurine scrambling to try to keep the last details of their plan out of Sunday's reach?

If after this line he's still telling "Future" Aventurine to stop stealing information from his mind, can we really expect him to be speaking truth here?

Throughout all of these scenes with "Future" Aventurine, real Aventurine continually refuses to reveal new details about his plot, forcing "Future" Aventurine to fill in the gaps. It's clear from other lines throughout the theme park scenes that Aventurine is intentionally avoiding giving away any specifics that the "Future" doesn't already know:

So to me, even though I agree that Aventurine has been made into a distrustful person by his traumatic experiences and I think he does doubt the sincerity of everyone around him...

I don't necessarily think this one line about Ratio should be held up as an example of that deep doubt.

I think there's enough suspicion cast on the "Future" Aventurine and its possible connections to the power of the Harmony that many of the things Aventurine says to it might actually be attempts to mislead and distract, so that he can carry his final gamble through without Family intervention.

And I think looking at this line about Ratio from that mindset also introduces an entirely different possibility many people seem to overlook:

Is it out of character for Aventurine to make sure the only person sacrificed in his gambles is himself?

If Aventurine really thought he was talking to a manifestation of Sunday's power, could it be that saying "Maybe Ratio wasn't acting! Maybe he really did betray me!"... wasn't doubt, but an attempt to protect his co-conspirator? To shift the blame away from Ratio and spare him from the fallout if their plan ultimately went awry? To make himself the Family's only target?

I'M JUST SAYIN'!!

Anyway, totally go read the rest of the actual answer about Aventurine and Ratio's relationship now~! It's all posted!