#wake up and smell the tear gas

[sashimiyas]

The Burden of Being

Summary: There was an Osamu who loved you once. Who loved Onigiri Miya so much he spent most of his waking hours there, supported loyally by the members of Hyogo Ward. A fire changes that and he and his twin brother adopt their old high school motto: we don’t need the memories. Now they’re gone and memories are all you have. So as an homage to the man you love, you reopen his restaurant back up for him.

Pairings: miya osamu x reader (romantic); miya atsumu x reader (familial); akaashi keiji x reader (platonic)

Content: angst; fluff; inaccurate portrayal of how amnesia works; there is a hospital scene; fem reader; reader eats meat; reader has depressive symptoms that are, for the most part, amateurly addressed; reader attends therapy; alcohol as a coping method; undiagnosed alcoholism; unhealthy coping mechanisms; cigarette smoker Akaashi; cigarette smoker Osamu; amnesiac Osamu; pro volleyball player Osamu; the characters are all in their mid to late twenties bc this fic covers the time span of 2+ years; long passages written within parentheses are memories; there is a mentionable size difference between Osamu and reader where reader can wear his clothes and it be too big for them

Word count: 22k+

A/n: the premise for this fic was born after binging The Bear; she's gone through 4 drafts, 2 of which were completely scrapped and rewritten, and strayed much further from the initial plot than I imagined, but she's here! Thank you The 1975 for writing About You which I binged just as hard and would rec listening to it while you read! Sets the vibe, you know? Anyways, I've talked too much (obviously) but if you read, know that I love you!

The day was Tuesday, the most unforgettably forgettable Tuesday to exist.

Your downstairs neighbor was doing laundry. Or upstairs. Someone was doing laundry that day because you remember the scent of down. It lifted into your bedroom, pressed into your sheets, and made it harder for you to wake up despite your phone’s incessant vibration.

A shounen ending song, the season finale. A matcha roll. A nurse who spoke with her fingers and head tilts. A walker with tennis balls at the bottom, an annoyed cab driver, and a tourist who smelled too strong of American deodorant.

They were all there. You remember.

The hospital was the same as ever. It had ample seating, not too busy, which you recall eased the burden on your heart (only slightly) if it weren’t for the reason you were in the hospital to begin with.

An elderly woman sat at the end in one of the chairs pushed against the wall, sucking on a candy that smelled like guava when you passed. Her walker was parked right next to the seat and someone, probably her daughter because she was younger but they looked alike –they shared the same nose– sat beside her on her phone.

There was a man in an obscenely large overcoat sitting in one of the middle aisle seats. You remember because you couldn’t help but be quietly jealous of his wear considering how cold it was in the lobby. And finally, a teenager who was crying on her phone, holding her stomach as she did. Her tears gave you courage, allowed you to slip them quietly down your cheeks and soaked them up with your sleeves when you got your moment alone, away from the rest of the family. 

You weren’t there when Osamu got hurt. He was by himself in the restaurant, opening it up and getting it ready before everyone else arrived just like how he always insisted.

You weren’t there. But you do remember.

Ma held you in her arms the moment you turned the hallways. She was on her way to the cafeteria, grabbing something for Atsumu to eat. Her head was downturned, a doleful cadence in her steps, and it was obvious that she’d spent ample time shedding tears, but there was a quiet peacefulness to her. Acceptance.

Her phone call had been quick like a debrief. She mentioned an accident. A fire, a gas leak, and despite your gasp, quickly told you not to worry because the doctors said Osamu would be fine. She said to come when you could, because she was there and Atsumu was on his way and he was going to be okay.

Then when you arrived, she immediately started crying. She had pulled you into a hug, devoured your body into hers as she pressed her head into your chest to weep.

She cried before she even got to say hello. And you didn’t know then, but there was a hierarchy for the pain.

Atsumu bore Osamu’s, Mama Miya, her sons’. And with you on the outside, with you being the last arrival, you held all of theirs.

And gods, do you remember the pain.

Ma had warned you that Atsumu was attached to his brother’s bedside. He was hunched over in a chair pushed back so he could burrow his head into the crooks of his elbows. The steady rise of his back meant he was asleep, probably cried himself to it. It had been a long journey from Osaka to Hyogo, and just the news of his brother’s incident, the weeping he must have done in public and bedside, you didn’t even question his exhaustion.

With your eyes on Osamu’s still figure, you moved to rub your hand soothingly along the length of Atsumu’s back. Comfort him was your thought process. Comfort your brother because Osamu would have wanted you to.

Was it bad to say that, inside, burrowed deep in your selfishness, you felt relief? There was a certain calmness that Osamu had been lacking lately, like a Tuesday morning where he finally, begrudgingly, gave himself an extra day off.

It wasn’t until you felt liquid dip down your neck that you realized you were crying.

Dark hair sweetly tussled to the side, one hand held in Atsumu’s and the other loosely laid over his chest. The scene was a rewind to the past, a replica of a childhood stored in the photo albums you’ve perused more than once in the Miya family home, when sharing beds and staying up until dawn led them to sleeping in until noon. When was the last time you’d seen him so… calm?

If only there weren’t any bandages on his head. If only it didn’t take these kinds of circumstances to finally close his eyes, to allow himself an unlabored breath.

You pulled up a chair and situated yourself amongst them. Atsumu at Osamu’s right, and you at Atsumu’s. Rolling a hand over Osamu’s thigh, you tucked the blankets in, pressed it into the crevices, his soft body heavy under your ministrations. Neither of them noticed you. Osamu only shuffled slightly, tilted his knee to the side and then clenched Atsumu harder. Atsumu responded immediately and scooted in. You stayed beside them, observed from the side.

There was no bitterness to your actions. What they have is something different and sincerely, for them to even love you so much that their bond bent, that they made themselves flexible to fit you in, it had always been enough.

Atsumu was who you called when you couldn’t talk sense into Osamu. And Osamu was who you turned to when Atsumu’s pride refused to allow him to fully run to his brother.

Ma came later. She brought a matcha swiss roll for the both of you to share and Atsumu a complete bento. It roused both of her boys up. Atsumu woke up first.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his left hand, the one still joined with Osamu’s and though he woke with his nose in the air, his freehand started reaching for you the moment he recognized you were there.

Your tears brought on his. His yours. Yours Ma’s. You held each other close and you whispered, because Atsumu could not bring himself to speak, words of consolation.

“He looks okay,” you muttered, eyes closed because you couldn’t chance a glance to look at him, to really, really look at him. “He’s going to be fine. He’s so stubborn. He’s going to be okay.”

Whether the words were salt or sugar on wounds, it was hard to tell because all that emptied from anyone’s eyes were tears.

No one expected to be here. Who did? Even when you watched Osamu sign the insurance policy and signed your name next to his just in case something happened. Something could never happen to you or Atsumu or Ma or Osamu. These were precautions to ease the heart, not the premise of a tragedy.

But even then, it would be dishonest for you to admit that Osamu’s accident was the most devastating part. You’re only being truthful because true pain began when Osamu woke up.

Atsumu noticed first. Even with his back to his brother, it was instinct that forced him to turn around. His groggy eyes were barely open. You could only see a slit of gray, drowsy and clouded like an overcast morning as his hand patted the edges of his bed as if in search of something. Of Atsumu.

The dutiful brother forewent everything. You, his ma, his bento, and immediately bent down to reach for his brother with both hands. He was at his side immediately, a cup of water brought to Osamu’s parched lips without a word before you could even recognize that Osamu was awake and against all disbelief, that he looked okay.

You took the napkin that was neatly folded atop of Atsumu’s bento, the one that had somehow been passed onto you and quickly made your way to Osamu’s side. To Atsumu’s side. And when Atsumu’s hand pulled back and Osamu resigned himself to a weary groan, eyes shut to take a physical break from all the hurt you were sure he was feeling, you handed Atsumu the napkin. He wiped the corner of his brother’s mouth with a gentleness you had never seen him bear.

An eerie silence persisted in the room as everyone held their breath. Osamu did so because of the aches and everyone else as a life vest because one wrong exhale felt like this reality could slip away.

It did. Frighteningly quick. Relief dissolved from your chest like cotton candy in water and all was left was this cloying and overbearing feeling of inconsolable despondence and disbelief because how? How did you end up here?

Osamu flinched when you pressed your hand against his thigh, a quick jerk that you surmised had to do with the fact that he had his eyes closed. You twisted your palm and stroked up, a move that you had done many, many times before, a premise to sex, a plea for comfort, and instead of him falling prey to your touch, he jerked out of your reach. There wasn’t even enough time for you to react because Atsumu had gripped your hand away between clammy fingers.

You looked between the two boys with a heart going brittle.

“What’s wrong, Samu?”

Said man took one quick glance at you before settling his gaze on his brother and a foreign expression passed him. Insecurity. He pressed himself deeper into his pillows and it forced Atsumu forward and you back as Osamu passed a glance to his mother.

He looked like a boy. And between exchanging glances at his mother and brother, Osamu couldn’t seem to find it in himself to return his gaze back to you.

Atsumu gripped his brother’s shoulder, “Samu, Samu. It’s okay. I’m here. We’re here.”

Osamu responded silently with a glazed stare that made Atsumu sputter. “Samu? Ya feel okay? Can ya tell me how ya feeling right now?”

The question seemed far too much to handle because all that was received was silence. Atsumu was hardly holding himself together with the tears that spilled from his eyes onto blotted, pink cheeks but you couldn’t bring yourself to move forward. You wanted to help carry this burden, hold Osamu like you’d done many times before, but the world felt skewed. Instead of being at his bedside, you felt like you were standing outside a window, watching the scene from a distance.

“Do ya… do ya know who I am?”

Ma broke first. You remember reaching backwards and gripping a wet hand full of used tissues, the fibers sticking to your skin.

“Samu. Samu.” Atsumu repeated his name over and over again like prayer, an incantation meant for miracles. “Samu. Say my name.”

“Tsumu.” The small croak was accompanied by the mildest glare, a small fire of insult always and specifically reserved for his brother and Atsumu choked.

“Fuck. Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s me. Ya remember our birthday?”

“October.”

“What day?”

His face pinched momentarily.

“What day, Samu?”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Atsumu tried to deflect, “just try to think about it. What day is our birthday, Samu?”

“Atsumu…” Ma finally gained the strength to speak, a tiny chide that she was too exhausted to actually give any weight.

“Fifth,” Osamu pushed himself to sound out, like the word was a foreign tongue.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Atsumu brushed his brother’s hair with his fingers and the sight was disconcerting because despite how close they were, how they were one part of a whole, they had never been so careful. A childhood of roughhousing and testing limits proved invincibility. 

Bruises and beatings and cuts that they wrought on eachother and yet there Atsumu was, tending to his brother as if he’d been his caretaker all his life.

“Ya recognize anyone else in the room?”

“Course I recognize Ma, ya idiot.” He coughed in between, stutters forming one worded sentences, but the attitude brought on the brightest smile on Atsumu’s face.

“Yeah, and who else?”

You remember moving to lift your hand, the one pressed against your lips to keep them from trembling, the one that wasn’t holding Ma’s, to provide a shy wave but thank the gods it stayed. Because when Osamu finally urged himself to look at you, instead of the ardor and the sweet groggy expression right before early morning kisses, he winced in pain. You muffled the sound of shock, but no one noticed with Atsumu’s screeching chair as he rushed to hover over Osamu’s anguished figure.

He writhed for an achingly long moment, though it must have been just seconds. You would have ran off if Ma didn’t force her grip on you tighter but once Osamu could melt back into his hospital bed, Atsumu turned his head.

His expression was tight and so desperately trying to be controlled despite himself. But you weren’t an idiot because beyond the glassy edge of hurt and worry and fear, if you dove deeper beneath the well of tears that pooled in his eyes, was blame.

Atsumu turned his back to you and pressed his brother’s head into his chest as he rubbed large strikes across his back. “It’s okay, Samu. Sorry I pushed ya. Ya did well. Ya did good. Ya gonna be okay.”

And before Ma could stop you, you ran out the door with the excuse that you were going to find a doctor. You turned down the hallways, heedless of direction, where you were able to find what you thought was a secluded cove. The torment was gushing, a pain that you’d never felt or could even begin to understand. No matter how you expelled the misery, in tears or heaves or wracked out sobs, the hurt never abated. It was limitless.

Because for some ridiculous reason, this felt like all your fault.

You were only able to spend minutes crouched in the privacy of your corner until a nurse found you. It must have been a usual sight because she hovered over you, a quiet calm in her voice, as she led you away with a bottle of juice in one hand and into a room where no one else was. She said nothing, only passed napkins your way and didn’t blame you when you couldn’t find it in yourself to express gratitude. Afterward, she pointed down a long hallway and told you that when you were ready, that’s where the waiting room was.

Ma came by maybe an hour later. The pain at that point had swelled into your marrow, aching at every movement you made, but the bubbling river of tears had turned shallow. Now they were silent streams. You had spent the last half hour in solidarity with the teen who cried to her mom over the phone, catching glances every time a sniffle turned wet, and seated in the spot with a lingering guava and menthol scent.

Ma sat where the grandmother had, you beside her. Without glancing up, she placed the matcha roll in your hands, half eaten but notably uneven because you had the larger half.

Her touch lingered. It stayed. When it prompted more crying, the reality that you were a pitiable sight, that this wasn’t just shared between you and the girl with her arm around her stomach and the wordless nurse, the swollen bones in your body bursted.

Ma’s cold hands easily maneuvered you into her bosom. She held like you’d seen her hold Osamu in pictures when he was sick, like how she held Aran when he cried after coming back home after being away for so long.

“We’ll get through this.”

It sounded like an empty sentiment but if anyone were able to make the impossibles come true, it was Ma and Ma alone. You barely believed her, but maybe. Most likely not, but maybe, she was right.

So you nodded into her chest but she only clicked her tongue behind her teeth.

“Together,” she told you sternly, “as a family. I don’t want to hear none of that.” Ma held you tighter when she felt you pull away. “Ya’ve been my daughter for a long time now. Even if the two of ya never got married.”

You’d been trying to be so strong. For Osamu because it was obvious. He was your partner for life, and though the vows were never spoken, you had lived them. For all the good, the bad, the happy, and the sick.

But Atsumu, his pain was tenfold and you had to do something, even if it was to tread the thorny footpath to be by his side, even if it was just your hands cupped open so you could help carry his misery.

Then Ma held you like she was strong enough to piece you together again and you trusted her. Your wails were muffled into her cardigan and she rocked you back and forth despite the arms of the uncomfortable chairs in the way.

“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t–” your breath ceased, words lingering in the air because living it is already unbearable enough.

“He does.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Ya think a love like the two of ya had is that easy to forget?”

It wasn’t. Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to. But the way Osamu had winced in pain at the sight of you, and Atsumu’s imperceptible glare, maybe it was best to be forgotten.

Ma took your silence as agreement because the circle of her arms loosened. She pulled back so that she could wipe your tears with a bent index finger.

It was jarring seeing the puffy rise below her eyes. She had always been beautiful in your opinion. A simple charm for life and the zest derived from raising two wildly vivacious boys kept her young. In a single day, she aged a decade and you wondered how you compared.

“The doctor is on their way. Come on,” she tapped you the same way she did whenever Atsumu started an unnecessary argument, “let’s go see what they have to say.”

Atsumu’s expression flashed in your mind, hesitation clenched her cardigan tighter, “but Atsumu…”

“Don’t be mad at Atsumu,” your throat had lurched when she looked away from you, head tilted to the side as if you had just slapped her across the face. “He’s going through a lot. He doesn’t know what to do.”

And you remember how your grip relaxed, how your arms had fallen into your lap, diminutive and so, very exhausted. Never did it cross your mind to be angry at the way any of them ached. Not Ma, not Atsumu, and especially not Osamu. If there was anyone you hated, it was yourself for even being there.

Ma said you were family. But Atsumu and Osamu, of course, they would always be her boys.

Osamu was asleep when you reentered the room and Atsumu held your hand as if nothing had ever happened. He stood up immediately when the doctor stopped by, eyes forward. Something had changed that day. Atsumu was a different man.

He’d have neverending stories of when he was captain at Inarizaki, and he liked to pass time by retelling another instance where he had to wrangle control of Bokuto, or Sakusa, or Hinata. Atsumu’s passion and sense of righteousness were great qualities for a leader, but his clumsy delivery always made him the butt of Osamu’s (among others) jokes.

That day had changed him. His footfall was sure despite his blemished expression as he listened faithfully to the doctor, only ascertaining everything you had already deduced.

It all made sense, logically, scientifically, situationally.

The fire was still being investigated but from the report, it had loosened the foundation of Onigiri Miya and it caused a beam from the ceiling to strike him flat against the head. He’d been knocked unconscious before the flames could even consume the restaurant and if it hadn’t been for the regulars and the community that had memorized their favorite restauranteur’s habits, no one would have even known he was inside.

As you all waited for Osamu to come to again, you’d rationalized the incident repeatedly in your mind. Reality though, was never as kind.

Because even in the tepid fluorescent light, you couldn't convince yourself. This could not be real.

It’s not. You knew this, but Osamu spoke with such vindication, honesty in every breath that even he had you fooled.

“Ya traded out Kageyama when we were six points down in the second set.” Osamu recited to his brother at his bedside, in the same spot, in the same clothes, in the same battered expression. “And I remember cheering ya on from the bench when ya set the winning point to Aran against Russia.”

The silence that followed was cold. A shiver started at the dip of your shoulder blades, and wrung you out like a towel squeezed dry.

The doctors had said something like this would happen. Memories could return a little misplaced, as if you had just moved everything two inches to the left because it exactly was as Osamu said.

In the 2020 Olympics, Japan faced Russia in the first round. They won the first set, but struggled hard in the second. To prevent risking their lead, Kageyama was subbed out for Atsumu. The tides had turned and they won with Aran scoring the last point.

Yes, Osamu was there. But rather than on the bench, he was outside the arena. You were manning the register and he’d stepped outside the final moments of the match, standing there with his arms crossed like a dad, cap in one hand, and head tilted at the enormous screen that streamed the ongoing match inside.

Atsumu was the one who made the first sound. It was strangled and faded when his brother gave him a peculiar look. Then he glanced at his mother, urging answers out with his eyes, staring at everything before landing at you. His face contorted in pain, but Atsumu saved him. He grabbed his brother’s cheeks, hair glued to his skin, and he pressed his forehead against his brothers, and nodded. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what happened.”

That was the extent of what you could take and you ran out of the room, droplets of your tears mingling with the tile’s speckled pattern, and when the door clicked again, you didn't have to look up to know who it was.

“I’m sorry.”

Through your blurry vision, the world graying, darkness descending right before your eyes, it was like you were speaking to Osamu himself.

“He looks happy for the first time and I’m so sorry.” The Atsumu-Osamu amalgamation held your hands desperately.

Their individualism had always been easy to parse, especially with you being devotedly in love with one and having developed a brotherly affection for the other, but you allowed yourself this. If your heart must break, let Osamu herald this pain. No one else.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He pulled you in by the shoulders and hugged you. He sniveled wet breaths into your neck just as you darkened the cloth on his back. “It’s the first time I feel whole.”

The sting reappeared between your nose and you found it harder to breathe so you clutched him tighter in a feeble attempt to expel all the excess tension that had ballooned in your chest.

“I know.”

Though the fact did little to ease you, you'd never been able to compare. What is Osamu’s had always been Atsumu’s and vice versa, too. Joint custody in all things: pride, success, pain.

Memory.

“And I don’t want to break that yet. Not for him.” Not for me he said silently. “And I love ya and I know ya love him. Ya love him so much and he loves ya too but–”

But I love him more. I love him in a way you could never.

“I know.”

Osamu would pinch your lips shut if he were really here. He’d never stand for your way of thinking because comparing yourself to his brother was a thought he never entertained.

That’s like apples to oranges or whatever that saying is. I chose ya. I choose ya for the rest of my life and I just happen to be stuck with that guy for life.

You took Atsumu’s face in your hands. Wet cheeks stuck to your fingers as you collected tears along your lash line until the world blurred just enough that blonde turned dark brown and golden rays faded to gray.

“- but I don’t want to take this away from him yet. Ya heard the doctor. He said we could try some exposure therapy so that his memory can unwonk itself out again, but ya saw that didn’t ya?”

Tears burned down your chin when you gave a somber nod, “I did.”

“When he was talking about being in the Olympics, I… I just–” he bit his lip, the memory painful, “ –and he got all those details correct, I just couldn’t tell him no.”

“I know.”

You couldn’t either.

“We’ll start the therapy when everything settles down. Maybe he’ll start remembering things on his own but it’s been a lot for him to deal with. The injuries, his memory, the shop–”

You shook your head and the man before you paused. He looked surprised with his mouth open for breath, but the foremost expression did not hide how he felt yesterday.

Your thumb started at the plump of his face and swiped up to the ridges of his cheekbones. A clean slate.

“It’s okay. Osamu will be okay.”

Your love was Osamu’s choice. Atsumu’s will always be shared.

After that day, you kept your presence minimal. Only occasionally stopping by, slowly relinquishing the things that the old Osamu, the one that knew you, valued. Each time, he’d hold the item like it was foreign. You watched from the corner of the room, like a diminutive decoration, maybe even a broom, and spectated as Atsumu helped him pull item after item.

The black hoodie, stained at the cuffs, and chewed strings at the ends, the one he had first shared with you.

(The night descended softly, like the flutter of silk sheets, and before you knew it, you’d been in Osamu’s front seat talking nonsense and sharing an assortment of leftovers he’d brought from Onigiri Miya. You’d only been talking for a couple of weeks, slowly getting to know each other outside of customer and cook, but it’s been months of patronage. When Osamu texted you after his shift and found you still awake despite your early start the next morning, he invited you out for a drive.

You’d heard him before he arrived, the worn out truck of his announcing his presence. He had the audacity to apologize for the poor state his vehicle was in, as if it wasn’t endearing, as if he didn’t make you feel like a princess when he held his hand across the console for leverage.

And here you are now, at a hilltop overlooking a beautiful city you’d  moved to in a drowsy silence. His presence is calming, a knitted blanket that softens the bite of the night air. It doesn’t stop you from shivering though.

Osamu notices immediately, head snapping to you when you do.

“Ya cold?” he asks, but regardless of your answer, he’s taking action. The man braces a hand around your bare thigh since you’d only come out in sleep shorts and shirt (though you still made sure to check yourself in the mirror before heading out) and just the warmth beneath his touch makes you ache. You lean closer, just a slight movement over the console for any residual heat he has to offer, the seats of his vehicle a sharp contrast.

“Still working on fixing her,” Osamu explains, “she’s a little off in some spots. Her heater don’t work and she leaks some fluid every hundred kilometers but she’s still a beaut.”

Your smile makes Osamu pause. His body is turned as he tries to reach for something in the back, but just the sight of your expression makes him stop and fully face you so he can take it in.

You think it’s cute how he talks about his car, how despite all her flaws, he can see her value. The world has been hard on you, but he gives you hope. From the moment you met eyes on him at your office and when you walked into his shop months later, greeting you with a fond welcome because he remembered you, he makes you think that he can see your true value too.

And with the way he leans in, his eyes glancing between yours and your lips, his hand unknowingly dragging up and down for the feel of more skin, you think he does.

The kiss is chaste, so innocent like the first drop of sunlight in the winter. It warms you from the inside out with a crisp feeling that makes you feel renewed.

Barely a second, but Osamu has you wishing for more. You’ve noticed he has a tendency to do that, to have you eager and hungry for all that he has to offer. How from just one bite of his catered food to your office, you couldn’t help but visit his shop as well.

Though your lips have parted, your faces have not. Osamu’s lashes are long from this point of view, and his skin looks lovely in the moonlight. You’re so close that you can see the small veins, blue and greens below his eyes. The colors are so distracting, his breath so warm across your cheeks, you can’t help but stare, memorize everything before the chance to do so again is taken from you.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

His husky words create a vortex of desire, consuming you wholly. You can’t help but squirm in your seat.

“Like what?” You’re doing your best to keep it cool, but you can hear the fray in your voice, reedy and needy and wanting. It’s scary to even think of the power he has over you.

“Like,” his pause forces you to glance at him and you see it too, a mirrored expression of yearning. It’s so intense the way your barriers break. It’s scary. You want to pull away, escape the emotions that are hardly within your control but he tilts your chin with an index finger and thumb. The motion is so gentle, the slightest touch with the heaviest of meanings, and he continues to stare. Maybe even admire. “Yeah, like that. Ya gonna make me go insane.”

“Me too,” you whine. It’s unfair, so unfair what he can do just with his eyes.

His expression hardens. The corners of his eyes crinkles as he glares his sight down on you, “don’t. If I kiss ya again, I don’t know if I can control myself. Ya don’t know how bad I want ya.”

“I’m right here.”

Your reply induces a vexed response. He has to breathe heavily through his nose as he fully moves his fingers to cup your cheeks. You watch as his chest rises, the breadth of it expanding as the tendons in his neck protrude at the action. Then he looks down on you from a head that’s tilted back and you see it, the subdued hunger that you’re sure he’s trying to persuade back inside. It’s frighteningly beautiful. The attraction beckons you forward despite his grip on your face keeping you still in your spot.

“Why?” You have to ask. What is all this discipline for when clearly, it’s reciprocated.

“Because,” Osamu grits. His hand travels to the back of your head and you can feel the strength of his grip, the promise of more beneath his fingertips. “If I’m gonna wreck ya, I’m gonna wreck ya right. So quit being the devil’s little thing, and let me take ya out on a real date so I can have ya properly.”

You pout but his thumb moves to push the plump of your lips back in, “no, ya hear me? Ya keep those pretty lips in. Be good and I’ll promise I’ll treat ya even better. Ya okay with that?”

His dominance, the assuredness in his words but the ragged pitch in his voice, as if he’s hardly holding himself together, as if he wants this just as bad, or maybe even more than you do has you finally agreeing despite the fact that you’d give it all. Forget the shame or the ladylike propriety of saving yourself for when you’re sure. Lust is a persuasive speaker, but Osamu, he is a promise you want to ensure you’ll  have.

“Good,” Osamu is pleased with your ascent.

His attention returns to his back seat and he pulls out a black hoodie for you to put on. When you pop your head through the collar, you don’t expect the confident man to suddenly be so bewildered, mouth agape and wrist hanging dumbly from the 12 o’clock position of his steering wheel.

“What?” you ask though you know the answer. It’s a giddy feeling to know there is a power balance between the two of you.

“Ya, uhm, ya,” Osamu coughs into his hand, turning his head away before looking back at you. “That shit’s old. All stained up and ragged but. Ya make it look good.”

You look down, sleeves well past your hands where you notice blots littering the cuffs. You can’t help but bring the strings up to eye level. There are teeth marks indenting the aglet and you give Osamu a dubious stare.

He shuffles, a nervous chuckle, “like to chew on them sometimes. Keeps my mouth busy.”

Then without a second thought, you bring it to your mouth to chew it on your own. If he won’t kiss you, an indirect kiss has to suffice. His agonized groan is worth it.

Osamu takes you out on an official date the very next day.)

Osamu spared one second for the article of clothing and tossed it to his night stand. You pretended that he didn’t just break your heart.

The next item was Vabo-chan, but not the same one Osamu had brought into your shared apartment. That one faced its demise after a neighbor’s dog ran inside when you accidentally left the door open and used it as a chew toy.

(“What are ya doing on the floor like that?” you hear the door to your bedroom creak but petulantly refuse to acknowledge him. His steps thud, hollow over the cheap wood of your home.

“Hey,” he nudges you with his foot, “ya asleep? Ya gonna hurt ya back if ya stay like that.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Are ya crying?”

“No!” Denying but not hiding, you curl into yourself even further.

Osamu bothers this time to actually hold you with his hands, gentler, more patient. He softens his tone too, “hey, hey. What are we doing?”

He waits for you to react, doesn’t continue pressing further and refuses to leave you alone.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” you lift your head up, fresh tears as you admit your failure. You expect Osamu to comfort you, abate the sting of your own proclamation. He stares at you for a moment before he starts laughing in your face.

“You hate me!”

“Hey, now that’s going too far. I don’t hate ya.”

“But you think I’m stupid.”

“Just occasionally. Like when ya make impulse decisions.”

Hearing him makes you scream into your palms. Osamu laughs and urges you into his lap.

“What’d ya do?”

He’s so mean to know you so well, all the good and the bad.

“Tell me. So we can cry together.”

You press your face into his shirt, using it as a napkin to wipe away your tears, ignoring his mild grunt of disgust when you do. “Remember when Vabo-chan got eaten? Well I bought you a new one to replace him because you were sad.”

“Did ya?” His voice sounds so surprised, it makes breaking the bad news feel even worse. “That’s mighty nice of ya. Doesn’t make ya stupid.”

“Okay, but—“ You scramble off him, knee digging into his thigh that he makes a noise of pain, to get a box tucked underneath the bed. Your hand runs across the frayed cardboard where it had ripped open from your excitement. Hesitation stops you but Osamu places his palm on top of yours. Careful and encouraging and though you know he’s going to laugh at you, you finally open it up but stop yourself by placing a hand on top of the item.

“I was so excited! Because they don’t sell him anymore, just the vintage ones that are super expensive.”

“I know.” He’d been talking about it with Atsumu and his Ma, conversations you’d overheard on the phone.

“But I saw it and it was super affordable so I bought it without thinking, but,” you look up at him and he smiles. It makes you hide your face in the box but he’ll eventually admit to you later on how cute you had looked then. How distraught you were on his behalf and that then, in that moment, he’d truly felt loved. “Don’t laugh!”

“I won’t.”

Your constant hesitation brings on Osamu’s impatience and he tries to pry your fingers away, “okay. Seriously. Don’t laugh or I’ll cry.”

“I told ya, I won’t.”

The plush comes out on your own accord and before he has any time to process the sight, you begin overexplaining. “It’s a counterfeit! They gave him a nose and his name is Bavo-kun. I’m so stupid!”

Osamu’s too quiet, expression unreadable as he looks at the stuffed toy. Your heart is teetering on the edge of a cliff, so close to falling off and on the verge of tears once again. Then he bellows out a solid bellow from the gut. Before you can crumble into embarrassment, Osamu pulls you back against him, squishing stupid Bavo-kun between you two and holding you tightly against his chest.

“I love him,” his voice turns wistful. “Bavo-kun.”

“I hate him. He’s so ugly.”

“That ain’t right to say about ya kid.”

“What?”

“Look at him.” His eyes fall to your chests, forcing you to take in the hideous sight of your failings. “He’s got ya nose.”

“That is not funny, Miya Osamu.”

“Oh no, Bavo-kun. She used my full name. What are we gonna do? Ma’s mad.”

You slap his chest. Bavo-kun is collateral damage, “don’t call me that!”

Osamu’s humor is all sorts of fucked up. His laughter is excessive, shaking the both of you that he loses his balance and you guys fall to the floor. A hand of his comes to cup your cheek, acting as a buffer before you thud onto the ground and with your heights at the same level, tears drying out, you can finally see his expression clearly.

He reminds you of gemstones at moonlight, the sparkle of something beautiful. Light cannot replicate it, only refract it. And though it’s close-lipped, his smile pulls you back from the edge, melts you to the ground and anchors you back with him.

“I love this life,” Osamu confesses, “This family. I love ya and our little mishap.”)

The way Osamu’s eyes had lit, you couldn’t help but clasp your mouth to hide the smile that blossomed beneath. It was devastating how despite it all, his joy elicited yours.

“Vabo-chan!” Osamu looked to his brother in an eager excitement. “Remember how we begged Ma to buy us this when we were little?”

“Yeah. Then we had a sleepover every night with the four of us. Tucked them in with their own pillow too”

Osamu lifted up the plush’s hands, fondness tight in his expression. His eyes roamed, though they were elsewhere, remembering the memories he never lost.

“Wait a second,” Osamu’s expression hardened. His hands traced over the lines on the Bavo-kun’s face, flipped him over to read the tag, and when it didn't provide the information he wanted, he turned the toy over again to face it directly. “This ain’t Vabo-chan. The hell is this fake shit?”’

Atsumu was quick to return to damage control the way he had been these past couple of days. He plucked the toy and tossed it to a chair on the side and told Osamu not to worry, that Vabo-chan was back in Osaka in Atsumu’s home because Osamu was kind enough to lend him his when Atsumu left the one he owned on an airplane.

New memories. Fake memories.

Lies.

You were out before anyone could stop you. Not that either of the boys would have since in the midst of this whole facade, all you were was a burdensome truth.

You laid in bed accompanied with misery. The emotion made for a poor cuddle partner but it kept you company as you shivered and wailed into pillows that hardly smelled like the Osamu who knew you anymore.

Ma called. The image of her worried eyes made you answer, but when she’d update you about Osamu, how she’d first tell you he was getting better and then, as if an afterthought, urged you to visit him, you didn’t have the heart to tell her that you didn’t want to hear it.

So you started ignoring her calls. She was persistent, as expected of a woman who raised a set of rowdy boys all on her own. She knocked on your door between two minute intervals, called and texted in the gaps between and you made excuses like you were busy working over time to catch up on the job you’d left behind.

All untrue because you’d emailed your supervisor that you’d be on an indefinite leave of absence with no explanation. There was no part of you ready to meld back into the real world again. Your world had ended, your existence ceased and now it was your duty to find your place again.

Ma’s final message was an update that Osamu was getting discharged from the hospital. She mentioned that the family would be moving to Osaka at Atsumu’s insistence. She wanted you to come by before they left.

You didn’t.

With the money you’d gotten from selling Osamu’s food truck, a phone with a dying battery lost beneath your bed, you traveled in the opposite direction to Okinawa. 

It was supposed to be healing. You were supposed to recreate a new identity here, find yourself in the beaches, among the company of strangers, smoothened into fine stone and drawn back to shore after getting caught in the riptide.

But here you are, with misery steeped so deep within your bones that it’s turned you bitter.

You leave your budget lodging only because your stomach tells you to and the measly mini fridge of your studio had nothing but flat soda. There’s no reason to look in the mirror, a quick scrub across your face is enough to remove the crust from your eyes and dried drool from the corner of your lips.

The convenience store is just around the corner from your temporary home. You’ve been trying to maintain your elusive nature, hoping you can leave the island as folklore, by limiting your patronage and entering the establishment at various times.

It’s the first time you smell fresh air, and admittedly, it does feel good against your skin. Much more palatable than your room which was already scented by mold when you entered. There’s birds singing and even the scent of smog excites your stale senses.

The world is so effortlessly beautiful.

And that’s what makes it so cruel.

You push your way into the convenience store, the aggressive movement rattling the bell above.

By your last visit, you’d memorized the aisles so you stroll on through with a single basket in hand. The thought process is careless as you pick out which shelf stable meals you’ll have for the week. It’s not until you reach the cold beverage section that this mundane visit turns into something interesting.

You squat to level yourself with the bottom shelf, debating whether or not you had the energy to carry a full twelve pack the half kilometer back. Just the thought of it hits you with a sudden feeling of fatigue that you cannot help but groan and press your forehead against the fridge door.

You’d spent the past two weeks alone so just the quiet call of your name has you jumping up defensively.

Akaashi looks down at you unimpressed.

“What are you doing here?” You look around, fearful that Atsumu or another one of Osamu’s volleyball confidants might be around. “Are you following me?”

Akaashi is an acquaintance at best, an Onigiri Miya fanatic at most. You hardly had a chance to have a conversation with the man when every time you saw him, he spent most of it with a face stuffed full of onigiri.

Your reaction flattens his expression even further.

“No, I did not take a three hour flight all the way to Okinawa only to watch you buy alcohol in your,” Akaashi pauses, “sleepwear.”

He has a point so you settle in the defeat by glaring at him.

“I am on a company retreat,” he finally explains. “You are far from home.”

“Retreat,” quick to use his verbiage, “yeah, I’m on a retreat, too.”

He eyes you then glances to the fridge door. You glance along with him and notice that the oils of your skin transferred onto the glass panel and do your best to hide your embarrassment with anger instead.

“What,” you challenge, feeling awfully prickly today and poor Akaashi is the one you get to take it out on. Who else? Certainly not Ma, or Atsumu, or Osamu or the nice landlord who handed you keys without question. Of course, you’re particularly nasty with yourself as of late, but if you can share the beating with someone like Akaashi whose deadpan nature is persevering, then so be it. Now that Osamu’s erased you from his life, it’s not like your social circles will ever collide again.

“You look…” Akaashi doesn’t spare you any grace. His eyes roam over your figure, disgust especially contorting his features when he witnesses the sight of your shoddy pants that have seen better days. In fairness, so have you. “Maudlin.”

Despite not knowing the definition of the word, you gather context from just the tone of his voice and it immediately makes you frown.

Defensive, you’re quick to retort. Because who is he, baggy eyed Akaashi, hangnail ridden Akaashi, squinty and blind Akaashi, no owning hairbrush Akaashi, to speak of your current condition?

“And you look like your retreat isn’t retreating.”

You get up, discreetly rubbing your self portrait in sebum with a pants leg, and impulsively decide that you deserve the 12 pack thanks to this new inconvenience. The pack slams against the glass door when the suspension forces it back too quickly. Akaashi moves to help but you cast a glare before he can.

“I do not need help,” you supply.

His reply is nonplussed, “you do.”

“I don’t,” and now the corner decides to catch on the gasket. Akaashi ignores your small grunts and your quiet insistence, pulling the door wide open.

You thank him begrudgingly only because it’s the socially acceptable thing to do but the man doesn’t let you stray much further.

“What if I bought another pack?” That catches your attention. More liquor, less lucidity, less opportunity to remember you’re sad. It seems to be a curse these days, the power of memory, and for once, you think it’s quite unrelenting. “And I paid for your items? Will you let me camp out wherever you’re staying?”

“There’s only one bed.”

“The floor is fine.”

“It smells like mold.”

“Let’s buy a candle before we leave.”

There’s a desperation that you recognize, a solidarity between two persons barely hanging on and the least bit put together. It shouldn’t be so exciting to find someone as miserable as you but isn’t that what they say? Misery loves company.

“Holy fuck,” you grin at him, sardonic, “I don’t remember liking you so much, Akaashi.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

It’s a stupid response, a very Akaashi response, so you giggle manically and kick a pack with the toe of your shoe.

“Grab the 24 pack. We’ve got some retreating to do.”

Akaashi is running away from his responsibilities and so are you. He locks himself in your studio without a mention of its disarray and happily sleeps on the flat futon provided by your temporary landlord with a single fitted sheet and your neck pillow. The amenities offered are quite militant, but considering the price point, you cannot complain and neither does Akaashi.

Neither of you mention what sorts of horrors plague your sleep, a respect for each other’s privacy, because despite enjoying his company, life did not bring you two together out of kindness.

There’s a reason why the underneath of his eyes have swelled to a charcoal gray the same way you cannot help but begin your mornings with a beer. The two of you watch reruns of old childhood shows and every so often, Akaashi wordlessly gets up to go outside for a smoke. You thank the heavens there’s no balcony so you wouldn’t have to face the familiar sight of a back lazily bent over a railing and the slow wisp of smoke. He comes back inside with the hint of tobacco on him and you think he’s noticed how it makes you choke because the first thing he does is wash his hands before sitting next to you again.

He chooses to abide by the code of silence until the fifth day. It’s an evening where the bed has been stripped bare, the room emptier than it already is.Your dirty clothes had been piling up but it had been a struggle to clean them when laundry felt like a hug, the firm press of a collar and a lost nape. The two of you lie on the floor and bide time while you wait for the linens and whatever paltry laundry either of you have dry.  

Akaashi dons a white undershirt and sleep shorts, you in a shirt that doesn’t belong to you. It doesn’t belong to anyone actually, because its owner has abandoned it too.

He holds a half eaten Okinawa style onigiri in his hand and the sight is so familiar you don’t pay him any mind. Your thoughts are gluey from the alcohol so it takes an extra line for the jokes to settle. Laughter is muffled by your forearms where you’ve placed your chin, laying on your belly and big toe tracing a gap between tiles on the floor.

Even the sound of Osamu’s name takes longer to process.

But you still remember. You devotedly will.

“These onigiris taste different from Myaa-sam’s,” Akaashi says beside you.

You lay a cheek on your arm and look up at the cross legged man. He finally got his glasses and other belongings from his previous room yesterday. A smile is already plastered on your face because the liquor makes Akaashi funnier than usual.

The joke never comes.

“Did you ever want to talk about it?”

His question prompts self reflection. Talk about what? What was there to say when the two of you have been so busy running. Immediately, you scramble to get up onto the smooth surface of the stripped mattress to put some distance between you two.

“That’s why you’re here, right?”

Beneath glasses, Akaashi’s eyes have a pointed edge to them.

“What do you know?” It’s suddenly so cold now with the space between you and there’s nothing to cover you up. You can only pull your knees to your chest.

“Nothing.” Akaashi turns to look at the TV. He watches the scene play out until it cuts to a commercial. “Atsumu doesn’t say anything. He’s been uncharacteristically tight lipped.”

Akaashi says uncharacteristically but you’re not surprised at all. This sounds exactly like the Atsumu you know now. It fouls your mood and has you reaching for your emotional support sake from the nightstand.

“He tells everyone to entertain Osamu lest he get a traumatic episode.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“No,” Akaashi watches your face deflate so he tacks on that Bokuto has.

Tension coils the muscles along your bones. It makes you feel frigid so you gulp down the rice wine in hopes that it warms you up from the inside out. Akaashi only watches. He never mentions your drinking habits. You don’t say anything about his smoking tendencies. These were the boundaries you were supposed to respect, but the man keeps on pushing.

“I heard you sold the food truck.”

“How else could I afford all this luxury?” Your hands stretch out to broadcast the shoebox the two of you call home.

He’s used to your defensive sarcasm by now, only taking a singular bite from his onigiri. “So the branch in Tokyo?”

You laugh. “Not happening.”

Then you finish the whole bottle with an aggressive gulp. You flatten yourself against the bare mattress. You ignore him, pretend you’re alone, pretend you’re okay, and you accept the dizzying fall into slumber.

When you wake, the laundry is brought in. It smells exactly like down and a headache. The digital clock on the nightstand tells you it’s midnight so you drink a bottle of water and work on fitting the sheets to the bed. For your efforts, you reward yourself with another can of beer. Then another. It only takes two for you to fall asleep again.

The both of you don’t broach the topic. He reels you back in with a sense of normalcy, the routine of bumming it in front of the TV and the unhealthy eating habits. Even when you blurt out that onigiris are now banned from the house, he only provides a knowing blink.

Slowly, the space between you two skitters away. He coaxes you in like a stray with indifference and eventually, he’s sat cross legged in front of the TV while you lay next to him on your belly.

The duration of your lease is running out as the month dwindles away into repetition. There’s only a couple of days left but you’ve run out of alcohol and food. It’s a weekend night with prime time television over reruns and you’ve gotten particularly attached to this drama that you started halfway through so Akaashi and you head out one evening to prepare for the last couple days of indulgence.

You should have known Akaashi had something planned when he veered to the left with the excuse of wanting to try out a different store.

Once you heard the quiet roar of waves crashing, you had to pause. A rush of trepidation overcame you. Akaashi was already halfway through the crosswalk when he turned around and noticed you weren’t there. He urged you with his eyes, sharp still below the frames of his glasses. People walk around him and you cannot help but notice their peeved expressions. The sound of cars whiz past and the waves do nothing but recede and crash and it’s all so much to take in.

“No,” you shake your head.

You want to run but where do you go? Forward? Away? Where else because there is no going back. 

The crosswalk sign starts blinking and there is renewed severity in Akaashi’s expression. He beckons you with an outstretched hand.

It reminds you of Atsumu, the way he had reached for you the first day at the hospital.

It reminds you of Osamu, the days he’d pull you out of bed when you slept in.

“Come with me,” Akaashi says.

That is all you need to go. The dramatics are uninhibited as you make your way to him, blind with your head bent as one wrist wipes away incessant tears and the other is extended to catch his hand. He takes it. It’s a foreign union with his spindly fingers that are long enough to twine around your wrist like a restrictive vine but you relinquish yourself to it.

Because, this whole time, all you’ve wanted is this: promised, unselfish companionship.

Akaashi leaves you on a bench and returns with meat pies bought from a nearby food truck. The smell of it saturates the area in an appetizing scent of fried deliciousness that has your stomach gurgling. You’ve not had a single healthy meal since you arrived in Okinawa but the alcohol you’ve imbibed religiously for the past few weeks welcomes the offering.

“Have you wondered yet what is going on with me?” A bus whips past you two with an uncomfortable gust of warm wind. You want to pretend that you didn’t hear Akaashi over the sound of the engine, but his silence is imploring.

“Always,” you say.

Akaashi entertains you with a small huff, “you could ask.”

“But then that would breach our secret NDA. Which you have breached by the way. You owe me another 24 pack.”

“Considering I no longer have a job, we might have to put that on hold.”

You reply only with a wide eyed surprise.

“I put in my resignation yesterday.” Akaashi admits. His hands glide up his thigh to clear the grease from his fingertips. “Do you want to ask questions now?”

There’s a lot of questions running through your mind. First of all, why? Why quit? What was the reason? Why did it take you in your pajamas buying alcohol before noon on a foreign island for him to do so?

“Yes, but I won’t.”

“You’re aberrant.”

“I’m assuming that means ridiculous.”

“Close.”

“Share whatever you want to share. I won’t…” you almost hand the crust of your meat pie to Akaashi out of habit. You press it into the napkin instead, crushing it with the pressure of your fingers. “I don’t want to force anything out of you if you’re not ready.”

Akaashi hums. It’s a sound similar to when the understanding of a concept finally dawns on someone. He kicks his long legs out. The Oxfords provide a bouncy noise and it’s only now that you see how aberrant Akaashi is. Near the ocean shore, he wears business casual dress with slacks and though unpressed, he still dons a button down with elbow pads. Freaking elbow pads. You must look ridiculous next to him in your novelty shirt and pajama shorts. It’s been difficult wearing anything that doesn’t have elastic lately and jeans leave for no room to breathe.

He pulls out his cigarettes from his breast pocket and when he remembers, he turns with a silent tilt of his head, asking permission to smoke. You only nod but turn your head away quickly. The gradual exposure to the smell is one thing, but the sight of him smoking might be another step you’re still not ready to take. 

The cigarette crackles twice in two long inhales and he makes a point to blow in your opposite direction.

“I’m told that literary composition is not my forte.” You remain quiet, respecting the beginning of Akaashi’s soliloquy. “People tell me that I’m not meant to be an author. The world, actually. My short stories weren’t selling so I tried my hand at writing fanfiction for Meteo Attack, the manga I edit and hardly anyone read it. I even got hostile responses for my characterization.”

He needs another two inhales from the admittance. You don’t blame him.

“My boss and I had been working on a training plan the last two quarters so I could move to the literary department and the night before I met you, we were announced our placements for the next quarter. Mine didn’t change, still editor, still in manga. And when I asked, my boss said he’d be an idiot if he let me leave. I was too good at my job to change positions now. I went on a manic binge, slept through my alarms for the scheduled office activities, saw you, and figured you’d be the best excuse I could have to avoid my boss and coworkers for the rest of the trip.”

The sound of the lighter flicks once more. You listen to the quick initial inhale and the lengthy one that follows.

“My intention was never to quit. It was just like you said, retreat. I wanted to abscond myself of responsibilities for a moment but then I ate the onigiri I bought and I remembered. I remembered lots of late nights in Hyogo with you and Myaa-sam and Bokuto. And it made me think of you.”

“If it’s pity you’re offering, I don’t need it, Akaashi.”

“It’s not. I’m offering another contract. A business one.”

You turn to him and find that the smoker had finished his cigarette already. He gathered saliva in his mouth and discretely spit it on the floor before turning back to you.

“Let’s open Onigiri Miya up again.”

The idea sickens you because just the name of the restaurant brings back an onslaught of memories you’ve been trying to avoid. Osamu in his tight arm sleeves and black apron. His musk after a long night. His weary smile that would worry you only for a second until you realized it was satisfaction that compelled it more than anything. The sweet and salty scent of sticky rice and the starchy feeling on your hands whenever you would swirl your fingers in the buckets of dried grains that Kita would present to you. Long days, long nights, and Osamu, Osamu, Osamu.

“There’s no way. I have no clue how to even begin starting a business.”

“You say that but do you even know if your job will be there when you get back home?”

That was also another pertinent issue you were still planning to avoid.

“There is an Osamu out there right now who doesn’t even know that Onigiri Miya exists. The world is telling you you’re forgotten and there are people out there willing to accept it. But did you? Did you forget?”

His intensity brings on a delicate quality to your voice, “of course not.”

Osamu could forget you, but you? Forget him? The erasure of his existence was something so foreign of a thought that even just the mention of it strained your heart raw. 

“I didn’t either. Do you want anyone else to?”

Your response is incomprehensible as you blow snot into your grease laden napkin but the point comes across. For all the weeks you and Akaashi have spent together in the apartment room, he touches you a second time ever, hand atop yours once more.

“Then let’s open Onigiri Miya back up.”

It’s minutes later until you can gather yourself up again and even longer for you to seriously entertain the idea. The night is quiet and you’re thankful there are no passersby to witness this embarrassing exchange.

You think of everyone that Osamu had brought into your life when you walked into his. All the customers and friends and neighbors that offered you joy and small gifts worth living for. Atsumu was okay with throwing it all away, abandoning it just like his high school motto had endorsed.

But they were the ones who found Osamu. They were the ones who saved him, who forced the firefighters to break down Onigiri Miya’s door when the fire began to consume. If not for the community he fostered, he would not have had the second chance he has today.

There’s an Osamu out there that does not love you, that you may never learn to love without being hurt, but there was an Osamu that was beloved by all. If you had to do it for anyone, you’d do it for him.

“Fine.” Akaashi does not move, eerily still as if to not startle you to backtrack. “We can give this a try.”

You settle in with your choice and finally, with a bit of courage, you ask “I know what I am getting out of this, but what are you?”

“A flexible schedule so I can write my novel,” the man beside you answers frankly. Then in a softer voice, he adds, “and maybe I can finally open that branch in Tokyo.”

You cannot help but crack an amused snort. Akaashi joins you with his singular chuckle.

“That seems ambitious.”

It is so grossly, overwhelmingly, exceedingly ambitious to run a restaurant and more so, to even consider a second location. Promises are easy to make on tear-stricken nights amongst the salty air of Okinawa, but back in Hyogo, the air is severely stifling.

Even with more than half a decade of partnership with Osamu, it is a steep learning curve managing all its operations. Your ex boyfriend did not make it seem easy. No, not with the long hours he’d pull or the days when he’d lash his frustrations on you. Some days, even seasons, happened to be more difficult than others but to have first hand experience all on your own is novel.

Akaashi moves in the day you guys arrive. The two week unofficial dry run makes the decision easy. He fills in the space that has been left behind, screens all the voicemails that you’d avoided when you were gone, and confirms that you are officially jobless by looking through your emails too.

What is better than one jobless, mid-twenty travesty who is one milligram of caffeine away from a breakdown? Two jobless, mid-twenty travesties who are one milligram of caffeine away from a breakdown. It’s a support system, hardly structural but functional enough.

It includes a lot of spontaneous frenzies, you and Akaashi both. He teaches you to be quite efficient with your distress. A prolonged yell helps relieve the pressure and it compels the other to join. You teach him the benefits of isolation. Sometimes, it’s simply best to take some space, to cast away the burdens for a night and relearn how to breathe.

It takes a year and a half to open the restaurant with the help of Onigiri Miya’s neighbors. Their support does not come without payment though. They ask questions you’re unprepared for and no response is ever safe. If you say you are fine, you’re scrutinized with a watchful eye, just waiting for proof of a lie. If you admit that you’re struggling, there’s pity. Some are more vocal about it than others, a patronization in their tone that never used to be there before.

The price may be steep, but it’s worth it because Hyogo ward was Osamu’s community. They carry the pieces of Osamu that you know, the ones that made the alleycats fat.

(Osamu frequently gets yelled at by the Shizuku, the florist, three doors down. She blames him for the rising cat population. Osamu laughs it off. He always did and frequently, there is a cheeky quip that follows. He says something about catnip.

Something like, “ya sure ya ain’t the one growing catnip in there?”

It taunts the woman even further, but malice never burns their interactions.

A grudge on Osamu, though easy to promise, is impossible to uphold. Not when he delivers a bouquet of onigiri right to her door the next day. Not when he accidentally tips a pot over while obnoxiously perusing through the abundance of greenery, hoping to find catnip within the collection. Not when he looks at her sheepishly, swiping his hands on his apron as if dusting away any evidence and says, “now how did that happen?”)

Shizuku’s a savior, by the way. If left to your own devices, Akaashi and you would work yourselves to the point of exhaustion but Shizuku comes in during lunch and always provides tea in plastic cups. Eventually those cups turn into a beautiful ceramic set when Kita drops off your first order of rice, a visit in disguise.

His barley eyes that were always warm to you darken at the sight of Akaashi. Their greeting is stiff which you thought just had to do with their taciturn personalities but it wasn’t until Kita pulled you into the alleyway, Akaashi left to finish painting the front, did you realize it was out of protectiveness.

“I was glad to hear from ya.” Kita leans against the waist high wall that separates two lines of shopping streets. “But I didn’t know how to feel when I found out ya were calling me about business.”

“I know,” you say, eyes cast down low. Kita has a way of making you feel guilty with so little words. He’s disappointed, you know despite his level tone, because you never called. What was there to discuss? You figured if Osamu could forget you, if Atsumu can cast you away, then there was nothing to expect out of his friends either.

“I won’t say anything because I know ya already feel bad but Gran and I were worried about ya. It’s good to know that you’re okay.”

You shrug. Okay is hardly what you’d describe yourself when you’re barely hanging on just like the threadbare sheets from the studio in Okinawa.

Kita crosses one muddy boot over the other, “and what ya got going on here, it feels like the right thing.”

It’s hard to make of what you feel, decipher the feelings that manifest inside because the days have not gotten any softer. The pain is ambiguous and persisting. Whenever you feel like you’ve made progress, another strain emerges like a new variant of the same virus. You’re doing this for Osamu. But Osamu…

“Have you talked to him lately?”

Kita’s lips line into a solemn expression. He stares you right in the eye and you hold yourself strong because you know he’s testing whether or not you can handle his answer.

“Not recently. Atsumu’s kept their distance from here. If I do see them, it’s when I stop by Osaka.”

“And…”

“And he’s good. He plans on going pro,” Kita shakes his head, “or Atsumu says, going back to pro. He tells him he took a break.”

You nod slowly. So that’s what you were. A break.

“But it ain’t him.”

The farmer’s voice is barely above a whisper and for some reason, it is gut wrenching. You have to lean against the wall with him in case you topple over. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it, the admittance that the Osamu you had was someone real. And maybe that’s why you’ll never be okay because you’re chasing after validation that has already been erased while he chases other things, of dreams unfulfilled.

“This,” Kita points to the restaurant in renovation, “this is him, but…”

He never finishes his sentence. The irony of it makes you laugh.

“Well I’ve got another delivery to drop but don’t be a stranger now. I’m serious. I ain’t letting ya. And visit Gran once in a while, will ya? She needs someone to talk to because I think she’s about had it with me.”

Kita hugs you goodbye and by the end of his visit, you think Akaashi’s gained his approval. When he leaves, he gifts the two of you the tea set. They are black with white and brown intricacies. Two of them have geometric blocking designs and the other two have one lone stalk of rice, bent gracefully by the wind.

Akaashi and you sign up for onigiri making courses where you eat them for every meal. So much so that even Akaashi of all people gets tired of it. The craft does not come easy to either of you despite your business partner’s penchant for it and Osamu’s intermittent lessons over the years. When you did help him out on the days he was short-staffed, Osamu would have you ring up customers up front, smoothly mentioning how your pretty face would help them rack up tips when you knew it was just to keep you out of the kitchen.

(He flusters you with a wink and an encouraging tap on the ass, laughing when you look back. He flings his glove into the trash can and makes his way to the handwashing station, thinking it was worth it just to see your cute pout. You know he’d wasted boxes of gloves since you’d been together just for one quick touch. Your eyes would be enraptured by the graceful jerks of his chest and the curl of his lips and later, at close, when the two of you were finally alone, he teases you about it. He asks you if you were hungry, what with the way you devoured him with your eyes. You bite his arm just to prove how hungry you were.)

“Quit drinking the mirin. That is foul and we need it.” He hides little revulsion in both tone and expression but your time with Akaashi has you immune to his harsh delivery.

You take another swig out of spite even if you didn’t plan on having another sip. It is, in fact, foul.

“This is the only thing that has alcohol in this apartment.”

Akaashi snatches the bottle with starchy hands. The residue imprints the shape of his palm onto the neck of the bottle, furthering his irritation. “Then drink something that does not have alcohol.”

“No,” you slump with your chin on the table, leveling your gaze with the practice oblongs you’ve just made. “I am sad.”

They’re lumpy and if they’re not lumpy, they are mushy. If they are not mushy, then the filling is peeking out. All in all, completely imperfect and not suited for a restaurant succeeding Onigiri Miya. Just the image of his disappointment discourages you because these were not up to his standards and certainly not to yours.

“We just need more practice,” Akaashi tries to console. “Maybe we could buy molds.”

“He didn’t use molds.”

“Unfortunate. We’re not Myaa-sam.”

“Neither is he.”

Akaashi doesn’t respond. You don’t say anything more either. If anyone is tired of your deploring, it is him and he already has to handle you enough. But it’s true, isn’t it? No one is Osamu anymore, not even the one out there who is probably doing practice sets in a gym, who wears a uniform that’s less than five years old, who has no recollection of you.

“Everyone’s going to be disappointed because it tastes nothing like the ones he used to make. They’re going to hate us for even disgracing his name.”

Akaashi’s had enough. He drops his practice roll, the heavy weight of the thud clattering the utensils on the table. You’re about to reprimand him but the man talks over you.

“Do you think that’s why people will come? Because of Osamu?”

The answer seems obvious that you can only gesticulate.

“Are you inane?”

That hasn’t been a word of the day so you haven’t learned that one yet but you can take a guess what the right answer is. “No?”

“People want to come and support you. Everyone knows Osamu’s gone off elsewhere doing whatever he is doing now. You’re the one honoring his memory. You’re the one keeping him alive. You are the reason they’d walk through our door now so get your act up.”

You glower like a child, unsure how exactly you feel. That sort of pressure seems daunting but comforting at the same time. You want to do him right. Is it really better than not even honoring him at all?

“You’re mean,” you settle on saying.

Akaashi clicks his tongue behind his teeth, “do you want to scream about it?”

You smile, “yeah.”

His mood lightens, “me too.”

“Okay, but it’s late already so we should probably scream in some pillows.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.”

The journey continues like that. Ups and downs. Ebbs and flows. Akaashi handles operations and finances. Your first job at the local government helps you complete the clerical stuff like having the proper documentation and paperworks. Your most recent job in IT helps you develop the website while Akaashi words out the marketing. You set up all the socials, design the uniforms, and the last step is to decide on the name.

The night before the opening, you have a dinner for everyone that helped as a thank you and soft launch. You and Akaashi slide in and out of service with Shizuku, Kita, Gran, and some of Akaashi’s friends like Konoha and Kuroo and Kenma as guests. It’s a small gathering of every single member of the community that never forgot about Osamu sitting around a massive table you’ve made by pushing the smaller ones together.

“Lovely what ya did with the rice, here,” Gran says beside you, a seat she had claimed.

You tilt your head to the side, “that’s all Akaashi.”

“Fine cooking, dear.”

“I followed a good recipe and had a little luck.”

“Ya better hope not,” Kita laughs and it’s comforting to hear the quiet trickle of his humor knowing fully well that Akaashi’s been accepted into the family. “Or else ya gonna have some unhappy customers.”

“Will ya tell us now what the name of the place is? Hard to advertise if I don’t know what it’s called,” Shizuku demands.

Her impatience started when she walked right through the door, but you wanted to wait for the right time when everyone was already gathered together and broken bread, heart happy and stomach satisfied. It’s how Osamu would have wanted it. It’s how you do too.

“Fine,” you say, dragging the word out with little bite in your tone.

You pull out the uniforms you’ll be wearing tomorrow. It looks not much different from what Osamu used to wear, plain black shirts with lettering on the upper left portion of the chest. Everyone lifts up from their seats to witness it.

o.mo.ide

Miya Osamu, Onigiri Miya, memories that you’ll always keep close to your heart.

There’s tears that escape, from you no different. There’s more that follows when you show them the corner right by the entrance dedicated to Onigiri Miya. You want everyone to know whose walls these actually belong to, whose essence and soul brought his dreams and yours to life, that without him, this would have never been possible.

Kita helps you kick everyone out knowing that you and Akaashi have a long day ahead. People promise to visit tomorrow just to show their support as they bid you goodbye. Gran slips an envelope of cash between your hands and quickly loops her arms around Kita’s so you can’t make a scene.

Akaashi is quick to have a foot out the alley back door after cleanup. He nods his head out, “are you ready?”

“Yes.” You run your hands through the crisp fabric once more as you shuffle your bag over your shoulder.

And the two of you leave. The black apron on the last hook closest to the back alley door waves as the door slams shut. There’s a black cap above it with the original character snaps against the wall from the wind pressure. They sway in the dark, until finally they lose momentum and settle in the dark.

They stay. They always will.

The support is so overwhelmingly kind. People show up in droves that Kita has to come in later in the day with an emergency delivery because your forecasts had been so off. Compliments come one after the other, of the design of the store, the food, and even yours and Akaashi’s service. Cheery employees were no longer in, it seemed. Everyone loved the stress-ridden ones instead. More relatable, they’d explain.

The novelty slowly wears off, but you maintain a generous rotation of regulars. Of course, Shizuku always arrives. She retains her habit of having afternoon tea with you and Akaashi. She’d bring along Hayashi, the man who owned the ice cream shop behind your store. He’s a grizzly man with a barrel chest with a right bicep so plump from years of scooping ice cream. The two are the neighborhood’s newest gossip. Flowers and ice cream. Looks like they do go together.

And you think that you have finally have this life handled. You and Akaashi settle on this pleasant routine of wake, work, and rest and the mundanity has you fooled. Still, after all this time, it takes so little to disrupt your small ecosystem of peace.

You hear someone compare o.mo.ide as a mockery of what it used to be and it sends you into a spiral. You listen with a crazed expression, hands busy scrubbing tables but ears listening like a hawk.

Osmau never needed consolation like this. He had been a master of quick glances. He was always multitasking, mind on the next task as he was still in the process of finishing the first. And his eyes never missed anything, not when you’d try and sneak into his office unnoticed to surprise him for break or how he’d always know when someone was taking their first bite. He’d watch from the corner of his eyes and he’d wait for that precious moment. It didn’t take much to make Osamu proud. Just a single hum. He’d beam from ear to ear, and as if shy from his sudden display of emotion, he’d tuck his chin into his head and pull the brim of his cap down.

But then again, this was his forte and not yours.

You start sleeping in and waking up late. You lose the habit and Akaashi has to pick up after you. In order to make it up to him, you offer to close the restaurant on your own. His response is a simple scan to check that you’re okay, but he has little energy to say a word, probably expended it screaming in the walk-in freezer when he couldn’t get you out of bed. So he goes.

You don’t even wait a full five minutes after he left to lock the doors and ignore any knocks from customers who know your regular hours.

In the silent kitchen, you situate yourself atop the recently wiped down stainless prep table, a bottle of sake in one hand and Kita’s teacup in another. A shot glass is much too small for your preferences.

“Cheers,” you raise your glass in the air. This might be your sixth one, so just the image of your hand and solo teacup is enough to make you giggle. “This one is to…”

Your gaze is glassy and there’s no one here, but the alcohol reminds you that you’re not lonely. An image of Osamu appears before you like an apparition and the sight brings on a void of yearning. You throw back the shot and quickly pour yourself another.

“To you.” This time you clink the tea cup against the bottle, already hollow in just one sitting. When the burn dies down and settles in the pit of your stomach, you begin to kick your feet.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Haven’t spoken to you in a while. Think about you every day though.”

It’s weird because you thought that with this place being saturated by Osamu’s very essence, you’d find his face everywhere you look. He’s more of an idea now, lately. A feeling you carry, memories that you play before you go to sleep. It’s difficult to accept because it feels like you’re losing him. The old Osamu, the one you knew, the one you loved. The other one in Osaka, Kita’s accidentally slipped that he likes to read as a pastime and that they’d recently visited Panama. Osamu never bought books unless they were cookbooks and that was more for aesthetic than anything. And the one you knew had never been to Panama, more so even mentioned it at all.

What you have left is the remains of his legacy and the bare bones of a former flame. You crack open another bottle. Here’s another shot to that.

“Life sucks by the way. I don’t blame you for it. I just wanted you to know. This wasn’t my dream. Yeah, I can hear you. You know, you know. But I haven’t told you in a while so you’re going to hear me say it again. I just wanted a cushy, IT job. I’d be your sugar mommy and force you on vacations, pay you for any lost wages. Any reason to have you all to myself. That’s what was supposed to happen.”

Another shot to missed opportunities. That one has you feeling woozy that you have to lay on your side but your drunken mind fails to realize how cold the stainless steel would be against your cheeks. It makes you squeal and then you can’t help but giggle, laughing at your own stupidity. That’s what’s nice about inebriation. Instead of being so serious about yourself, you can just laugh.

“And in the middle of it all, I knew that one day, I’d get absorbed into it. That’s just what you do. You say Atsumu is charismatic, but I don’t think you ever realized the power you had in just being. People get caught up in it and that includes me. And I imagined myself working hard so I could leave early from work just so I could help you in the kitchen. And then working part time until eventually, we woke up together and ran it together and did it all. Together. As a family. Ma would help when she has the time but you know her. She’s got clubs and activities and neighborhood responsibilities. And Atsumu would try and hang out but not do any work so we’d just ignore him until he ended up whining his way into the kitchen. I didn’t imagine…”

You look around the backroom. It’s nothing like how Onigiri Miya used to look. There are some items you’ve inherited like the pots and pans with their grease-stricken bellies and the three step ladder with The Little Giant (Akaashi actually wanted to throw this one away but ladders are surprisingly expensive) labeled on the top step. Everything is paltry pickings compared to the care Osamu had when working with his suppliers. It was hard enough with Kita’s endorsement to find something within your budget so you’re left with limp greens and off brand soy. And no Osamu.

Time for another shot. Should you make a game of it? Every time you thought you felt sorry for yourself, should you?

“No,” you giggle as you get up, answering your own question, “then I’d get really drunk and you’d get mad at me for that. Anyways,” you shoot it, neck craning back so swift it makes you dizzy. Your body bends wilted just like the spring onions you were talking about and you have to close your eyes, groaning and giggling, unable to discern discomfort from pleasure.

“Mmmm, what was I saying? I don’t know.” Suddenly, you’re crying. There’s a mess on the prep table that  you have no idea how to clean. Over a year now and you’re still not over Osamu and you’re missing the rest of the Miyas especially too.

“This is so hard and fuck, I feel so alone.” It’s heartbreaking to hear how much you pity yourself when there have been so many people in your life that have supported you. Like Akaashi who has dealt with your disaster tendencies and Shizuku and the neighbors and everyone that has made this possible.

But they can’t fill what you’ve secretly been trying to reclaim. Of a family that had loved you, had accepted you with open arms. The ones who held you when you needed them most but… Fuck. You just weren’t enough. You lacked the strength to hold their pain, so much so just by being, by existing, you burdened them.

And maybe this had been a ploy to simply gain approval and find some self-worth again, to show them that the love you have has value. It had been distracting enough while you and Akaashi prepared for the grand opening but only for so long until you fell into this sort of misery again. How long would the next pocket of happiness last? Could you find a stable source of bliss ever again?

Sometimes, as difficult as it is to think, you wish you never…

No, you shake your head adamantly. For all this anguish, for all the ache you’ve accidentally caused the Miyas, you want to selfishly keep all the memories, even if Osamu has to forget, even if you know how it ends. You don’t want to change a thing.

You grab the extra aprons in the back except for the black apron on the last hook closest to the back alley door and slump into the office chair in the back nook. It was a simple office with just a desk and a file folder cabinet. You cover yourself with the aprons, your impromptu blankets as you wait for the inebriation to tide over. The open sake bottle stays on the prep table with the finished one and your used tea cup and you make a mental note to hide your drinking from Akaashi who’s been passively limiting your intake lately.

You fall into a light sleep when a meowing out the alley door rouses you. The office chair snaps as you ungracefully rise. There’s remnants of your misery in the form of crusts at the corner of your eyes that you blearily wipe away.

He stares up at you with a single meow as a greeting when you open the door. The cat sits on his paws like a well mannered customer waiting to be let in. A gray puffball like a ball of lint straight from the dryer, his gold eyes blink up at you and maybe it’s the hour or your halfway sober state or just life in general because you think it’s a sign.

Many of the cats had left when Osamu did too, venturing into more fruitful alleyways that can get them the fixings that they. You’re quick to pick him up but you do it a little aggressively that his limber body bends to evade your hands. Instead, he enters o.mo.ide and you’re able to lure him in with a few slices of fish.

Akaashi is not amused when you get home, especially considering the late hour and cat in your hands.

“No,” Akaashi greets, eyes hardened, aimed at the feline creature who has taken to resting his chin into the crook of your elbow.

“But, Akaashi, look at him!” You turn your body to the side so he can witness his complete cuteness.

The man is not impressed, only closing his book, an index finger marking the pages he left off, and crossing his arms. “No. You can hardly take care of yourself.”

“But they’re low maintenance,” you mention the fact you had quickly googled before unlocking the front door, “and he was crying outside our door because he was so hungry.”

Your roommate weighs the cat with his eyes and before he can complete his calculations, you add, “if I wasn’t there, he would have starved. He needed me.”

Akaashi finds something in your expression and you think it’s this new energy, this purpose outside of yourself or Osamu and after a drawn out glare, he finally sighs. It’s a world weary sigh, the kinds only parents of rowdy and impossible children should only make and you take note that you’ll make it up to him somehow.

“Okay, fine,” he extends his hand for your new friend to sniff, “what’s his name?”

You smile, “Mumu.”

An homage to your boys, your favorite twins, and Akaashi cannot help but sigh again.

But Mumu quickly becomes your new best friend, much to his benefit. Even though Mumu never quite opens up to him, he has to worry about you less and you spend more of your time laboring efficiently at work so you can go home and play with silly things like lasers and a little rattle ball he likes to roll around. There’s energy to do your share of household chores now, and despite the slow trickle of business lately, you’re unbothered.

At the end of the day, the success of the business does not define you or your love for Osamu.

The stability lasts only for a few months because you arrive home unannounced, closing the shop early when the pelting monsoon keeps people locked in their homes.

You opted to take responsibility for the day, allowing Akaashi a break. His trust in you has slowly renewed considering it’d been a while since you dipped into the restaurant’s liquor stash. You knew he’d understand the shortened hours considering the weather but he hadn’t been prepared because when he got home, he was watching a livestream MSBY volleyball match. There was this understanding that had been established when he moved in because the both of you knew that you’d be powerless to the demise.

When you see Osamu on TV, that split second the camera had panned to him, you felt gravity warp. Your heart constricted and condensed while it felt like that floor beneath you had slipped away and you were just as helpless as any other leaf victim to the storm.

Akaashi tries to turn off the TV, but you manically topple over him, not wanting to miss what little camera time he might have.

“I don’t think this is good for you,” Akaashi’s eyes doesn’t leave you as you continue to watch the game. You agree, but you can’t strip your eyes away from the stream. You can’t believe what you’re seeing and you have to continuously wipe away your tears just to be sure, to ascertain that what you’re viewing is really true. It’s him. It’s him and this is the closest you’ve seen him, the closest he’s been to this home in basically two years and he looks so different.

“He grew out his hair,” you observe.

All you can do right now is play spot the difference. What parts of him do you still know? What is gone forever? Osamu’s hair is near shoulder length and you think he might have gained Atsumu’s salon habit because it’s curlier and fluffier than you knew. The color in his eyes have lost their luster, making them appear darker like a smoky quartz and he’s bigger. He’d always had a stronger upper body but you can tell he’s far more defined than you’d last seen him. He looks. Good.

You feel so small knowing how well he’s moved on without you. There’s always this small spark of hope that can’t help yourself from holding onto but seeing him on the screen, living a dream that he had once left behind, you figure it must be your turn to be abandoned for something else.

“He looks good,” you nod, trying to be strong. Because that’s all you’ve wanted. You’ve wanted him to be ok, to live out the life he desired, whatever that may be and regardless of how it involved you. “He looks good. I’m so–”

“You don’t–”

“–proud of him.”

The admittance makes you burst, diving head first onto the floor and crying into the rug. Mumu comes to rest between your legs, wary of Akaashi as he does his best to console you which alternates between a hand down your back and simply hovering over your figure.

But then you hear the announcer and how the music stops, and immediately your head lifts up because you know what the sound of those footsteps mean.

Miya Atsumu is on court, serving the ball with just as much assured confidence as you had left him. He passes to his brother where they easily make a point and you watch the two boys celebrate. The camera eats it up, their facial expressions, the way they hold each other in a solidified joy, and you see it. You see the true reason he’s left this all behind. This was the life he was meant to share.

And you were never meant to be a part of it.

It was delusional of you to think that their bond had enough space for you to fit in.

Of course, as much as you tell yourself Osamu’s happiness is the most important thing to witness, it still sends you on a spiral that neither Akaashi or Mumu can bring you out of. Business slows down when you can’t provide proper service and Akaashi struggles to pick up the labor you can’t complete. Days pass in a haze where you burn things by accident and your mindlessness has you putting in two servings of soy instead. 

You wallow in your sheets, so worn that the Osamu’s essence has filtered through the gaps and all that’s saturated it is your misery. Mumu leisurely snoozes beside you, happy to keep you company.

Akaashi tries to persuade you out of bed with ice cream.

You shuffle to the side of the bed pressed against the wall and tuck yourself into the crevice, “no thank you.”

He ignores you and opens the door and you whine, noisy and petulant. “This one is from Shizuku and Hayashi. They’ve missed you.”

You instantly sit up, interested because Hayashi’s ice cream had been a favorite of Osamu’s. Whenever he’d have a bad day and their schedules lined up, the two men with their solid stature would gossip in the alleyway, the brick wall separating them. One would be devouring an onigiri while the other relished the fox shaped ice cream he’d always be given as payment.

You’d peek your head out the alley door whenever you could never find Osamu in the kitchen or in his office. The alley was the only other place he’d be and Hayashi would prompt you to come out, sit and gossip with them. He’d leave so he could serve you an ice cream of your own, but you suspect he’d take longer on purpose so that you two could spend some time alone.

(“Have you heard about Shizuku and Hayashi?” Osamu asks once the confectioner steps back into his building. Your response comes for the back of your throat, a soft hum while busy licking the dessert your boyfriend offered. He laughs when he sees you nibble off the candy eye of the animal, leaving him a little lopsided but far more endearing. “Damn, I said ya could give it a try, not eat all of it.”

“I was hungry and you weren’t inside.”

“Ya could have made yaself some food. I’ve taught you enough to be self-sufficient.”

You shake your head immediately, “doesn’t taste the same. Stop changing the subject. What’s going on with Hayashi and Shizuku?”

Despite all the time you’ve spent with him, all the different faces and expressions you’ve been gifted to witness, his smile still disarms you. It’s the right combination of conniving and whimsy that has your heart traipsing the edge of a cliff.

“I was talking to the Grandma that’s got the okonomiyaki shop right there, ya know?” He points with his ice cream whose lifespan is slowly disappearing, “and she told me how she went into Hayashi’s shop and he had a full bouquet of flowers.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I wonder who got it for him.”

Osamu snorts, “Shizuku obviously. Who else would have?”

“Osamu,” you give him a discriminatory look, “are you starting rumors.”

“No, hear me out. Shizuku came by yesterday and was asking me for some cooking tips.”

“You?”

“Yeah, we have a truce right now. The onigiri won her over.” You giggle, snatching another bite from Osamu’s hand. He’s too busy telling his story to even admonish you. “And she was telling me she planned on making grilled mackerel and guess what Hayashi had for dinner last night apparently.”

You hum forcibly, drawing it out and giggle when Osamu gets irritated with you. “Mackerel?” He nods and the image of those two makes you laugh.

Hayashi’s just like the ice cream he serves, a man who longs for the richer things in life. He has women swooning out of his restaurant with his velvet words and Shizuku is a woman who knows what she wants, spritely and tough. She’d be perfect to keep him in line. 

“Now that I think about it, they’re surprisingly good for each other.”

Osamu agrees, “Grandma says Hayashi needs to lock it in and get married.”

“Shizuku’s a catch! He’d be wrong not to.”

Your statement dulls the mood because Osamu turns quiet. He hands you his ice cream for you to finish, Hayashi forgotten, and his hands clasp together, right pad of his thumb running over the back of his left. His side profile is soft, round cheeks over a strong jaw.

“Ya know that I–”

“We don’t have to get married for me to know that you love me,” you say quickly. You don’t want him to finish the thought because he gets caught up in the guilt a lot. You’re not certain what it exactly is aside from the fact that he doesn’t want your future to be tied down to one as unstable as his, as if marriage would be the only thing that could permanently hold the two of you together. As far as you know, he’s all you want for the rest of your life and Osamu makes you feel like he thinks the same.

Your admittance relieves the weight on his back. He straightens up, a thankful expression on his gaze when he rolls an arm out to wrap around you. You fit right into the crook of his body, pleasantly warm with your ice cream.

“I love ya, I really do.” You nod. “One day, when I get my shit together, I promise I’ll make ya mine for real.”

He says it like you’re not his already. He says it like this relationship is less than the ones acknowledged by law or the gods or whoever presides over the validity of unity.

He says it like he really does love you.)

Thinking about it makes you cry despite Hayashi’s ice cream. He artfully crafted the gift in a pint that he must have bought from the store because you’ve never seen him sell take-home products. A frog decorates the surface complete with blush, large, round eyes, and the brightest of smiles. Usually the confectionery is an immediate remedy but it looks like your sorrows have fallen so deep that its effects are hardly uplifting. Akaashi hands you a letter made of cardstock in a saturated red and shaped like a heart.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” is all he replies.

You do as he says and find a poorly drawn replication of what you assume is you, serving a triangular item to a smaller stick figure human.

“That’s from Asako. She missed you when you left early today.”

Asako is the little girl who orders a plain onigiri with extra sesame seeds. Exxxxtrraaaa she likes to say and you entertain her, seeing who can lengthen the word the longest. It’s an effortless game that comes with a high reward of giggles. She comes in on Fridays when her grandparents pick her up from school. They didn’t know of Onigiri Miya then so you never thought much of them, but clearly, she had thought of you.

“I understand that we opened up o.mo.ide in order to commemorate Myaa-sam and everything he’d done for this community, but have you ever stopped and thought that in the process, you’ve integrated into it yourself?”

You hadn’t. You’d been so deeply absorbed by your own troubles that you had never bothered to even look outside of yourself or Osamu.

“We’re operating at a loss right now, but there are people like Asako that rely on us to stay open. And so help me, I need you too. We promised to do this together and I refuse to let you abandon me.”

“Oh… oh, Akaashi, I’m so–” you’re forced speechless by your own guilt.

“Don’t apologize. Just.” Akaashi searches through his vocabulary, “just get better. Have you ever thought about therapy?”

Akaashi introduces you to his therapist but after two sessions, you find that the way he gels his hair back and the nasal hums he provides every time you confide in him is unsettling. The journey through therapy is not so much a journey but more like an illegal obstacle course formed with bottomless pits and thorny vines and a portable bed.

It’s physically draining and mentally exhausting that you need a nap most days. Akaashi hardly yells at you anymore when you fall asleep in the office chair while on break as long as he knows you have an appointment scheduled at the end of the week.

You go through three more therapists. This fourth one, she’s on thin ice, but you’re five months in and she’s managed to get you to stay. She encourages you to reach out to the people you love on your own and to make time for them every week.

Now you spend time teaching Mumu new tricks. He’s mastered the command ‘sit’ and is also very good at laying down. You’ve yet to teach him much else though. Monday mornings are for mahjong with Granny. Sweet as she is, that woman is a good liar and to this day, you still haven’t won a game. According to Kita, no one has yet to beat her. You’ve extended tea dates with Shizuku into dinners after you and Akaashi close. Most of the time Hayashi is there and despite Akaashi’s indifference to their relationship, every night you gossip about the way his hands would linger around her waist or how he’d whisper something in her ear while they washed dishes. When Asako visits, you untie your apron and give her grandparents a break. Only when she is done with her meal, you walk her into the back where you tell her to mind her step and you and lift her over the wall so she can knock on Hayashi’s back door for an ice cream.

People gradually enter your lives, ones that you didn’t have courage to see. With a warning text sent like an afterthought, it’s a welcome surprise to find Bokuto seated on top of your kitchen table, towering height even more pronounced, while Akaashi showcased his skill in a new apron.

“Oh?” you say and at the sight of Akaashi’s expression, all you do is smile and wish them a good time. If there is a time that Akaashi shouldn’t be burdened by you, it would be now. You are in the process of healing after all.

Suna and Aran eventually visit, dragged along by Kita. His small build compared to the two athletes make an awkward remeet amusing.

Suna scruffles your head and cups the fat of your cheeks as a greeting, “hey, Bug. Nothing kills you, huh?”

You’re grateful when Aran saves you, pulling you into a deep hug that soothes your soul. He lifts you up once just to hold you closer, and when he’s done, they all apologize for not visiting you sooner. It was shame, they admitted. Because for Osamu, they were willing to do anything to make him feel better, even if it was to perpetuate lies.

You’re at a space now where you understand because for Osamu, you know you would and will do anything for him too. No one talks about him though. No one dares mention any Miya first, and finally, you’re not compelled to bring them up either.

Of course, it’s just as tumultuous of a ride, even more so now that you’re more aware of your issues. Some days, the social vigor of running a restaurant is so draining that all you can do is keep your head down in the back. Count inventory and roll orders whenever Akaashi places them in. Sometimes it’s even harder than that, where you end up at the convenience store with one bottle of sake. Usually the guilt hits you half a bottle in and you end up pouring the rest over the nearest drain. This time, halfway isn’t nearly enough to ease the pain.

With the amount of volleyball players that have re-entered your life, an old interview of Osamu’s is in your recommended videos to watch. You can’t not click it when the thumbnail is a closeup top angle of his face, long hair pulled into a messy bun.

He stands the same with hands on his hips and in a wide stance but even the way he speaks sounds different. Same voice, different person. Different words.

The comments prove that he has a lot of fans from all over the world. They shout words of affection, recount the best games they’ve witnessed him in and no one mentions a single word about Onigiri Miya.

You’re at a point in your life now that any sort of Osamu brings on a general longing. You miss him so much you’re willing to take whatever you can have.

The realization makes you feel like you’ve lost him again because this place, the venue where you labor yourself until your back is broken despite your lack of knowledge had been a huge part of him. Now it is all lost to his pro volleyball glamor.

Onigiri Miya Osamu will eventually fade from existence. Once more, you begin grieving.

Despite your coping methods, it takes a long time to build yourself out of your rut. The gloom lasts for days and life has a predilection for stacking up your misery.

“Miya–”

Akaashi doesn’t have to finish his sentence. The impact already hits your stomach at the surname. It doesn’t matter which Miya it is. A Miya has stepped foot into this building, the first time since the fire. Suspense boils in your gut and its noxious fumes cut the breath from your lungs.

You’ve thought about this moment in great lengths, anxiously in bed or idle thoughts as you wait for the train. Preparation has never been your strong suit though. The fact is clear with the condition of your restaurant that struggles to even get by.

Blonde hair glistens against the backdrop of an afternoon sun and distracts you from the bells that ring when he opens the door. He glances around the walls with his mouth agape, focusing mostly on the origin story next to the host stand. It’s just a few old newspaper clippings of articles and one image of Osamu’s face. It was one of your few stipulations. He must always be there to greet the customers.

When Atsumu’s gaze finally finds yours, you can’t help but grip the towel tighter in your hands. Misplaced anger simmers right behind your tightly pursed lips. His face is so similar. It’s the closest anyone could get to a clone, and the distinct features you’ve been searching for, the ones that belong to the Osamu you once knew, are not there.

It’s a lot. It’s been a bad couple of weeks.

But Atsumu doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that you’ve worked yourself raw and instead of building calluses, all you've done is made yourself tender.

He passes the backline and you find yourself taking a step back towards the display case as he crosses your first line of defense. He acts like nothing’s changed, that he’s still got free reign of the place and maybe it hasn’t. When he pulls you in, when he mutters ‘I love ya’ and ‘I’m so sorry’ over and over again, you fall apart in his arms.

You fist his shirt at the chest and sob in a way you haven’t allowed yourself since the hospital, since you’d seen any of the Miyas last. You cry into his chest, condense the past years you’ve had to make do with just your hands or sleeves or pillows. There’s rage and pity, but most of all, there is relief. Because as much as Akaashi has sat beside you while you mourned, and how everyone had gathered to remind you of your worth, they could never fill the space that any Miya left behind. None of them understood what it was like to lose Osamu. Not Myaa-sam, or Chef, or Oji-Samu. Youhad borne that misery alone.

You can’t fault Osamu for not choosing you. And Mama Miya has tried reaching out despite your lack of response.

But Atsumu, he could have stayed. You thought there was kinship there, a shared love for his brother. You thought you could have shared the sorrow too. Instead, he’d whisked away his family to Osaka to escape any reminder of the previous life he lived. He took everything and he left you behind.

Atsumu follows you to the ground when you literally fall apart in his arms. He hugs you tighter and he ignores the stack of napkins shelved right next to you, knowing that his shirt is more than enough.

Atsumu is eventually able to get you to a park near the restaurant once you calmed down. You both lay next to each other on the grass and the sun’s power is too strong for your swollen eyes. You have to balance your water bottle over them as shade. Atsumu offers the sunglasses he likes to keep clipped to the collar of his shirt. You accept it cautiously, wary of taking too much.

“I’m sorry.”

His apology is overwhelming and the corners of your eyes overflow, unprepared.

“Don’t,” you sputter out when you have the breath, a sting clinging to the bridge of your nose, “don’t. I can’t take it. Say something else.”

“I–” the way he blunders means he must have prepared a speech and now you’ve thrown a wrench in his plans. “I… uh. It’s good to see ya.”

“Oh, gods. Why are you even here?”

“I wanted to see ya,” he answers lamely.

There’s still anger in your chest and for the past couple of years, you’d been aiming that ire at Akaashi unjustly. Atsumu’s expression from the day at the hospital still keeps you up sometimes and it’s taken months of therapy for you to realize that his emotions were also misplaced. You’d dealt with pieces of the guilt and there’s still a lot that you need to address, but you understand now, that the burden of being was never yours alone to bear.

“Now? When you’ve had all this time?”

“I know. I–” he stops himself from another apology. You’re grateful he’s grown the maturity to keep his mouth shut when asked. “I just wanted to prepare ya.”

“For what?”

“Samu went no contact on me.”

You rise to your elbows in shock, worry prickling prickling your heart, “and Ma?”

“Not Ma,” he shakes his head quickly. “He calls her sometimes, not enough, but more than me.”

“Why?”

Atsumu breathes deeply, worn and weary. He brings his arms back and rests his head on them, eyes up at the sky watching a kite flown by two children, probably siblings. “Why fucking not, ya know?”

“No, Atsumu, I wouldn’t know when you basically went no contact on me.”

Atsumu pinches his bottom lip between his front teeth. Through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, you can see the way they lighten from the pressure. He sighs again.

“I deserve this, I know. But Osamu didn’t. I fucked up but I had no clue what I was doing. Ya gotta understand. Ya were there and ya saw him and how beaten down he was and maybe I did put blame on everyone but myself. I hated Onigiri Miya for even getting him caught up in that sort of mess, and when his dreams lined up with mine, I figured it would be okay. We could leave it all behind. I tried to play God with my own brother’s life and he let me. Everyone did.”

“He listened to you?”

Atsumu shakes his head, “crazy, right? He was lost and unsure, but I was confident, ya know? I just felt so certain I was doing the right thing and I think that’s the only reason why he let himself be led all this way.”

“So what changed?”

“Are ya kidding?” Atsumu looks at you, and when he realizes you don’t have a clue, he turns to face you. “The answer is you.”

It’s a fucked up thing for Atsumu to say. The words erupt an ache in your chest. You curl into yourself, bring your knees up so that you flinch away from the pain but Atsumu grabs hold of both of your hands. He grips tightly in an attempt to siphon the pain.

“A love like yours ain’t something easy to forget.”

You remember the hospital, “that’s what Ma said.”

“It’s exactly what she told him when he left. I don’t know how he found out, but I saw that he looked up Onigiri Miya the day before he left and he’s been gone since. For about two weeks now, I think.”

“No,” you shake your head, closing your eyes to soften the blow of his words but even in the darkness, a stinging, buzzing pain wracks through your body. It’s everywhere all at once but Atsumu holds you through it.

“I love ya. I promise, I do. There wasn’t a day I didn’t regret what I did, but believe me when I tell ya. I do. I love ya,” He takes your hands that have been bunched up into fists and presses them onto the soft skin below his eyes where it’s sticky and wet. “And I’m so sorry I had to put ya through this and made ya go through this all alone, so if ya moved on, if ya got someone else, I understand and I’ll figure something out.”

You try to pull yourself from his grip but Atsumu holds onto you, head bent in repentance and the sincerity of it all spouts more tears.

“I’ll handle Osamu if that’s the case. I know Akaashi’s a really good guy so–”

You take your conjoined hands and jab him across the forehead. Atsumu sputters in shock, letting you go in the process while he tries to soothe the pain.

“Does it look like I’ve moved on, idiot?” You knock soft fists into his chest like a child. “Would I be crying in what I consider my own brother’s arms in a park if I moved on?”

“I just wanted–”

“And Akaashi? Fucking Akaashi? He’s a good guy,” you mock, irritated, “of course he is. Shut up. You know I’m in love with your brother.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Stop hitting me. I said I was sorry already.”

You make sure to put some extra force in that final punch, “you’re going to say it for the rest of your life.”

Atsumu nods gratefully, “of course.”

“And,” the words hurt coming out, “and don’t run off on me again.”

What makes the tears slip this time is forgiveness. Atsumu holds your hand against his chest where you can feel his heart. You’ve missed him, longed for him just as much as you have Osamu and slowly, you feel yourself start to heal.

“He might not need a brother right now, but I do.”

Atsumu kisses you on the cheek and pulls you close. He holds you in his arms with the same exact care he had for Osamu in the hospital, with the same protectiveness of an elder brother.

Finally, you feel understood. 

Atsumu spends his off season in Hyogo where you find out Ma has moved back. Akaashi doesn’t take kindly to a change in routines, but he begins helping out where he can along with Ma. 

When Ma first sees you, all she can do is hold you at arm’s length, picking her vernacular apart with words that she wanted to say. You just shake your head and let yourself be swallowed by her cardigan comfort. She encourages you to come to family dinner and you have to ask if Akaashi is invited too. She pats his cheek and says of course like the question was unnecessary to begin with.

The world shifts almost exactly the way you imagined it. Life has a funny way of doing that. Atsumu helps around the restaurant and Ma stops by with some of her friends after an activity. She meets Asako who she adores and is adored just as equally. Ma takes ice cream duty from you while Atsumu, because it’s his off season, likes to overstay his welcome at your apartment. Akaashi kicks him out and the athlete tries to use Mumu as an excuse. Mumu, unfortunately, likes Atsumu even less than Akaashi.

Sometimes Atsumu will try to broach the topic of contacting Osamu, something that both you and Ma are against. Osamu has been through enough, you both reason. And he’s probably had his fill of someone telling him what to do.

The restaurant fills and though you know that yours or Akaashi’s food cannot compare, the laughter spills out the doors from friends and family and neighbors that continuously visit. They manage when you accidentally don’t order enough fish, opting for broth and rice and when you run out of beverages, someone offers to run to the convenience store to buy drinks.

It’s not a perfect venue, but it embodies Osamu’s very being, a place that has become a home.

One day, Akaashi is out of town and Atsumu helps you while he’s gone. He’s not as focused as your usual business partner, whose eyes continuously drift out onto the streets and he even leaves early when you haven’t finished clearing up for the day.

“Alright, I gotta go but I’ll lock the door,” Atsumu runs off quickly. “Ya can handle this, right?”

You look at the stack of dishes and the ready to go items that haven’t been put away yet. It’s not much, but it would certainly be easier if he stayed. Unfortunately, his question is apparently rhetorical because the man does not wait for an answer. He reiterates his farewell and with a jingle, the door is shut.

“Okay,” you say, blinking at his figure that eventually passes a corner and disappears. You scan your surroundings, running a mental image of what would be the most efficient process. Wipe down the tables, you decide. Some haven’t been bussed yet so you head over with a fresh rag and empty tray.

Atsumu likes to turn up the music the moment the o.mo.ide closes as a way to decompress. You hum along. It’s a mindless process now that you’ve done it so many times. Clear the tables. Sanitize the tables. Sanitize the chair. Bend down eye level with the table and make sure you haven’t missed any crumbs. You’re not even thinking, just lost in the routine and it’s why the sound of the bell startles you.

It’s so like Atsumu to forget to lock the door. You compose yourself with a slow inhale and prepare for an irate customer who might argue at your innocent error, but the breath expels from your mouth.

You stand there stupidly, hands holding your chest like you’re about to dive backwards into water. It’s that feeling, where two characters catch eyes on a crowded street. Despite everything that has happened and all that separates you, he holds you captive. Your feet are planted to the ground and everything, heart, mind, body, and breath is under his power.

“O – Oh…”

Even saying his name feels foreign because as much as you’ve thought of him, you can’t remember when was the last time you did. It feels foreign on your tongue and you can’t blurt anything out but the first letter, and you witness his demeanor change.

“Osamu,” you say only because you think it’ll make him smile. It does and because of it, you want to fall down on your knees.

Everything, everything that you had observed different about him, his hair that looks like he’s cut but is still longer than you remember, the cut of his jaw that’s sharper, his brows that he’d boast about being strong look trimmed, and even his choice of clothes is different, opting for a sleeveless tee over his favored oversized shirts, all of that is negligent because seeing him once more, you recognize he is still your Osamu.

“Hi,” he greets and your heart flutters. Was this really how it felt when you were falling in love because everything he does brings upon a desire that you doubt could ever be quelled. “Are ya closed?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly and the wilt of his face makes you overcompensate, “but– but it’s fine! You’re come in… I mean, oh…”

This is so fucking embarrassing. “You’re always welcome. Come in and have a seat wherever you want.”

He points at a bar seat with a head tilt. You nod and make sure to lock the door behind him. The bus tub, the rag, you forego it all and pass the swinging door that separates the register and eating area. Your hands perspire at the stress of perfection. It’s a foreign thing for him to be seated while you serve him and maybe it’s you overthinking, but it feels like he’s watching your every move.

Osamu quickly diverts his gaze when you turn around. His not so subtle glancing of the venue, head craned back as he looks at the decorations on the walls and the lighting fixtures you and Akaashi picked, amuses you but you try not to show it too hard. Osamu seems shyer than you’re used to. That’s okay. You’re nervous too.

“Did you come hungry?”

“I did.”

Ease washes over you. Thank the gods, that has stayed the same.

You apologize for the lack of options and Osamu tries to downplay the inconvenience. “It’s okay. I didn’t… Well I did, but I didn’t really come here to eat.”

“No?”

Osamu plays with a stray grain of rice between his fingers. He rolls the sticky piece into a ball, back and forth as he thinks of what he wants to say.

“No, I… To be honest, I didn’t think I was going to go inside.”

“Oh.”

“But I…” then he stops his rolling and he looks at you, like really looks at you. And whatever it is, you feel it too. “But I just had to.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah, well, it took me all up until closing to work up the courage.”

“That’s okay,” you tell him. You pull up the stool near the rear register and situate yourself across from him. The boundary that separates you two is familiar, 76 centimeters of space that you know by heart and it makes conversation flow smoother. “I’m happy you came at all. How was your day?”

“Shit.”

The answer takes you by surprise, him too by the way he stops chewing, lips puckering close together as he ruminates whether or not meant to say those words. But he owns them, and continues on.

“My smoothie spilled all over my cup holder.”

“Oh no. Did you ask for another one?”

“Pretty sure they tried to sabotage me by giving me a cracked cup.”

You break in the most unexpected way. A smile splits your lips and a giggle strikes through your chest. Everything feels so similar, so weightless. It feels like a dam has been broken with just a couple of words.

“It ain’t funny.”

You agree, “I know. It’s the worst.”

“Then why are ya laughing?”

“I don’t even know. It’s not funny at all.”

“It’s not. I had to stuff a bunch of napkins in there.”

“No, it’s going to get sticky!”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Cry.”

Osamu sputters, rice flying from his mouth. He’s embarrassed for only a millisecond, fearful of your reaction, but all it does is make you bend over, sincerely losing control of your body. Osamu joins you, laughing at who knows what, but you’re grateful. For as much pain misery brings, it takes so little for you to be happy.

“Fuck,” he says once he’s able to catch a breath. He says quietly with wonder and it has your giggles soften to match his energy. “I’ve imagined every way this meeting could go.”

Your heart constricts like it’s being pinched from the bottom. “Is it everything you thought it’d be?”

“No,” Osamu shakes his head genuinely. You almost apologize. “I thought I’d mess it all up but,” he looks at you and it’s the gaze you had been searching when he had first woken up all those years ago. A quiet ardor, soft around the edges but saturated in passion, “but I didn’t expect it to be so easy.”

“Stop,” you have to hide your lips.

Osamu doesn’t understand, back straightening, “what?”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Saying those things.”

His lips pucker themselves out, “why can’t I?”

“Because,” you blink furiously, willing the tears away because you want to remember this with clarity, “you’re making me too happy.”

He grins too, but it’s still shy as he bends his head down, nodding slightly as he does, “how do ya think I feel?”

There’s a calmness that settles now that your mania has subsided. Your eyes appraise, trying to find more topics to talk about so he can stay just a little longer.

“Are those cigarettes?” you observe the square box in his breast pocket.

He nods as he pulls them out, holding them in his hands as if they were novel.

“Are you smoking a lot?”

He looks at you curiously, “did I used to?”

The past tense makes you stumble, but you do your best to answer him honestly. “Sometimes. Only the bad days. That’s how we knew you were having a bad day because we’d smell them on you.”

He’d lean his chest against the railings like his body was too heavy, curved his body like a treble clef as he smoked. And often you’d find him in the alleyway, a cigarette in one hand and food for the cats in another.

“It’s crazy how I do shit without knowing the real meaning.”

You shrug, “habits are harder to break than memory.”

Osamu nods. A beat passes before he continues the conversation on his own.

“I’ve had this same pack since I left the hospital.” He opens it and reveals only a few sticks missing, “play with it for the most part but I’ll smoke one when I get overwhelmed. I dreamt of you once and my heart wouldn’t stop beating. I had to go outside and calm myself. Nearly gave Tsumu a heart attack when he noticed my bed was empty.”

“He’s a worrywort.”

The sound Osamu makes is not kind. There’s still animosity for his brother, “even more so now.”

“He means well.”

“Sure he does.”

“I’m sorry.”

Your apology takes him by surprise. Osamu shuts the pack and places it back in his pocket. “For what?”

“For, I don’t know.” A lot of things. For burdening him with faded memories, for not being who he needed, for not being enough, “for being in your dream.”

“What are ya saying? It was a good dream. It felt… nice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods earnestly while looking at you. “I can’t explain it because I really don’t know the specifics, but it felt good. Made me wish I dreamed about ya more.”

The sunset is almost complete, dark orange hues streak the tile floor. Osamu’s been done eating for minutes now. With his plate clean and the conversation running its course, it feels like a good place for this to end. But you don’t think you can part with him just yet. A culmination of yearning and grieving and mourning and aching has led to this and you’ll be damned if it’s over now.

You hop off the stool and Osamu sighs. He matches your movements, slowly getting up, too. He looks ready to leave but you won’t let him go without trying. Not this time.

“Would you like to see the back?”

“Really?” his giddiness prompts yours.

“Yeah, of course.” You lead him to the back and grab your apron. Then you point at the black one on the last hook closest to the back alley door . “Take that apron.”

He hooks his finger around the neck, “this one?”

You nod. “Yeah, that one’s yours.”

He takes it in his hand, shy and foreign in his fingers. It’s different, clumsier, but it’s familiar enough to let your heart burn.

He pulls the fabric over his head and adjusts it along his shoulder. The apron is knotted up by habit, his hands reaching there after the three usual tugs and when he looks up, your stomach swirls at the sight of his beam.

He’s everything you’ve missed in more ways than one, but finally, thank gods, finally. He’s right where he belongs.

[drafthorsemath]

Waking Up and Coming Home

A/N: I wanted to explore what might happen if CX-2 really was Tech, what it's like when he wakes up after being impaled, how he survives, and what it might be like for him to get home and find his own happiness. Includes TechPhee and a reason Omega keeps Tech's goggles.

Warnings: Tech wakes up and realizes he has cybernetic implants, drug withdraw, nausea, being impaled, PTSD, cybernetic surgery, Tech finds Crosshair's hand

Word Count: 5.568k

Tech took a sharp breath. He was vertically pinned to something. He tried breathing through the mask, but something was different. The usual smell and taste that accompanied the mask was gone although it was still on. The fog that plagued him was lifting. He instinctively reached down and found an electrospear just below his sternum, only he felt no pain. He blinked several times and removed the helmet. He had no memory of being given this armor. There was no blood and the electrospear was out of power. He felt a series of wires and tubes around the spear and absent-mindedly kept looking around for someone. All he saw were other bodies of those in armor similar to his own and some regs in what he could only assume was prison garb. One of the tubes in his abdomen appeared to be leaking. Was that oil? It didn’t smell or look like blood. He didn’t have time to think about it. Instead, he grabbed the spear and pulled as hard as he could. It was no good. He decided to observe and allow himself to wake up further from his trance. Was he really going to die hanging in the middle of… this was Tantiss wasn’t it? He remembered fighting someone. He remembered flying a ship. He remembered trying to fight his own mind, but he was so far away from his actions. His mind was still not completely his own, but he noticed the gas around the CX chambers had dissipated. Those prisons. That disgusting concoction. Tears came to his eyes as he shook. His breath caught in his throat when he remembered the smirk on Hemlock’s face as he described how Crosshair suffered. Hemlock had perfected his methods since that failure and Tech worried his brother had perished. It didn’t help that he was still stuck in place. Trapped. Just as he had been when he woke up in the containment chamber with a series of cybernetic implants. Arrogant as always, Hemlock enjoyed explaining how this chamber would shape his mind and how it was an advanced form of the same technology that was used to enhance Crosshair’s chip on that fateful day on Kamino.

Tech took another breath and tried moving. He felt a piece of metal on the floor just high enough he could pull it closer with his foot. He tried using that for a little leverage since his own weight made it harder to remove the metal rod stuck in his torso. As he wiggled around, pulled on the spear, and took some deep breaths, the object dislodged from its location behind him and he was able to carefully remove himself and it. He took more deep breaths and looked around. He checked on the other clones whose bodies lay around the room. CX or prisoner, it didn’t matter. They’d all been prisoners. Each time he felt for a pulse and found none he lost a little more hope. He was the only one alive. How long had he been alone in this room? Judging by the condition of the bodies, it hadn’t been too long. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in yet, so less than eight hours.

He sat down briefly and reminded himself to continue to breathe. He kept trying to tell himself that the air was safe now. He had resisted inhaling Hemlock’s toxins, but when constrained, there was no choice. Now, Tech’s mind hadn’t been this clear since Plan 99. Not only did each CX chamber include a gaseous drug the clones continually inhaled, but Hemlock ensured they received a steady dose of the same electric torture that started the process. Tech tugged at the hole the spear created in his armor and looked at his cybernetic abdomen. Tubes that allowed for blood flow were thankfully working. There was a contraption that served as a diaphragm. He hypothesized that it seized up when the electrospear hit him, but started working again not long after, spurred on by his living body’s own neurons. Other tubes seemed to be used for digestion, but those were empty and at least one appeared torn. He reached for the comm badge on his arm near his shoulder, but it was gone. Why did he think there was a comm badge there? Tech didn’t have that. The CX did. He started putting more pieces together. Hemlock had taken it. Tears came to his eyes again when he realized that he helped bring Omega in. It must have been him. He remembered glimpses, but that was all.

He wandered around the room and picked up a blaster in case he wasn’t alone in the facility. Although it was so quiet he could only hear some hounds howling outside, he didn’t want to take chances. As he made his way through the room and wider facility, he found a hand on the floor. Oh no. He knew that hand and its armor. Crosshair. He dared not touch it. At this point even if Crosshair was there, reattaching the hand wouldn’t work after this amount of time. Had he done that? He searched for the bodies of any of his siblings, but they were nowhere to be found and he felt a little relief even though he wasn’t sure where they were.

Tears came to his eyes as he suddenly thought about the CX chambers. What it meant to be a CX. How they weren’t sent out for long, or the conditioning would surely wear off. Their masks had a small supply of the chemical, but it wouldn’t last forever. It drove each man forward when they were released. It kept him obedient.

He wandered the halls some more before returning to the spot where he woke up earlier and examined the inner workings of his discarded helmet now that his mind was a bit clearer. There was some trapped gas in a small chamber, but it appeared the wiring meant to steadily release the toxin had short-circuited. Tech gasped at the revelation and gingerly held the helmet. In a fit of anger, he threw it as far as he could. The sound of it hitting a distant wall echoed through the facility.

Tech swallowed, closed his eyes, and breathed in the stale but clean air. He pictured the sunset on Pabu with Phee. Where was Phee? Where was he now? He was certain this was Tantiss, but exactly where was Tantiss? And how long would his cybernetics last without some help? He headed down another hallway and searched for some tools but wasn’t quite able to see straight or think straight. Echo could help. Could Echo find him?  Did his family know where Tantiss was yet? Wait. Yes because Crosshair’s hand was wearing his old armor, although Tech noted it was stripped. Or was his mind playing tricks on him? Tears came to his eyes and he reminded himself that he hadn’t found the rest of his brother yet. Or the rest of their squad. He hoped they were long gone. Had they been successful in his absence? He wandered the facility and eventually found a communications array. At this point he was sure the Empire had abandoned this place, but he couldn’t quite punch in the code to get a signal out. What if it was tracked? He cursed his slow mind and lack of clear decision-making ability. He didn’t want to take risks with this.

He found solace in walking. He had a better idea of the layout of the facility and as he kept breathing and moving, his mind cleared further. He wasn’t sure what else to do. He found what must have been living quarters for some TK troopers and pocketed a few small items that were left behind including a piece of jewelry he hoped would be worth something. Anything to buy him passage to a safe location.  That was the plan now. Surely someone else lived on this planet or would visit. His search yielded some clean prison clothes and he decided those would do. He carefully took off his belt and stepped out of the wretched armor. He would rather walk out of this facility naked than wear it any longer. Putting on the new clothes was a bit of a task, but he was in minimal pain compared to how he looked. The belt with pockets was the only part of the armor he put back on. Those would come in handy even if there were fewer pouches than he preferred. Now was not the time to be picky.

Tech wandered down yet another hallway, picked up an abandoned datapad, and scrolled through the downloaded files. They were scientific records of some sort. His mind still foggy, he couldn’t quiet comprehend everything it said, but stuffed it between his body and his belt for later analysis. He noticed there was a broken ship in the hangar, and while his investigation proved it could fly, he didn’t trust that it wouldn’t be tracked. He somehow knew that he had caused more pain than he could remember and didn’t want to risk anything else by leading the enemy to Pabu. He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of another ship landing in the next hangar bay. It wasn’t the Empire. Pirates? It surely seemed so. If they were pirates, then they might give him a ride to a safer location if he had something to trade. The jewelry he pocketed might be enough, but he had a hunch pirates might be more interested in something a little sharper. He wasted no time heading back to the CX chambers. He picked up the unique sniper rifle and all the CX weapons. He sighed as he looked at the other clones. His other brothers. He didn’t even know them, but it didn’t change his feeling toward them. They had all been through some form of hell together yet isolated.

Tech headed back toward the hangar and startled what turned out to be a lone pirate. He found the man lazily looking through crates in the hangar before he spotted Tech.

“I was told this place was abandoned,” the weequay said as he pointed a blaster in Tech’s direction.

“It is,” Tech answered. “I was left for dead.”

“You are not bleeding?” he asked.

“I suppose not,” Tech answered, “although I am unsure of the details. It appears I was drugged and have some sort of cybernetic enhancements.”

The pirate huffed.

“And what do you plan on doing with those interesting looking weapons?” he asked with a grin.

“An exchange,” Tech responded flatly. “I need a ride away from here and you’re my safest bet.”

He tried to think more clearly and took some more breaths while the pirate considered his offer.

“Out of curiosity, how did you find this place?” Tech asked.

The man grinned again and responded, “Lower-level imperials quickly figured out that they will be paid well for information. Abandoned facilities are gold mines. I can sell those blades for a good price. I assume those are one of a kind.”

“To my knowledge, yes,” Tech replied.

The pirate nodded and examined the weapons without moving closer, although he was sure this man had no intention of hurting him.

“I’m afraid time is of the essence,” Tech said, feeling fresh pain in his torso where mechanics now lived.

“If I leave now, I may miss out on something more profitable before the scavengers show up.”

“I’ll give you every weapon here but the blaster on my belt,” Tech said. He was already planning on doing this but framing it as a bonus had an impact on the pirate.

“Very well. How far do you need to go?”

Tech didn’t want to give away his ultimate destination of Pabu, but knew if he could get to Ord Mantell, he could potentially contact one of his brothers or Phee. Cid had left them high and dry last he remembered, so he would be sure to avoid her. The pirate agreed and had Tech shuffle onto the ship with a blaster to his back. This guy was not going to risk Tech turning on him and taking his ship. The pirate put his prize away and Tech sat down. The trip was quick enough, and Tech was sure the weequay would turn around for Tantiss again as soon as he was off the ship.

“You’ve reached your destination,” the pirate said as soon as he landed. “Now, off my ship.”

Tech got up to leave but reached into one of the pouches that remained on his person. He pulled out the necklace he found earlier and stated, “I’ll give you this for a working comm device.”

The man bit his lip and huffed. He should have driven a harder bargain sooner, but he was so enraptured with the vibroblades he got distracted.

“Fine,” he said, snatching the jewelry and hanging Tech a small comm.

Tech nodded and shuffled off the ship. He was met with the smell of mantell mix but stopped himself. He had no money, and he wasn’t sure he could even digest food normally at this point. Instead, he found a quiet location on the outskirts of town and comm’d Echo. It seemed the safest bet and Echo has the most experience with cybernetics should he have an emergency before reaching Pabu.

“Havoc 4? Echo, I need your help.”

Echo picked up immediately upon recognizing the voice.

“Tech?!”

“Affirmative.”

“Where are you? What happened?”

“Ord Mantell. I will send you coordinates to my location via this comm, but I cannot promise it will be perfectly accurate.”

“Do you need medical attention?” came another voice. It was Gregor.

“I may, but it appears I now have cybernetic implants. I was on Tantiss and woke up in a daze. At least I’m fairly certain that’s where I was.” Echo and Gregor heard him sigh in a way they’d never heard before. “I am certain I’ve done things I regret, although my memory is not great, and I don’t know the extent of my injuries, although I appear stable.”

Echo understood.

“We’re on our way,” replied Echo. “Leaving Pantora. The others are on Pabu. Just keep away from Cid.”

“I have no intention of finding her,” Tech said.

“Good,” Gregor said. “She only got worse.”

Tech didn’t inquire about that right now. He was sure he’d get the full story soon enough. He waited some time and at one point was worried something happened. He tried not to think about it too much. His mind was still blurry and he felt like he was going to be sick. What he didn’t know was that Echo had quickly left Pantora to head back to Pabu and pick up Crosshair. Wrecker, Hunter, and Omega wanted to come too, but Crosshair suggested he go alone with Echo and Gregor. Based on Tech’s message relayed from Echo, he knew at least part of what his brother had been through, and it seemed a good idea to take a little extra time getting to Tech and have Crosshair’s help.

Gregor landed the ship and prepared the one bunk with all the blankets they had. Crosshair insisted they would need it. Echo comm’d Tech again. They were only about one klick from the ship. Despite the intense stress of the last few days, Crosshair and Echo summoned their strength to run. They found Tech sitting with his back to a wall, seemingly dozing but very much alive, and both crouched down in front of him.

“Tech?” Crosshair asked.

Tech opened his eyes and saw his brother for the first time since Kamino. His eyes tracked down to where Crosshair’s hand had been and he froze.

“I did that, didn’t I?” Tech asked. The blood drained out of his face and he started retching.

“It’s not your fault,” Crosshair said as he reached for his brother. He and Echo helped Tech up and the three headed to the ship.

Crosshair sat with him on the bunk. Gregor took off for Pabu while Tech peeled back his clothing to allow Echo to help assess the cybernetic device.

“It looks like two of these tubes were pulled apart,” Echo said. “I can try reattaching them and it looks like then you should be able to eat small amounts until we can replace them.”

“Very well,” Tech replied.

Crosshair helped him lay back and assisted Echo with the procedure. Despite only having two working hands between them, it was more than adequate. The tubes were torn from the impact of the electrospear, but the torn ends were cut and the tubes new flat ends reattached. Tech could feel a tug from the shortened pieces, but it was nothing compared to how bad it could have been. Most of the wiring had simply been pushed aside by the spear.

“Not sure how we can close all this up,” Echo said, referring to the abdominal panel covering the cybernetic.

“That is a problem for another time, I think,” Tech replied. “It’s not affecting life support.”

Crosshair nodded in agreement and Echo returned to the co-pilot’s seat at the front of the ship.

“Here,” Crosshair said, lifting a thermos of warm liquid.

Tech nodded when he smelled the broth. He hadn’t been this hungry in a long time and tried to gulp down any calories he could.

“Take it easy,” Crosshair said. “Don’t make yourself sick. I know what’s coming.”

Tech looked at him and nodded. He slowed his pace and took a deep breath as the vegetable broth settled his belly.

“I believe I am experiencing drug withdraws, Crosshair.”

“Mm.”

“It will get worse, yes?”

Crosshair nodded.

“How long?”

“It was weeks for me. Worse for others. The fastest recovery I saw was ten rotations.” His eyes darted before he added, “Hemlock said he improved the conditioning process. It might be longer for you.”

Tech nodded. He finished the broth and laid back down. Crosshair laid down with him. Tech hadn’t realized just how cold and shaky he was until Crosshair held him. His brother pulled a thick blanket over both of them and did his best to help Tech feel comfortable.

By the time they were on Pabu, Tech felt like his body was full of daggers and fever. He kept calling out for help even though his brothers were helping to the best of their ability. Phee, Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega had prepared the bed that was his prior to Eriadu. Crosshair stayed there after Tech’s fall, but now Wrecker had rearranged the bed situation so there was room for Tech and someone to be at his side the whole time. More than a few tears were shed as Crosshair helped Tech stumble off the ship and into the home. Gregor checked in with Rex and took the ship to rendezvous with the boys, leaving Echo behind for now.

They tried to get Tech in bed so he could rest, but he fought against any blankets put on him, seemingly frightened he was back in Hemlock’s lab and being restrained. While it was upsetting to watch, Crosshair calmly reminded him that he was safe and gently helped his brother take in what was familiar. The sheets felt like Pabu. The air smelled clean. He could hear the ocean. The voices and faces of those around him were real. Tech started to calm just enough to lay in bed. He shook violently and his mind seemed to be in two places.

“Sedative,” Tech managed to get out, looking into his brother’s eyes. Crosshair nodded.

“Are you sure,” Hunter asked.

“It’s what I would want too,” Crosshair replied.

Hunter nodded and got the med kit. Phee had already made sure to stockpile what medication she could find on the island and was already making a list of other things they might need for a supply run. She watched in uncertainty as Hunter gave Tech the injection and it immediately took effect.

“Phee,” Tech managed as his body gave in to the medication.

“Hey Brown Eyes,” she answered softly.

He reached his hand out and she took it as she kneeled next to his bed.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, Tech.” That was all she could say before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he fell asleep.

While he was out, Echo and Hunter had a look at his cybernetics as best they could while the others looked on. The person most qualified to work on these was Tech himself, but he wasn’t in any shape to do so. There was a lot of back and forth about what should be done. His heart was beating. He was breathing. He could eat and digest. There was just some tubing that needed replacing and a giant hole through the front and back of his torso. They decided to wait on any internal fixes for now but weren’t sure how to address the hole through the front and back metal panels in his middle.

“We should cover it up,” Wrecker suggested.

“With what?” Echo asked.

“I dunno,” came the response.

“Can we bend the pieces so they lay flatter against him?” Omega asked.

“I could try that,” Wrecker said. “But I don’t want to break something and hurt him either.”

“Why don’t we cut off the parts that are sticking out, and screw on a panel to each side to at least keep him covered up and protected?” Phee asked.

“Probably our best option,” Hunter replied.

Wrecker picked up his brother and carried him to his workbench. It was the safest spot for removing pieces of metal. Tech was completely out. Echo removed the sharp edges and Phee and Crosshair found some scrap metal in the right size. Echo managed to connect the front piece before Wrecker rolled Tech over and made sure he was as comfortable as could be. Once they were sure every component inside his abdomen was secure, Echo attached the back panel. The largest clone then lifted his brother and carried him back to bed.

The rest of the night was a cycle of Tech sleeping, waking with a start, shaking, and fighting invisible monsters. Crosshair spent the first night sleeping next to him. Whenever Tech would shake or lash out, he would hold him until they both fell asleep again. Crosshair’s heart was heavy. He knew none of this was Tech’s fault. If anything, he felt pangs of guilt for staying in the Empire so long. He took a deep breath as he held his shaking brother. It took work, but he was starting to accept that it wasn’t all his fault, thanks in no small part to his sister constantly reminding him. The Empire kept him prisoner. Hemlock experimented on him and tortured him. He tried escaping multiple times before he and Omega were successful. A yawn hit him and he relaxed further. Tech’s soft snores made him smile. He would do whatever it took to make sure this family was okay.

In the morning, the sedative had worked its way through Tech’s system and he’d slept through the remaining exhaustion. He woke up next to Crosshair and felt the warm sun greet him. His eyes tried to adjust, but he realized that some of his dizziness was the result of the fall damaging his eyes. His pupils kept trying to adjust to take in as much information as possible and he couldn’t find his goggles.

“What is it?” Crosshair asked.

“My goggles,” he said.

“They’re in the Archium,” Phee answered as she appeared in the doorway with some breakfast.

Tech looked up at her and tried to smile. Phee sat next to the bed while the two men ate. Tech continued to have bouts of shakiness, but greedily ate the meal in front of him.

“Take it easy Brown Eyes.”

Tech felt heat creep on his face at hearing the nickname with a clearer mind.

“I don’t remember when I ate last, aside from the broth yesterday.”

“How do you feel?” she asked.

Tech looked down at the mended hole over his torso and moved his limbs a little.

“My eyes are struggling to focus and the shakiness is returning.” Tech swallowed some hot tea and looked at his hands. “I keep having flashbacks.”

“It will get better,” Crosshair reassured him. Tech felt comfort knowing his brother had overcome this conditioning and while Hemlock’s methods on Tech were worse, he was confident he could work through this.

“If I got you some tools and supplies, do you want to try making some new goggles?” Phee asked.

Tech nodded. “I should scan my eyes first to determine the type of lenses, but then yes.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she replied.

Omega and Wrecker overheard the conversation and ran to retrieve the beloved item from the Archium. Tech was shaking and sweating again with Crosshair still by his side and Hunter joining them. Omega silently held out the goggles to Tech. They talked about how they obtained them and how precious they’d become. Tech held them in his hands and stared back at them like looking at a former version of himself.

“Better to start from scratch,” he said, holding the googles out to Omega. “Feel free to throw them out.”

“I’d rather keep them” Omega replied.

“Why?” Tech asked.

“You were wearing them when you taught me to fly,” she answered. “They’re special to me. To us.”

“Very well,” Tech replied with a smile. He tried taking some steadying breaths, but continued to shake. To take his mind off things, he looked at the spot where Crosshair’s hand once was.

“I could make you a cybernetic hand if you are interested.”

“I know you can,” Crosshair replied. “For now, let’s focus on you.”

Tech nodded. He was in no shape to build something as his body continued experiencing withdraws, but he could think about what he wanted to make. He could visualize his new goggles and Crosshair’s new hand. He could picture a life here. He could picture himself being a bit more forward with Phee. He could picture flying with Omega again. Sitting on the beach with Hunter while Wrecker fished. Sitting with Crosshair and talking about something he was researching while Crosshair sat and listened. Now that he thought about it, his often-silent brother hadn’t been this affectionate since they were cadets. War changed them. The Empire changed them. Change was part of life. This was a good change, though.

As the days went on, his withdraw symptoms became easier to handle. He had ups and downs but they were, as he put it, damped oscillations. Batcher also made herself known and curled up with him at least once a day. She had a calming presence just like his siblings. Even when his insides felt like they were vibrating and overheating, every calming presence helped.

Hunter sat with him and when he was ready, got him up to speed on things. He was the one who drew the short straw and had to tell Tech that the Marauder not only blew up, but who blew it up.

“Is Gonky alright?” was the next question out of Tech’s mouth.

“He is,” Hunter assured. “Wrecker got him away just in time.”

“Good.”

Somehow, despite it all, the family made it out of the Empire’s clutches.

Several weeks into his recovery, Tech finished his new goggles and started working on Crosshair’s hand. He was not as efficient as he normally was, but he was still recovering. With each little project he started to feel more like himself.

When he finally felt well enough, he asked Phee and Omega for help to better fix his cybernetic.

“I will do everything in the front, but I need you two to help with the back,” he said.

“What about the others?” Omega asked. “They could help too.”

“Our brothers are busy today helping some new residents move in,” Tech replied. “I am ready, and you are both more than qualified to help, if you would like.”

Phee and Omega shared a look. It was clear that Tech was done waiting now that his withdraw symptoms were finally gone and he had an idea of how he wanted to approach this. They discussed the plan and so ten weeks to the day after he came home, Tech took his shirt off, and sat backwards in a chair next to his workbench so the surgery could begin.

“You sure this won’t hurt?” Omega asked.

“I will inform you if it does, but none of the cybernetics have hurt yet,” he replied. “The only pain occurred in my living tissue.”

Phee looked at Omega and took a breath.

“Alright,” Phee said. “Here we go.”

She removed the plate Echo had hastily applied to Tech’s back all those weeks ago. Most of the work involved better flattening the pierced edges where the spear had torn through. Echo and Hunter had done a good job getting the bulk of the metal frame removed around the hole, but it was still uneven. Phee took her time and Omega wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her work with that level of gentleness and care. Phee was always thorough and precise, but there was something different about this. Omega handed her tools as needed and then took a picture for Tech to see what it looked like before they closed up his back cybernetic plate.

“Well done,” was all he could say about it.

Phee sealed the back plate closed and they helped Tech sit up. It felt much more solid, even without addressing the larger hole in his front. Tech itched to get to work on himself. He sat up and decided that it would be easier to work if he was laying along the workbench at an incline. Phee got him a series of supportive pillows and cushions so he could lay back without being flat. This allowed the cybernetic tubing to relax and give him a bit more room to work. Omega positioned a mirror in front of him so he could watch himself work without straining his neck. Tech didn’t waste any time. He removed the temporary plate, inspected the internal wiring, and secured one piece that was not as well attached as he would like. Phee handed him tools so he could focus on his work. He removed the tube that acted as the bottom of his esophagus and removed it carefully. He secured a slightly longer and wider tube in its place. Once he was pleased with the position, he sat up and moved around to be sure it wasn’t tight like the original had been. Satisfied, he laid back down and widened the hole in his abdomen plate.

“Tech?” Omega asked. “What are you doing?”

“Creating a rectangular opening,” he replied.

Phee smiled. She had a feeling he was going to try something like this. Tech shared a warm look with her before picking up the pieces of plating that had protected him since his return and trying to rearrange them.

“Wait a minute,” Phee said.

Tech and Omega watched her hurry onto her ship, and she quickly returned with a square piece of metal painted in a familiar shade of blue with a bit of orange along the edge.

“I had to replace this piece on my ship. Looks like it might be the right size.”

Tech gladly examined the piece and silently noted the paint job before sharing another smile with her. With a small adjustment, it perfectly fit the rectangular hole in his stomach. Phee retrieved some hinges and watched him determine how to fit it all together. It wasn’t enough for Tech to fix his own cybernetic. He had to enhance it by giving it a door.

“Secure, but easier access in case of an emergency,” he explained.

Omega put his tools back where he liked them while Phee helped him sit up. He twisted his upper body around and looked pleased.

“Comfortable?” Phee asked.

Tech nodded. “I am still getting used to it, but this is an improvement.”

Omega watched a little awkwardly, but decided it was time to make her exit given how Phee looked at her brother while helping him put his shirt back on.

“I’ll see you around!” Omega said before skipping back home.

“Walk with me?” Phee asked.

Tech nodded and they headed down the path meandering through town and down to the water. Tech felt a little unsure, but paused and held out his hand toward her just a little. Phee took it in her own and leaned into him before they continued their jaunt.

“I keep thinking I’ll wake up and you’ll still be gone,” she admitted.

“That is merely your brain trying to process the situation,” he explained. After pausing a moment and considering what he knew of her he added, “I will do my best to remind you that I’m back until you are certain.”

Phee squeezed his hand a little and nodded.

“You want to get some dinner?” she asked.

“I suspect my family is already partially through their meal,” he replied, noting the time.

“I mean just with me, Tech. Would you like to have dinner with me?”

His eyes widened before a smile pulled on the corners of his mouth.

“That sounds wonderful, Phee.”

[watchoutforthefanfics]

Ticking Love Bomb (Part One) || Eleventh Doctor × gn!Reader

Part 1...

Summary: Your adventure with the Doctor and the Ponds takes a harsh turn when it seems you're targeted with a potion. A love potion, specifically the type where you fall in love with whoever's eyes you met first after "drinking" it. But what if you're already in love with him?

TWS: aliens, space, references of guns, smoke, unrequited love (but not really), self sacrificial attitudes, and purely oblivious people. Also, just a touch of angst (typical of a love confession).

A/N: This is a lil angsty so be ready!!! Enjoy :)

The room was filling with a sort of pink gas, at least it looked pink. Maybe like a salmon color?

The walls were bland, white and tall, and the lights were fluorescent. If you didn't know any better, you would've assumed you were in a hospital of some kind.

"Uh, Doctor… What-" you spoke watching as the gas pooled in around your feet, "What is that?"

He paused, taking a few sniffs, and mumbling to himself before answering, "A potion. They must-"

He stopped, eyebrows drawn in confusion, "Well, they must not know who I am, this won't work on Gallifreyans. It's kind of like that one poison that just makes us sleep for a few centuries but could turn a human to dust-"

"Doctor," you interrupted, hand placed on his shoulder to shake him out of his mind, "-as much as I love a bit of rambling, now's really not the time."

"Right," he corrected, straightening up and glancing around the room (for an escape you assumed), "-I don't see-"

"Hello, my doves," a voice boomed through the room, bouncing off the terribly empty walls, "-having fun yet, are we?"

It was prim and proper, a thick accent in a tone you recognized as 'all-knowing'. She seemed to be readily in control of the situation, and the Doctor… didn't seem to have a clue.

"What is it? What is she filtering in here?"

"Well," he answered, peering at the gas which was now at mid-calf, "-I'm not entirely sure. My best guess is it's a mix of potions, hastily made based on the composition. There's no real proper composure to it, an amateur is the most suspect. Or maybe someone who just wants results?"

"Doctor," you groaned, your fingers starting to swirl the pink around you, "-what is it and how will it affect me?"

"Human, right," he blinked, looking at you solidly for a moment, before turning down to his sonic, watching it buzz, "-I'll see what components are in it and that should-"

He stopped mid-sentence, body frozen and eyebrows furrowed even more, and… was he- was he blushing?

"You must understand now?" The voice continued, tone light with amusement, "The potion was never for you, Doctor; it really was to tear you away from your sidekick. I know how terribly fond you are of them in particular, and thought… this may be the perfect leverage opportunity."

"Doctor, what are they talking about?"

He didn't answer you, just set his eyes on what appeared to be a camera in the corner, "What do you want from me?"

You blinked, ready to argue with the Doctor about just… giving in (the Universe was far more important than you), but something else caught your attention.

It was the smell, god, it smelt just like roses in here. So fresh and beautiful, you could almost smell the morning dew on the thorns. It was so… wonderful.

"Y/N?" he spoke, you knew that voice, you really did, but it just smelt so nice in here. You couldn't help but picture the velvety petals beneath your fingertips, the grass underneath your shoes, the rays of sun on your face.

In an instant, your eyes fluttered shut -finding comfort in the warmth. It was like a warm sunny day on the beach, so nice to just… absorb.

"Y/N, darling-" the voice continued, "-can you hear me?"

And just like that, your brain was doused in, what felt like, a cold bucket of water -the rosy pink glow in your head faded, leaving a bit of paranoia in its wake.

"Alright, Y/N," he explained, calmly, "-listen to me carefully, don't-"

Before he could even finish, your eyes flew open, eyes landing on his green ones -searching for some solace. It was almost an instinct, hearing his voice, you just had to search for him.

"Y/N, wait-" He sputtered, eyes connecting with yours, "-why do you never listen to me? You weren't supposed to-"

He paused, staring at you for a moment (almost analyzing you), you blinked.

"Y/N, are you… are you feeling anything?"

"I, uh," you paused rubbing at your eyes for a second and just having a little check in, "-I don't feel anything different, why? Am I supposed to?"

"Well," he looked at you in wonder, and did that thing where he scrambled for a moment, "-yes."

"What?" The voice boomed again, disbelief coating her tone, "You… Why didn't it work? Doctor, what have you done?"

"I didn't-"

You interrupted, confused, "Wait, what's supposed to be happening to me right now?"

The voice answered, a bit more polite than an assumed antagonist should, "You are supposed to fall in love with whomever you see, it's perfectly disposed in the human genes, I don't-"

You blinked, oh.

"Well, I don't-" you inhaled, trying to calm your internal storm at the fact that the Doctor was looking at you like he just knew, but he couldn't have (could he?), "I feel normal, so…"

"Well, then," she spoke, tone a bit surprised but seemingly knowing, "-let's just hope we don't have any after effects, shall we?"

"What do you-"

The Doctor interrupted, voice stern, "Your potion just didn't work, there are no after effects."

"We shall see, Doctor, we shall see."

And with that… ominous answer, there was a click on the large gray door that had sealed them off before, an unlocking -assumedly.

In an instant, the Doctor grabbed your hand, and pulled you out of the room -where the fumes still lingered. You could smell the hint of roses in the air, and your head started to hurt a little bit from the memory of how strong it once was.

"Hey uh, Doctor?" You asked, slowly following a step behind him through the cavernous hallways, "What did they-"

"Shush," he spun around to you, and without hesitation, put his fingers to your neck (checking a pulse?), "-okay, good. A little fast but, alright so far.

Your face was burning hot and you could barely breathe. Your skin tingling where his fingers once were.

"Doctor, can you please explain what's going on? You act like I'm a ticking time bomb-"

He flinched.

"Wait, am I-" you exhaled shakily, pulling your hand out of his, "-am I on a timer? I can't hurt you, I really can't-"

"Y/N," he spoke, voice soft -a kind of gentle whisper-, "-calm down, okay?"

"I'm not-" you huffed, voice shaking ever-so-slightly, "I can't until you tell me what's going on!"

He exhaled, a deep sigh through his body, and you knew that look in his eyes well, an old man who'd seen worlds crash and burn.

"A lot of people have this idea that putting 2 similar things alike can make a better thing," he began, "-objectively, anyway. Scientifically through, that doesn't work, things clash and spark and burst. Like putting two ends of a magnet close to each other, they repel."

“And, that means?” you asked, tone questioning.

"The person who did this to you, tried to make a, objectively, better potion that was compiled of the same things that 2 other potions had," he continued, hand still locked with yours as you roamed down the hall, "This, being done haphazardly didn't really work."

“So, what, Doctor? What’s-”

“Your-” he started, eyes falling in a huff, “-Your heart is a ticking time bomb.”

[20nugs]

the reader and matt being at a party and the reader gets drunk and matt helps her 🥺

Accident (Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader)

summary: REQUEST

cw: VOMITING. drunk😦

a/n: rahh comforting Matt

___

I never drink, ever. It's just not something I do. So how have I find myself stumbling towards the bathroom at a party, my boyfriend nowhere to be seen and bile creeping up my throat?

At some point in the night, someone had offered me a drink. I took it and went back for seconds, thirds, and fourths, not knowing it was alcohol. How am I going to explain this to Matt?

I slam into the bathroom, startling a kissing couple who grumble as they see me crumple to the ground in front of the toilet, stepping over me and leaving. The room spins as I lift the toilet seat with shaky hands. I immediately throw up into the toilet, gripping the bowl. I feel a hand hold my hair back for me, and I look up after wiping my mouth to see Matt.

"Woah baby, what happened? You're drunk? Are you okay?" He asks in a flurry, kneeling next to me with a panicked expression, his eyes scanning my face. I just turn back to the toilet, throwing up some more, tears running down my face at the pounding of my head and the awful burn of vomit in my throat. The room spins even more, and after throwing up all I can, I sit back, tears running down my face.

"I didn't know Matt," I sob. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it was alcohol."

"It's okay sweetheart, I'm not upset, just worried," Matt quietly reassures. He gently helps me stand up, and flushes the toilet, takes a piece of toilet paper and carefully wipes off my face after wetting it. Then he leads me out, weaving me smoothly through the crowd, grabbing a water bottle on the way over to Chris. He taps Chris's shoulder, letting him know he's leaving with me. Chris takes a look at me then nods before going back to partying.

We make it outdoors, the cold air chilling me to my bones. Matt takes off his jacket and gives it to me, the feel and scent of his clothes calming me. He kisses my forehead before opening the car door for me, handing me the water before getting into the driver's seat. "M'sorry Matt," I murmur, leaning my head against the window.

Matt's hand slides up and down my thigh soothingly. "Don't be," he says softly. "It happens sometimes. I should've been there with you." I take a mint from the glove box and pop one into my mouth. I wait for it to dissolve before pecking Matt on the mouth at a red light. He immediately smiles and kisses me back, his hands leaving the wheel and finding my waist. We would've continued like this if we weren't at a dead stop at a green light. A car honks it's horn at us and Matt pulls away. "Shit," he laughs before stepping on the gas. He keeps one hand on the wheel and the other on my upper thigh as he drives us home. He glances at me every so often, checking on me. Eventually I doze off, falling asleep with my hand over his and my face smushed against the window.

I wake up later to Matt carrying me up our stairs in our own home. He smiles down at me as I stir. "Hey baby," he mumbles as reaches the top of the stairs. "Do you wanna take a shower or do you wanna just go to bed?"

"I wanna take a shower," I murmur. "I probably smell bad."

Matt laughs. "You smell fine sweetheart," he says, kissing my lips lovingly. "I'll take you to the bathroom, though."

He takes me into the bathroom, turns on the water, and covers his eyes with his hands respectfully so I can take off my clothes. I smile at his courtesy and take off my clothes, stepping into the warm shower and closing the curtain behind me. Matt talks to me for the entire shower, making sure I know he's still there. After the shower he leaves only for a moment to get our bed ready for me. He comes back after I'm dressed and leads me to our bed, letting me get in it and hopping into the shower quickly himself.

I doze off as he showers, but after a short while, I feel his arms wrap around me. His lips press a lazy kiss to my forehead. He's clearly exhausted. "I love you," he murmurs, his head finding the crook of my neck. He plants a soft kiss to my neck, and my breath hitches as I smile sleepily.

"I love you too," I mumble. His arms tighten against me in response as we both fall into a calming sleep.

____

a/n: yippie I wrote again

jumping off of a cliff im so tired

anywho lmk if you see any errors, I love you guys!! don't be afraid to send in requests!

[downundergarfield]

Support classes reaction to reader getting jealous? Like the merc is getting a lot of attention from like idfk a group of women getting gas at a gas station and reader is just like : |

Support classes react to a reader getting jealous!

It's something to think about, so keep these three men In awkward situations, I know you like to watch it.

Medic It smelled of blood and meat. This is not surprising, because you spent time with your favorite psychiatric doctor. The man was collecting someone's insides in a container. Fortunately for him, this someone will not wake up, it will not cause problems. You were sitting with him, on the lookout. The door, the existence of which you did not even know, opened with an unpleasant creak. Ludwig yelped, covering his crime with his back, you slowly approached him. "-Oh, there you are, Dr. Doe! I've been looking for you everywhere! And you, of course, were here, well, how else! You are a real doctor, a real master of your path!" This girl was making eyes at Ludwig from the very beginning. And of course she fell for his fake name. "- uh… well… Actually, I'm busy." "- of course, of course! I understand, I don't dare to distract you, I just would like to spend a little more time with you. You're leaving soon…and we would…you know… We could have done something in my office." She was already snuggling up to him and running her finger along his chest, but you intervened, speaking to her in a completely unfriendly tone "- Dr. Doe doesn't need a secretary for his job." You spoke up, looking at her angrily. Obviously, you're jealous, which only made Ludwig worry more "- Fräulein, actually, I have a girlfriend" The unpleasant personality changed dramatically in her face, obviously, she saw her plans crumble into thousands of pieces right before her eyes "- Oh, is that so? I was hoping it was just a friend of yours. Well, I think I'll go. I have urgent matters to attend to.." The girl hurries to the exit. Before leaving, she throws a tearful glance in the direction of the Medic "you broke my heart, Dr. Doe-" She waves her hair and locks the door. You can feel Ludwig exhaling all the accumulated air in his lungs. And how anger boils inside you, rising to your face. "- Gott sei Dank…" "- WHAT A SLU-" "- shh. She's gone, but that's half the tro-. " "-I really hope she doesn't look at you anymore." You interrupted him with a frustrated face. "-…Of course not! I only love you, and some girl won't change my mind. Besides, she doesn't have such a beautiful body like you." He puts his arm around your waist and then looks at the pile of organs in the container. "-Ve still need to get zese organs out unnoticed.." You nod. Yeah, he's damn right.

Sniper The brainy figure shakes while his van hurriedly drives along a deserted road. It was unbearably hot outside, so Mick was left wearing only his vest. Anything is better than his entire working form. You were steaming in just a T-shirt and shorts. On the other hand, you enjoyed each other's appearance. "- need t` refuel." "- alright!" You're moving on, to the nearest gas station. And fortunately, it appears soon. You pull into the gas station, noticing a pink mini-bus next to one of the gas pumps. Girls in swimsuits were hanging around. You're tense. "- what is it?" "- bet it's just a busload of prostitutes." You were silent for a minute, but Mick interrupted the silence by opening the door. You jumped out after him. He inserted the refueling gun and looked at his watch. It seems that no one noticed you and was not going to bother you, so you relaxed. "- I'm going to get some water."

He nodded curtly, and you walked away past the noisy girls. They smelled of a disgusting cloying perfume. Disgustingly feminine music was playing from their bus. The disgusting pink color irritated your nerves, but you didn't say anything. ----

In your hands were bottles of cold, even icy water and one ice block. There were no girls in sight, thank God, but when you approached the van, it became clear to you where they had gone. The Sniper did a good job, he didn't give them any attention, even if the girls climbed under his vest. He beat those hands painfully, but did not give an answer. "- WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE??!" The girls looked at you like a flock of seagulls. "- Not every guy at the gas station is lonely man, NOW LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!!" "- you managed to snatch a gorgeous male~" One of the girls blurted out, poking you in the nose and they left, chattering something in squeaky voices. Mick exhaled, growling. You patted him on the back. " 'm sorry…" It seems he felt a lot of guilt for this situation "- it's not your fault, Mickey, they just need a rich guy who can pay them all." "- I know… but I'm sorry…anyway." You pat him on the back again, comforting him. He smiles warmly and is clearly calming down. "- thank you, sheila." "- no worries. Would you like a popsicle?"

Spy It was a hot Friday evening, even stuffy. You had a long weekend ahead of you. And of course the Spy wouldn't be the Spy if he didn't decide to spend his weekend with a glass of fine wine. You went with him, and he immediately warned you that there could be quite rich people there, who often turn up their noses so high that they don't see people under them. You said you'd be careful with him and he smiled warmly, scratching the top of your head. The Frenchman finished styling your hair while you picked out your best clothes. He praised your costume/dress and you finally came out. When you arrived at the liquor store, you admired its beauty. It was neatly built of a dark-grade of some kind of wood, the logs were hewn and beautiful patterns were neatly burned on them. When you went inside, a rather pleasant smell of wood and wine hit your nose. You glanced at the spy and he looked confident and pleased. You walked between the shelves for a long time and every time you were amazed at the number of wines that generally happen in this damn world. A note of unpleasant bitter feeling settled in your chest when a buxom lady in a black ball gown and curly hair approached your man and began to ask about something. "- you look like a person who understands this, what kind of wine can you recommend?" To your indignation, the Spy answered her, consulted her, communicated with a warm smile. You're not used to seeing him like this. Maybe he is callous and tired only in front of his colleagues? It's because they're all men in a row, isn't it? Or maybe the smell of wine just hit him in the head and that was enough for intoxication? It didn't bother you at all. When the girl left, thanking the Spy for the consultation, you pulled the sleeve of his suit. He understood everything from your displeased face. "- oh, don't do that, Mon chéri, you know that I only love you. The lady just needed advice." He gently pats you on the cheek and the feeling of his gloves on your skin more or less soothe you. "- let's not linger here." "- well, bien Mon amour, I just chose what to take~.

[loveesiren]

𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗎𝗌𝗍 (𝖯𝗍. 2)

Disclaimer: I absolutely fucking hate this chapter but atleast it gives some background I guess. I'm sorry I made ya'll wait three weeks 😭 Also, I'm using the Sturniolo's as characters, in no way shape or form am I trying to convey that this is who they actually are.

Synopsis: Y/n finds out her best friends might not actually be the friends she thinks.

Warnings: Language, attempted SA (not from the triplets), scars, heroin use, police

Word Count: 2.7k+

I made my way down the dimly lit street. I was freezing and pissed off and high out of my mind off whatever my asshole date had given me. I met some loser named Marcus on Instagram and met him in downtown Boston to hangout. We took some pills and drove around but when I wouldn’t put out, he kicked me to the curb. 

So here I was, walking in the ghetto streets of Boston at 2am. No sixteen year old should be out here in this area, especially at this hour, but I thought I was invincible. My only mistake was not charging my phone before I left. The only person who knew where I was was Alahna. Everyone else assumed I was spending the night at Alahna’s and I made her swear not to tell anyone. My parents would ground me for the rest of my life and Chris, well, Chris just worried. A lot. He was my best friend after all. 

I clutched my purse close to my body, keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact with anyone that was out at this hour. I noticed what looked like a gas station a couple blocks ahead so I picked up the pace, hoping they would have a place I could charge my phone or atleast a phone I could use to call a taxi.

I heard whistling nearby and I froze. “Well good evenin’, darlin’!” A man shouted out and I prayed to God he wasn’t talking to me. I continued walking, quicker now but it wasn’t long before I heard footsteps catching up with me. Two large men surrounded me and I froze once again. “Don’t ya know it’s rude to ignore a man when he’s talkin’ to ya’?” 

His southern accent was thick and they both smelled of cheap booze and cigarettes. “What do you want?” I ask nervously, cowering under their dark stares. 

“You look a little too nice to be from around these parts. Where ya off to at this hour? Maybe me and my friend here could help ya out,” the man smirked. “For a small fee, of course.”

“If it’s money you want, just take it!” I yelled, thrusting my purse at the man and trying to push past him but his goon was quick to grab me. “Let me go!”

“Oh I don’t think so, Princess. We wanna have some fun.” The men let out a haunting laughter and I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. I should have just fucked that stupid boy. I should have just stayed home. 

I began thrashing around as hard as I could, desperately trying to squirm my way out of the mans’ tightening grip. “HELP!” I screamed out. “PLEASE! HELP!” 

Before I could get another word out a blunt object struck me across my head and I collapsed to the ground in a dizzy heap. I tried to feel where I’d been hit but my vision was blurred. I could feel a wetness running down the side of my face and landing on the concrete below. I let out an agonizing scream before consciousness completely escaped me.

“Y/n? Y/n? Y/n?” A familiar voice repeating my name in the darkness. 

“Chris?” I attempted. I couldn’t feel my lips.

“Y/n, wake up!”

I opened my eyes and drew in a sharp breath, realizing quickly that my lungs were desperate for air. I clutched my chest as I fought to catch my breath.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. Just breathe.” Chris’s soothing voice was like music to my ears 

“Fuck, what happened?” I ask after finally steadying my breathing. 

“You were screaming in your sleep.” Chris said. “Did you have the nightmare again?”

I sighed, remembering that God awful night. “Yeah, I think so…” I touched the scar on my head. It was almost three inches long, sitting partially on my forehead but most of it was covered by my hair thankfully. I looked over at Chris, he was looking down, twiddling his thumbs and biting his lip. He hated remembering that night. But I owed my life to him. 

I crawled into his lap and wrapped my arms around him. I felt him let out a sigh of relief as he snaked his arms around my waist and squeezed me tight. I know how much anxiety he got about my safety after finding me like he did. 

What I didn’t know that night was how amazing my friends truly were. Alahna had been tracking my phone the whole night to make sure I was safe and when she realized I was no longer moving by vehicle and instead walking in some sketchy part of downtown Boston, she immediately called Chris and his brothers. Alahna tracked my phone all the way up until it died and then Matt drove up and down the streets of the area I was in. When Chris saw the two guys picking up my limp, bleeding body in an attempt to get me out of my dress, he jumped from his brothers’ moving vehicle without warning to save me. Luckily he had back up. Matt drove up onto the sidewalk towards the men, scaring them off.

I mean, I don’t remember any of this since I was bleeding out and unconscious. But it’s the story I’ve been told. I do faintly remember Chris’s panicked voice calling out my name. I tried desperately to respond to him but I’m not sure if any words made it past my lips. 

Since then Chris has definitely been a little overprotective. But I can’t blame him. I’m grateful to him. To Matt, Nick, and Alahna too. If it wasn’t for them I would’ve been raped and most likely dead. Unfortunately, the men who did it were never caught. I tried my best to give a description but the drugs mixed with fear and partial memory loss from my head injury wasn’t enough information for the cops to find them. So the second I turned eighteen and graduated highschool, I was ready to pick up my life and move across the country. Luckily, Chris, Matt, and Nick were blowing up on Youtube and agreed that Los Angeles would be a great place to further their career. So we all left to start a new life.

“I love you.” I told Chris.

“I love you too, Y/n. Are you feeling okay? You were pretty drunk last night.”

I pulled back to look at him with a guilty smirk. “Yeah…sorry about that..”

He gave me a warm smile. “No biggie.”

I looked down at his hand that was now resting on my knee, noticing it was wrapped in a blood soaked bandage. “Fuck Chris! What happened to your hand?!”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He said, attempting to hide his hand.

I could feel the frown forming on my face. “It was my fault…wasn’t it?”

“No! No, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is. It always is.” I said, climbing off of him and off the bed entirely. “I always do something to fuck up and worry you and you can’t just let me ruin your fun all the time, Chris!”

“What do you mean? You didn’t ruin anything.” He said, standing up to meet me.

I worked on changing out of Chris’s clothes and into some of my own I had laying around his room. “I just…I just can’t have you worrying about me all the time. When we go out I want you to have fun, let loose, meet girls…” the words tasted bitter on my tongue. Chris almost winced at the sound of them. “I don’t need you to spend all your time and energy taking care of me, okay?”

Chris grinded his jaw, visibly frustrated. “You know I can’t just not do that, Y/n.”

“But why not, Chris?”

“Because you almost died!” His voice was angry now. No, not angry. Hurt. Scared. I could see tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “I-I just can’t let that happen again. I’ll never forgive myself for letting it happen in the first place.”

“Chris…” My heart broke. How could he ever think that was his fault? “You didn’t let anything happen. I was the one who snuck out and didn’t tell anyone. I was a stupid kid and I learned a hard lesson. None of it was ever your fault.”

“But-”

“No buts!” I interrupted him. “It wasn’t your fault. Period. And I owe you my life for saving me that night. But you don’t need to waste yours looking after me. It was seven years ago. We’re adults now. We deserve to be happy and have fun, yeah?”

Chris nodded hesitantly. I could tell he didn’t want to but I hated the idea of him spending all his time focused on my safety and missing out on experiences that could make him truly happy. 

“Good. Let’s go get some grub.” I say, offering him a soft smile. He attempts to smile back but the sadness remains in his eyes.

Chris followed me upstairs to the kitchen. “Morning boys!” I greet Matt and Nick.

“How the hell are you so chipper?” Matt asks. “You were absolutely faced last night!”

“She got it all out of her system in our front yard.” Nick chimed in, giving me a fake smile. 

“Yeah…sorry about that…” I say, scratching my head. 

“Your dress is good as new too, Princess.” Matt adds, motioning to your gold dress hanging from the door to the laundry.

I cringed at the Princess. But decided to ignore it.

“You guys are the bestttt!” I whine, giving them both timid hugs in hopes they’ll forgive me.

“Yeah, yeah. We know.” Nick says, hugging me back. “Here, eat up. We’re going to another party tonight.”

I sit down and nibble on some of the bacon Nick had made. 

Chris sat down beside me, quieter than usual but his brothers don’t seem to notice as they go about their morning banter. 

The knock on the door surprised us all. The four of us rarely got up before noon. Why we were today is beyond me but our friends wouldn’t have shown up at this hour either. 

We all looked at eachother with confusion before Nick went downstairs to open the door. I heard a brief back and forth but couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. Nick made his way back up the stairs and two cops followed him. My stomach dropped. 

I stood up out of my seat, instinctively putting myself in front of Chris. “Christopher Sturniolo?” The larger officer said. 

“Yeah?” Chris asked, stepping out from behind me. Nick, Matt and I all held our breath.

“You’re under arrest for the assault and battery of a Mr. Cameron Jacobs.”

“What?!”  My voice came out as a squeak. “Assault and battery?! It wasn’t Chris! You’re mistaken.”

“Christopher Sturniolo. The Youtuber? We’re well aware of who he is.” The cop said. Chris stepped forward and the second cop pulled out his handcuffs. I couldn’t believe Chris was just submitting to this. “There have been videos uploaded among various social media platforms of the assault.”

I was at a loss for words. Chris and I had been in trouble before but never charged with something like this.

“Well, we can just bail him out right?” Matt asked.

“Bond won’t be set until Monday morning after he sees the judge. Until then, he will remain in custody.”

I watched as Chris put his hands behind his back. Still in his wife beater and pajama pants he wore to bed. He bit his lip and looked at me with remorseful eyes but remained quiet. I could feel tears welling up in my own eyes. I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around his neck tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh,” He hummed into my neck, unable to hug me back. “I love you.” He mumbled before the piece of shit cop pulled him away from me. 

The other cop handed Nick his card and I watched as they manhandled Chris down the stairs and out the door. It was like the world was moving in slow motion. My best friend was just ripped away from me in a matter of minutes and I felt so lost, like a part of me was missing.

I palmed my face, wiping the tears away from my eyes before I fished for my phone in my pocket. I opened Instagram and searched Chris Sturniolo. The video from last night was all that came up. I clicked on the first one and watched it. I saw myself leaning on Madi’s shoulder in the background, unaware of the events taking place. I saw Chris snapping and wailing on the dude I almost went home with. 

A sob escaped my lips. I was so grateful to Chris for getting me out of that situation but it landed him in jail. If I wasn’t such a mess he wouldn’t fucking be there…

“Okay, so I have some money saved up. I think first thing Monday morning we should-”

“Y/n enough!” Matt yelled. I stopped talking and looked at him with confusion.

“What do you mean? We have to get him out…”

“Yeah! We-” He said, motioning to himself and Nick. “do need to get him out. We need to call our parents. We need to figure out a plan.”

“Matt…” Nick started.

“No! I’m sick of all the shit she drags Chris into!” Matt said before taking a few steps towards me. “All you do is cause him problems. Put him in situations he doesn’t want to be in because he feels like he has to take care of you. You’re the reason Chris did drugs. You’re the reason Chris snuck out. You’re the reason Chris fucked up! He would be so much better off without you! And now look what you’ve done?! He’s in fucking jail cuz you wanted to be a slut!”

I slapped Matt hard across the face. I didn’t mean to. It was just a reaction. He took a deep breath, as did I. He turned to look at me, his blue eyes staring daggers into mine. “Get out.” He said. 

I bit back tears and turned on my heel, running down the steps and out the front door to my car. As soon as I was locked inside my car a screamed at the top of my lungs. Letting every single emotion out. I thought they were my friends. I grew up with them. They were like brothers to me. If Matt and Nick felt this way then Chris probably did too. I’ve overstayed my welcome in their lives…

I started my car and sped off down the street. I drove the ten minutes to my apartment complex. It was nowhere near as nice as the Triplets but it worked for me. 

I made my way up the stairs, ready to drown myself in a bottle of vodka and rot on my couch but I ran into Danny on my way up.

“Princessss,” He dragged on. “What’s got you so upset?”

That fucking nickname made my blood boil.

“Fuck off, Danny.” I said, walking past him. 

“The Sturniolo kid again?” He chuckled, taking a long drag of his cigarette. I swallowed. Just thinking of Chris made me sick. “Ya know those pretty boys will always break your heart, honey.” 

“You’re a loser, Danny.” I said before heading up the steps once again. 

“I have some product! If you’re interested!” 

I paused again. I swore to Chris I’d never use hard shit again. But did Chris really care? With the way his brothers treated me today, it couldn’t have come from nowhere. I grew up with them and rarely had an issue. But if his brothers hated me that much then maybe Chris did too…

-

It doesn’t take a whole army to convince an addict to go back. The war you fight is in your mind and when you have no soldiers on your side, joining the enemy may be the best choice.

So here I sit, with a needle full of heroin pumped into my bloodstream, feeling the best I’ve felt in years. 

Chris who?

Tags: @strniohoeee @daisysturniolo. @justangelheree @flowerxbunnie @recklesssturniolo @lustfulslxt @mangosrar @bluesturniolo333 @christinarowie332 @kenzieiskoolaid @sturniolopepsi @mattenthusiast @ilovecrazymen @sturnphilia @poopydroopt

[shellxrls]

MISS YOU

summary: peter gets back from a mission. you should be happy, but all you can think about is how he grows to be less of the person you started loving with each passing day.

pairing: peter parker x gn!reader

warnings: angst / descriptions of bad mental health / unhappy relationships :(

peter's there. peter is actually there - stooped by your windowsill fiddling with some intricacies embedded in his suit - when you come back from your late night shift, exhausted and irritated by the smell of gas that followed you home.

"peter?" barely a whisper as you approach him tentatively, wary that the fumes you work with every day might be finally inducing hallucinations.

"hey," he nods at you, pupils not even lifting from the wires he was deftly reconnecting - a gesture laced with such a bare level of recognition that you wonder if maybe he doesn't realise he's been away for weeks, fighting in god knows where without so much as a call or a text telling you how he is or how long he'd be gone.

but you know better than to push him. he must be tired, exhausted even - harsh smudges of purple underneath his eyes indicating so - so you let it go.

"i," you pause, swallowing your rising saliva and fighting the prickling of tears against your waterline, "i missed you pete. i missed you a lot."

"missed you too baby."

he still doesn't look up.

part of your brain says it always like this. you ache for his warm body, the rough callous of his hands, his curls, when he's away. then he gets back. and he still has all of those things; he lets you use him as a radiator on particularly icy nights, lets you intertwine your fingers with his, and he still wakes up every morning with a head full of soft brown waves. but he's not there. you attempt to consume yourself with the things you ached for - busy yourself with his body - but regardless of what you do its always a pathetic substitute grasping at the straws of reality.

the warmth is no longer original, simply a consequence of his supernatural metabolism rather than the way he used to murmur your name in his sleep and pull you back closer to him. his palm no longer pulses against yours like it used to, clenching thrice to remind you how much he loves you.

but you should be grateful, you think. at least he's safe. at least he's home. at least he came back to you.

by the time you undress and reach the bed, kissing him on the head before slipping into the covers, he still isn't bothered enough to offer more than a simple peck back. so you feign indifference and turn into the sheets, letting your exhaustion swallow you whole, sleep engulfing your anxious mind as you drift off with a dull ache in your heart.

peter is there. except he's not. because while you'll remain sharing the same bed, then watch him eat his breakfast the next morning, and feel his physical presence every time he's around, his mind will forever be occupied. he'll grow so used to relying on his own physicality to stand in that eventually his mind won't believe it to be necessary to reciprocate the love that's been burying itself deeper ever since he started going on missions.

@shellxrls 2023

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 17/34 - wires and tubes

[read on AO3]

Oops. Do you know how many times I've almost accidentally posted a chapter? It finally happened. Well, here you go 😂

The call comes in the midst of a case that already has Mulder torn up and wild with determination. He never did do well with missing persons cases, especially where little girls were involved. It's even worse now that they actually kind of, sort of, might have a baby on the way, and she worries he won't be able to handle it.

She doesn't want him to lose himself in this. She needs him now more than ever, and it scares her when he gets this way. She only hopes Skinner can talk some sense into him.

But she's the one to answer the phone. She's the one who has to tell him the news. She's the one who has to break his heart in its already fragile state, praying he'll come out on the other side of it okay.

So she opens the door to Skinner's office, and meets her partner's eyes from across the room.

“What?” he asks, frustration simmering below the surface. Evidently his talk with the Assistant Director isn't going well, but that hardly matters now.

She shakes her head, wishing he would just come with her so they could talk in private. But he and Skinner are adamant that they need to finish this discussion, completely unaware of the tragic event that has occurred. 

“Mulder…” she says, sorrow dripping from her voice. “It's your mother.”

-.-.-

He's out of the office in a flash before she can even explain what happened. It’s all she can do to keep up with him as he rushes toward the garage, his fear and anger wafting off him in waves.

“Where are you going?” she calls after him.

“My mother's house,” he answers.

She chokes back a sob, willing herself to hold things together for the both of them. To keep a level head. “She's not there, Mulder,” she speaks, her words halting him in his tracks. 

He whirls on her, crossing the distance and stopping a foot in front of her, seething silently with a wild, frantic look in his eye that she never likes seeing.

“Where is she?” he grits out, his voice low.

She tries to grab for one of his hands, but he pulls back, rejecting the proffered comfort.

“The hospital,” she answers, her brows slanted in silent apology. “A neighbor called, concerned about the smell of gas. The paramedics found her. Mulder, your mother overdosed on sleeping pills. She tried to suffocate herself.” His face falls, but he quickly recovers, replacing the dejected expression with one of adamant denial. 

That's another look Scully doesn't like to see. 

“She's alive, but in a coma,” she explains, hoping to put a stop to Mulder’s spiraling before it starts, but it's too late.

“She tried to call me,” he says, starting to pace. “She left a message wanting to talk, but I didn't– I didn’t call her—”

He stops, crouching low to the ground and practically pulling his hair out of his head, fighting back red hot tears in his eyes.

“She wouldn't do this,” he says angrily, shaking his head, and if being loud meant being confident, then she might be convinced. “Th– they got to her! They tried to kill her!”

“No, Mulder.”

“Yes!” he yells, drawing suspicious glances from other agents in the hallway. “She must have had information about the case,” he continues, standing back to his full height and resuming his pacing. “It's all connected, just like I thought. Samantha—”

“Mulder, STOP!” Scully yells, gripping his bicep with her hand and holding him in place by sheer force of will. She slows her breathing, lowering her voice. “She may not ever wake up, but right now your mother is alive and in the hospital,” she says, appealing to his rational mind. “Before you go chasing after shadows, at least go see her.”

She lets her plea hang in the silence of the hallway. It seems their display has effectively scared off everyone within hearing distance, and she counts herself lucky that security hasn't come to escort them out of the building.

She can see him fighting back against his own reason, determinedly keeping his face screwed up in anger so as not to lose hold of the fury that fuels him. But her prolonged stare causes it to melt away, and his face crumples in defeat just before he collapses in her arms.

Sobs shake him, and it takes all her strength to keep him standing. His face buries into the crook of her shoulder, and she wraps her arms around his back, rubbing soft circles between his shoulder blades.

She hears Skinner pop his head out of his doorway, and she meets his eyes, beyond caring about the physical display in their place of work. The man merely nods in understanding, giving his stamp of approval for whatever needs to be done.

-.-.-

The hospital is eerily quiet, the sterile white walls echoing with every minute sound.

“Teena Mulder, please,” Scully says to the woman at the desk.

Mulder follows behind her looking lost.

They're shown to a hospital room where his mother lies surrounded by wires and tubes, her heartbeat beeping out slowly but steadily over the monitor.

Mulder goes to her side, grabbing her hand in his.

She hates to see him in agony like this. He falls to his knees beside her bed, murmuring incomprehensible apologies and pleadings between bouts of tears. He clings to her cold, frail hand like a lifeline, and though most times his relationship with his mother seems fraught, it's times like this—she knows—when he's at risk of losing what little he has, that she remembers that he loves his mother, just as any little boy might.

A doctor comes by and tells them what happened. The implications are clear, to someone with a medical background. Today was almost the day Mulder became an orphan. Today he almost became the last Mulder standing.

Eventually he's able to calm down a little, allowing himself to be pushed into a chair by her bedside.

“She might never know, Scully,” he says dejectedly. “She has no idea that she might be a grandmother soon. That she has a daughter-in-law.”

A daughter, for a woman who lost hers so long ago.

The fact that their marriage isn't real doesn't even cross their minds. In this moment, they are husband and wife, and right now this is one of those “for worse” moments they mentioned in their vows. She’s going to uphold that promise come hell or high water.

“You can tell her now,” Scully says, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She might not hear you, but it's still good to talk to her.”

“She always wanted me to get married,” he says. “She said I needed to move on, to have my own family. Stop thinking about the one I lost. I hated her for that. I couldn't understand how she could give up on our family. How she’d think I could replace it, like a worn out pair of sneakers.”

“Mulder…”

“I understand now, Scully. That was never what she was telling me to do. I think– I think she just wanted me to be happy.”

She wipes the wetness from his cheek with her thumb, holding her hand there and cupping his jaw. He looks up at her, eyes gleaming in adoration. Then he stands, leaning over his mother and holding her hand in his. 

“Mom, I am happy,” he says. “I'm so happy. I just want you to be here to see it. To meet Scully again and our child, someday when we have one. Please…”

He bows his head, another wave of fresh tears filling his eyes.

“I still don't understand,” he says. “why she would do this…”

“I looked at her chart earlier,” Scully says. “Your mother is suffering from a disease known as Paget's Carcinoma. It's a horribly painful and disfiguring disease, Mulder. She didn't want to live.”

“But she has to!” he says, insistent. “She has to, at least for a little longer… I want to talk to her.”

“I know you do,” she says. “But there's nothing we can do until she wakes. 

“She was going to tell me something. What did she want to tell me, Scully?” he looks to her, his eyes pleading. She wishes she knew, so she could take away his burden. But she doesn't, so she just holds him as he sobs into her shoulder, and comforts him.

-.-.-

She's roused from her uncomfortable sleep in the hospital chair by none other than Walter Skinner. Mulder is fast asleep still in his own chair, his face pressed against the scratchy blankets of his mother's hospital bed.

“The case is heating up,” Skinner says, whispering so as not to wake Mulder. “The LaPierres are asking for him. I know it's probably not a good time, but—”

“No, it’s fine,” she says, surprising even herself by agreeing with him. “He needs to get away. From what I'm told, she's stable but not likely to wake anytime soon. The drugs are still making their way out of her system. Can you book us both a ticket?”

“Of course. I'll be coming as well, the Bureau needs this one wrapped up,” Skinner says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Should I get you one room or two at the motel?”

At first, Scully isn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “...Sir?” she asks. “You know we're not…”

“I know,” he says. “I just wasn't sure if you'd want to… keep an eye on him.”

It’s nice of him to ask, she supposes. The answer is yes, she would like to keep an eye on him, actually. But even this isn’t enough for her to forsake the appearances they’ve worked so hard to keep up these last few months.

“Two is fine,” she says with finality.

Skinner nods, and disappears the way he came.

-.-.-

She feels sick, standing in a field littered with tiny graves.

What makes her even more sick is seeing how desperately Mulder hopes to find his sister in each one they dig up. It's written plainly on his face, and she sees him sink deeper into himself with each one that doesn't match her description.

He just wants this to be over. He wants to move on, and she can't blame him. 

But after all this time, she really does wish there could be a happier ending. The one he'd hoped for for so long, where he rides off into the sunset with his sister in tow. Somewhere along the way, she'd begun to hope for that too.

And somewhere along the way, he'd stopped.

She tries to get him to come back to Washington with her and Skinner, but her efforts are in vain. He stays, swindled by some self-proclaimed police psychic who claims he can help find Amber Lynn LaPierre, who also was never identified amongst the other victims.

She leaves him, promising to check in on his mother and let him know how she's doing. But of course, her worry for him won't let sleeping dogs lie.

She pokes around, digging into his regression hypnosis recordings. She even visits Mrs. Mulder's home, looking for what? She isn't sure.

But she finds it.

Burnt documents putting an end to the search for Samantha in 1973. 

And the initials C.G.B.S.

~~~

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[temmtamm]

Astrophile

Sonic prime sonic x genderneutral reader

Word count: 3,360 (DAMN)

Note: If interested, please like or leave a comment. If enough people are interested, I might turn this into an actual story rather than just a one-shot.

Ah, New Yoke City.

By far, the worst city to have ever been created, even it's citizens agree.

Free speech? Not a thing.

Self expression?? What's that?

You're lucky to even take a shit in the city without a badnik watching you to make sure you don't shit in any way the leaders would consider 'Rebellious'.

It sucked. Completely.

But, hey!! It was home!

At least it was (Y/N)'s home--And (Y/N) had learned the hard way, it's better to just fall into place and shut up rather than rebel against the system or push against it. It wasn't easy to just try and take your autonomy back when the whole city was designed to keep everyone in check.

It wasn't too bad though, (Y/N) had learned to accept their position in this life and be the perfect little citizen. They'd wake up, go to work, contribute the bare minimum, then go home and if they were lucky, they might even be able to watch TV or do some hobbies without a badnik peering into their window to make sure they weren't plotting anything.

Their routine could bore themselves to tears at times, but it was much better than the alternative.

Speaking of their mundane schedule, guess what they were up to right now??

On the bright side, they didn't have to walk or drive to work--All they had to do was stand on the strange conveyor belt that replaced this cities roads--Though, now that they really dwell on it, that couldn't be good for their legs--

"Bah." (Y/N) shook their head, shaking away any of the thoughts that remained in it away, allowing them to blink back into reality. Immediately they were met with the same dull buildings, the same dull people, and the same dull scent of smog that hit their nose.

Great.

(Y/N) stole a quick glance around the city, taking notice to the familiar visuals that almost immediately clicked in their mind, as if the cities layout was programmed into their brain.

Oh, this was their stop.

Taking a step off of the conveyor belt, they quickly transitioned to the sidewalk where they were able to walk freely.

They half payed attention to their surroundings, though the other half of their attention was quickly stolen by the shitty music that played from the stores they passed.

They cringed, their nose scrunching up as the voice hit their ears. They didn't even need to listen to the lyrics to recognize it as one of Dr. Deep's many many songs.

'Be a tyrant all you please, but don't use it to subject me to the horror of your shitty song-poetry.' Was something that crossed (Y/N)'s mind, but they wouldn't dare vocalize for fear of getting killed where they stood for treason.

Like stated before, free speech was not a luxury they had.

(Y/N) let out a deep sigh, sucking it up and coping quietly with the shitty music as they made their way past the multiple stores until they came to one in particular, their work--AKA; A shitty gas station right next to an alley that smells like cat piss and over the counter drug store (Y/N) was sure didn't even sell any actual medicine.

Fiddling with the doorknobs for a bit they managed to shimmy it open, allowing for themselves to slip inside and get a look at the cash register to confirm that their coworker waited until they arrived to clock out. Lucky for them, he did.

Ah, New Yoke City.

By far, the worst city to have ever been created, even it's citizens agree.

Free speech? Not a thing.

Self expression?? What's that?

You're lucky to even take a shit in the city without a badnik watching you to make sure you don't shit in any way the leaders would consider 'Rebellious'.

It sucked. Completely.

But, hey!! It was home!

At least it was (Y/N)'s home--And (Y/N) had learned the hard way, it's better to just fall into place and shut up rather than rebel against the system or push against it. It wasn't easy to just try and take your autonomy back when the whole city was designed to keep everyone in check.

It wasn't too bad though, (Y/N) had learned to accept their position in this life and be the perfect little citizen. They'd wake up, go to work, contribute the bare minimum, then go home and if they were lucky, they might even be able to watch TV or do some hobbies without a badnik peering into their window to make sure they weren't plotting anything.

Their routine could bore themselves to tears at times, but it was much better than the alternative.

Speaking of their mundane schedule, guess what they were up to right now??

On the bright side, they didn't have to walk or drive to work--All they had to do was stand on the strange conveyor belt that replaced this cities roads--Though, now that they really dwell on it, that couldn't be good for their legs--

"Bah." (Y/N) shook their head, shaking away any of the thoughts that remained in it away, allowing them to blink back into reality. Immediately they were met with the same dull buildings, the same dull people, and the same dull scent of smog that hit their nose.

Great.

(Y/N) stole a quick glance around the city, taking notice to the familiar visuals that almost immediately clicked in their mind, as if the cities layout was programmed into their brain.

Oh, this was their stop.

Taking a step off of the conveyor belt, they quickly transitioned to the sidewalk where they were able to walk freely.

They half payed attention to their surroundings, though the other half of their attention was quickly stolen by the shitty music that played from the stores they passed.

They cringed, their nose scrunching up as the voice hit their ears. They didn't even need to listen to the lyrics to recognize it as one of Dr. Deep's many many songs.

'Be a tyrant all you please, but don't use it to subject me to the horror of your shitty song-poetry.' Was something that crossed (Y/N)'s mind, but they wouldn't dare vocalize for fear of getting killed where they stood for treason.

Like stated before, free speech was not a luxury they had.

(Y/N) let out a deep sigh, sucking it up and coping quietly with the shitty music as they made their way past the multiple stores until they came to one in particular, their work--AKA; A shitty gas station right next to an alley that smells like cat piss and over the counter drug store (Y/N) was sure didn't even sell any actual medicine.

Fiddling with the doorknobs for a bit they managed to shimmy it open, allowing for themselves to slip inside and get a look at the cash register to confirm that their coworker waited until they arrived to clock out. Lucky for them, he did.

"Look who finally decided to show up." Their coworker was quick to comment, which definitely didn't help (Y/N) with their mood in the slightest, and they were sure to show that in the glare they sent him.

"Watch yourself. I'm far too tired to banter right now." (Y/N) replied, and their exhaustion from waking extra early must've seeped through their tone cause their co-worker dropped it without another word.

"Are you okay?? You look like hell." Their coworker readjusted his cap, talking to (Y/N) as he moved to click himself out meanwhile (Y/N) walked up to slip behind the counter into their station.

"We're in hell, Jim--" (Y/N) cut themselves off at the sound of a badnik moving around on the outside of the shop, recording any conversations as per usual. "I mean...Just grand. Live, laugh, love or some bullshit like that." (Y/N) groaned, rolling their eyes which earned a chuckle out of Jim. who stepped up to the counter.

"Here, it's on the house." Jim dropped a coffee by (Y/N)'s cash register, making the animal cock a brow at the item. "I knew you had a early shift today so I decided to get you one when I stopped by the Yoke's brewery." (Y/N) must've looked up at the man as if he were the reincarnation of God at that moment.

"You are a godsend, man." They said gratefully, earning a bashful grin from the man and him averting his gaze.

"It was nothin', really." Jim changed the conversation, flustered from the attention on the small act of kindness. "Any who, I'm gonna hit the road. Anything goes wrong, give me a ring." He made a 'call me' signal with his hand when stating ringing before turning on his heel and taking his leave from the shop.

(Y/N) let out a sigh, watching the retreating figure before glancing down at the coffee he gave them. A soft smile curled upon their face, relief that even though today was going to be a long and stressful one, at least they had something to help get them through it.

With that thought, they picked up the cup and took a sip out of it, only for their soft and happy features to immediately fall into a grimace.

The coffee was ice-cold.

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

Just as (Y/N) suspected, the night went by slow, almost torturously so.

Customers were sparce, and even when they did show up it was either just to use the bathroom or to look around and end up buying nothing.

The cleaning that they had to do could almost be considered a military recognized torture mechanism--And don't get them started on the constant noises the badniks outside would make. If you're gonna stalk citizens, they'd at least like it if you do it quietly.

Luckily, all that was over with now, and now they only had to worry about getting home in one piece and avoid butting heads with any of the many badniks on patrol during the night.

(Y/N) twisted the key in their hand, finishing locking up the shop before pocketing said key and stealing a glance around the city. Yep. Still as dull and depressing as ever.

A sigh escaped their lips, creating a crowd of smoke around them before they began walking away from their shop, instead heading towards the usual and only transport for people nowadays, the conveyor belt.

(Y/N) would love to say that anything interesting happened during that painstakingly slow walk, but that would be a lie. It was the same, boring and lacking any uniqueness. It was interchangeably from any other day (Y/N) had. You could seriously changed the events that transpired this day to any other and (Y/N) wouldn't have even realized.

To say that (Y/N) was exhausted of all this would be an understatement. They were emotionally drained and mentally exhausted. Everything was the same. Every person they crossed on the street was the same, every robot that stared holes into them was the same, every building, every street.

All.

The.

Same.

(Y/N) wished that just for one day, they could be blessed with something unique, something that could remind them that life is more than just doing tasks mindlessly until you drop dead. It could be anything, they weren't picky!! A fun building, a flower, a song, a...a..

...A blue hedgehog??

(Y/N) froze up, doing a double-take when an electric blue blur caught their gaze. How could it not?? It was so different and it was such a stark contrast from the dark city it was in.

The blue blur zoomed down the street at such a speed that if (Y/N) blinked, they swore they would've missed it.

(Y/N) felt their heart rate go up for the first time in forever, an emotion that they had long since forgotten filled their chest.

Excitement.

Finally, there was something special in this world, something new. They didn't want to lose this feeling, nor did they want to lose this strange anomaly. Before (Y/N) even registered what they had done, they had stepped off of the conveyor and broke out into a spring, chasing after the blue that was miles ahead of them.

"Wait!! Wait up!!" (Y/N) called out, not caring who heard them or who was watching, even though the weird looks that people shot them was not lost on them.

The blue blur--If it even was a hedgehog or any other animal for that matter--didn't respond or even ease up, instead keeping up its abnormally fast running speed, making (Y/N) work up a sweat to even keep it in their line of sight. Adrenaline pumped inside of them at the thought of losing this and suddenly they picked up a speed they hardly knew they could've. It was absolutely nothing compared to the speeds of the blur, but it was still pretty impressive for such an average animal as themselves.

Their heartbeat and labored breaths pounded harshly against their ears, it practically being the only thing they could hear. They payed it no mind, instead keeping themselves focused on keeping the blur in their sights as well as calling out to it.

"Please!! Wait up!! I just want to talk!!" The words tumbled out of their throat almost frantically, their voice cracking and strained from the running. They prayed that somehow, their words could hit the blur since it was clear that they could never catch up to such a creature.

...

And much to their surprise, the creature finally heard them.

"...(Y/N)?"

In the blink of an eye, the blur had went from being miles ahead of (Y/N) to right in front of them, almost dangerously close.

"Oh, it's actually you!! Boy, I am so glad to finally see a familiar face that isn't trying to kill me--You aren't trying to kill me, right?? Oh, it doesn't matter cause it's you!! You're here!! Do you know where any of the others are?? I--" The creature, now identifiable as both a male and a blue hedgehog, rambled on in front of (Y/N), though they blocked out half of his words, more so taking in his...well, himself.

He was nothing like (Y/N) had ever seen in another animal. His electrically bright quills contrasted most of the dull colored fur that everyone else had, he had something in his eyes that was so much different than everyone else's. He actually had emotions and life in his mannerisms and facial expressions. He didn't look like a copy or a robot like everyone else did, he was very much alive and his own person--Also, he totally had glowing shoes but (Y/N) decided not to get into that can of worms.

He was magnificent--At least, that's how (Y/N) would describe him.

"Wai...Wait?? How do you know my name??" (Y/N) blinked out of their reverie, realizing what exactly the hedgehog had said previously.

"What--Oh, no!! Not you too!!" The hedgehog's face contorted into a disappointed expression, his ears even drooping at (Y/N)'s words. "C'mon, you gotta remember me!! I'm Sonic!! So-nic!" He leaned forwards, talking with his hands as if that would help make a memory suddenly click in (Y/N)'s head.

"I'm sorry, Sonic, but I assure you I would not forget someone...of your caliber." That came out way creepier than they intended. "I think you might have me confused with someone else." They tried to smile reassuringly, but failed miserably. Their heart was beating so fast and they had no clue if it was from the run they did to get here, from being so close to someone this unique, or from fest of the gibberish Sonic was spouting. Maybe a mix of all three..

Sonic's frown deepened, his eyebrows narrowing at (Y/N). "Cmon, even this version of you has to remember me!!" Version...? "We were like unstoppable together!! We were an item, A power couple!! This has to rejoh something in that head of yours!! You used to call me a 'Star'--𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 star." Sonic threw his arms out to his sides in an animated fashion, clearly exasperated at how his attempts to get (Y/N) to remember didn't seem to be working.

"Star..? Dating?" (Y/N) could swear that that their face was on fire at this point. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't recall any of that."

Sonic's shoulders slumped dejectedly, his facial expressions also morphing into a deafeated look. He dropped down, sitting on the sidewalk as his eyes glued themselves into the grim and disgusting concrete of the streets. "Right, of course you wouldn't remember." His tone lacked the energy it had previously, instead being as dead as everyone else's tone was in this city. (Y/N) didn't like it. It didn't suit this stranger to be as disappointed and accepting of defeat as everyone else was. Even with how little the knew of him, they could tell that he wasn't that type of person.

"Well..." (Y/N) was careful with their movements, shifting to sit down next to the blue hedgehog. "Try me. Maybe we had met each other." Despite knowing very well that the two hadn't, (Y/N) still stated that, though it did seem to help make the blue hedgehog ease up just a tad, as evident by him lifting his head up to look at them.

"Did we ever go on any dates?" (Y/N) asked, mostly out of curiosity as to the fictional relationship this man had made up rather than any need to rejog their memory.

"Oh, only the best!!" The hedgehog's energy returned almost as fast as he could run, his eyes lighting up at the memories of the twos dates. "I remember we used to race down green hills loop-de-loop all the time--I always won, by the way--OH, OH!! We sometimes did dates on Angel Island, though it was so hard with Knuckles there and all."

(Y/N) looked at the hedgehog, listening intently to his ramblings. There was far too much detail for them just to be ramblings from an insane man, and they even had (Y/N) second guessing if the two had met before--But, they know nothing about no 'Angel Island' or 'Knuckles'.

"We must've had a lot of fun together, huh??" (Y/N) kind of wished they remembered something, anything of what he was saying. They wished that they were actually from what sounded like another world, living an action packed life along Sonic's side where they would never have to feel the dread of a looping lifestyle ever again.

But, alas, they knew that it wasn't true. It was too good to be true.

"We did...I wish we can again too." Sonic's eyes flickered back to the street though it didn't take long for the hedgehog to find (Y/N)'s gaze again.

"You may not remember, but I do!! I'll make sure to jog your memory and get this place back to normal, where it isn't some creepy egg dystopia." He stood up, a confident smile gracing his lips as he did so. "Recognize this face, cause it's the face of a stars--And not just any stars, your star!!"

An amused expression crossed (Y/N)'s face as they cocked a brow but before they knew it, Sonic reached out to grab their hand, hoisting them up before dragging them with him, most likely taking them somewhere to "jog their memory".

"Wait, Wait!! Hold up!"

Thanks for reading ♥︎

[flowerandblood]

Wicked prayers, sweet penances (8) (End)

[modern! priest • Aemond x Strong • female]

[warnings: sex content, domination, religious guilt, incest, fluff]

[description: Aemond, a deeply religious person, enters the seminary, wanting to fight the thoughts, that have been poisoning his mind for years at the sight of his niece. He returns home as a priest, but the desire he has been running away from returns to him again. A story full of incest, sexual tension and religious guilt.]

Previous chapters: Masterlist

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

_____

What happened in his life in the weeks following his decision, was pure nightmare. His mother burst into tears, when she heard what happened. She was even more devastated by the fact, that he refused to explain why he was leaving the priesthood. He couldn't tell her, that he was doing it for his niece, with whom he had been madly in love since childhood. Not even leaving the priesthood would make it sound any better.

His parish priest could not understand this decision either. He even said, that if a woman turned his head, they could do something about it, move him somewhere else. He didn't want to move. He wanted to be with her, to fuck her, to wake up and fall asleep next to her. He was tired of running away.

To his surprise, the person who showed him the greatest support was his own father. He told him, that he felt from the beginning, that it wasn't the way for him, but he couldn't convince his mother not to push him. Aemond was relieved to accept his offer to work in their family business, until his situation stabilized.

His appearance in the company, already without a clerical collar, caused a lot of confusion. Everyone asked him what happened and if he fell in love. He did not answer these questions, pretending not to hear them. As promised, he rented the apartment where they met. He immediately made a second pair of keys for her.

The apartment was small and was located at the very top of a tenement house in the suburbs. They wanted to make sure, that no one close to them would notice them. She used to tell her mother, that she was going to spend the night with friends or to a party, but in fact she was coming to him.

They agreed, that they wanted to spend the weekend together, rest and regenerate. This time was crazy for both of them. Even though it was hard for them, they felt closer than ever. Not a day goes by, that they don't talk on the phone or text each other. They were together and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

He was in the middle of preparing dinner, when he heard the quiet turning of the key in the lock on the front door. He shuddered with excitement, he hadn't seen her in over a week. They tried to avoid suspicion and seen less often, but for longer periods of time.

"Good evening!" He heard a happy voice and immediately smiled under his breath. She was taking off her shoes and jacket, breathing heavily, obviously tired from going up the third flight of stairs. She placed her backpack in the hall as she walked through the living room to the kitchenette.

"Good evening." He murmured, extending his hand to her, and she immediately bent down under it and hugged him. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her hair, as he stirred the spaghetti in the pot with his other hand.

"Smells delicious. I'm so hungry." She sighed and looked at him. They kissed greedily, her hand tightening on his shirt. It was still hard for her to get used to the fact, that he wasn't wearing a clerical collar, but he wore all black anyway. He broke away from her with a wet sound.

"Lay out our plates, we'll eat in a moment." He murmured, kissing her forehead earlier, turning off the gas under the pot.

She obediently did as he instructed, pulling out the crockery she had picked out earlier in the shop. In fact, his apartment was their apartment. His niece helped him choose furniture, bought the necessary items, and they both wrote together, about what they would like their space to look like. Especially for her, he bought a large, oak bed on which they could lie together.

They sat down at the table, putting on spaghetti. Aemond opened the wine, red and semi-sweet, just the way she liked it. He poured them into a glass. Before they ate, he said a prayer, as was his custom as a priest. He didn't want to give up these habits. He knew he had made a mistakes, but despite appearances, he felt relieved after leaving the priesthood.

The fact, that he loved and wanted, was not so great a sin, as that he could no longer do his ministry properly. When he left, he finally felt, that he was standing in truth before God. He did not lie to the faithful, the parish priest and his mother. At least in this respect.

Their relationship, although incorrect in the eyes of many, was not such a serious sin for him. Many noble families have married their uncles and cousins throughout history. They were related by half, so that already made him feel less bad. They just lived as an ordinary unmarried couple, like most of the country.

He had talked to her many times, about how she felt about all this. He didn't want to be selfish and force her into a relationship, that would burden her in the long run. She was surprisingly sure of her decision. She wanted to be with him no matter what.

On one of their first nights together in his apartment, lying naked next to him, after having fucked twice in a row, she told him, that she had been in love with him since childhood. He wanted to cry at the thought, that she had reciprocated his feelings from the beginning.

They decided, that as long as she was finishing her studies, they would stay here. Then perhaps they would both move to another city and live there together permanently. They both wanted it.

They ate dinner, talking about the events of the past week. Despite the fact, that they wrote to each other every day, the topics did not end for them. Aemond had to find himself in an office reality, that made him incredibly nervous.

Everyone there was chasing goals, that were meaningless to him. They entered the results into tablets, that made no sense to him. Nevertheless, he did not want to disappoint his father and did what he was told. He attended all meetings and talked to clients.

After they finished eating, they looked at each other thoughtfully. His niece smiled warmly at him. He was hard from the moment she walked in to his apartment. He hadn't seen her in so long, that he wished for nothing more, than to throw her on the bed and fuck her all night long. She stood up, looking at him thoughtfully.

"Shall we take a bath?" She asked gently.

He looked at her with a look, that said it all. She smiled and went to the bathroom, turning on the water in the tub. They chose one that was comfortable for both of them. She loved hot bubble baths, and she had a whole range of different oils to go with it. She poured a few of them into the water, they immediately began to foam, a nice, pleasant smell spread around.

Aemond stood, leaning against the bathroom door frame, looking at her calmly. She already had her toothbrush, creams and makeup removers, pajamas and nightgowns bought especially for his house.

He saw, that she had taken one of his favorite strappy nightgowns, halfway down her thighs, a light, lace-embroidered, slightly sheer one, that he could see through her beautiful body. He thought with amusement, that she probably wouldn't even be able to wear it in time.

When she found, that there was enough water and that it was at the temperature she wanted, she began to undress. She had long ago ceased to be ashamed of him, on the contrary, he had the impression that she was tempting him with her body more and more. Encouraged, he reached for the waistband of his pants, undoing it slowly.

He watched as she pulled off her shirt, with no bra underneath. Her soft breasts and pink nipples gleamed in the soft bathroom light above the mirror. She took off her pants and then her panties, leaving her completely naked.

She tied her hair into a bun with a rubber band and stepped into the tub, submerging herself in the foam. He joined her after a while, sitting across from her, his knees slightly above the water. They stared at each other for a moment, her legs resting on his thighs.

She pretended not to feel his hard, swollen manhood against them. She leaned against the edge of the tub with the back of her head, closing her eyes, relaxing completely. They both lay there in silence, relaxing.

They both flinched, when they heard the notification sound from her phone. She reached for it with a wet hand and glanced at the display, then sighed as she put the phone down. Aemond raised an eyebrow.

"It's him again?" He asked calmly. She just sighed.

He knew there was a man who liked her. She showed him his messages, as she thought about what to text back, to make him leave her alone. He couldn't believe how jealous he was of her. The fact, that he couldn't show and tell the world, that she was only his drove him crazy.

"He texts me once in a while, he doesn't understand what I'm saying to him." She sighed heavily, rubbing her temple. "I'm tired of his behavior, but he's a PhD student I'm taking classes with and I can't be mean to him. At least until I pass this semester." She said helplessly.

Aemond pursed his lips and looked away. They had talked about it several times before, and he knew what the situation was.

Seeing his expression, she got up and moved towards him, straddling him, his swollen cock feeling the pressure of her belly. She turned his cheek towards her. They stared at each other for a moment in silence. His lips parted slightly as she began to rub against him, his manhood throbbing impatiently, craving her attention.

"You know, that I'm all yours. Only, only yours." She whispered, leaning over him, her lips brushing his, her wet breasts pressing against his chest. They both gasped, as his cock began to press against her from below, their lips massaging with a sticky, wet sound.

"I need to feel you" He whispered into her mouth helplessly, and she shivered at his words. She stood up, all covered in foam like Botticeli's mythological Venus. She turned to face the wall and leaned in, her buttocks and wet, swollen entrance on level with his face.

"Just fuck me" She said softly. Unable to take it any longer, he took her buttocks in his hands and licked her throbbing, wet pussy.

She moaned loudly at the feeling of it, his tongue teasing her clit before sliding deep inside her. Her buttocks began to press harder against his face, as he massaged her, the rough surface of his tongue pressing against her where she liked it.

"Do you like it, when your uncle takes care of you?" He purred, licking her with the tip of his tongue, teasing her all over, her thighs quivering with desire.

"Y-yes, you make me feel so good" She moaned helplessly, panting heavily, apparently she was about to come.

He rose from the water, placing the tip of his cock against her wet, throbbing entrance, teasing her without putting it in.

"Did you miss it? Missed my cock inside you?" He asked feisty, he was angry and jealous, he wanted to drive her to the brink of despair.

"Yes, I missed you so much, please" She sobbed, and he couldn't refuse her.

He entered her with a sudden, confident motion, filling her with his throbbing cock to the end. They both moaned loudly and panted as he began to fuck her, their wet bodies slamming against each other with a sticky sound. He watched with delight, as his cock moved in and out of her, taking what was his, what was always his.

He thought they really were like Hades and Persephone. Hades was her uncle too, he wanted her too and he stole her, drawing her into the world of darkness as he was now. From sweet, innocent Kora, he made her his Persephone, sexual, moist and eternally thirsty. They were now in his dark world of the dead, this was their 1/4 year, their winter, where their bodies writhed together.

"I love you." He gasped helplessly, his hands clenched tight around her buttocks, his cock fucking hard and fast her tight, throbbing cunt. He couldn't count how many times he'd cum inside her, how many times he'd experienced that forbidden pleasure with her. He knew he would never stop doing it. That if she wanted to, he would even be ready to have children with her.

"I love you too, so, so much!" She sobbed loudly and came, moaning in convulsions, her insides clenching mercilessly against him, his thrusts brutal, seeking fulfillment.

"Just like that, God, yes!" He gasped in delight, cumming inside her with a low moan, moving for a moment longer with a wet, sticky slap. He slid out of her finally, his cum running down her thigh.

He turned her to face him, pulled her in sharply, and kissed her deeply, tenderly, passionately. She cuddled up to him, returning his kisses sweetly, purring into his mouth. He picked her up, walking out of the tub with her. He took a clean towel and wiped her first, then himself.

He carried her to their bedroom and placed her on the bed, laying next to her, lying on his side. His hand caressed her beautiful, glowing skin gently, their bodies hot from bathing and orgasm. They enjoyed the cool sheets around them. Aemond looked at her body thoughtfully.

"Aemond?" She asked quietly. He looked at her, surprised. She used to tease him by calling him uncle. He loved it when she said his name, just like she did when they were kids. She often did it at his request in bed, when he was fucking her, or when she wanted to tell him something important.

"Hmm?" He grunted, touching her cheek.

"Do you remember how I used to come to you at night, after my father died?" She asked quietly. He nodded.

"We kissed then, didn't we? On the lips." She said, even in the darkness he could feel her blushing.

"Yes." He grunted at the pleasant memory.

"I loved it when you did that. When you touched me. Only you. I didn't go to sleep with Aegon or my brothers. I wanted you. How could you leave me?" She asked softly, her lip quivering. They never talked about this period, finding it too painful for both of them, enjoying the here and now. He swallowed hard, dropping his eye.

"I couldn't handle what I felt. I thought you'd loathe me. And you'd be right." He said low and hesitantly, running his fingers over her shoulder. Her lips parted slightly.

"Promise you'll never leave me again." She whispered in a trembling voice.

He felt a shiver run through him. He pulled her to him, pressing his forehead against hers, his hand on her cheek.

"Never."

_____

This is the last chapter of this story. Thank you all for receiving this story so well and I invite you to read my other fanfics! 💖

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @snh96 @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes

Others: @letmeloveyouuuu

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Clan of Three - Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: The Heiress

Plot: A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the jedi, and a teenager with similar powers with an undiscovered lineage. An unlikely group to travel the galaxy together.

Word Count: 5.8K

Pairing: Father Figure!Din Djarin x Platonic!Teen!Reader

Warnings: fighting/violence, injuries, massive angst, tears

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You woke up from the travels to you all just flying past the gas giant Kol Iben towards the moon Trask.

“Looks like we made it. Get ready for landing.” Din says as you rub the sleep from your eyes as you begin your descent toward the planet. A loud beeping makes him curse out loud, “Dank farrik! The landing array isn’t responding. Without the guidance system, it’ll be a manual re-entry. It might get choppy. Once we’re through the atmosphere, there should be enough fuel to slow down. If we don’t burn to a crisp.” The beeping only grows louder which in turn wakes up the Frog Lady and the child.

“What’s going on?!” As you see the ship begin to burn, you were going down too fast.

“Come up here. I need your hands! This lever needs to stay back. Can you do that? Keep it steady. Here we go.” Din looks at you pointing at a lever and you nod pulling it all the way back it had some tension almost as if it didn’t want to stay all this far back.

“Razor Crest, this is Trask flight control. Please reduce your speed to port protocol.” The Flight control comes through your transmitters as the approaching planet grows closer, “I’m trying my best here.” “Engage reverse thrusters. Brace!” He switches to the reverse the ship jerking as you see the landing bay getting too close for comfort at this speed.

“Hold on.” “Razor Crest, do you copy? You have to reduce speed.” “Almost there, almost there.” “Razor Crest, do you copy? Razor Crest, you’re coming in too fast. You have to re…” The ship hits the landing bay with a heavy thud as you’re back on the ground.

“Here we go. Nice and easy.” Din says and a loud crack fills the air as the landing struts break down and the Crest begins to tip over and you all crash into the water. It goes dark quickly with the water but with how fast you had entered the water you were out of it. The rushing water pours out of the ship as you’re placed onto the landing pad. You all disembark the soaked and very broken ship, the Frog Lady moves ahead as Din speaks to an octopus-looking man, the child in his pram beside you. The smell of salt was so strong here, the air chilly but almost refreshing. The main thing you had been staring at was the water, you’d never seen this much water. You hadn’t thought this much water could exist.

“Kid,” Din pulls you out of your thoughts and he’s standing further ahead with the child you catch up with the two. The three of you see the Frog Lady run up to another Frog Man as they embrace speaking to each other before they hold the canister holding their future child with such love. You feel your heart melt seeing the happiness on their face being reunited.

Din shakes hands with the Frog Man as he croaks his thanks, “You’re welcome. I was told you could lead me to others of my kind,” The Frogs lead them to an inn before they soon depart. Entering the establishment quickly eyes are drawn to the Mandalorian in his shiny beskar, the human girl, and the small child in the pram. A very unlikely group together as the server glances at you all before pointing to a table.

“Have a seat over there. What can I get you?” You all sit down as the server now joins the table.

“Nothing for me. Two bowls of chowder for my friends.” Din motions to the two of you and you see the server give him a look, “These seats are scarce, buddy. Everyone seated needs to eat.”

“I can buy something else. Information. Have you seen others that look like me?” Din asks and the man places two bowls of chowder in front of you and the child. You place the bowl closer to the child as he reaches out with his tiny hands.

“Others with beskar have been through here.” The server says and that intrigued the bounty hunter, “Who can take me to them?”

“I know someone who might help.” The server nods before leaving, you slowly eat your food, it is unlike anything you’ve tasted. Maker, you were so lucky to travel the galaxy. You hear a cry come from the child and you look down seeing a cephalopod creature latched onto the child’s face. Din holds out a knife prying it off his face,

“Don’t play with your food.” He scolds before a new person arrives at the table. “Hmm. You seek others of your kind?”

Din nods looking at the Quarren boatman, “Have you seen them?” “Aye. I can bring you to them.” The boatman nods,

“Where?” Din asks and the boatman points out towards the water, “Only a few hours sail. It’ll cost you, though.”

You would say getting used to being on a starship was easy but on a boat felt off, you could feel the ship rocking against the waves as it travels further out to sea. The Quarrens shout at each other as they work, seeing creatures of the ocean that you have never seen before. It was all so new as you follow behind Din and the child.

“You ever see a mamacore eat?” The boatman asks, gesturing you over to a large opening below the ship’s deck, “Quite a sight. They might take an interest. You should take a look. Come on over here. Get a good view. Let the kids see.” You are all pretty close to the edge,

“Never seen this much water before!” You say in awe your feet grace the edges but Din pulls you back slightly,

”All right, close enough.” Din says as you watch the grate in the middle slide open as a net full of fish lowers down into the water.

The Quarren grins hearing the rumble from the mamacore as it feast under the water, “There we go. She must be hungry. Oftentimes we’ll feed her in the early morning, but we missed that ’cause we were goin’ out of port!” It happened so suddenly. The Quarren whacks his spear against the child’s cradle pushing it above the water and the mamacore surfaces swallowing the cradle with the child inside.

“No!” Both you and Din yell out horrified by the action, you spin around to fight when hands shove you backward, why did you have to be so close to the edge? Your frightened gaze meets Din’s as you fall back into the water, his hand barely reaching yours as he’s thrown back by two Quarrens.

Tatooine never had large bodies of water, all of it had dried up years ago making it the desert planet it was. There was no reason for you to learn how to swim if you were meant to stay there for the rest of your life. Even during your travels with the Mandalorian you never had taken the opportunity to learn such a basic skill. On Sorgon when you would travel to waterfalls or large lakes, you stood at a safe distance or entered the water letting it reach your hips not going further in as the others swam or dived off the tall cliffs into the water. It was a shock of electricity from the idea you were in water that you couldn’t stand in and that you were in there with a creature that just swallowed the child whole. You burst through the surface gasping for air and spitting out water getting in your mouth, you try pulling yourself out but your hands slam against the bars just a foot away from your face. Your hands slip trying to grab onto the metal grate to pull yourself up so you could breathe and find a way to escape. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you hear the fight above as Din yells.

“Hurry up and drown the girl!” Someone yells before pikes come down on your hands making you slip back under the water, your arms and legs flail as you try to bring yourself back up to the surface, breaking through the water again your hand grabs one of the rungs the other grabbing the saber attached to your waist, bring it above the water the howling sound fills the air as the saber cuts through the metal, the orange blade melting through.

“She’s a jedi! Kill her already!” Someone yells and more pikes rain down on you making you lose your grip and you’re back under the water, the saber goes out instantly under the water. You move your arms rapidly trying to push yourself up but nothing works as you only sink further into the water. Your lungs burn as you try to keep the water out of your lungs but you accidentally breathe in through your nose in a panic making you open your mouth to get the water out only causing more water to fill. Your body grows weaker before your vision goes black the last thought being of Din.

Din never fought harder in his life tearing through the Quarrens, he could hear you struggling in the water as you cry out in fear. He had to get you and the child to safety but they seemed to not be letting up, the sudden arrival of other Mandalorian had been unexpected as they all bring down the Quarrens and the ones over the grate. They all wear blue armor with white details as the last Quarren falls dead,

“There’s a creature. It has the Child and the girl.” Din tells trying to move forward but one of them holds him back,

“On it!” One of the Mandalorians dives into the water his body shakes with anger but also fear. He knew you didn’t swim, why would anyone on Tatooine know how to swim?

“The children. Help the children.” Din breathes out heavily trying to calm his pounding heart as the female leader reassures him. The sound of underwater explosions doesn’t soothe his nerves, “Don’t worry, brother. We’ve got this.”

The female Mandalorian who dived into the water comes flying out with her jetpack under one arm the damaged cradle is quickly given to Din who opens it. The child looks frightened but otherwise safe, held in her other arm is you. His blood runs cold seeing your eyes cold, your lips and fingers blue.

The female Mandalorian lays you on the ground on your back leaning down her ear over your face trying to listen before she quickly pulls back bringing her hands together. “She’s not breathing…” Din rushes forward but is held back by the only other male Mandalorian,

“Kid!” “Stop it she has her!” Din struggles in his grasp watching her bring her hands to your chest pressing against it in patterns before stopping trying to hear your breathing and continuing cursing under her breath. He thought he already lost you once but you had proved yourself. You couldn’t leave now.

“Come on kid, you can’t do this!” He cries out his helmet hiding his fearful emotion as he watches the woman work to save your life. It felt like hours pass as he watch your body just lay there as the Mandalorian tries to get you to breathe. Water spurts from your mouth and she turns you to your side as water pours from your mouth. You cough intensely as your body forces you to expel all the water, Din felt relief cover him so quickly seeing you breathing. You were so cold as you continue to cough out water before it subsided.

“You okay kid?” A voice asks and you look over seeing a Mandalorian helmet that wasn’t Din’s.

“Am I dead…?” You ask and she chuckles shaking her head. “You are very much alive.” She says as she helps you sit up bringing you to a bench to sit on. Din is instantly by your side he brings you close to him words of Mando’a mumbled under his breath, prayers thanking his gods. Din pulls away looking at the three Mandalorians,

“Thank you. I’ve been searching for more of our kind.” He says and the female leader steps forward nodding.

“Well, lucky we found you first.” She says,

“I’ve been quested to deliver these children. I was hoping that…” Din trails off seeing the three of them remove their helmets revealing their faces, “Where did you get that armor?” He accuses standing up and placing himself between the children and these fakes.

The ginger woman scoffs almost insulted, “This armor has been in my family for three generations.”

“You do not cover your face. You are not Mandalorian.” He says their creed was broken with the removal of their helmets.

“He’s one of them.” The dark-haired man says and Din gives him a look,

“Dank farrik.” The leader curses which makes Din more confused. “One of what?”

“I am Bo-Katan of Clan Kryze. I was born on Mandalore and fought in the Purge. I am the last of my line. And you are a Child of the Watch.” The woman, Bo-Katan introduces herself.

“The Watch?” He inquires,

“Children of the Watch are a cult of religious zealots that broke away from Mandalorian society. Their goal was to re-establish the ancient way.” Bo-Katan says and Din shakes his head handing off the child to you as he helps you onto your feet, still feeling weak and still shocked that all had happened.

“There is only one way. The Way of the Mandalore.” He says and the other woman with braids going across her forehead, “Wait!” She pulls something from her belt and holds out your saber which you cautiously accept, “I didn’t know the jedi were training children anymore…” You don’t get to question what she said before Din picks you up and the three of you leave the ship flying back to land. From the shore you see the ship explode into flames as well as the three Mandalorians fly off as well.

“Come on kid…” Din calls out to you ready to return to the ship. The child rested in his arms as the night quickly took over. You were more dried off now, your clothes still sticking to your body each step of your shoes moist and gross but your hair had begun to air dry. The street lights lit your way before someone appear in front of your path,

“Hey! You… You killed my brother.” A Quarren steps forward, this must have been the boatsman’s brother. More appear from the shadows surrounding you all,

“Let me pass.” Din demands and the man laughs,

“I don’t you think you understand. You killed my brother and now I’m gonna kill your kid and your pet.” He says pointing a large spear at you and the child in Din’s arms mistaking him for a pet. Appearing from above is Bo-Katan and the two other Mandalorians who flank around you all.

“He didn’t kill your brother. I did.” Bo-Katan says and they quickly eliminate the threats before either of you could move to join the fight. Bo-Katan looks at Din, “Can we at least buy you a drink?”

At the bar, you all sat around a table, and Bo-Katan starts to speak, “Trask is a black market port. They’re staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet. We’re seizing those weapons and using them to retake our home world. Once we’ve done that, we’ll seat a new Mand’alor on the throne.” She explains and you see Din shake his head.

“That planet is cursed. Anyone who goes there dies. Once the Empire knew they couldn’t control it, they made sure no one else could either.” He replies and Bo-Katan takes a sip of her drink giving him a look.

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Our enemies wanna separate us. But Mandalorians are stronger together.” Din ignores her proposal he already had something to worry about than to recontrol a whole planet, “That’s not part of my plan. I’ve been quested with returning these kids to the Jedi.” 

“What do you know of the Jedi?” Bo-Katan asks and she glances over at you pausing slightly looking over you.

“Nothing. I was hoping you would help me by Creed.” Din admits looking over at the girl who was still damp from the water and the child watching Reeves in fascination.

“I can lead you to one of their kind. But first, we need your help on our mission.” Bo-Katan offers, “Mission?” Din asks.

You all stood at the pier looking over the landing pads of multiple ships and Bo-Katan pointed at one ship far off in the distance, “You see that Imperial Gozanti freighter? It’s being loaded with weapons as we speak. According to the port’s manifest, it’s scheduled to depart at first light.”

“So we stow away?” Din questions, “We’ve been hitting ’em pretty hard. They scan for life forms as a precaution before pushing back.” Reeves comments.

“If you wanna do this with four, you’re gonna need the element of surprise,” Din says and you feel someone watching you and you see it’s Bo-Katan looking at you.

“With five. Having a Jedi on our side would increase our chances,” Bo-Katan says and Din looks over at who she’s referring to.

“The kid’s not getting involved with the empire.” Din refuses ready to back out of the whole deal altogether.

“I’ve not known a Jedi that didn’t get involved in fighting the empire.” Reeves says looking over you and examining you and you shrink back slightly from her gaze, “Where did you even come across a Jedi…thought they all died off.”

“She’s not involved. That’s final.” Din says pulling you to stand behind him away from the other Mandalorians.

“Alright…The freighter will maintain trawling speed while inside the shipping lanes and then ascend in orbit. We’ll jet up when they’re cruising in the atmosphere. The tower won’t allow them to climb until they’ve left the port’s airspace.” Bo-Katan says the plan is still possible without a jedi.

“Troopers?” Din questions and Bo-Katan is quick to respond, “A squad at most.”

“And they couldn’t hit the side of a bantha.” Woves quips a smirk on his face.

The plan had been made and three of you traveled to a home and you then found yourself with the Frogs. “Something’s come up. Can I leave them with you for a bit?” Din says placing the child at the table. “You are gonna stay here, so I want you to be respectful. And mind your manners. You know what I’m talking about. Thanks. I’ll be back for him.” He’s quick to leave the room and you follow after him.

“Din!” You call after him and he turns thinking you would stay behind. “Why would you keep me out of this mission, you know I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“I don’t want you or the child involved with the empire, you’re safer away from the fight.” He says and you could tell it had to do with something else.

“If this had to deal with what happened earlier today, none of us knew that was going to happen. That shouldn’t stop me from fighting with you-” You say but he holds his hand up silencing you, “I’m not changing my mind! Now go kid.” He says harshly pointing at the home of the Frogs and watching a multitude of emotions cross your face before you turn walking back into the home. Din sighs knowing this deeply upset you but he was only doing it for your safety. He turns before making his way to where Bo-Katan and the others were set up.

At dawn, the Mandalorians quickly depart after the Gozanti-class cruiser flying beside it, what none of them knew was someone else had joined on this mission on the other side of the ship. So while the warriors had taken out stormtroopers on one side before forcing their way inside, a girl sneak on the other side. Your feet were silent making your way through the halls hidden in the shadows and corners when troopers would pass by. You turned down a corner only to a squad of stormtroopers.

In the cockpit, the Captain tries learning more about these intruders having heard it is only four life-forms, “Wait. They’re Mandalorian! We’ve…” A soldier yells out the information a new transmission comes through from a completely another side of the cruiser away from where the attacks were coming from.

“Sir! There’s another on the ship…a girl?!” The sound of blaster fire stops him from talking before it comes back again, “It’s a Jedi! A jed-” His scream cuts out with the sound of saber meeting flesh. The Captain stands still before looking at the other pilot who had also heard the news. A Jedi…there are no more jedi alive anymore all of them eradicated.

“Get me a message to the empire.”

As the Mandalorians fight their way to the cargo hold you make your way towards the bridge, with no map to lead you there, you just let yourself guide you to where the bridge was. The force spreads across the ship as you find where you need to go.

“We have them trapped, sir.” The deck officer says from in the cargo hull, they had trapped the Mandalorians in a room.

“Trapped them where?” The Captain questions, “In the cargo control area.”

“Where?” “In the cargo control area!” The shouts fill the air as the security officer and the stormtroopers with him are sucked out of the cargo bay.

“Come in. Do you copy? Do you copy?” The Captain shouts out before a voice comes in.

“I copy. Thanks for packing up all this gear so nicely. Imagine what a division of us can do when we get our hands on what’s inside these shiny little boxes.” Bo-Katan says as the others look through the weapons they had just retrieved.

“If you think you’re going to escape with those weapons, you are sadly mistaken. Even if you’ve managed to jettison a few of those crates, we will comb the entire area until you are hunted down and killed.” The Captain spits and the Mandalorian smiles, “Oh, we’re not jettisoning anything. We’re taking the entire ship.”

“What?” Din looks over hearing this new plan as Bo-Katan continues talking, “Put some tea on. We’ll be up in a minute.” She ends the transmission and Din comes over to her.

“This is more than I signed up for.” He shakes his head and Bo-Katan explains,

“There is something I need if I am to rule Mandalore. Something that was once mine. They know where it is and soon, so will I. Regardless, we are taking the ship for the battles ahead.”

“I got you your weapons. I have to return to my ship with the foundlings.” Din retorts.

“If you want my help finding the Jedi, you will help me take this ship.” Bo-Katan says though Din protests, “You’re changing the terms of the deal.”

“This is the Way.” She says finally before walking away leaving the Mandalorian no choice but to comply.

“What is it, Captain?” He looks down at the captain had received another message.

“Another pirate hijacking but more information,” The Captain responds to his superior.

“Were you able to eliminate them?” He questions and the Captain shakes his head,

“No. We need backup immediately.”

“Are these the same “pirates” that have attacked our other vessels?” His superior asks, “They appear to be, sir. But something else came up.”

“What is it?” He asks irritated this operation had been overtaken by some pirates.

“We experienced another enemy on the cruiser…a girl. They say she’s a jedi.” The Captain says and the officer’s eyes widen hearing the statement. So you had been learning or did you already know?

“You kill the enemies on that ship this instant. But keep the girl alive.” He says and the Captain is confused by this request.

“But sir, she’s taken down much of the ship-” “You will not question my orders!”

“Yes, Moff Gideon..” The Captain bows his head down in shame before the warlord nods.

“You know what to do. Long live the Empire.” Gideon responds and the Captain nods, “Long live the Empire.” He pulls out his blaster killing the pilot before taking control of the ship, sending a transmission of any alive troopers on the ship.

“Kill the pirates on this ship, and capture the jedi. That is an order from your superior.” He ends the transmission before taking the controls and beginning to nose-dive straight toward the water. The shift of the weight of the ship as you slide slightly digging your blade into the ground stopping you from moving, blocking another blaster fire with your saber you quickly rush through the remaining troopers cutting them down with ease. Fighting with your saber compared to your blaster felt more right, you felt whole like a piece of you was missing all this time. You make your way down the halls getting closer to the bridge when you encounter two squads of troopers, one squad focused on you the other focused on the Madnalorians coming down the other end.

“How many troopers?” Bo-Katan asks hiding behind a wall trying to avoid the gunfire,

“Six to ten. Two with heavy repeating blasters. We’re losing altitude fast.” Reeves yells back looking at her wrist that shows the quickly dropping altitude.

“We need to move now.” Bo-Katan yells out peeking out to fire before hiding back, “They have too much firepower!”

“Still dropping. Ten thousand. We won’t make it to the bridge!” Reeves yells as they try firing as well as hanging on to the cruiser that was at an angle.

“Nine thousand. Eight thousand. Seven thousand.” Reeves yells before Din moves forward, “Cover me. Come on!” He rushes forward fighting his blaster at the troopers while taking hits but the beskar protects him. The Mandalorians provide cover fire as he throws two charges at the squad moving back as they explode incinerating the enemies. The smoke is thick as they push through they were right at the bridge when an attack came straight at Din’s head. Bringing his arms up the beskar bracers protecting the orange blade from striking him. The smoke quickly clears as the Mandalorians see a girl with a saber staring back at them in shock.

“Maker I could have cut your head off!” “What are you doing here!” You both say at the same time as you lower your saber. Behind you from where you came from the bodies of troopers, slash marks, and stab wounds from your burning weapon.

“No time to argue,” Bo-Katan says as she leads into the bridge all of you quickly following. The door opens and the Captain is piloting the ship noticing the company he pulls out his blaster but it’s sent flying across the room and he’s pinned against the wall unable to move his limbs. You step beside Bo-Katan as she pulls out a knife threatening him as you hold him in place. Reeves and Din rush towards the controls quickly stabilizing the ship before it could crash into the water.

“Where is it?” Bo-Katan growls and the Captian smirks acting clueless, “Where’s what?”

“The Darksaber. Does he have it?” She says bringing the knife closer to his throat.

“If you’re asking, you already know.” He grins and Bo-Katan grimaces at the comment, “I’ll let you live. But you will take me to him.” She orders offering to spare his life.

“You might let me live, but he won’t.” The Captain says and he bites into a capsule in his mouth his body killing him with electricity. “No!” You lower your hand stepping away as the Captain’s body hits the floor.

“We have to go. He sent a distress signal.” Reeves says to Bo-Katan who is glaring at the dead imperial.

“Clear the atmosphere and prepare to jump,” She orders Reeves and Woves who quickly take control and she looks over at Din, “Are you sure you won’t join us?”

“There’s something I need to do.” Din shakes his head and Bo-Katan nods removing her helmet, “The offer stands if you change your mind.”

“Where can I find the Jedi?” Din asks stepping towards her,

“Take the foundlings to the city of Calodan on the forest planet of Corvus. There you will find Ahsoka Tano. Tell her you were sent by Bo-Katan. And thank you. Your bravery will not be forgotten. This is the Way.” She says stepping back and Din nods repeating her words,

“This is the Way.” Din leaves the bridge while you still stand there and she looks over you slightly, “Stay smart kid, being a Jedi isn’t easy.” She says and you nod.

“Thank you Bo-Katan..” You say before turning and leaving the bridge, the two of you reach the airlock exiting the ship as Din picks you up flying back to land as the ship leaves the atmosphere.

Back at the Frog couple’s house, the two of you enter seeing the child playing with a tadpole as their watch. “Thank you for watching him. Okay, kid. Come on. It’s time to go. Let go. Come on, kid. Congratulations. No, I have enough pets.” He picks up the child before you leave heading for the Crest. At the port, you knew the Crest wasn’t the newest ship by a landslide but this just looked like a hunk of junk.

“I gave you a thousand credits, this was the best you could do?” Din asks looking at the dock worker who just shrugs before holding out the datapad for him to sign. He sighs signing it before you enter the Crest, it was put together with random scraps of metal and had nets all over the place even inside.

“Mon Calamari. Unbelievable.” Din grumbles the entire way inside the ship pushing past a net hanging in front of the doorway, he situates the child in his seat

“I finally know where I’m taking you both. But it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” He speaks to the child you down in the hull as he starts the semi-repaired Razor Crest leaving the planet and jumping into hyperspace.

You didn’t need to hear the beskar to know that he had arrived, you could feel the anger and frustration coming from him. Your gaze was glued to your books as you sat in the cargo hull on one of the crates. Past the pages, you could see him standing there but you continue your book though it was just you re-reading the same line. His hand pushes the book down taking it from your hands.

“Hey!” “Why did you disrespect my direct order when it was meant to keep you safe.” He says he puts the book to the side before crossing his arms and you lean back giving him a look.

“Order…? Since when do you give orders…besides, I helped you guys on that cruiser.” You say copying his stance and he shakes his head, “I told you to stay back because of the empire, but no it seems my warnings are not good enough for you.” Din says and you push yourself off the crate to head back to the main hull but he blocks you.

“I’m not apologizing for helping Din, I would do it again even if you disagreed. I’m not a child I can protect myself.” You say and you could feel the intensity of his gaze through the beskar helmet of his, “But you are, it was only a few months ago that you could barely handle a blaster but now all of a sudden you’re an adult that can fight off the people that are after you.” His tone was cold and harsh something you weren’t used to.

“Do you understand what your life means? Running off and putting yourself at risk? When I tell you something I expect you to follow it to the T but it seems like you’re only interested in playing hero when this life isn’t a game,” Din says referencing Tatooine and even now.

Your eyes narrow as you glare at the bounty hunter, “I guess we’re both disappointed with each other then. I was helping people. And it’s not like you care about others. You are only focused on the credits at the end of this. Our relationship…the child’s…is built on the fact that you had a reward at the end of it when we met. So don’t give me that protective father bullcrap because you’re only in this mess because you had a change of heart.”

“That change of heart is what’s keeping you alive or would you rather be tortured by the empire or better yet dead? Our creed…this clan-” He starts and you turn away pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Oh kriff that…This has never been our creed! I don’t understand how just because someone says we are a clan automatically makes us a family. I don’t know you Din…you don’t know me. Like I said I can take care of myself,” You point at yourself and at him.

“How many close calls have we had, with the empire or with bounty hunters?” He says you can hear the frustration in his modulated voice,

“Well, we seem to be doing alright so far.” “And we’ll be doing better when you learn the creed. I just have to teach you-” Din starts but you shake your head

“Din..I only just learned your name! You probably weren’t ever going to tell me anyways. No matter how much you try to teach me about the Mandalorians I won’t be one. I’m not your daughter and you aren’t my father!” You spit and the atmosphere is quickly cold and you step back realizing the words that came out of your mouth. Din had stepped back as if your words drove straight into his heart and he couldn’t help but deflect back at your harsh words.

“You're right…You're not my daughter and I sure as hell ain't your father. When we meet the Jedi we will be going our separate ways.” Din declares and you can’t ignore the malice in his words. You knew you hurt him with what you said but just hearing him say those same words back to you felt like a dagger in your chest. You nod sharply looking away from him trying to keep the quickly forming tears. You don’t deserve to cry...you caused this. You just ruin everything and push people away. Din leaves you in the cargo the silent tears falling down your face and returning to the cockpit with his own heart broken hidden behind the helmet. The child in the pram notices the upset feeling coming off the older man and further away the sadness and loneliness coming from you.

A clan of three…broken.

[jujutsukgojo]

Heat of the island chapter 2

Summary:

“Wh-a-you?” He’s breaking up slightly. “The tracker is on, can you trace it?” Shouto grabs your hand. You give it a slight squeeze. “Fo-” Silence, completely deafening silence. Neither you nor Shouto breathed. Shouta Aizawa had been cut off before he could finish what he was saying.  

first chap

tw: Bully, storms, fear. i dont own bnha or the characters.

As the sun sets, you work on the radios. Everyone has left you to complete the tasks of fixing it and to get the plane running. During this time, you notice that it isn’t damaged in the slightest. The outside isn’t even scratched, and the inside is perfect. Is something else amiss or did you fly it better than originally thought?  

Never mind that last part. If you were a good pilot, you’d never be stuck on some God forsakenly beautiful island where the white sand travels long, allowing the gentle movements of the cool water to touch it. This pretty ass island with lush greens and tall shady trees, and the subtle breeze of air that smells so fresh.   

You hate it. You hate all of this stupid nature.  

“Come on, come on.” The radio gives nothing to work with. “Damn it...”   

You wipe your forehead from the sweat. Despite the beauty of the place, the heat is extreme. It has to be a hundred or more.   

“Fuck it.” You take off your shirt and are left with your undershirt that is this close to leaving too if it gets any hotter.  

In just a few hours, what is left of Shouto’s ice quirk has been used the most. From people coming up to him and placing their head on his hand, to him cooling down the plane you are stationed in. Bakugou, who has stripped you of first name rights, glares at him every time he does.  

And no, you don’t miss the looks given to you. Never in your life have you received such judgement when you buried Jay. Were you just supposed to leave him to decompose in the sun? He was gone with no way home.   

Dead. His body completely changed from how you first saw it to look as if he was sleeping. When you laid him to rest, it was exceptionally disturbing since he didn't look dead at all. With each pound of dirt that covered him, the scene looked horrid. Like you were burying him alive. 

Wiping your tears, you continue to work. By this time however, you don’t know if they are tears or beads of sweat as gross as it sounds.  Giving up on the radio for now, you switch to the plane. It hasn’t turned on but physically everything is okay. “It’s gotta be electrical then.”   

  Your plane doesn’t have gas since it is an energy-based plane. At the time, you thought it would be cleaner.   

Damn. The only thing you can think of right now would be to jump it like a battery, leaving Denki to be your human charger. His quirk may not be working perfectly, but little consistent jumps may help this pretty girl.   

 You jump up and run to Denki who is working next to Momo. Right when you exit the plane to call out his name, the black haired genius falls. Everyone gathers around her, trying to fan her as much as they can.  

 Momo has always been one of the healthiest people you’ve ever met. Seeing her faint is not an easy sight. Mina fans her and demands she get water.   Everyone freezes. They didn’t think about that at all. Everyone has been reeling from this and the loss of the use of their quirk, that people forgot about water and food.   

“Oh, I got it!” You run back to the plane to get some supplies. The passengers have their own supply of food and drinks while the pilots have theirs. The supply isn’t much but at least Momo can have something.  

You take a bottle water from the passenger’s supply and run to Momo. Before you leave, you grab the first aid kit that is placed in Recovery Girl’s first doctor bag. You hand the bottle to Mina and watch her open it. Reaching inside the black bag, you feel the smelling salt. It is an old practice but one that Recovery Girl still uses.   

Momo wakes up quickly once she smells the strong salt. Mina gives her the water immediately. “Please drink, Momo.”   

The woman sips on the water. Her black eyes start to become focused. “What happened?”  

“This heat is too dangerous. We have to do something.”   Momo looks at around then her black eyes land on the bag. She turns to you with a warm smile. “Thank you, (Y/n).”  

“No problem,” This heat, this island, is way too much. It is a terrible atmosphere that is making everyone more irritable by the second. For the first time since discovering Jay’s body, you’ve been granted some kind of kindness. “If you’d like, you can come with me to Betty away from the sun.”  

  She shakes her head no. “No, we have so much to do out here that need my attendance.”   

Afterwards, Bakugou’s words to a few others do not go unnoticed. “Funny how she had that the entire time.”   

“Right?” Koda?  

“It makes sense that she does, Bakugou, now stop.” 

  That's just ridiculous. It's not like the plane's supplies were a secret! Like everyone else, you didn’t even focus on all of that. While they were building shelter and scoping out the place, you were doing your own thing to help out. You weren’t hiding or hoarding anything.  

 Running into Denki, you ask him to help you with the radio.   

“Don’t you think he’d be better over here, L/n?” Asks Tsu with a tone that rubs you the wrong way. Snooty? Rude? Condescending or something? It's hard to place but it definitely isn’t good.  

And this is coming from Tsu. The first one to always ask people to call her by her first name. Shoulders lowering, you look at her and answer, “No, I need him for just a minute.”  

As the two of you leave for the plane, someone says, “Check on him soon, I'm serious.” Of course, a few people laughed.   

Denki nervously chuckles. “Haha, not necessary, right, Pilot?” Smiling a little, you assure him that he’s fine and you just need him to give the plane and radio a little juice. “Oh! Okay. Not a lot right? Because I can only do a little.”  

“Trust me, it won’t be much. Even if the radio only starts, you’d be a huge help.”  

His cheeks get a different shade of pink than what the sun gave him. You go to the wall where a hidden compartment is and hand him some sunblock and aloe vera. “I packed it when I was hired to take you guys to the island. I though Jay and I could get a little sun before we took off.”  

He stills and gives his condolences. “I’m so sorry, Pilot. This whole thing is fucked up.” You thank him.   

“Hey, once we’re home, we’ll give him a big send off.” You giggle at the thought. “He was dramatic. He’d love that.”  

 Clearing your throat, you point to the radio. “I just need a little jump. If this works then we just might be saved.”  

Denki focuses on it. Little sparks emit from his hands and onto the device. With ease, the meter moves. “Again.”  

Little happens. “I’m sorry, Pilot.” Shaking your head, you lead him to the controls. “Here, try this.”  

Denki does his best again. “Damn it!” He places his hands on the dash. Rubbing his back, you say, “It’s alright. Betty probably took more of a beating than I'm assuming. It's not you, Denki.”  

“If you need help again, you’ll get me?” There is a smidge of hope in his voice. Eager to please and desperate to get off the island.  

“Absolutely. We need you, Denki.”  

-----------

Night falls on the heroes and one quirkless pilot. The night provides a chill that they relish before it becomes too cold for comfort. Momo orders for them to build a fire. Sticks and branches are in a pile around rocks that were found. Shouto provides little flicks of flames that take too long to catch up. Bakugou begins to get even more irritable. So, you try to provide a solution.  

“Why not just get into the plane?”  

“Not everyone wants to go back in there when you crashed it, (L/n). It's a little fucking traumatizing.” Mina snaps. You look just as surprised as she does. She places her hand on her mouth. “P-Pilot, I'm so sorr-”  

“Some things need to be said.” Eijrou, Kirishima, looks down at the ground in his squatting position. Never had you ever received any kind of hostile treatment from them. Every time they see you, they give you a big kiss and a hug. It was always love with them two.  

Izuku calms everyone down. “The fire is going to kick up any second now. No reason to fight. Pilot, we’re the heroes, okay? We know a little better, that’s all that they meant.”  

Lies. That isn’t what they meant at all. You want to object but the expression on his freckled face is pleading with you to not fight. This is what he thinks is the best course of action. Bakugou’s brows furrow even more. You are sure he'll develop wrinkles soon.  

“Too fucking long!” He sticks his palm up and fires his explosion. At the same time, wind blows. Unexpectedly, it pushes the flames from his quirk to the wrong direction. The flames hit the trees directly. The smoke hits the sky. Like it knew what to do, it sends droplets to the stranded heroes and a single pilot. It's now colder than it was before.

“Why did you do that, Katsuki?! It didn’t work at the training camp so what made you think you could do it now?!” At the mention of the camp, he gets in your face. “Look here you little shit-”  

“Kaachan!” He tells his friend to shut up. Turning back to you, you glare at him fiercely. Kirishima tries to tell you that it isn’t necessary to scold him and that it was worth a shot.   

“Some things need to be said, right?” Kirishima looks at you like you struck him. For a second you feel almost bad for throwing his words back into his face. Then again, who the hell cares right now?  

Everyone stops talking when Bakugou grabs your arms tightly. “Stand the fuck down.” He growls.   

It's scaring you; you admit that. He's bigger and stronger than you. And even though his quirk is only a fraction of what it usually is, it is still lethal. Hell, you’re scared and angry of all of this too! If they can show their emotions, why can’t you?  

“Kaachan, please.” Izuku comes in the fray and tries to separate him from you. “Control the bitch, Deku. I mean it.”   

“This is the shit we have to deal with, everybody. Fucking useless. Thank God we have Momo.” Bakugou yells. Half the people who you thought were your friends, honestly consider his perspective. You're just too suspicious, right? And useless. Who’s to say that the plane isn’t working in the first place. Why go by your word of all things?   

Dread hits your stomach when the assumptions of their thoughts cross your mind. You may not have danger sense but you do have a brain. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce that you are in danger.   

Izuku’s One For All’s danger sense is slightly ringing. “No, that can’t be it. I must feel something in the forest.” He whispers.   

He’s in denial.   

You don’t want to sleep outside with them. Like your first mind, the plane ends up being your bed. Izuku decides to sleep with you inside. He tells you it’s because of the cushions. Both of you know it’s because of what happened. Denial is a strong beast, even for the current number one hero.   

In the morning, you peek out the window to see Momo creating small things to give to Asui. The structure is odd. No, you know what it is not even seconds later. It’s a boat. One that won’t hold everyone.  

----

 

The heat is even worse in the morning. The night before seems like heaven compared to this hell. Outside is so hot, you swear you see slight blue rays beating down on everyone. By this time, everyone has stripped down to their knickers. Everyone can be embarrassed later, once they got off this God forsaken island.   

 Ochako comes to you and asks for the supplies you have in the plane. Gladly, you give it to her. Before she leaves, she touches your warm face. “I believe in you, (Y/n).”  

“Why do you say that?” You want to know. For there to be some kind of truth to it. “Because you’re not a liar. You're brave, Pilot. We know who you are. And I trust that.”   

That is all it took to put a smile on your face for what you hope would be forever. Especially when you catch static on the radio. When you hear it you do a happy dance. Static is better than absolutely nothing.  Shouto comes inside to see your dance. You abruptly stop and are about to tell him the good news when he drags you outside. “What’s wrong?”  

“Why did you stay in? It’s past dinner.” You didn’t know about dinner. Oh well. It's not like you wanted to have a meal with them right now. Usually, you’d eat late anyway.  

With a breathy chuckle, you say, “To fix the plane, silly. By the way, I got a static on the radio!  If the radio is working on the plane, then it shouldn’t be long till this baby runs.”  

He uses his right hand to rub your neck. “That’s good, (Y/n).”  

 You hum at the cool sensation. 

That’s when you see that you missed Momo separating rations that you gave them. “ The hell?”  

“You didn’t know?” Turning your head to him, you snap at him. “Now how the fuck would I know about this, Shouto. Why in the hell wouldn’t I be here?”  

He shrugs and pushes you along by your neck. He's being rougher than needed too. Don’t smack him, don’t do it.  

“(L/n)! Here’s yours.” Momo points to the saddest pile of food and water you ever saw. “The audacity...”  

  While everyone has more food, they also have more water. What the hell are you? A cactus or something? “That’s it?”  

“We’re heroes doing all the work so we need more. That and my quirk requires me to eat more than you. You wouldn’t want to take that away, would you?”  

“Pfft, I’m thinking fairly.”  

   “Oh, (L/n). We're heroes. We know better.” You roll your eyes at her. Whatever the hell happened to her is beyond you. Normally, Momo is a fair person who wouldn’t dare have anyone go hungry.   

This sad ass pile of fucking food.  

As you get closer you see what these bitches put in there. A few small water bottles, some crackers, chips, other shit that’ll make you thirsty, and...honey roasted peanuts.  

Your eyes are burning. No one else has peanuts. Just you.  

“We thought since you are fond of them that you would want them.” Momo explains. You stare at the woman sitting on a rock who carries an innocent look on her face. As you study closer, you see the smirk.   

“They’re harmless, (L/n). They won’t kill you.”   

You grab a rock and throw it right at her face.  

---

Idiot Izuku Midoriya catches it in time and Stupid Shouto throws you over his bare, broad shoulder. You slew obscenities that shocked them. Because of the disrespect, you pulled out the thirteen dirty words that Mr. Krabs knew.   

  “Put me down. Put me the fuck down!” You yell as you smack Shouto’s back. Then, you are put down inside Betty. Izuku and Shouto blocked the entrance of the plane.  

 “Go inside and calm down, Pilot.”   

“Get out of my way.”   

“No.” Izuku shifts his weight in order to block you.  

“You’re going to have to move some time.” Going into your sanctuary, you close the door. Although it seems that you acted like a child and slammed their bedroom door, it was really you not wanting anyone to see you cry.   

How could they do that to you? Rub Jay’s death in your face? Jay, your student, your friend, your partner in crime. Someone you knew and cared for so dearly. Someone whose body you discovered. A horrific sight tattooed your mind. Jay’s body is buried here. You had to bury him.  

You bought the peanuts. You left to go to the bathroom.   

 His loss is etched in your soul painfully. It won’t get out, no matter how much you claw your chest.   

  Honey roasted peanuts. You have to eat them since they took the majority of your pile.  

You lay down on your back and place your arms over your eyes. You don’t know how long you cried like that nor do you care. You don’t care how loud you were either. Whether they heard you scream ‘peanuts’ or ‘Jay’ or ‘I’m so sorry’, ‘and I hate you’; you don’t care.   

Because scratching your face and chest and throat isn’t working.

  

You're on your side when you decide to get up. Your head is pounding and eyes are burning but it is nothing in the end.  

 It's quiet outside. There's not a single hum other than the little noises from the birds. Stepping outside, you see Izuku, leaning against the plane. “What’re doing?”  

He jumps up and rubs his neck. “The plane really isn’t comfortable, y’know?”  

“Izuku.”  

  Sighing, “Right. I just, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”  

“And not going to hurt her.” You meant every word you said to her.  

He shakes his hands. “No! No, I mean it. That whole thing was inappropriate and insensitive. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”  

  “I’m fine. I want to shower though.”  

He agrees. “No, not you! I’m talking about me, ha ha.” Rubbing your face, you try to put him at ease. “It’s okay, Izuku.”  

  He releases the breath he was holding. “I’m going to find water.” You leave him and head for the woods or jungle or whatever the fuck it is. You don’t even know or care at this point. “I’ll go with you.”  

   At first you don’t mind or even wonder why he wants to, until the event with the peanuts crosses your mind. Is danger sense telling you something again, Izuku?   

Leaves from the never ending trees provide shade and slight coolness. Any type of relief you’ll enjoy right now. While heading straight, you find a fork made from stones piled on each other. “What?”  

“Is that normal on an island?” You shake your head no. It wouldn't be odd if the rocks didn't feel...weird? There is something unnatural about the formation. “At least I don’t think so. I failed geography. You’ll go one way and I'll go the other?”  

“If you fear anything, call me, okay?” You walk away when he grabs you gently. “I mean it, (Y/n). Please promise me.”  

“I promise, Izuku. I’ll let you know of anything.” He lets you go as the two of you part ways. Your way isn’t as thick as his, but it is bumpier. The trees are actually thinning out as opposed to the previous trek. The stones are laying flatter as you continue to walk.    

“Whatever.” You mutter as you continue to dodge leaves and the occasional bugs. “Why can’t Koda prove himself useful, eh Bakugou? But no. He's gotta help build stupid shit.”  

Ugh, you’re still not over the boat they’re building.  

They must really hate you now. It's fine because Betty will start up again and when she flies, she’ll look over the dipshits stranded in the water.   

In the midst of your anger, you completely miss the random coconut that lay on the ground, causing you to trip. “Ow, my fucking titty...”  

  When you push yourself up is when you see it. A body of water surrounded by sand and rocks, a small waterfall and is filled with pure blue water. In the water are smooth pebbles that are a beautiful shade of brown, the waterfall blends the water with ripples and makes an ever so slight hue of pretty colors in it.   

  Suddenly, the sheer blue light that has been cast upon the island presses against everything. You notice that it disappears depending on the angle of how you look at an object. No matter how many times you rub your eyes, it doesn’t fully leave.   

  It starts to get hotter and hotter. You can’t stand it anymore and just decide to jump in. Whatever is in there be damned. “Izuku, I'm over here! There’s water!”  

It's cool compared to the air. against what you originally thought, it isn’t that deep. The cold water comes to your chest. Your bra is soaked already but who cares? You’re dirty, hot, and smelly.   

Even though there is no soap, you still relish the rinse. Rubbing it all over your body, you sigh in relief. Izuku finds you after a game of Marco-Polo. He's disheveled and covered in dirt. “Come in, the water’s cold!”  

  Like you, he just jumps in.   

Izuku laughs. “Thank God! I can’t stand the heat anymore.”  

“Well, doll, we have this water.” Although the sheer blue light is still here, you note that there is something about this water that isn’t sitting right with you. The smell is so familiar. Ever since you got to the island you’ve been a bit confused, so maybe this is one of those times?

  It's not just you that's off, though. Everyone has been acting different. Especially, your so-called-friends. Ever since their quirks became MIA, it is like they’re different people. The opposites or the extremities of their personalities. You may be a little confused and irritable, you are nowhere as bad as they are. 

Is it also affecting your sense of smell? Your head is already fuzzy, but it isn’t too farfetched for your nose to be wrong.   

“Izuku, there’s something wrong here.” The smell of the water is so, so familiar.  

 “What’d you mean?” He rubs his chest with the water. Trying to not be so distracted you turn away. “There is a really, really, faint blue light. It gets hotter when it comes up. I think there’s something wrong.”  

  He shrugs. “It’s the heat. I noticed it too.” Looking back at him, you ask, “And you’re not curious that it’s here? Or that we might be the only ones to notice?”  

“I’m sure everyone has and just haven’t mentioned it. It’s nothing, (L/n).”   

The fuck?  

“L/n? What happened to Y/n or Pilot?”  

  He comes closer to you. “Are you upset?” He’s acting weird, flirty or annoyed, you can’t tell. “No, just wondering.”   

  “We need to share the water with everyone. That alright with you?” He gets out and stares at you. “Or do you want to stay here?”  

What is with his tone? “What’s wrong with you, Izuku?”   

“Whatever happened to Midoriya?”  

-----

You decide to stay behind while he got everyone else. The light has faded away and the temperature has gotten a tiny bit better. The smell of the water is still familiar and is becoming stronger.   

“Is it a memory or something?”  

“You found water!” Ochako yells. She jumps in before you can tell her it isn’t that deep. “Ow!”   

You can’t help but laugh. She flicks water in your face playfully. This, this is normal. So why is everything changing? Is discomfort that strong of a factor of someone’s personality?  

  Maybe. You didn’t expect it to happen to Midoriya.   

Moving towards the waterfall to avoid everyone else, Denki calls out to tell you ‘good job!’. You give him a thumbs up. You slightly jump at the sound of Asui’s voice.  

“That must be an exit, then.” She stands next to Bakugou to looks to where she points.   

“The backwater-stream thing? Yeah, I think it is.” Asui nods at you but Bakugou looks more annoyed than ever.  

  The stream separates itself from the main water and circles back towards the waterfall. It goes though the rock wall and into the unknown.   

Asui sighs. “Either way, you’re right. This is an exit. It has to lead to the other side.”    

 “I say one of us swims it and finds out.”  

 He studies you intensely. “I’ll go if you’re chicken.”   

Bakugou gets close to you. “You can’t even swim like that, L/n.” You flick water at his chest. “I can to! Doggy style, but it is still swimming!”  

  He rolls his eyes and demands a better idea. “If you don’t trust me, then Asui would be the best one.”  

“I’ll do it. L/n is right. I can hold my breath longer and swim better.” Before anyone can say anything, she is already dunked and in the exit. Bakugou turns his head toward you. His voice is low and steady. “She better be okay.”   

“Shut up, Bakugou.”   

You don’t know how or why. The feeling is bone chilling and hair raising. Asui's screaming echo throughout the island. Everyone is desperate to get to her. She is then pulled away by Momo, who was able to go into it and grab her. She has big tears streaming down her face. Even if everyone is in conflict, you still hate to see her like this.   

  “T-there’s something in there. I can’t describe it! It made me feel awful and just...looked so familiar.” She looks directly at you with horrified eyes. “Almost like you.”  

  Confused you ask what she’s talking about. How can it be? You never moved from your spot. “I don’t know! It reminded me of you, I guess. Not exactly...I’m sorry, just can’t describe it. I know it wasn’t you but something is in there!”  

  Everyone stares at you. “Did you know?” Raising an eyebrow, you ask, “Kirishima, what’re talking about?”  

“How could you do that! You knew something was in there and you sent her anyway!”  

“I did not! How could I? Why would I?!” You scream. “She’s panicking...” Mina says. It is then you realize that no matter what you say, they won’t believe you. Maybe even Midoriya, who was somewhat with you when you found it.   

“You are the one that found it, L/n. It’s only logical to assume that you knew what was there afterwards. How could you not?” Rolling your eyes at Momo, you ask, “How is that possible. Seriously, tell me. I just jumped in the water over there! How could I have known?”  

  Bakugou crosses his arms. “You’re telling us you jumped in the water without checking it out? You’re that stupid?” Someone snickers a ‘probably’.   

“Bitch, you all did it too! You’re dumber than I am! Why the hell are you heroes so blindly following me then?”  

  Just like you thought: they’ll never believe you. If anyone is to be sacrificed here, it’s you.   

----

Later that day, you watch your back. Midoriya follows you twiddling his thumbs. Before all of this, it would’ve been cute. Just like old times. Now, after all of this, you hate it. You're scared. He's so much bigger than you. So is Kirishima, Bakugou, and Shouto. Koda is too but he’s a non combatant so you stand a chance. The girls here, although they are fierce fighters, you know how to get around them since you would all play fight or spar from time to time. 

  The top three? Yeah, you’re dead. And number one is right behind you.   

“Y/n, can we talk?” Whatever happened to L/n?  

“I know I should’ve said something.” Taking deep breaths, you turn around. “What is it?”  

“I know you’re innocent.” Rolling your eyes, you ask him a question that’s been bothering you. “Why didn’t you defend me then?”  

  His eyes flicker back and forth. “I have no idea.”  

“I’ll tell you why. It’s because ever since we’ve gotten here, your head is big. I thought maybe if one person, one, had some kind of common sense it would be you.”   

You quickly leave with your screwdriver in hand. The faster you fix the fucking plane the better. And you have half a mind to leave them here.  

“Y/n! Wait up!” You stop again for Ochako. “There’s something weird here, don’t you think?” Is this a prank?   

“I noticed something’s wrong, too.”  

“The water...it was off.” Finally, someone who has a clue. “I know right? It was familiar but I can’t put my finger on it. This whole thing has me jumbled.”  

“I have an idea. I can float a little better now, so I'll float up there and see what’s on the other side.”  

-----

It was a little later than you wanted. You suggested the plan to work in the morning, but she insisted. You went into Betty just to work on her some more when it happened: the monitors turned on. The amount of happiness that flooded Betty literally could never be measured.   

  Until you looked at it. The storm monitors showed a terrible storm brewing and headed straight for you. Unbelieving, you exit Betty and look at the sky. Lo’ and behold, a darkness swirled viciously, yet beautifully, in the sky.  

 You run back to everyone. “Ochako! Ochako, don’t do it!”  

  Your feet cross the ground as fast as you can on this sandy terrain. Pushing past the thicket to get to Ochako, who no doubt was probably in the air already. Finally, it started to thin out so you could run better. “Wait! Wait!”  

You have to tell her, all of them. For her to not go to the sky and your discovery. The theory that comes along with it will stop her from doing this, from facing this severe storm headed towards everyone.  

  Then you get there and see the waterfall clearly. She is already up in the air as the clouds get darker. They press against each other gently. Why isn’t she stopping? Doesn’t she see the storm? The little droplets of rain falling on her head isn’t any indication that she should not be up there?  

   “Ochako, no! Cancel the plan! I have to tell you somethi-shit the storm! Get down from there!”  

  Suddenly, there is a smack on the back of your head. “Stop talking!” Bakugou grabs your arm and flings you to the shallow end of the water. Everyone gathers around and cheers Ochako on. All except for Shouto and Midoriya.   

   Shouto comes towards you and helps you up. He wipes your face when the rain gets heavier. “She can’t go up there.”  

“She’s too far, Y/n.”   

The wind gets heavier and heavier. The lightning strikes boldly, making Denki fall down. Ochako is then violently pushed away. She is thrown towards the waterfall and barely makes it over. Along the way she is met with pouring water that threatens to dunk her inside it in hopes to send her down the fall. Ochako screams the entire way until she is on the other side.   

  Everyone calls her name in worry. Midoriya jumps and jumps, pleading with the holder to wake up Float and save her. Alas, Nana Shimura remains silent to his pleas. Asui jumps towards the fall but is pushed down by the fierce wind. Momo quickly rushes over to grab her.   

  Shouto stands firm and covers you, making sure to hold you steady lest you be hurt by the storm also. “Come on, we can’t stay here!”  

  He picks you up and darts towards shore. Bakugou calls for him and receives no answer.   

Back to shore, Betty comes to view, as well as the waves behind her. They are too far out to touch her. That doesn’t stop the worry for your poor girl.   

The hero runs inside and sets you down on the ground right before the cockpit. Betty slightly rocks from the power of the storm. You hold onto Shouto who refuses to let you go. He cradles you close to him, his large hand on your head and his arm around your waist. You can hear his pounding heartbeat loud and clear. Despite his cool demeanor, he's as hurt and human as you are. 

  Images of brown flowing hair and a poor body being whipped around flashes before you. Battered from the wind and rain's brutality, you can still recognize who haunts you. Ochako. She’s not going to make it home. Just like Jay.   

The storm barely covers your wail.   

----

The severity of the storm lasts no longer than a couple of hours. What is left is soft patters of rain. Shouto had left you for only moments of time. He had been searching for Ochako in the storm like everyone else with no avail. No one could get up there to the top. There was no clue as to where she was. Not a speck of blood, an item of clothing, or a body.   

 With no way to get up there by flying or jumping, climbing and trying to find some way around it was the next best thing. Climbing failed and hurt Mina’s hands. Midoriya even tried but had fallen too. Around the area there’s nothing but trees and rocks. Not a single way to find her without some kind of help.   

When Shouto came back, he told you everything. Shouto never let your crying form go. Not even as he shed a few tears of his own for his friend who is most likely gone; taken by brutal nature for her bravery. Shouto is not one to give up at all. However, the sight of Ochako swinging around like that near water and in a storm, leaves little to hope for.   

The monitor goes off again. “What was that?” Shouto sits up and looks around. “The monitor!”  

“Hel-” At first, the male voice was clear until the static set in. Immediately, you recognized the voice.  

“Shouta!”  

“Sensei?” Shouto gasps when he hears his old teacher.  

“Wh-a-you?” He’s breaking up slightly. “The tracker is on, can you trace it?”  

Shouto grabs your hand. You give it a slight squeeze.  

“Fo-” Silence, completely deafening silence.  

Neither you nor Shouto breathed. Shouta Aizawa had been cut off before he could finish what he was saying.  

“We have to tell the others.”  

[superstar-nan]

Fight Tooth and Nail: Ch 3 — Night 1 Part 2

Summary: You get to know the local zombie before trying to get your best friend's phone back

Words: 3,568

Fun stuff: Descriptions of rotting bodies, canon typical violence, asphyxiation and blunt force trauma, and mild swearing. Springtrap's still the worst and Michael's a bit harsh but he has a good heart.

───── (\ /) ─────

Hours or minutes or an eternity passed; you didn’t know. Your eyes burned and your head was too heavy with your oscillating emotions. You mindlessly tapped on the panel when it yelled at you, and it quieted just as quickly. Your body ached desperately for a comfortable bed to rest in. Earlier that night, you had spent hours folded in a vent. Now, the hard floor didn’t make a good cushion, the desk didn’t make a good pillow, and the corpse didn’t make good company. 

Or maybe it was you that didn’t make good company. The corpse seemed busy, tapping and switching and scanning and tapping again. You were less busy and you wore your misery like a blanket. 

You could feel the bags gathering under your eyes. You didn’t know if it was the crying, the fatigue, or the smell that was making your eyes burn. You rubbed them. Unlike the murderous animatronic, the corpse’s smell was more difficult to get used to.

Your blood started to move again at the thought of the rotted bunny. It had baited you and you fell for it. You wished that you hadn’t dropped the crowbar and that the corpse hadn’t stopped the monster, just so you could play out a violent fantasy of tearing and smashing and gnashing and breaking— Rage was filling you with life again, but you were too exhausted to light anything but a spark. 

You sighed, quiet and weary. You tapped the panel as it angrily made noises at you.

The corpse didn’t turn his head to look at you, but he spoke and that made you wonder if your sigh drew his attention slightly. “What’s your name?” He said, his voice low and quiet and british. You didn’t notice before when he was harshly whispering at you, but the corpse was british. 

You dragged your eyes over to him, then to the clock. 2:17 AM. “What, we can talk now?”

“Quietly,” He answered, either ignoring or oblivious to your spite.

You didn’t like looking at him for too long; you could see his teeth through his cheeks. You dragged your gaze back to your panel as you told him your name. He hummed in response.

“What’s yours?” You asked, your voice flat and coarse. Your eyes were lidded with fatigue; you could see your lashes.

“Michael.”

If you had any energy, you’d laugh. Instead, you restarted the cameras before it yelled at you. “Michael the zombie.”

For a fraction of a second, the corpse’s— Michael’s sallow eyes flicked to you. Even in your fatigue and your unwillingness to look at him, you saw his fingers twitch slightly. Just as quickly, his eyes flicked back to the screen and he was tapping and switching again. He said your name, and added, “...The criminal.”

You didn’t have the tact he had. “I’m not a—”

“ Shh!” He interrupted you. 

You gripped the panel a little tighter. Your voice wasn’t even barely above a whisper. You lowered it anyway, “I’m not a criminal.”

Michael took a sip of a gas station soda cup wet with condensation. You fought the urge to stare in case the soda was visible through the holes in his face. “You work here?”

You were quiet.

“Didn’t think so.”

You would have been more annoyed if your head didn’t feel like it was exploding. “I don’t have to explain anything to a corpse.” You wanted to sound biting, but your voice was just tired. 

Michael stopped, frozen as he stared at the monitors and his decrepit fingers locked. Then, he resumed his flipping and clicking. “Audio.”

“It’s loading.”

He didn’t respond, silently keeping watch and playing childrens noises that nagged at you, haunted you. You bit your tongue, partially out of contemplation and partially in an attempt to wake yourself up. You decidedly turned your head and looked at the camera monitors. Even as you squinted and flicked your eyes from monitor to monitor, you couldn’t spot the animatronic anywhere. Everything looked the same as it always did, a mediocre haunted establishment. 

Michael then selected the audio on CAM 7. Even then, you struggled to see anything. It wasn’t until you looked at Michael’s eyes, decayed as they were, and followed exactly where they fell that you saw it.

Two pinpricks of reflected light in the shadow. An edge of fear brought life back into your breath. You swallowed and your brow furrowed. Your lip trembled slightly underneath your teeth. How could a piece of machinery as big as the rotted Bonnie stay so hidden? You recalled the thing’s silent footsteps when you tried to leave. You shivered.

“The ventilation.”

You tapped on the ventilation, but didn’t take your eyes off the reflected pinpricks. You thought it might disappear if you took your eyes from it for a second. “What’s it doing?”

“ Shh, ” You weren’t nearly as bothered by the corpse’s shush, entranced with watching the pinpricks. You couldn’t tell if they had moved slightly or if it was just the static of the old cameras.

“What is it?” You whispered. The pinpricks were glued to the camera. It was watching the camera. Your heart dropped at the possibility of it watching you. It couldn’t, not through the camera obviously, but the thought was enough to fool your heart for just a moment.

“I don’t have to explain anything to a criminal.”

You stared at the back of Michael’s head, unkempt hair just a bit too shiny underneath his security hat. You were just tired enough and just emotional enough to consider bashing in his head with the crowbar. 

You turned back to the screen. Your breath hitched. The pinpricks were gone. Michael was swiping through the cameras so quickly, you couldn’t even follow which rooms he was flicking through. It didn’t matter though, because the animatronic wasn’t hiding. 

CAM 8. There were the gift boxes you had scattered in your escape. The rotted Bonnie’s silhouette was complete shadow as it eclipsed the lighted chica head behind it. The shadows and the static couldn’t hide the rotted notches and nicks in the animatronic’s decaying body. In fact, the light behind it only accentuated its deterioration. The rotted Bonnie turned its head to the camera in a broken and jagged fashion, both too fast and too slow in uneven movements. Its eyes glossed over with reflected light, like two unnatural, hostile moons. It slowly began raising its arm.

“Audio.” 

You ignored Michael, your eyes glued to the screen. The movement of its arm was smooth, cleaner than the turn of its head. Too clean, so even it looked wrong. Its silhouette was wholly encased in shadow. The object it was holding up for you was encased in shadow.

Undead eyes flicked to you, “Audio.” When he saw you were entranced, Michael tried to swipe the control panel from hands, but you pulled it away just out of his reach. Even then you didn’t tear your eyes from the screen.

The animatronic slowly lowered the object onto a gift box. Only its arm moved, once again too smooth to look right. Its eyes never left the camera and neither did yours. 

“How did it know I was watching?” You whispered, more to yourself than to the corpse.

Michael cursed under his breath and swiped the panel out of your hands, fumbling to restart the audio. The animatronic’s eyes glossed again with that reflected light. It turned away even before the audio had finished restarting and receded into the shadows. Michael switched to CAM 9 and played the cursed child’s laughter. Though, even without being able to see it, you knew the rotted Bonnie was already there.

The control panel was shoved into your hands again, grounding you back into the office. You began rebooting the ventilation. 

“He’s baiting you,” Michael whispered, as if you didn’t know that already—as if you hadn’t already fallen for it. He flicked between cameras again, seeing something that you couldn’t. “Sit back down away from the cameras.”

You ignored him, watching the cameras as you leaned slightly against the back of Michael’s chair. “Did you see what he set down? Was it the phone?”

“I said, he’s baiting you. ”

“I know!” One sharp look from the corpse and you immediately lowered your voice, “I know, but...” You bit your lip as you watched the screen. Your grip on the back of Michael’s chair tightened. “There’s no way that-that thing will leave it there all night.”

“That’s the point. He’s b— ” Michael stopped whispering when he looked at your expression. You must have been an open book, but his expression had more subtleties you had difficulty deciphering. Maybe it was because his face was rotting away. He turned away from you. “Don’t fall for it.”

Your grip tightened even more, and then you let go of Michael’s chair all at once. You turned away from the cameras as you sat back on the floor and leaned against the desk.

You stared at the control panel in your hands. There was silence only interrupted by the sound of the clicking and switching of the cameras. A child’s laughter not quite right, the damned child’s laughter , played from Michael’s direction. Even after the switching-clicking resumed, the laughter echoed in your head, followed by the last words your best friend ever spoke to you: Come... Come to... Hurry .

Your gaze fell on the worn down wheels of Michael’s chair. Your chest felt heavy. “Did you meet the security guard before you?” You asked, quietly. Even quieter than Michael had been shushing you for. 

The corpse paused. He, as always, didn’t turn toward you. “No.”

You clenched your teeth and your breath was trembling from your lips. You rebooted the cameras.

There was more silence. The hum of the vents turned on, filling the room with an ambient drone. The hum drowned out the buzz of the sickly yellow lights, which you hadn’t noticed was buzzing until the vents smothered it.

Michael was the one to break the silence, “I’m not sure what he took from you.” You could barely hear him over the ventilation. “Though I can guess. With him... he makes it hard to show restraint, but you’ll be glad when—”

You almost felt guilty when he turned around only for you to be already standing and setting the control panel next to him.

“... Or not.”

“You can keep him away from camera eight, right?” You said, giving your best smile. Your stomach did horrified flips when Michael scrunched his rotted face up (possibly in annoyance? you couldn’t tell) and the lesions in his skin contorted. You swallowed and prayed your expression didn’t show your horror. 

He rotated his seat back to the cameras, “You’re gonna die.”

“I’m not saying draw him to you, just keep him closer to Foxy’s head or something.” You said, tapping on the control panel to reboot the audio one last time. You grabbed the crowbar and turned to the office door.

“You’re gonna die.” He repeated, “And whoever you think he killed, they’re probably dead too.”

You didn’t like that. Your grip tightened on the crowbar and you tasted iron in your mouth. You unclenched your teeth. You walked past the office window, pointedly not looking past the glass.

After you passed the office window, your steps slowed. You didn’t dare use your phone as a flashlight. The rotted Bonnie knew you were coming. Hell, it planned for you to. You only hoped Michael didn’t see you as a lost cause—or even worse, bait— and would actually keep the rotted Bonnie from you. 

Slowly, your movements became deliberate. You stilled your breath nearly to asphyxiation. Sweat tickled the back of your neck. Each step was weighed like concrete, your fear fighting you for control. The dull buzz from the lights covered your soft steps against the grimy checkered floor. You kept to the shadows as best you could, hugging dirty walls and corners.

You dared to peer past the hall where the foxy head was mounted. If the rotted bonnie was in there, you couldn’t see it. You swallowed, thick and coarse. 

The sound of your own heartbeat seemed to echo in the hall. You slipped into the hallway where stars dangled from the ceiling. The arcade box you had hid behind should have illuminated your path. It was off now. You didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. You gripped your crowbar with two hands. 

Your heart was too loud. Your breath was too loud. Even when you held your breath you were too loud. The hallway extended endlessly and was too short. Was it behind you?

You pivoted, crowbar over your shoulder. No one was there. You turned slowly back. You kept the crowbar raised.

An artificial child’s voice startled you. You pressed your back to the wall and you heard it. Mechanical steps forced to trudge toward the noise. The animatronic’s march even in the darkness casted a large, terrifying shadow; massive tattered torso hunched, torn bunny ears bent across the ceiling, open rotting maw revealing blunted teeth, sharp protrusions poking out like claws where soft fingertips fell away. After agonizing seconds, the shadow marched across the wall and was gone. 

You waited until you could no longer hear mechanized trudging. Even when there was nothing, you waited just a breath longer. Then, you slowly turned the corner. It wasn’t there. You quietly, quietly, please let your footsteps be quiet , moved forward.

You were close. You just had to turn one more corner, and you would be there. Just one more corner. It would be there, on the gift boxes. Just one more corner. Just one more corner . 

You were shaking when you peeked past the corner, before swiping back just as fast. It didn’t see you. It was turned away from you. It was massive. It didn’t see you. You just had to keep telling yourself that. It didn’t see you. It was so massive. It didn’t see you. 

You heard nothing, but you didn’t dare move. You held your breath and brought the crowbar level to your eyes. You didn’t know if you could even do any harm to it with the crowbar, but it was your lifeline.  

The hum of the vents declined. You had to bite your lip to keep any noise from passing your lips. Your lungs burned for air, but you wouldn’t breath. You tasted iron again. When your lungs couldn’t take anymore asphyxiation, you opened your mouth wide, wide enough that you could breath slowly without making much noise. You still cursed the small noise you did make.

After too long, you peeked past the corner again, slowly. You were alone. You prayed you were alone.

You slipped past the corner. It was dark, but you could see it. A phone, there on the gift box, right where it left it. You cautiously checked to see if it was going to jump out at you. When it wasn’t, you rushed for the phone.

LOUD artificial music—FLASHING rainbow colors—You nearly jumped out of your skin, before throwing the toy phone on the ground, shattering it to pieces. It wasn’t your best friend’s phone on the gift boxes. Just a freddy toy, set to lure you in like a lamb to the slaughter.

Rage started to seep into your cheeks. It was a ruse, and you should have known it was. Michael knew it was. Did your best friend fall for these tricks when they were being hunted? Your teeth grit and your knuckles paling under pressure. “ Bastard. ” You seethed quietly.

-Click- from behind you.

You poured all your vengeance into one swing, every last bit of bitterness and madness. It didn’t do anything, of course. Decaying hands of metal and fur caught the crowbar with one hand, and how unfair it was that you couldn’t destroy it. With your fear forgotten, all you wanted was to tear each soiled scrap with your teeth and bury your fingernails in its too-sentient eyes. It would be right if that did happen, but when was anything ever right?

Instead, a hand of metal and rot grabbed your throat.

You couldn’t scream, you couldn’t breathe; pain and strength constricted your throat. It was strong, so strong! Who designed these things to be so strong?! You writhed as you clawed into its arm, scraping decay under your fingernails. 

You kicked, you scratched, you pried—nothing you did even phased the animatronic, the monster whose eyes were too-alive more than ever. Eyes that looked delighted to watch you thrash and suffer, its permanent grin somehow looking wider and more gleeful. Was that just how the animatronic was supposed to look? 

The pain ebbed into something dull. Your head started to feel light. Your kicking and beating slowed. Tears pin pricked in your eyes, but your vision was already fading. You slammed your eyes shut. Both your hands came to its iron grip, summoning whatever strength you had left to pry its claws open.

By some miracle, they did open, and you collapsed against the wall. You hadn’t noticed you were pushed against the wall. Your lungs filled with air too cold and wet; you coughed violently and it burned in your chest. You sucked in air in gulps, and it was gone too quickly.

Your throat was seized again, and this time you could feel it pinning you against the wall, lifting you to your toes. You dug your nails into its arm again, your other hand beating against its arm, its chest, anything . This time, you tried to cry out, but nothing could sound but a faint wheeze. Tears dripped down your cheeks as you grit your teeth and kicked and kicked and kicked—

You were feeling dull again; light and heavy at the same time. Your head throbbed and soon it was the only thing you could feel. Your eyes closed. You tried to tear at its grip, but your fingers felt too weak. Then, you couldn’t feel them at all...

In a gasp, you were released again, and you wasted no time gulping for air. Your hands came to the wall. You were shaking as you stared at the animatronic. It looked as horrifying and expressionless as it always had, save for its damned human eyes. It tilted its head, too alive and too curious. You felt small, like a rodent backed into a corner, being batted at by the claws of a creature bigger and hungrier than it.

And then you were seized again. Again! You wanted to question it, to scream at it, to shove the absurdity of its actions in front of it, but you couldn’t. You could only struggle fruitlessly under its entertained, human-like eyes. Eyes that would haunt you until your death. Though, perhaps writhing wasn’t the only thing you could do.

You slowed your struggling, weakening your own grip as you attempted to pull it off of you. Despite your body screaming at you to fight for air, you closed your eyes and let your body slowly fall slack.

It released you, and you didn’t waste time breathing. You dove out from under its arms, crashing to the floor next to the gift boxes. You tried to get up to run, but it was fast . It was already on you and before you could even scream—

SLAM

There was a ringing. Your head throbbed with pain. Your vision skewed. You tried to speak, but your throat was still raw. You were turned around.

You saw three—five? No, three—of the rotted Bonnie. Its body sounded like something sticky getting peeled away under all the mechanical clicks. You tried to focus when it held something above its head. 

It was the crowbar. It was going to kill you. 

You hoped your best friend had a gentler end than this.

“ Hello? ”

The ringing slowed. A child’s laughter. The rotted Bonnie’s eyes flickered with light, struggling between sentience and programming. You knew if you stayed quiet it would have to leave, so you froze as still as you could manage.

You were right. It stood up, one foot after the next in monstrously metallic thumps, from its kneeling position over you. Then, it turned around and marched away.

You rolled onto your stomach, taking in quiet gulps of air. The floor was spinning, but it was beginning to stabilize. Not unlike the monster trying to kill you, you stomped one foot after the next to stand. You stumbled into a wall and slammed your eyes shut.

You needed to go. You needed to go. Go. Go. Go!

You stumbled through the attraction, much less quiet than you had been, but it was too difficult to focus on anything else other than reaching the office. You steadily gained proprioception and picked up speed, before you were running through the halls again. The floor started to level. The walls weren’t closing in on you anymore.

You were back at the office door even before you realized you passed the office window. The smell was abominable, but you didn’t care. You stumbled to the desk and slid back down to the floor. You felt your head. There was no blood. That was good... 

A control panel was dropped into your hands. “You’re alive.” Michael took a sip of his soda cup, “You're welcome.”

You grabbed the trashcan and vomited.

[amononymous]

Since you doin reqs can I have some reader x Deimos? Something hurt/comfort if possible? Thank you!

Yeah sure! No problem! I hope this is fine!

Summary: Deimos waiting for you to wake up on the hospital bed

tw// The feeling of being stabbed

Deimos sighed as he slumped on the stool, twiddling his thumbs as he watched over you.  

The both of you had just returned from a grueling mission.  However, other members’ eyes widen at the sight of Deimos howling for help as your arm dangles, swinging from the sudden movement that your partner was doing.

As he looks down at your unconscious state, he could feel the crimson blood dripping down on his fingers and eventually onto his gloves, slowly dyeing it.

Deimos looked at his slightly moist gloves, the smell of iron was still present on the leather.  He can only look at the gloves and the question still lingers on his mind.

“How did this happen?”

As he asked himself that, the vivid memory soon returned to him.  The sight of you and him fighting off the agents swarming them.  You both were performing in the bloodshed as the room slowly filled up with more and more bodies, as the scent of blood fills your nostrils, crinkling your nose from the putrid smell of death.

As you both start to venture forth.  Suddenly, the explosion catches you both off guard.  You cough as a way to desperately get rid of all the smokes filling up your airway.  Your eyes are forcibly shut to decrease the irritation swelling up from the harmful gas.

Looking back, you see Deimos squirming on the floor, his muscles twitching from the shock from earlier. 

Before you even knew it, a sharp feeling punctured to your side.  You felt it with the numbness of filling up your body as you felt the crimson fluid start to drip.  You can hear your name being called out, the solid, chilling floor as your body collapses from the impact. 

All you could do is breathe, breathe and watch as Deimos guns them down.  The sound is muffled as your eyes feel hazy, like a fog clouding up your vision, you can’t help but try to reach out to him.  Maybe mutter a feel words but all that comes out was a pained whisper, as if your throat was parched.

That was all Deimos could remember.  Heaving out another sigh, he stood up and observed your lying state.  

Gradually, he noticed a sudden movement.  As you gradually let your eyes open the blinds, you let out a distressed groan as the light shines on your eyes, causing you to tear up from the light.

“You… you’re awake!”  Deimos trembled, his voice was covered with desperation.  Urgently gripping your hands and squeezing them tight.

“D…Deimos?” you acknowledged, noticing your surroundings.  “We’re back?”

“The headquarters.” Deimos answered.  “We’re back at the headquarters.”

Your eyes widen as you hear Deimos’ unstable breathing.  The discomfort and heartache spills out witnessing your state.

Despite the frigid air filling up the room you were in.  You felt a warm sensation filling up on your hand as you felt Deimos’ thumbs calmly caressing your palm, slightly tickling you.

Your heart feels at peace now.  After beating hard to adapt to the combat environment you were in, you feel it flutter as you feel more comfortable from the gesture Deimos is performing.

Attempting to not make any abrupt movement, you slowly raise your hand and start to caress Deimos’ cheek.  The affection increases with the warmth you feel, Deimos surprised by your sudden action but slowly starts to ease himself.

The soft feeling makes your heart flutter, it’s like the cramp on your side was never there.

“You got me worried to death…” Deimos muttered.  “We both should be on guard next time.”

The only reply you could give was a smile and a nod.  Ignoring the feeling of angst from earlier, you seeked for more comfort as you let Deimos pat your hands.  

Your body starts to ease as the tension from earlier has left.

It seems as of right now, the only person you need is Deimos right now.

And it seems Deimos needed to feel your presence as well.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Mycelial Remnants

Read on Ao3

Warnings: nightmares, body horror (light), panic attack

Pairings: none

Word Count: 6901

Rose is having strange dreams. Not just strange because, you know, mold and all that, but strange because they don't...feel like hers. The Megamycete remembers far more than any of them realized, and with it come some interesting challenges.

 

Creak. Creak. Creak.

The floorboards warp and shape themselves to her shoes as she creeps through the hallway. The light from outside glows with a sickly radiance, shadows from the bugs flying around giving it an almost static-like flicker. Rose swallows through the thick air and gags on the smell of rotting fish.

The building shudders.

She glances over her shoulder. The shadows keep dancing along the cracking walls, the putrid smell of rancid something emanating from a crevice in the floorboards. She keeps moving, further and further, passing through a moldy door and into a poorly lit dining room.

Four figures sit at the table. One crawls with vermin: centipedes, crawfish, grubs. One sits completely immobile, crystallized and oddly beautiful in its milky-white stillness. One shifts constantly between two forms; first, its torso grows impossibly long, its spine reticulating like some crazy snake with its head waggling from the bed, and then it morphs into a swap creature with a horrifying gas-mask-like protrusion coming from the part where its face should be. And back again. The fourth is by far the most humanoid, but it has a clown face and keeps shedding bits of its fingers, making a horrible wheezing sound that could be laughter.

The plates in front of them are covered in mold.

Mine, the voice in Rose’s gut whispers, mine. My family. They were mine.

Her feet take a step forward without her permission.

Mine, the voice says again, as Rose's hand reaches out for the molded plates, mine, come join my family, my family, mine, mine mine—

Rose blinks and she’s no longer standing. Instead, she’s in an old wheelchair. Tendrils of mold grow around her. Something burns in her veins. She’s crying. Is she crying? Black mold is tearing out of her eyes. She blinks and coughs, trying to clear it, and she looks up and sees—

“Rose!”

Rose shoots up in bed, breathing hard. She scrabbles at her chest, half-expecting to meet the horrible mold but instead she just feels her pajama shirt. She blinks. She wipes at her face. Clear tears shine from her shaking fingers. She falls forward in relief and exhaustion both.

“Shit.”

A tiny sparkle out of the corner of her eye and she gets out to bed to turn on the fairy lights. It takes less than a second for her dad’s words to appear.

rose?

“Nightmare,” she grits out, “sorry.”

The words swirl.

don’t apologize, it’s ok

She just nods, clenching and unclenching her fists in the blankets. The smell is still stinging her nostrils and she scrubs a hand under her nose to get rid of it. She looks down at her hand again.

“Were you—could you see it?” She pulls her knees to her chest. “My nightmare?”

could tell you were upset, couldn’t see

“Oh.”

why?

Rose chews on her lip. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to tell her dad about her nightmare, but it feels…weird, somehow. Like she’s revealing something she shouldn’t. Out of habit more than anything else, she glances up at the camera in the corner of the room.

“I heard you,” she says finally, “I heard you say my name. Then I was able to wake up.”

Her dad’s familiar bittersweet feeling tugs in her gut and she fumbles for a pillow, hugging it to her chest. The scrawl of his words comes a moment later, resting warmly against her stomach. She glances over to the lights and sees his i love you rose gleaming on the wall.

“I love you too.”

do you think you can go back to sleep?

She lies back down, still hugging the pillow to her chest. “Will you stay with me?”

always, sweetie

She does manage to fall back to sleep, but the image of that dining room doesn’t leave her mind.

***

2.

She lurches through a dank, cold hallway, if it can even be called a hallway anymore. Mold has long since claimed the walls and ceiling, the floor scarcely more than wet mud and squishing wood. Above her, she can hear muffled voices: one saying something about dinner, something about the storm, something about Mommy, Daddy, brother, sister. A bug flies in her mouth and dies there.

She has to keep moving. She just has to keep moving.

There’s a door in here. She stumbles through the mouth of the room and to the wooden wall across it—no, no, there was a door here. There was a door here! She pounds against the wood, why won’t they let her out? Why can’t they set her free?

Mommy? Mommy, where are you going? Daddy’s here.

She turns around and through the dark hallway, she sees him. The murkiness in her vision clears and she can see him. He’s here, he’s really here.

He turns towards her, seeing her, and as she lurches toward him, he—

She’s falling through the bottom of the house into deep swamp water. It fills her nose and her ears and she hears someone crying Mommy, Daddy, why do you hate me?

A hand grabs her collar and she turns and sees nothing but golden sparkles.

Her eyes open and she’s staring at the ceiling of her room, breathing heavily again. She gets out of bed and turns on the fairy lights, slumping against the wall just to feel her dad’s words. Her fingers start to glow a pale silvery light as the golden sparkles appear.

another one?

“Yeah,” she mumbles, “I was—it was the same one. Kind of.”

The words swirl for a little longer than normal: he’s thinking.

do you want to talk about it?

Rose opens her mouth, but that same hesitation is back. It’s not the same tug she gets when she’s picking up Dad’s emotions, nor when the mold is trying to get her to sort out what she’s feeling, but it’s…something. Something that’s enough to still her tongue. She reaches under her shirt to pull out the ring, running her fingers over the smooth metal. She touches the engraved words.

The feeling she’d had in the dream, of seeing Dad and needing to move towards him, flickers through her chest.

“Do you think if I asked Chris to let me look at the Baker family files, he’d let me?”

Surprise ripples through their connection before the next words appear.

maybe, depending on why you ask

She fiddles with the ring. Dad’s smart. He can figure out why she’s asking. Sure enough, new words appear a moment later.

be careful, rose

“I know.” No one calls her Eveline to her face anymore, but she’d be an idiot not to notice the looks some of them give her when they think she can’t see. “I’ll be careful. I just…have a feeling.”

if it gets worse, will you tell chris or mom?

At seeing the word ‘Mom,’ the sting in her nostrils returns. She scrubs a hand under her nose. “Yeah, I will.”

thank you

“Mhm.”

wish i could do more

She smiles and holds out her hand, her fingertips glowing. His words glow stronger in return. “You’re doing enough already.”

When she falls back asleep that night, it’s with her dad’s ring clutched in her hand and his words under her head, right along her pillow. But she can still hear faint cries of Mommy and Daddy in her ears, and smell the stench of rotting wood.

She makes a note the next morning to ask Mom about buying a scented candle or something.

***

3.

“Focus, Rose. Try again.”

Rose gives herself a shake and squares up. Across the mat, so does Chris. He lowers his shoulder and invites her to charge. She tries to get low, under his guard, but he kicks her back and nearly sends her off-balance.

“Plant your weight more, make it harder for me to shove you. Again.”

”Easy for you to say when you’re built like a brick shit house.”

He cracks a smile and she swears he lets her ram into him just to prove she can’t knock him over. “Again.”

But no matter what she tries, she just can’t do it. Instead, about two minutes later, she’s on her back with Chris’s arm pinning her down by her shoulders. her breath catches in her throat a little bit and the tug in her gut reappears, but she forces herself to breathe slowly and it gradually goes away.

It’s just sparring. I’m in the compound. I’m with Chris. Chris won’t hurt me.

Chris is frowning at her by the time she gets herself together. He stands up, offering her a hand. She wobbles a bit when she stands up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He frowns harder when she wobbles again, one hand out to steady her as he does a not-so-subtle wellness check. She bites back a curse. She knows she’s been off all day, it’s a miracle it’s taken him this long to notice.

Normally, he’d tell her to shake it off and go again, or he’d do his manly-I’m-going-to-take-care-of-you-without-acknowledging-any-emotions thing, but lately he’s actually been…a human? Sort of? So he looks at her tell him she’s fine and grabs their water bottles.

The first sip she takes, the metallic taste of water that’s been sitting in a bottle too long almost makes her retch. Suddenly the room feels claustrophobic, the air getting too hot and oppressive, and she swallows the film of something thick and gelatinous forming on her tongue.

“Can we go outside?”

“Sure.”

Chris leads the way out to one of the smaller courtyards in between the compound’s larger buildings. Rose sags onto one of the benches and tips her head back, breathing in the fresh, cool air. Some part of her brain mentions that it’s too dry and cold here for mold to grow like that, and she can drink her water without gagging on it. She can see Chris watching her out of the corner of her eye, but he doesn’t say anything.

With her dad’s warning ringing in her ears, she steels herself.

“Chris?”

“Mm?”

“Will you tell me about the Baker family?”

He lowers his water bottle slowly, turning to look at her. Despite the bundle of nerves in her stomach, she manages to hold his gaze.

“That’s classified information, Rose,” he says lowly, “why do you want to know?”

She looks down at her hands. Her dream from the night before plays out again before her eyes: running over rickety docks to the sound of laughing clowns and snapping gators, of coughing from the acrid smoke of burning buildings and a crashed car, and then hearing her dad’s voice call out for her again before she woke up.

And at the edge of the fire, the four figures from the dining room just standing there, watching.

“Rose?”

Right. “I’ve…been having these dreams. I think they’re about what happened in Louisiana, and I just…I want to know.”

By the way Chris shifts next to her, she can tell his mind is racing with all the possibilities of what that could mean, how much danger she’s in, how much danger they’re in by proxy, and what the hell he’s supposed to tell her. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

”The E-type mutamycete infected a family in rural Louisiana. The contagious spread to the nearby swamp. Many people were killed before we were able to contain it.”

”Who were they?”

“The people who died?”

“The family.”

Chris takes another deep breath. “The father was Jack Baker. Mother was Marguerite. Kids were Lucas and Zoe.”

Jack, Marguerite, Lucas, Zoe. “What happened to them?”

“Rose, I—“

“Please,” she says before she can stop herself, “please, I…I need to know.”

Chris looks at her a little strangely but he nods. “Marguerite was dead by the time we got there. Jack…took a little longer. Lucas escaped into the salt mines near the Baker estate before we managed to track him down. Zoe was the only survivor. Without…”

He sighs, looking off into the distance.

“Without Ethan or Joe, I don’t think she would’ve made it.”

“Joe?”

“Joe Baker. Jack’s brother. He lived near them but not near enough that he got caught up in everything. He’s the one who ended up killing Jack and getting the cure for Zoe.” There’s a pause, then he huffs a laugh. “That man took on a whole swap full of bioweapons with nothing but his fists and a few tree branches.”

“Wait, he didn’t have a gun or anything?”

“He got his hands on a prototype gauntlet near the end of it, but for the most part?” Chris shook his head. “He punched his way through.”

She laughs. “Sounds like you two must’ve gotten along great. Did you tell him about the time you punched a boulder?”

“There wasn’t a lot of time for small talk. And who told you that story?”

“Which time?”

Chris groans, putting his head in his hands. Rose laughs. “They haven’t been telling you any other stories, have they?”

“None that were nearly as interesting.”

“Small victories,” he mutters before looking at her. “Does that answer your questions?”

Rose taps her fingers against her water bottle. She can put the names to the figures now; Jack and his ever-shifting body, Marguerite and the crawling bugs, Lucas and the clown, and Zoe with her still crystalline form. But underneath it all, the mold and the voice crying out for her Mommy and Daddy…

Well, there’s only one option for who that could be.

“What do you think Eveline was doing there?”

Chris leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. For a moment, neither of them says anything. Then he sighs. “They said she just wanted a family.”

“A family?”

“Aside from being an incredibly dangerous bioweapon, she was for all intents and purposes a ten-year old kid. From what the reports said, she was trying to lure people to the estate to be a part of her family. hence why the Bakers referred to her as their kid, and why…”

“Why she took Mom and used her to get Dad to come,” Rose finishes.

“Yeah.” Chris scrubs a hand over his face. “And I shouldn’t be talking about any of this with you.”

“Thank you, Chris. Really.”

He hums, turning to look at her. “You said you’ve been having nightmares?”

“…I mean technically, I said dreams, but…”

“But they’re nightmares.”

She fiddles with the cap of her water bottle. “Yeah.”

“Are…uh…should we be telling Dr. Porter?”

Rose makes a face. “He’d just put me on meds or tell the guards to keep a closer eye on me.”

“He’s supposed to be there to help you, Rose.”

“Yeah, but he’s like the other scientists. He’s not like an actual therapist. He cares more about securing the bioweapon, not actually helping me.”

Chris is quiet for a moment and only then does she realize how acidic her voice got. She winces, getting ready to apologize, only for Chris to say: “Do you want to talk to someone else?”

“Is there someone else?”

“Some of the members of the Hound Wolf Squad talk to a psychiatrist. He would probably see you too.”

“What’s he like?”

“The others say he’s—“

“Wait, you’ve never been?”

“Only once or twice.” Rose narrows her eyes at him and to her surprise, Chris nearly chokes on his sip of water. “Damnit, Rose.”

“What? What did I do?”

“That’s exactly the face Ethan made when I told him the same thing.”

“Well, then you should go to therapy.”

“Let’s see about getting you an appointment before we worry about me, okay?”

They sit there in the quiet for a few more moments.

“In all seriousness,” Chris says lowly, “if you really want to know more about Eveline? Ask Mia. She probably knows the most out of any of us.”

“Okay.”

“And if the nightmares—you know you can call me if you need anything, right?”

Rose takes another drink of water. “Michael helps.”

“That’s good.”

“…and yeah, thanks, Chris.”

He rubs her shoulder. “Tell you what, you take me down today and I’ll take you out for ice cream, how’s that?”

“Can it be burgers instead?”

“Oh, that’s gonna need to be a two out of three.”

“You’re on.”

***

4.

She doesn’t ask Mom about it the next time she meets up to go shopping. Nor the next time. Nor the next time. Every time she thinks about it, every time she almost does, but then she gets a horrible aching feeling in her gut and she changes her mind.

Then she has a dream about a boat, twisting and turning in a violent storm, choked with mold and filled with screams, and she knows she has to at least try.

They get smoothies—Chinatown has the best smoothies, Rose won’t hear any arguments—and go to sit in a nearby park. The weather still isn’t warm enough to go without some sort of jacket, but it’s warm enough when they sit in the sun to have her coat open. Mom’s telling her about some annoying client at work that won’t shut up about due process and they just finished laughing about some stupid paperwork thing.

She takes a deep breath.

”Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I want to ask you about Eveline.”

Mom freezes. Her hands shudder for a second. Then she forces a laugh and shakes her head. “Why would you want to ask me about that?”

“I’ve been having these nightmares and I talked to Chris—he said that if I had questions about Eveline, I should ask you.”

Something flickers across Mom’s face. Then she smiles her big smile again. “They’re just nightmares, Rosie. She can’t hurt you anymore.”

Rose frowns. “I know that, Mom.”

Mom nods and turns away like that’s the end of the conversation. “So, I was saying to Lila—“

“Why did she want a family so bad?”

Mom’s mouth twitches. “Rose, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“But you were with her before the boat crashed. You knew her before she went crazy and infected all those people. If you know something, then—“

“Rose!” The sharpness of Mom’s voice makes her stop. Mom glances around and leans closer, words a hiss. “I left that life a long time ago, before you were even born. I don’t know what Chris told you, but I’m not discussing this with you. End of story.”

”She called you ‘Mommy.’”

Mom’s face goes pale. Her eyes widen. Her knuckles turn white around the smoothie cup. “Who told you that?”

“I—uh��I just—“

Mom’s eyes narrow. Suddenly, she’s not looking at her mom asking about her nightmares. She’s looking at the face of the researcher who worked for a criminal organization developing a bioweapon. Her throat runs dry and she curls up a little.

“How long have you been having these nightmares?”

“…not that long, Mom—“

“Does Chris know about them?” Without waiting for an answer she pulls out her phone and starts typing. “Maybe they can get you in a neural scan while you’re having one, see what—“

Anger flares up. “I don’t need to be experimented on, Mom—“

“If you’re accessing Eveline’s memories, then maybe you should.”

“What happened to them just being nightmares?”

“These aren’t ordinary nightmares.” Mom doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Considering what you are, I’m not—“

“What I am? What I am? I’m not your daughter anymore, I’m just some crazy bioweapon?” Mom still won’t look up. Rose reaches out and grabs her arm “Mom—“

”Don’t touch me!”

The force of Mom’s shout draws the attention of a nearby dog. It barks at the once, curious. Then it turns and runs back to its owner.

Rose feels cold. Pulling her hand back seems more like an afterthought. She curls up on the bench. Her smoothie is burning ice in her hand. Mom is breathing hard next to her. She looks pointedly at the ground and doesn’t move until she hears Mom’s breaths slow.

Neither of them says anything else until Paul comes to bring Rose back to the compound.

Rose doesn’t hug Mom goodbye. She doesn’t even say goodbye. She just gets in the car and doesn’t pay attention to anything Paul says until she’s back in her room and she can curl up into a ball of her bed and try to sort out which feeling of being abandoned is hers and which is Eveline’s.

Some time after the sun goes down, she sees Dad’s golden sparkle out of the corner of her eye coming from the floor on the far side of the bed. She rolls over. It comes from the wall too. She gets out of bed and turns on the lights.

what happened?

“I tried to ask Mom about Eveline.”

The words swirl around and around and around. Almost like Dad can’t work out what it is he wants to say. Eventually it settles.

did she hurt you?

“Who, Mom?” Rose scoffs. “I’m the big bad bioweapon, shouldn’t you be asking if I hurt her?”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she wants to claw them back. But it’s too late and Dad’s already writing again,

so she did hurt you

Rose sticks her nose into her pillow. She’s not going to cry about this. She’s not.

“…she told me not to touch her,” she sniffles.

she didn’t mean it, rosie

“She did. She thinks that I’m—that I’m getting her memories and she’s trying to come back through me.”

memories are hard, that’s not your fault

She sniffles again, wrapping the jacket over her nose. She didn’t ask for the nightmares. She didn’t ask to see the Baker family in their rotting house in the infected swamp. She didn't ask to have Eveline’s emotions running through her veins, even though Eveline herself has been dead since before she was born.

She didn’t mean to make Mom so upset.

Her hand moves to her pocket. She takes out her phone. She opens her texts. She clicks on the one at the top.

She types sorry and hits send.

When she falls asleep that night, she’s in an endless swamp of mold. Cold wind blows mercilessly through every dying tree and the water burns when it laps greedily at her sprawled legs. Dead and rotting molded creatures wail in pain as part of them crystallize and shatter, other parts staying fleshy and sodden as the swamp absorbs them. She’s on her knees. She’s crying.

She just wanted Mom.

***

5.

Chris picks up on the first ring. “Rose?”

She chokes out a sob behind her hand. Shuffling from Chris’s end.

“Are you still in your room?” She can hear him throwing on his coat.

“Y-yeah.”

“I’m on my way. Are you hurt?”

“N-no.” She sniffles. His voice gentles just a little.

“I’m coming, Rose. I’ll be right there,”

Rose just sniffles again, burying her face in the pillow. Dad writes on it again and again, i love you, you’re safe, i'm here, i love you, but it’s not enough. Through the phone, she can hear Chris cursing the elevator for being so slow and the thud of his footsteps as he moves through the compound.

“Chris?” She hiccups a sob. “Chris?”

“I’m almost there, Rose, I swear.”

Sure enough, it’s barely a few minutes later when there's a jingle behind the door and Chris is bursting in, phone still in one hand, coat thrown haphazardly over his fatigues. Rose drops the phone, not bothering to hang up, reaching for him and he hurries over to take her in his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he says lowly, gruff voice no longer distorted by the phone, “hey, Rose, it’s okay. You’re okay, it’s over now. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She just buries her face in the crook of his neck and sobs. He adjusts his grip to hold both her and the Dad-pillow. Distantly, she registers him asking what happened.

“Nightmare again? How bad?” A pause. “Do you know what it was about?”

Rose squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t want to think about it. She doesn’t want to go back there. She doesn’t want those things in her head anymore.

Chainsaws—knives—fire burning and the smell of charred flesh—bugs and grubs and darkness and filth and pain pain pain—cold steel and screaming mold and trip wires and explosions and laughing laughing laughing clowns and bugs and swamp water like quicksand and gleaming needles and it’s so dark, it’s so dark, it’s so cold, it hurt, it hurt, it hurts it hurts it hurts—

“Rose! Rose!”

Golden sparks and she’s staring up at Chris’s face, gasping for breath with tears on her cheeks. His eyes roam her face and find…something, because then he’s softening and cupping her cheek with his hand and brushing a tear from her jaw.

“Hey,” he says, gentler than she would have thought his capable of, “stay with me, Rose. Can you do that for me? Just stay with me, in this room?”

She nods, still gasping. Chris rubs her back, taking deep slow breaths himself. Her chest just won’t stop aching like it’s going to explode.

“Eyes here. Eyes on me.” She looks. “Good. I’m gonna count for you, okay? I want you to try and follow the counting.”

“O-okay.”

“In for one, two, three, four, good, now out for one, two, three, four, five, six—that’s alright,” he says when she can’t get it, “just try again, ready, in for one, two, three, four…”

It takes her six more tries to get it so she’s no longer about to pass out. Chris won’t hear any of her mumbling and stuttering apologies, ruffling her hair and telling her he’s happy she called him. She’s still sobbing a bit when he asks her if she wants something to drink and when he tries to move away, she won’t let him.

“It’s right over there, Rose, you’ll be able to see me the whole time.” She just clings to him. “Rose…”

Dad’s sparkles almost sound like he’s laughing.

she’s stubborn

“Yeah, wonder where she gets that from,” Chris mutters.

i ever tell you about pink shirt?

“Pink shirt? What pink shirt?”

wore it holding rose, she loved it, slept on floor next to her crib

Chris’s chest rumbles under her ear as he laughs. The words swirl as Dad laughs too before reforming.

you got in bed first

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris grumbles, before arms slide around Rose and lift her up like she doesn’t weigh anything, “my back can’t take sleeping on the floor anymore.”

Rose sniffles, still holding onto his shoulders. “Old man.”

“Shut up or I’ll drop you,” he says, like a liar, as he carefully lays her down in the middle of the bed and lets her pull him to lie down too. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah.” Now that the worst of the panic has passed, she feels a bit embarrassed at how she basically fell apart all over him. “Sorry.”

“What? No, Rose—look at me.” She does. “I’m happy you called me. I told you, anything, okay?”

“…thanks, Chris.”

He nods. “What did the doc say?”

“I have trauma, apparently—“ Chris stifles a snort— “which is making the nightmares worse, but as for the rest of it…he’s not sure how much of it’s just me being part of the Megemycete and how much is…”

Chris hums as she trails off. Rose’s gaze drifts toward the wall where the golden sparkles are still drifting around. As she turns fully, they consolidate.

i’m so proud of you, sweetie, i love you

“I love you too—“ but the ache is back. She’s choking on her tears again and Chris is reaching out for her— “c-can you call M—?”

The word ‘mom’ dies in her mouth.

Chris frowns, but he’s already reaching for his phone. Rose shuffles as close to him as she dares, burying her face in his shoulder. She grabs the pillow for support as the phone starts to ring.

“Mia? It’s late, I know. No, no, everything’s fine, it’s just…” He looks down at her. She can’t meet his eyes. “Rose had a nightmare. She wants to talk to you.”

A moment later, the phone is gently pushed into her hand. She’s shaking as she holds it up to her ear.

“M—hi?”

“Hey, honey,” comes the voice and some part of Rose is screaming, “I’m sorry you had a nightmare, are you okay?”

She sniffles. Her tongue hurts. Her stomach is twisted into thick black knots. She hears Dad write something and then Chris’s arm is around her and she’s choking a sob into the phone before she can stop herself.

“Oh, Rosie,” she hears, “I’m so sorry. I’m here now, okay? I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“Shh, shh, honey, it’s okay. Let’s not worry about that right now. Can you take some deep breaths for me?”

Her hands are shaking so badly she almost drops the phone. Chris takes it from her and taps a button, setting it between them.

“You’re on speaker now, Mia,” he says, “hey, come on, Rose. Do you need me to count again?”

She shakes her head, grabbing a pillow and burying her face in it. Chris’s arm stays around her and gold glows out of the corner of her eye.

“Rose? Rosie, honey, are you still there?”

“E—uh, Michael says to give her a minute.”

“Is…is he there too?”

“Yeah.”

They’re all here. All three of them. Chris is here, holding her, Dad is here in her arms, and M—

“M—M—Mo—“ The words won’t come out of her mouth. “C-can you talk about your work again?”

There’s a pause, but only a small one.

“Did I tell you that someone wanted to redo all of the paperwork just so it would fit the printer margins automatically?”

Rose sniffles and puts her chin on the pillow. ”They what?”

She listens to the story about incompetent people not knowing how use computers and trying to staple with staplers that weren’t filled with the right staples. Chris huffs in a few places, still rubbing Rose’s back. Slowly, she starts to calm down again, properly this time, just as the story winds down to an incident involving a pitcher of iced tea, a dish towel, and a fight over a dry cleaning bill.

“Why would you wear something that has to be specially cleaned to an office?”

“It’s called a sense of style, Chris.”

“Hey! I’ve got style!” To which both of them make disbelieving noises and even Dad writes a sardonic sure, buddy across the pillow. “You’re all just jealous.”

For the first time all night, Rose manages to laugh. The tension visibly goes out of Chris as he hears it and over the phone, she hears a sigh of relief.

“You feeling better, honey?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She toys with the frayed seam on the blanket. “Can…can I see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, honey, I’d like that. As long as Chris says it’s okay.”

“I’ll get O'Shaughnessey to sign off on it. It’ll be fine.”

“Can we get smoothies?”

A laugh. “Sure. It’s a plan.”

“I…I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. You try and get some sleep now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Chris reaches out and hangs up the call, beginning to type a message to the psychiatrist. Rose cuddles the pillow to her chest, feeling the familiar words write themselves across it. The enormity of how exhausted she is suddenly crashed onto her shoulders and keeping her eyes open a second longer feels like trying to lift up a building.

Chris must feel her start to sag because there are hands coaxing her under the blanket, plugging her phone back in to charge. She fumbles blindly for him and he takes her hand, giving it a squeeze.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep, okay?” She hums. “Get some rest, Rose. We’ll go see Mia tomorrow.”

Luckily, she doesn't have any more dreams that night and Dr. O'Shaughnessey lets her and Chris have the day to go off base. She's not too proud to admit she hides behind Chris a little bit when they first get out of the car, but he none-to-gently pushes her forward.

"Hey, honey," M—she gets asked, "how are you doing?"

"I'm okay."

"Did you manage to get some sleep?" Rose nods. "Good. Well, come on. Smoothies this way."

They get the smoothies. They go sit in the park. M—Chris and her make small talk. Rose doesn't say anything. She nods when they ask her questions and fiddles with the edge of the label until it comes off the cup. She notices the two of them go quiet and looks up to see them both looking at her.

"Rose, are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Chris looks at her and then looks at M—looks at her and she sighs. "Can I drive you back to my house? There's…some things we have to talk about."

Part of her wants to ask if she can ride with Chris, but the gross mess of feelings in her gut doesn't let her do anything other than nod and get in the car. The ride is…difficult, especially because she keeps trying to start a conversation but Rose won't—can't—say anything other than one-word answers. When they finally get to her house, she silently accepts the glass of water and curls as much into the other side of the couch as she can.

Somewhere, she knows she's being ridiculous. She shouldn't be reacting this way—how many teenagers fought with their parents? How many times has she had a fight with her m—

But not every teenager was a mold person. Not every parent used to work for a bioterrorist organization. Not every family was haunted by terrible trauma around the concept of family.

"Rose?"

She blinks. She looks up. M—Mia is staring at her. She shakes her head. "Sorry. Zoned out."

"That's okay. I…I'm sorry." She looks down at her hands wrapped around her own glass. "I shouldn't have shouted at you."

"It's okay."

"No, Rose, it's not. You…" She sighs. "I was expecting you to get curious about Eveline at some point. I just…wasn't expecting it that day."

Rose shuffles. "I'm sorry. I should've been more careful."

"Rose? Can you look at me?" Rose looks up. "What did you want to know about Eveline?"

Rose glances at Chris. Chris nods. She looks back. "Why did she want a family so bad?"

M—Mia sighs. "I think it was a side effect of her being a little girl growing up quarantined in a facility by herself, for the most part. Me and the other person who were overseeing her transport, they had us masquerading as her parents. She was always obsessed with being a real family."

"So…you were just there?" Mia looks confused. "She wanted you to be her m—she wanted to be your daughter, it wasn't—she didn't find you, or something, you were just the person assigned to be her m—her family?"

She gets a silent nod, but now both of them are looking at her strangely. She looks back at her glass of water. It feels…odd to know that Eveline wasn't trying to find Mia on purpose, not outside of the fact that she'd been assigned to be her family. Part of her is angry that it could've been someone else and her family could've been spared this, part of her is relieved that it was mostly chance, that there wasn't something unique about Mia or her dad that made Eveline want to go for them specifically, and part of her…

Part of her knows what it's like to have a mother voluntarily leave.

While she's been pondering, though, she's missed the silent conversation that Mia and Chris are having that ends with a gentle touch on her arm.

"Rosie," Mia says, "Rosie, look at me."

She does. Mia hesitates for a moment, before she reaches out and takes her face. "What?"

"You are my daughter. Not Eveline, not anybody else. You, Rosemary Winters. I'm your mom."

Everything in Rose freezes.

She takes a shaky breath.

She looks at Mia's—at her mom's face.

"M…Mom?"

"Yeah, honey," Mom says, scooting closer on the couch, "I'm here. I'm right here, okay? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

And suddenly she can't stop it. She's rambling about her nightmares, about how scared she is, about Eveline, about being sorry, sorry, so sorry, everything, everything, everything, because her mom is here and that's what moms do, they listen and they help and they love and Rose is so tired, so scared, so lonely and she just wants her mom to know how much she needs her sometimes, is that so wrong?

Mom holds her. Mom just holds her. She cries with the relief of it.

***

+1.

Rose is falling.

Or, well, she’s moving downward through something, passing by flashes of the swamp, the burning house, the moldy ship, built it’s like she’s outside of them somehow now. She falls toward an image of a desecrated trailer and its doors open. She falls through and hits the ground, shivering from the sudden cold.

She looks around. She’s in a vast, barren plain that’s half frozen, half covered in mud and mold. She pulls her jacket closer around her and walks forward. It’s weirdly similar to where she and Dad fought Miranda, only this time there aren’t any of the weird mold trees or…much of anything at all. It’s just…flat.

She becomes startlingly aware that this doesn’t feel like a dream. She knows somehow it must be, there’s no way she would be here otherwise, but she feels like…herself. She’s Rose in this moment, she’s not some weird amalgamation of herself and Eveline, she’s not just passively experiencing the things that the dreams do to her, she’s…she’s here.

And she’s walking.

Just to check that she really can control what’s going on right now, she stops. She turns around. She walks in the other direction for a few seconds. She stops again. She looks down at her hands. She reaches for her powers and her fingertips glow.

Something in the ground glows too. Gold.

“Dad?”

The ground gives way underneath her and she tumbles into darkness.

She lands on her hands and knees in the cold snow. Standing, she brushes it off and looks up to see the house Dad had showed her in the Megamycete in the distance. Snow falls around it. Three figures stand at the base of its steps.

Mom. Dad. Chris.

A crackling sound makes her turn and she sees the Baker house rising up out of the earth, surrounded by still-burning brambles and rotting wood. The four Bakers still stand outside: Jack, Marguerite, Lucas, Zoe.

Silhouetted in the fog, far, far away, she sees the shadow of the massive castle she’d run through in the first stratum.

”No wonder no one loves me.”

Rose whirls around. She definitely heard Eveline’s voice, but she’s nowhere to be seen. She turns again, trying to figure out where that might have come from, only to see her.

Eveline is on the ground in front of her, on her knees, her shoulders shaking.

Rose slowly walks over to her. Eveline doesn’t even notice. She looks around for something to do, some sort of sign for what she’s supposed to do, but there’s nothing. And as she looks, the houses begin to fade. The figures disappear into the smoke. They’re alone on the flat moldy ground.

Eveline is still crying.

Rose’s fingertips glow again and she remembers how her dad had been able to conjure guns, ammo, healing stuff, and white sage while she was in the Megamycete. Closing her eyes, she reaches out and concentrates, willing something to take shape in her hands.

When she opens them again, she’s holding a soft blanket with a brown and white square pattern. Holding it carefully, she approaches Eveline. Eveline doesn’t seem to hear her over the sounds of her own crying, and Rose holds her breath as she crouches next to her.

Slowly, carefully, she drapes the blanket around Eveline.

The sobs slowly taper off. Eveline’s hands move to touch the blanket. She holds it between trembling fingers like it’s the first time she’s ever felt something soft before. Rose’s breath stays lodged in her throat as Eveline slowly looks up.

She looks like every other scared and crying kid.

“It’s okay,” Rose says quietly, “it’s okay. It’s over now.”

Eveline keeps staring at her, the blanket tugged closer around her shoulders. Slowly, the world starts to get brighter and brighter, until it hurts to keep her eyes open. The last thing she registers is a small hand carefully taking hers.

Rose wakes up with tears on her cheeks. She wipes at them, looking at her hand. The tug in her gut is quiet. The weight in her chest no longer crushes her lungs, it’s just pleasantly heavy. She fumbles for the ring around her neck and runs her thumb over the engraving.

She falls back asleep with a smile on her face.

[mlmxreader]

Forced Strength | Alfie Solomons x m!reader

『��•✎••』

↳ ❝ anonymous asked: May I please humbly request of you something using the following prompts for Alfie Solomons X non-binary, male, or gn!Reader: “Quick! Hide me!”  (Hehehehe. CHAOS!! Make of that simple note what you will 😏) ❞

: ̗̀➛ war is not beautiful, nor is it just, and as much as Alfie tries to keep you safe, all he can do is fail time and time again.

: ̗̀➛ trauma, blood, shellshock, death, war

•──────────────────★•♛•★─────────────────•

The bombs were scattered amongst the barren and decaying fields; months of warfare, from flamethrowers to gas, had scarred the once bountiful and beautiful fields. Green turned to grey, and grey soon turned to brown as the mud overtook everything else.

The blood spilled on No Man’s Land would forever change the very nature of the soil; trees and bushes would never grow there again, grass would not grow there again, birds and mammals and insects would never return.

Larks used to sing bravely as they flew over the scar tissue; they had not been back since their last valiant flight. Their beautiful songs were now replaced with the anguished cries of dying men; men who called for their mothers and fathers as they felt their own souls being ripped into the soil.

It did not matter whether they were on one side or another, all men and boys would have their souls torn from them on No Man’s Land - one way or another. None was any different from the last.

Between the bombing and shelling and gas and flamethrowers and constant fire, there was an uneasy peace; peace filled with dread, anxiety, wondering if it was the end. Wondering if those were the last seconds before death.

Most cried and wept, some prayed, others merely stared out into nothing for seemingly a thousand yards; their gaze hazy and unfocused. Glassy from unshed tears. Their hands trembling, sweat dripping down their brows into dirty and unwashed uniforms; the dirt beneath their fingernails black instead of brown.

The chaos and destruction of the war festering in their minds so much that, if someone dropped a pot or anything of the sort, they would scream and run to the nearest hideout thinking it was a grenade thrown over to kill them all. The smell of pineapple and pepper still thick in the air, almost soupy and sickly.

The gas attack had been days ago, but the smell still clung, lingering. Reminding every man in the trenches that there was no escape. Death would come for them all. There was none who understood more than Captain Alfie Solomons.

He understood more than anyone that the war would leave a tremendous amount of destruction in its wake, but also that death was starving - No Man’s Land was merely a plethora of meals. Alfie had one man he was out to protect, and it wasn’t himself; his Corporal meant more to him than his own life did, and Alfie would have done anything to keep him safe and ensured that he was able to go home when the war eventually ended.

It was meant to end in December, nearly two years ago now. It didn’t seem like it was going to end any time soon. Alfie could see it, the never ending war. Especially now, as he sat by the small fire and tried to heat up a cup of tea; looking at the scared and worried soldiers amongst him, able to hone in on his Corporal with ease.

He beckoned you over, and you dared to sit down beside him. 

“Everything alright, Corporal?”

You shrugged, chewing at the inside of your lip. “We’re gonna die, ain’t we?”

“Wouldn’t say for certain,” Alfie sighed. “You never know.”

You grumbled, leaning into him a little bit; it always helped to have Alfie close. He made the waking nightmares a little easier to deal with, and the pains in your stomach calm slightly.

You were told a while ago that you should have left active duty after your shellshock, but you couldn’t bear to leave Alfie’s side; he had never forgiven you for that. For refusing to get out of the war when you had the chance, for being so stupidly loyal. He never would forgive you for that.

But then there was a clatter, and you suddenly ducked behind Alfie, trying to squirm into a hole in the trench; he looked at you, confused for a moment, until your loud scream pierced through. 

“Quick! Hide me!”

Alfie shook his head, scooting closer to you as he extended his hand; you latched onto it, clenching up and squeezing your eyes tightly shut. You were expecting another bomb to drop, or a grenade, he could see it now.

He gently rubbed his thumb along your knuckles, frowning as he sighed heavily and shook his head; you were getting worse by the day, he knew that there would be a day where the war would be over and you would still have the same reactions. He had heard whispers of it happening to others, and he wished he knew how to help.

You were his Corporal, the man he looked forward to seeing every morning when he first woke up and the last man he looked at every time he had a chance to sleep. You were his Corporal, the man he loved and the one he needed at his side the most.

The one he was doing his best to protect and had failed at doing so.

If anything, Alfie massively blamed himself for it all. He just wanted to protect you, but in protecting you, he had broken your mind - allowed it to become traumatised by the war. It was all his fault.

You squeezed his hand tightly, cowering in the hole as a whimper fell from your lips; Alfie sighed, sitting beside the hole and refusing to let go of your hand. He tried to hide his glassy and melancholic stare, but knew that he wouldn’t be able to do so forever; so he hung his head, and like so many others who were experiencing the war for what it really was, he wept softly.

The tears splashing in the muddy ground as he sniffled and brought his knees up slightly, his forehead pressed against them. He hoped that no one would catch him like that, even you. Alfie had to be strong for his men, but above all of them, he needed to be strong for you.

Alfie had to be strong for you.