#HOLD ON NOW HOLD ON. if we are to accept the premise that before they do some growing up

[kindaorangey]

i have to be very very honest with you right now. i think creep by radiohead is an adrien agreste song

#ml #HOLD ON NOW HOLD ON. if we are to accept the premise that before they do some growing up #adri and mari are both obsessed with each other in a way that makes them act creepily #(this manifesting for mari in her stalking) #(and for adri it's him persuing ladybug no matter how many times she rejects him) #AND #considering the context that creep was written about scaring a girl you like by accident after acting in a way you 100% regret #and think is morally wrong #then THEN its an adrichat angst song. yeah👍 #thunder rambles

[kalims]

⊹ giving them flowers

premise. no plot we are just giving them flowers cause guys deserve some too <3

content. fluff, mini scenarios, azul turns into a silly nerd (affectionate)

featuring. jamil, sebek, riddle, azul.

note. actually accidentally posted this yesterday and got a heart attack (also an actual consistent posting schedule...?)

jamil gives you a look.

he spares a long stare at the bouquet you clutch between your hands, wearing an awfully cheeky grin that's chipping off the scold in his throat. "how many times have I told you this?" he deadpans.

but from the obvious fact that you're holding it. it's not like jamil can do anything about it.

"you don't buy flowers for yourself," he says firmly. I'm supposed to be the one getting them for you. he would like to add.

"they're a waste of madol?" you tilt your head.

he answers immediately. "no, just—" jamil's eye twitches like he's trying his hardest to keep something. "don't,"

perhaps he's being a little too blunt but it makes him upset. is he really messing up in gift giving to the extent where you have to buy something for.. yourself? and jamil is pretty sure gifts are called as such for a reason.

and that they're from, or gifted to another person.

you chuckle in your fist, but he continues to ramble; "also it's hard to care for flowers when you don't know much, i don't want you to—"

"jamil hon, my baby, the apple of my eye, the love of my life, they're for you,"

you say simply, and watch in amusement when his moments stutter before they stop to a complete freeze.

a furious wave of heat crawls up on his back but he's praying frantically. now is not the time. he seethes.

... he just tripped over his words.

jamil reluctantly accepts the flowers after you've finished laughing your ass off, and the only thing in his mind is the love.

okay maybe he should pick up a book about caring for flowers. do they even survive in the harsh conditions of scarabia?

whatever he'll make it work.

you should've expected this.

despite your arm honestly starting to tremble under the stress of holding it out for about 2 minutes straight now, you still attempt a smile—although strained. wouldn't want sebek to find it an unfriendly gesture.

even though he probably already thinks that anyways.

you don't want to color sebek in a way that shows that his only personality is being suspicious to everyone, and of course. the dearest young master he adores. (seriously though it's a little concerning, and you're kinda jealous.)

sebek stares at the bouquet in your hand with scrutinizing eyes, as if to say non-verbally: 'what is this'.

you sigh when he just stares at it like it's a bomb. "it's flowers." you deadpan.

sebek pursues his lips, looks away before looking back. "I can see that!" he says like he wasn't wearing a face that made you think you had to explain. but he just crosses his arms and falls silent with a huff. "for the young master, yes?'

he pauses. "I can atleast acknowledge your gesture, human!"

was that supposed to be good? you weren't given the chance to explain because he continues again; "though I will have to make sure that these aren't anything the young master is allergic to." he nods to himself, as though proud for being so thoughtful.

your eye twitches. you're a little surprised that he didn't even imply that it could be possibly a bomb inside to try and assassinate them.. but you notice a slight tense-ness to his demeanor.

you know cause he's huffed about 5 times in the past 1 minute, he's looked away and he's very clearly sneaking peaks at your hand.

—then he huffs to himself! then it repeats.

"I will take them to the young master at once!" he announces with his loud volume, stepping forward to grab it from you but you ultimately beat him. you're just praying he doesn't find you 10x more suspicious the moment you had wrenched it back to yourself with surprising strength you didn't know you had.

even he looked surprised!

"no, sebek.." you heave. "they're not for malleus, they're for you."

he didn't have the heart to correct the way you addressed the young master before he dutifully exploded.

he's shaking away from you with a wobbling, agape mouth. he could only open and close them dumbly, not beir capable to let a word out.

you suppose he was too speechless because he didn't even say anything when you happily pushed the bouquet to his chest like nothing happened.

for someone who's most diligent in studying, you'd think riddle would be able to catch on easily on the gist of your actions.

but he just blinks when you hold out your hand. pretty gray eyes trained on the bouquet of red roses in your grasp, then onto your face with inquisitive question apparent with the raise of his brow.

"we have plenty of roses in our gardens." he says, as though like giving him... these is the most bizarre phenomenon in his life.

it seems like he feels the need to add. "we grow them."

you smile, the sweet thing awfully tight on your face. "they're for you," you explain. a little perturbed that you need to in the first place, but it's riddle so you sorta understand?

riddle squints. "why?"

you blank. "like... like a gift, for you? you know. cause I want to."

then as if the slowness of the processing going on in his brain gradually speeds up. it's obvious he's probably realized the implications of your little gift from the jolt, then widened eyes who stare in disbelief.

riddle gulps. "for, me?" he asks stupidly.

your raised brows say yes.

it's almost hilarious when he accepts them gratefully and stares at them like you just sprouted a literal white rose from the ground, wrapped it in some fancy plastic, and then handed it to him with a smile.

silence ensues again. riddle notices, screeches in his head to do something about it except he can't, cause his mind seems to be broken right now and he can't exert any words but a stammer.

and he'd really like to relearn how to speak because you're fidgeting on the spot, clearly nervous by his silence.

"sorry," you chuckle. "um.. it's just red roses, not white, or blue, or pink—"

"no!" he blurts out far too quickly. hands stretched out in the air a little as though reaching out to stop you but then stiffly staying by his side. riddle clears his throat. "I mean... this is... very important to me."

you look like you don't really believe him cause he was going off about roses in his dorm before.

he flushes, away from your gaze. "because its from you."

you can barely see azul.

or gauge out his reaction if it's supposed to be good or bad, because you can barely even see his eyes from all the sudden sheen of white over it. did all the smoke in the room just gravitate over his glasses conveniently or something?

you can spot the joints in his fingers twitching but oddly enough he remains stiff in front of you. uncharacteristically silent, which wouldn't really lead to good things.

"hello?" with your free hand, devoid of any flowers with the power of freezing a person. you wave it in front of his face which seems to have done a pretty good job with snapping him out of whatever trance he's in.

the glasses slip down the bridge of his nose but he fixes them at record speed. admittedly with clammy fingers.

azul coughs. "thank you very much." he clutches them tighter, pursuing his lips.

"I know octavinelle is not the best place for warmer places," he starts and a flash of confusion on your face is something he misses. "but I will manage it and find an accommodation for these, around 34 or 35 degrees."

your brows furrow. what.

"hmm yes... a nice vase, I'll use the most pure water there is." he rants. "then I'll fill it up with two thirds of its container and make sure it lives healthy."

that's... concerning.

"I'll have jade clean it regularly." he says and you're honestly more scared for the flowers. "I cannot trust floyd either so I'll trim it by two centimeters at the right angle occasionally when it dries."

he says all that, with a pink face.

you awkwardly stand there taking in azuls apparent plans on how to ensure the lifespan of your 'thoughtful' gift will be extended as far as he can help in to commerce your honor.

#ㅤ◜◡◝ . . signed ! #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst fluff #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #gender neutral reader

[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.

#reina.writeshaikyuu!! #haikyuu angst #miya osamu angst #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #i think i’m going to have a drink now

[wizardrousactivity]

They Promise. Part I

Next>>>>

Synopsis: After the break up with your two partners, you find out you're pregnant. Causing you to fall into a depression and bankruptcy, a month after you give birth they show up at your door. Pleading for you. CW: Pregnancy, depression, break-ups, reader is fairly young. (early twenties) so [age gap] hurt/comfort It’s been about 10 months since König and Simon had left you, knocked up and depressed. You were breastfeeding your month old while sitting in your kitchen, eating up the last of some spaghetti you made. - everything felt empty, sultry and lazy. Spending most of your time weeping in your room until the baby screamed, rushing over to soothe it whenever you could. You needed to care for this baby, he’s all that you have. Your fingers trace over his small hands, rubbing them softly, it gave you comfort that you had another breathing - living human besides yourself in this house. Kissing his forehead you gently lowered him into the crib, looming over the wooden bed before making your way back to the kitchen. Till you hear a knock at your door, stopping you in your tracks. Staying cautious at who could be there at such an hour, you turn on your heel and peek through the blinds. A man the size of a grizzly bear and another man roughly his height. You can’t recognize the both of them till you see the familiar sniper hood and skull mask. Anger boils in you, a slight pang of guilt whirling in your stomach when you think of them seeing the baby. - Wrapping your hands around the handle, a lump growing in your throat once you open it to meet their eyes. Both of them are almost at their knees when you appear at the door, still the same. So perfect, so pretty for them. But they can’t forget they left you, sad and depressed for the entirety of 10 months.

 - Then suddenly you’re back to the first 5 months, trying to stay content with your situation so as to not stress out. You cried almost every day, rubbing your belly and thinking of what was growing in there. The shock was too much for you, causing you to nap through the day just to escape everything. It took a while to realize that it wasn’t the answer to anything, you accepted the baby. But you couldn’t accept the break-up yet. The sound of Ghost’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, a deep gruff voice almost full of guilt. “We need to talk.” “What the fuck is there to talk about?” You retort, you were surprised they even came back. Leaving you deserted so coldly, with a baby they didn’t even know about. Tears build up in your eyes, dripping down your face immediately.   "Liebling- please.." König  interrupts, his hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder till you swat it away. Voice weak and dry. "Don't fuckin' touch me!" His heart pangs with guilt, he needed you. They needed you. The months they spent without you were cruel, half of the girls they met only being hookups to fuck and leave. Crack whores showing up at their shared flat almost every week. Everything goes chaotic until the baby begins to shrill, crying out for his mama upon hearing the noise. Cursing under your breath in panic - rushing upstairs to soothe him once again. König  and Ghost follow you upstairs, stopping in their tracks to stare at the tiny child you are holding in your arms. Patting it's back to calm it down. "Y\n?" König  begins to speak, dumbfounded by the baby. "Where did he come from?" You scowl, look at him with utter disgust. "Its my baby. You guys left me when I got pregnant." Memories begin to flood with your first 3 months, throwing up every morning, nobody was there for you. The food was the hardest part, you barely had any money to spare during that time. You still don't. Guilt boils in their stomachs, watching you care for it with such gentleness. Gentleness they'll never experience again, only touch starved and lonely again.

"Can I hold m'?" Ghost asks, making his voice more gentler around the premise of this now sleeping baby - holding his hands out. Swallowing, you hand him the baby. "What's his name?" He says as he gently engulfs the baby, holding it with ease and security.

"____, that's his name." You dryly respond, licking your lips and putting your hands together. He notices your nervous gesture and hands it back to you. Sighing heavily Ghost puts his hands on your shoulders, rubbing circles in them softly with his thumb. The action making warmth grow in your stomach. Finally speaking amongst the silence, your voice comes out deprived and quiet. "You guys know I can't forgive you after..." Your voice comes to a stop, tears beginning to trickle down again.

"We'll prove it to you then, give us some time baby. We promise." König  makes a grunt at that, putting his hand on your jaw and making you look at him. "Sounds good, nicht?"

#konig x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #könig x reader #konig cod #simon ghost riley x reader #konig mw2 #simon riley x you #simon riley fluff

[blue-slxt]

Part of The Family

*Request: would u write for Tonowari? 😊*

So I’ve never written for Tonowari cuz it was super intimidating for me, but I tried my best with this one. Sorry if it’s a little short, but I tried😭 I hope you still like it. I legit pulled this premise out of my ass. All characters are of age.

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Smut under the cut.

Nothing about this situation made sense to you. It was not unusual for the Metkayina to take several different partners. That wasn’t the confusing part. The confusing part was why the olo’eyktan would choose you as one of his. Everyone had assumed that Ronal would be his only partner especially since she carried herself with such confidence, it seemed like she would surely intimidate anyone that dared to get close.

It was a great honor, but you still didn’t quite understand why you of all people had been chosen. You readjust your clothing standing outside the entrance of their marui feeling your nerves eat you alive. You got dressed in your favorite outfit hoping to make a good impression. One more breath to steady your heart and you step inside.

Inside, there is an assortment of different fruits spread out and Ronal is inside with Tonowari. You sign your greeting to them both, “oel ngati kameie olo’eyktan, tsahik.” They smile warmly at you while Ronal approaches you.

“No need to be so formal. You are a part of the family now. Come, sit.” She leads you to the food and has you take a seat. You fidget in your spot not really being used to this softer side of her. Tonowari takes a seat in front of you.

“I am glad you chose to accept my offer.”

“Well, it is such an honor.” You say. Your body language is still tense and they can sense it. Tonowari gives Ronal a look and she nods at him understanding without any words. She picks up a piece of fruit and holds it to your lips. “Here, eat.” “Oh, thank you.” You open up and she places the piece into your mouth and you try to not think about the sensual way she holds her finger in your mouth when you close your lips. She pulls her finger out and hums in response.

“I understand that you are nervous, but please believe that I will be as gentle as I can with you.” Tonowari speaks gently to you. His build is mighty even for Metkayina, but he has very kind eyes and he his tone is soft. He can be commanding and stern when he needs to be, but right now, he comes across very docile.

Your cheeks get hot thinking about what is going to happen. “It’s just a little bit of an adjustment. Is it okay if I ask a question?” your head reflexively lowers feeling shy. Ronal uses her finger to lift your chin to face him. “Head high.”

“You may ask whatever you like.” “Why did you choose me?” Your voice is small and timid fearing you may offend them, but they both just smile at you.

“Well, there are a number of reasons” he starts.

“You are beautiful” Ronal continues next to you turning your face to look at her.

“You have a kind heart” Tonowari carries on as he moves closer to you.

“You are good with the children of the clan” Ronal rseumes.

“You are perfect.” Tonowari was now in front of you holding his face just inches in front of yours.

Your breathing gets heavy and your chest feels hot. “I think that now is probably a good time to make it official.” You swallow hard and just nod your head looking up at his eyes even though his were fixed on your lips.

He looks at Ronal and gives her a nod. She rises from her spot and takes her leave. “I will return once it is finished.”

The gravity of the situation finally settles in your core being left alone with Tonowari.

“We will need to properly prepare you before we begin. Lay back.” His hand pushes you lightly to lay on your back. He hooks his finger in your waistband and shimmies your loincloth down your legs. He gently spreads your legs open and the air feels cool against your heat, but your face is on fire. No one has ever seen this part of you and now your clan leader was staring it down intently.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don’t even notice when he sinks his head down between your legs and swipes at your core with his tongue. “Ah!” the sound jumps from your mouth without any thought.

He keeps lapping at your clenching hole while it overflows with arousal. He looks up to watch your face and it feels so indecent, but it makes your body buzz with desire. His hands hold onto your thighs to keep them spread while he feasts on you. He gathers some of your slick on one of his fingers and traces it lightly around your entrance. He probes at your hole with the tip of his finger before pushing forward just to the first knuckle. The feeling is startling and your legs try to close, but he keeps them spread.

“Relax for me, tanhì.” His voice is soothing. You close your eyes and take deep breaths to hopefully calm your body. He pushes in as you breathe out. The feeling is unlike anything you’ve ever felt. You’re not even sure how to describe the feeling in your own mind. It’s uncomfortable at first, but then it feels like electricity. Before you know it, his finger is all the way inside of you. He slowly moves his hand in and out while he still sucks on your swollen clit.

Once your walls relax around his digit, he adds another. His fingers are so big, but the way they curl up inside of you has your head spinning and there’s a building tension in your core.

“Ah, Tonowari, s-something is happening!”

“Good. Let it happen. Just let go for me, little one. Let me take care of you.” Every word he breathes intensifies the tension in your core until it explodes with the force of a bomb. Your body trembles and he continues to finger fuck you through your release.

Finally, your body stops shaking and he sits up pulling his fingers out of you. He watches as your body shudders with the aftershock of your orgasm.

“I think you are ready for the real thing.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he lets his loincloth fall to the ground. He’s massive. You were almost positive that you weren’t going to be able to use your legs for quite some time.

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar fic #awow #avatar smut #tonowari #tonowari smut #tonowari x you #tonowari x reader #awow smut

[bots-and-cons]

oh my god I LOOVE your hcs about Knockout and Breakdown adopting a human reader they ARE EVERYTHING RIGHT. So I would like to request some headcanons of human reader that is celebrating fathers day(and teaching them what this day is about) and I like to see them being appreciative of their fathers and telling them how much they mean to them? 🥺 can we get hcs of how Ko and Br would react? Just a side dish of pure fluff pls 🙏

Let us give these cons some hugs ✊🏻

okay hope that’s acceptable, thank you and take care of yourself!!

A/N: I really liked writing those, thank youuu. You can find those posts here and here if someone’s interested. This seemed like a quick and fun one to write, so I can do it even though I’m pretty busy. I think this would be between the two other posts timeline wise but Idk if it really matters. I think this is a really cute idea btw I hope I did it justice :D

~Knockout & Breakdown~

•Neither Knockout nor Breakdown has ever heard of father’s day, because it’s definitely not a thing on cybertron, and they’re not familiar enough with earth culture to know something like that

•Cybertronians don’t reproduce in a way that would make someone a father or a mother or a parent in general, so they don’t even really have the need for terms such as “dad” or father”

•So when you mentioned you wanted to do something with them for father’s day, they’re like “What’s that?”

•You explain the premise of it and Knockout and Breakdown look at each other for a while, before Knockout starts tearing up with happiness

•Breakdown just nods very seriously, but he’s also smiling

•They don’t want to let you down, this is the first time you’re really calling them your parents, even though the whole unsaid family thing has been going on for a while now

•So you start planning your surprise for them, now that they’re on board

•You were kinda scared they wouldn’t be interested, or would think it was weird, but you were so happy to see they were into the whole idea

•You’re having some trouble deciding what to do, because you do want to get out of the Nemesis with them, but what could you do together?

•You end up kind of improvising on the actual father’s day, because you had a few options you wanted to do

•You settled for something pretty basic, you took them to a diner (in their holoforms ofc) you all liked and gave them the gifts you’d made them

•You had made them these braided bracelets, that were a mix of red, blue and (your favorite color) yarn and were braided with some nice patterns

•You confessed you’d made like ten versions, because you had to learn how to make them, and these were the best ones

•Then you revealed a third bracelet under your sleeve and told them “We match now” with a smile

•Knockout almost started crying happy tears again, but he settled for sniffling and holding you and Breakdown’s hand

•You were sitting in your little booth, holding each other’s hands and you couldn’t have been happier

•You’re sometimes kind of bad at telling people you love them, but you really wanted to make sure they knew you appreciate and love them

•You’re holding their hands and look at each of them while saying “Dad” to Breakdown, and “Papa” to Knockout and “I love you guys” to both

•Now Knockout is just straight up crying and almost knocks over a drink glass while moving to your side of the table and hugging you

•Breakdown isn’t far from tears himself, but he manages to keep himself composed

•They both tell you they love you too, and thank you for the gifts

•You just sit and talk for a while after, and eat the rest of your food of course, all together, it was a fantastic afternoon

#transformers #tfp #transformers prime #decepticons #breakdown #knockout #knockout x breakdown #kobd #tfp headcanons #transformers fluff #reader insert #platonic transformers x reader

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 4

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

Serenade by @porcelaincas

“Will Solace,” Nico said. They were so close now that Nico could see that there were golden flecks among the blue in his irises. “Are you trying to serenade me?” or the one where Nico falls for Will even before the battle against Gaea and it all culminates on a warm summer night.

i am always a deep deep sucker for fics where will and nico know each other, at least slightly, before BoO. theyre so fascinating and for what. in this one in particular...oh will helping nico in the bronze jar is crazy. i don't want to spoil it but my ass was sat on that seat reading.

2. Stupid Teens by tihsho

Will likes getting gifts, and Nico likes the way Will blushes whenever he gives him anything. It should be a simple situation, but nothing's ever simple for Nico. Something's bothering Will, and Nico can't do anything about it. Never mind that he still can't seem to put a name to these feelings, either. Maybe there's a point in here about anger and nuance, or maybe it's a point about being young, or self acceptance, or whatever else. Or maybe Nico's just reading into it too much.

yes the homophobia scene is a little gratuitous. HOWEVER. the beginning scene is so dorky and ridiculous that i actually smile WIDE every time, first time i read it i laughed out loud. and the whole nico likes to spoil will a little bit (a lot bit) even well before they got together headcanon is GODSENT its one of my favourites. and i also like in this one how will maybe needs a minute to get comfortable in his sexuality too!!

3. Find Happiness in Misery by percyspandapillowpet

"Nothing can make me happy, Solace," he spat bitterly before turning away and wiping furiously at his face. "I like to try." --- In which Nico is searching for happiness, for his childhood, and for a Christmas present.

this is an older fic, but i think it still holds up!! i love any fic that goes over the whole mythomagic thing tbh. theres so much story potential there and this fic had a very sweet premise.

4. Looks Like We'll Be Trapped Here For A While by percyspandapillowpet

Nico stopped in his tracks and turned towards Will. “The Aphrodite cabin is planning to prank us. Today.” Will raised his eyebrows. “How do you know?” "They were talking about it. I just heard them.” Sighing as if it were just what he was expecting to hear this morning, Will reached up to scratch the back of his head. “Okay. What do you want to do about it?” Nico pondered this for a moment. “I think we should hide.” “Hide? Where?” Will asked. “We can’t leave camp, and it’ll be awfully boring to stay in the forest or something all day.” After a quick mental scan of all possible locations, Nico realized there was only one unfortunate solution. “Um…how about my cabin?”

cheesy and fun!! the mythomagic scene in particular made me giggle. in particular i love this part and feel like you should all be made aware of it:

“It’s…a game I used to play, when I was little,” he replied carefully.

Will looked up at him. “Do you still remember how to play?”

He felt his entire face turning red. “Well…kind of, I guess, but I’ve outgrown it…”

Will glanced at the back of the box. “What’s the attack power of Athena?”

“Five thousand,” Nico replied automatically, and then immediately groaned. That stupid game was so hardwired into his brain, and now Will was going know how much of a weird geek he was—

But Will was smiling. “That’s adorable. Teach me how to play.”

nico being physically unable to hold the stats back....unbeatable headcanon. adore

5. Pawsitively Perfect by percyspandapillowpet

“Is that…” Nico couldn’t even finish is sentence when suddenly the thing mewed. A moment afterwards, it revealed its tiny brown face, turning to face the son of Hades with round, curious eyes that seemed much too large for the rest of its head. Nico would be lying if he said it wasn’t the most adorable little creature he had ever laid eyes upon. But soon enough, the reality hit him. Will had a cat. Cats were not allowed in camp. Will had brought the cat into the Hades cabin, so if they were caught, they would likely both get in trouble. Not that Nico was scared of getting in trouble with the cleaning harpies—it was safe to say he’d been through a lot worse. What he didn’t think he could handle was the shame of being ridiculed as the kid who tried to hide a kitten with Will Solace. Jason would never let it go. Nico glanced from the kitten’s face back up to Will’s, which was somehow equally as endearing with his pleading-blue-puppy eyes. He knew what he was going to ask just from his expression. He sighed. “Will, you can’t keep it.”

bleeding heart will my beloved. sweatshirt thief nico u are so real. honestly a power couple what more could u want. a kitten? there's a kitten, rest assured.

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

#expect a lot more from percyspandapillowpet in the upcoming weeks btw #i read by date and by author and theyre PROLIFIC so theres lots to go thru #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #solangelo #pre solangelo #established solangelo #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #will solace angst #nico di angelo angst #fic rec #fic rec friday #FRF #longpost

[esther-dot]

But why do you think jonsa wasn’t more foreshadowed if they’re the main romantic pairing?

Well, I think we have comparable foreshadowing, often as a positive contrast to Jonerys foreshadowing which the entire fandom believes is the big romance of the series, so I’m gonna challenge your premise and argue that it isn't the lack of foreshadowing for Jonsa that you're noticing, but the fandom's refusal to accept it. I believe that's because Jonsa is a threat to their priors (Jon and Dany are the heroes, they will meet, fall in love, and defeat the Others together, something that is impossible to believe when Martin says things like this) rather than it being a fair evaluation of the existence or merit of our foreshadowing.

Below I'll point out a few kinds of foreshadowing/examples and present the similar Jonsa version so you can see what I mean.

The premise for Jonerys seems to be that every similarity in their arcs is a parallel, but they are actually contrasts if you read closely (fedonciadale's post about that), and Sansa too has parallels with Jon as you can see in @thewindsofwolves's beautiful parallel series. Their similar journeys are also captured in this gifset and this gorgeous art, and it is certainly intentional, as Sansa seems to pattern Alayne in part on Jon ie we're being told she's getting to experience parts of his life. And, unlike Dany whose plan to conquer Westeros puts her at odds with the Starks, Sansa and Jon are written as having the same, very simple, compatible dream,

If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya. (ASOS, Sansa II) I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. (ASOS, Jon XII)

If we're looking for a romance, foreshadowing that is about a personal relationship, this seems pertinent? And then there's Jon's desire to rebuild Winterfell, and the scene of Sansa literally building it out of snow:

Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins. (ASOS, Jon XII) The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. (ASOS, Sansa VII)

Those two, back-to-back chapters, are absolutely full of parallels. They share a dream, and upon their reunion, will have a common purpose. I'll also link my post about how Sansa's forced marriage to Tyrion has connections to Jon's relationship with Ygritte, and @stormcloudrising's post about the similarities between the interactions of Sansa and the Hound & Jon and Ygritte. There are tons of these, but you get the idea. If we're looking for parallels between experiences, we have them.

Now, a popular method of finding foreshadowing is chapter order, but Jonsa has that too. Here's a 2018 post by @julibf that talks a bit about it, and @istumpysk's ASOS recap talks about that here and here.

There are two moments I've seen Jonerys shippers point to quite often as foreshadowing. Jon and the moon, Dany and the wolf. But the thing is, Sansa is the sun, and one of the "Jonerys" (Jon and the moon) passages has Jon running away from the moon to the cave with the sun (fedonciadale's post about that). The wolf moment also has a Jonsa contrast:

Off in the distance, a wolf howled. The sound made her feel sad and lonely, but no less hungry. As the moon rose above the grasslands, Dany slipped at last into a restless sleep. (ADWD, Daenerys X) All around was empty air and sky, the ground falling away sharply to either side. There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, big as mountains. (AFFC, Alayne II)

Far be it from me to say that Dany hearing a wolf but being lost to her desires and Sansa hearing a wolf, a ghost wolf, and finding it an overwhelming presence (mountain) means something, but if one does, the other does too. And if we're reading them both as foreshadowing, I think there are some reasonable, and unreasonable conclusions to draw from them. So, you can see why imo the fandom employs a double standard in how they weigh the merits of foreshadowing and interpret one as nonexistent and the other as real and positive.

Another oft referenced bit is Dany's vision of the blue flower and the dream of the shadowy lover, so I'll link some analysis of those that I think is far more...uh, shall I say, contextualized. There are @agentrouka-blog's posts on Winter Roses here and here, and her tag for it if you're interested in really exploring it thoroughly. There’s fedoncidale's post about it, her post about the shadowy lover, and @ladyofasoiaf's spec about how the shadow lover foreshadowing is actually Euron.

Oh, and I almost forgot Val who I've seen brought into the picture as foreshadowing for Dany, but there's a funny thing with her hair which again, if we're gonna look at her hair color and say she's a stand-in for Dany, we should be able to look at it and say, ok, but that means over here she's a stand-in for Sansa, and besides, the connotations for Jonerys there are very bad as discovered by @wintersnow39.

Basically, I don't think there's a lack of foreshadowing, I think there's simply a bias in the fandom that rejects Jonsa foreshadowing while happily accepting incredibly similar foreshadowing for other couples.

#jonsa #anti jonerys #dot chat

[kaladinkholins]

the tale of the ronin and the bride really changed the entire premise and promise of the show. because mizu really could've been happy. she WAS! she was happy. she fell in love and found peace and she was about to accept all of herself and openly be all of herself but then it was robbed from her.

and not to push my taimizu agenda again (sorry) but for taigen to behave the same way mikio did from the inevitable gender reveal would be so redundant in my opinion. it would be different if mikio didn't exist and that whole storyline didn't exist, but it does. so taigen won't need to play that role of "guy falls in love with mizu, only to find out mizu is a woman* who's insanely good at fighting, and then lashes out at her and destroys their relationship" anymore. someone already did that before him.

like! i was thinking about how taigen's reaction might mirror that of avigdor in yentl, which is the movie that inspired the love triangle in BES. so if you haven't watched yentl, basically it's about a woman named yentl who crossdresses as a man so she can study and go to school. at the school she befriends avigdor, who is just as passionate about her studies as she is and they basically become best friends who bond over their debates of rabbinic literature. yentl falls in love with him, and it's implied that avigdor also starts feeling that way for yentl, despite believing her to be a man. at the end of the story, yentl reveals herself to avigdor, and he lashes out at her for having "tainted" everything and for having made him a "sinner." he gets angry, there's an argument as he demands to know why she did it and why she is exposing herself now, and yentl ends up breaking down crying, confessing that she loves him. avigdor holds her and comforts her, confessing his mutual feelings towards her, and they kiss. and then they talk about running away together and eloping, but in avigdor's plans, yentl would have to be his wife and thus would no longer be able to do what she loves (study). so they end up parting ways and yentl leaves aboard a ship to find her own freedom.

so anyway, the parallels of yentl=mizu and avigdor=taigen are clear, but to me, it would be rather redundant if taigen were to try to force mizu into this role of a docile wife again. because that's what mikio tried to do! and mizu had done it, and was about to do it again. for a year she lived as a submissive wife and even began to enjoy it. and after sparring with mikio and him rejecting her masculine side, she put on her bridal robes and her makeup in hopes to apologise.

so whatever taigen's reaction will be, i think will definitely be a parallel to mikio's, but i think will end up contrasting it in the end (see: my taigen and mikio are narrative foils post)

i mean, definitely there will be conflict and drama though, about that there is no doubt. especially cuz we all know taigen is a huge drama queen, there's no way he WON'T make a big deal out of it—and this would be the case even IF he grows enough to be able to deal with all his conflicting feelings internally instead of lashing out. regardless, he won't be so accepting immediately, but i don't think he will outright betray her and be an antagonist again.

idk idk. i'm just having lots of thoughts about this now.

#taigen blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #taimizu #mizu x taigen #taigen's reaction might mirror li shang's more tbh sdkjddj #like he was upset and tried to ignore mulan but then in the end he still helped her #idk! im just yapping dont mind me #shut up haydar #fandom.rtf

[blythings]

BAD IDEA RIGHT? | TOM BLYTH

— pairing: tom blyth x filmmaker!oc (fem.)

— summary: she thinks she is really, really smart unless it's about tom; and then she is really, really stupid.

— tags: exes-to-lovers, named oc, attempts at humour, mentions of other celebrities.

— notes: some parts were lifted from i-D mag's feature on emma seligman!

series masterlist | send me an ask →

liked by ayoedeberi, filmupdatesmain and others

alexisnakamura support women's rights and women's wrongs by watching bottoms, out today in theatres across the us and canada! ❤️🥊

this movie is our baby and i feel so lucky to have been able to make it with some of my best friends 🥹 special thanks to @/mari.arai for letting me cover the walls of our nyu dorm with dick jokes and agreeing to play isabel 💞

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nicholasgalitzine So proud of you guys

↪ alexisnakamura nicky 🥺❤️

mari.arai 🫡😘❤️ LOVE YOUUUU

↪ alexisnakamura went a little too hard with the dorm room manifestations and now we made a movie together??? INSANE

guzzlingplastic1000 the best dick joke writer of all time

❤️ by alexisnakamura

↪ user ruby accept my follow request PLEASE

user THIS IS MY FIGHT CLUB

user do you have any pics of mari and ruby covered in blood it's not for anything weird i promise hahahahaaaaa

user omg tom blyth liked this post

↪ user who??

↪ user he's gna be in the new hunger games movie!

↪ user wait i think i've seen him on ali's insta before

↪ user where? i just checked her profile and he's not in any of her posts

↪ user maybe she deleted them????

liked by kaiagerber, tomblyth and others

i_d Bottoms is a delight because it’s a rare breed of big studio production with a compelling original premise, following Josie (Ayo Edebiri) and PJ (Rachel Sennott), two queer teen dirtbags on their circuitous quest to get laid.⁠ ⁠

The movie been called “one of the most quotable films of the decade”, “blisteringly funny”, an “exercise in kamikaze feminism” and more, whilst holding a score of 96% on reviews aggregator Rotten Tomatoes.⁠ ⁠

But when we speak, director @/alexisnakamura only wants to lament on her new bangs. “Impulsively cutting your bangs at 5am is peak girlhood,” she says with the jittery intonation of a girl in her twenties.

Hit the link in bio to read Alexis's full interview with i-D on imposter syndrome, meeting friend and close collaborator Mari Arai in college, situating her bisexuality in her filmmaking and more.⁠

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user relatable queen

user she's so pretty 😩

user she sounds exhausting to be around LMAOO

↪ user ^^^ ↪ user fr it's not a good look considering she's relatively new to the industry ↪ user so she's meant to just be nice and likeable? give me a break 🙄 also "relatively new" is a stretch when bottoms is her 3rd movie

user "i feel like i'm constantly going through something" same

user is she dating tom blyth?

↪ user i think she used to but they broke up ages ago ↪ user they still like each other's posts tho ↪ user an amicable breakup then? ↪ user omg i want them to work together

liked by user, user and others

nakamuraupdates ali's stories from this morning!

user not death by a thousand cuts

user someone check on our girl

#tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x oc #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth fic #coriolanus snow imagine #fic: i wish you would #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x oc

[liaromancewriter]

What Could Have Been (3/?)

Series Premise: When Ethan breaks his promise, Cassie is forced to accept they’re not inevitable after all.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angst Words: 1,930

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3: Move On. Begin Anew. Aftermath of the reset and setting new expectations.

A/N: I'm using @choicesflashfics week 43 prompt 3.

Cassie Valentine knew she should get some sleep, but her body wasn’t cooperating. It would be difficult enough to face Ethan Ramsey tomorrow, but doing it without rest was a recipe for disaster.

It wasn’t her first broken heart. So why did it feel like her entire self had shattered?

Before she could stop herself, she grabbed her phone and keys, shoved her arms into a hoodie and left the apartment and her sleeping roommates.

She jogged up the stairs to the empty rooftop. If she was going to have a nervous breakdown, she needed privacy.

Max Valentine woke from a light sleep and quickly snatched the phone off the night table before the ringtone disturbed his overnight guest. His heart sank when he saw his sister’s name on the screen.

“Hold on,” he whispered into the phone, glancing over his shoulder.

He shoved the covers aside and padded into the other room, quietly closing the bedroom door behind him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, clearing the gruffness from his voice as he settled back against the couch and placed his bare feet on the Ottoman.

“I’m sorry to call so late. Are you alone?” Cassie said on the other side.

Her voice caught in her throat as if she’d been crying. Max heard city sounds behind her and knew she wasn’t home.

“No, but don’t worry about it. You’ve been crying.”

“It’s been a bad night,” Cassie sniffed. “Ethan broke up with me.”

Max sighed, his disquiet rising at the secret she’d kept from him. Dating her boss was a disaster waiting to explode and would’ve left her reputation in tatters.

“You didn’t tell me you’d been dating,” he said neutrally, not wanting to sound accusatory. “Not even when I saw you in Monaco last week.”

“I know,” she admitted softly. “I was afraid.”

Max wished he was stateside for this conversation, but that wasn’t possible. All he could do now was lend a sympathetic ear. “Tell me everything.”

And she did, filling in the blanks of everything that happened these past few months. Things she hadn’t mentioned before.

“We were together briefly before he departed for a medical mission to the Amazon. I didn’t say anything because he’d gone radio silent and was so scared something had happened. We promised to wait for each other. But now….”

Her voice began to warble from tears, and her breathing accelerated.

“Now, he says it’s over, and I don’t know what I did. Why doesn’t he want me?”

When Cassie burst into tears, the sound through the phone broke his heart. His sister deserved someone who’d give her the world. Not an arrogant physician who put everything else before her.

Ethan Ramsey had a lot to answer for, Max thought.

A plan began to form as Cassie told him about tomorrow, facing Ethan again while she was reeling from a broken heart.

She’d been eagerly waiting to start her junior fellowship, so excited for the opportunity. And nothing was going to ruin that as far as Max was concerned.

“Okay, sis. Here’s what you’re going to do tomorrow….”

Ethan slowed his gait as he neared the Diagnostic Team’s glass-walled office. After he met with Naveen, he’d walked around the block to clear his head. But his mentor’s harsh words played in a loop inside his head.

Maybe Naveen was right, and he was wrong. He’d been hasty, perhaps too hasty, in making this decision.

Two months ago, the situation had been evolving. Cassie was still an intern when he’d left. Now, she was a second-year resident and a junior fellow. They were peers, and the power dynamic had equalized.

The game board had been reset while he was away. He hadn’t realized it until this morning, and now he was filled with regrets. Why didn’t his head reconcile the idea before he opened his mouth last night?

His throat became dry, and his expression was torn when he spied on Cassie through the glass. She, Baz Mirani and June Hirata were chatting companionably. It reminded him of how quickly Cassie had developed a reputation last year for being friendly to everyone.

Ethan decided then and there that he’d try to get Cassie alone after the meeting under the guise of onboarding her onto the team. Maybe they could talk openly and honestly like they should’ve done last night.

June was highly observant, though, Ethan thought. He’d have to tread carefully once he stepped inside those doors. He schooled his features and briskly entered the office.

“Introductions done? Great. We’ve got work to do,” Ethan said, his blue eyes taking in everyone but not singling anyone out., “We have an incoming patient from Manhattan Presbyterian.”

He marched toward the head of the conference table and pinned abdominal CT scans on the whiteboard. The team followed his lead and took their usual seats around the table.

The only seat available was across from him. He saw Cassie waver briefly as she peeked at him through her eyelashes.

“Waiting for a special invite, Valentine?” he retorted sarcastically, lifting one eyebrow.

“No. I’m sorry, Dr. Ramsey,” she said quickly and slid into the chair.

She was dressed professionally in a dark green blouse, which made her eyes shine and a grayish skirt with a slit down her thigh.

He had overlooked the latter when she’d been standing, but his eyes drew downward as soon as she sat down and crossed her legs. The edge of the white coat fell to the side, playing peekaboo with her skin.

He turned away before someone caught him ogling Cassie. Too late, he cursed internally at the scrutiny in Hirata’s eyes as her gaze bounced between him and Cassie. The latter was studiously avoiding looking at him, staring unseeing at the scans instead.

He’d have to postpone any one-on-ones with Cassie, for now, anyway. The last thing he wanted was for June to dig into his personal life and use that information to manipulate him.

Maybe he could page Cassie later for a consult. He might not be her direct supervisor, but he wanted her to succeed and be a true mentor to her, the way Naveen had been for him.

Ethan put all other thoughts away and focused his attention on the brainstorm. He wasn’t immune to the fact that Cassie was overwhelmed by the rapid-fire pace, her eyes increasingly bewildered as they ran through differentials.

Brainstorming over and the next steps decided, Ethan dismissed the team. He walked past Cassie and Mirani toward his desk, intent on catching up on emails piled up during his time away and clearing his inbox before it filled up again.

He put on his reading glasses and switched on the computer monitor, and furtively watched Mirani and Hirata walk down the hall and out of sight.

Now that they were alone, he turned to observe Cassie. She studied the CT scans, tapping one finger against her lips. Maybe this was the opportune time for a private talk.

We need to talk about what happened last night, he could begin casually. Gauge her reaction and go from there.

She looked…serene. Nothing of last night’s anguish showed in her demeanor. Ethan wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Or maybe it was a mask to hide her pain.

Suddenly, she looked straight at him. But he didn’t see hurt, just indifference. As if she’d already forgotten what they’d meant to each other. Like she was an intern and he was an attending.

And not two people that had spent several nights wrapped around each other’s naked bodies.

“After you’re done with our patient, you can see Zaid and Ines for further assignments,” he blurted, disconcerted at the emotional and physical distance between them.

“You’ll be balancing your work here with your usual resident duties,” he continued. “Now that you’re a second-year, that will include rotations at the free clinic.”

“Yes, Dr. Ramsey,” she said impersonally.

She asked him a few more questions, and he answered, trying to read her. But her mask was impenetrable. And then Ethan saw her hesitate as if she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure.

“Is everything alright, Cassie?” he asked, dropping his mask and letting her see he still cared.

She seemed to be fighting an inner battle, and then she appeared to decide. “Actually…could we talk?”

Ethan regarded her thoughtfully. He wanted a sign, a gesture, anything that this was his chance to begin anew.

“About the job? Or about us?” he said apprehensively.

“The job. Strictly professional, just like you want,” Cassie said emphatically.

Ethan swallowed his disappointment. This was what he’d asked her of last night. Only he didn’t know then that strictly professional was the last thing he wanted now.

He crossed the room, sat beside her and adjusted the glasses still perched on the bridge of his nose.

“I’m all yours,” he said, the word choice deliberate as his subconscious called him out on his BS.

“How can I be more involved next time?” she said, ignoring his statement.

She swiveled her chair innocuously, tucking her legs sideways under the table and creating even more distance between them. The look on her face was that of a student, not a friend or a former lover.

Even before things changed between them, she’d often have a somewhat flirty smile hovering on her lips. Now, her lips were pursed straight, all emotions wiped clean.

If ever he needed a sign, thought Ethan, this was it. Focus on her professional development or whatever lame excuse he’d uttered last night.

Regrets filled his heart, but he parked them aside and prepared to impart his wisdom.

As she left Ethan’s office and headed off to meet her intern, Cassie knew with certainty that what had transpired a short while ago was the most difficult thing she’d ever done.

Even more than studying for her MCATs and surviving a competitive medical school program.

But she was also secretly pleased that Max’s plan was working.

“Don’t let him see your pain,” Max had advised. “He might see tears as a sign of immaturity, which will strengthen his resolve. Act like it doesn’t matter. He’ll be confused because he won’t be expecting it. But right now, it’s about protecting yourself. Get through the first day, and the second day becomes easier.”

Ethan had been off-kilter since he’d walked into the office, a range of emotions crossing his face in as much as one hour. From nervousness to regret to confusion, she’d always been able to read him like an open book.

At one point, she sensed he wanted to discuss last night, either rehash what he’d already said or clear the air. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He wanted to keep things professional. Well, he got his wish, Cassie thought stubbornly, stabbing her finger on the elevator button.

Cassie could forgive him for wanting a reset and feeling that he needed distance to mentor her. It was his right. And she’d come to Edenbrook to learn from him, work with her medical hero. That was the primary objective.

But she was still too raw from everything that occurred in the last twelve hours to care about what he wanted.

And, if she was honest with herself, she couldn’t easily forgive or forget the cruel and callous manner in which he’d thrown her love back, like a slap across the face.

Max was right. Did she really want to waste her love on someone who clearly didn’t want it or deserve it?

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

All Fics & Edits: @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @takemyopenheart @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey @youlookappropriate

#open heart #ethan ramsey #open heart fanfics #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfics #choices fanfiction #playchoices #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart choices #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine #writers on tumblr

[mdhwrites]

I feel like I remember you mentioning Luz inheriting Owlbert as her palisman instead of Stringbean a while back (I've checked but nothing comes up, so idk if I'm just imagining this or tumblr is just being tumblr lol) and if you did, how would that work exactly? I'm very intrigued by it, but I wonder how it would play into the story, especially if Eda stays alive. I'm curious to hear your thoughts!

(Sorry if you haven't haha, I just remember reading somthing about it and I'm 70% sure it was you but..)

This is kind of both where I've mentioned it, so Tumblr should be able to bring it up, but I've never talked in depth about it I think. Let's fix that here.

So I still believe this take. The core premise is that it is a passing on of who Eda once was to someone who can now hold her rebellious torch. For Luz it is true acceptance of her being Eda's apprentice and her daughter, a family heirloom effectively passed on. Also, Owlbert would have been carved while Eda was still at her most rebellious and probably has missed the side of Eda that could do a lot of that but the curse tamped down and now Momma Eda just can't act on as much. Not like Luz. Owlbert is also more family for them than Stringbean literally had time to be. All of this is thematically WAY stronger than almost anything to do with Stringbean, leaning into new homes, found family and the mentor/student side of the show. I've DEFINITELY talked about why Stringbean doesn't work though, as cute as they are.

All of this would also have paid off the Owlbert episode in S1 or felt like it was happening already with how Luz kept borrowing Owlbert in early S2. She was growing a bond with the palisman and Owlbert is even why she's able to trick Belos during the S1 finale because otherwise she wouldn't have been able to activate the glyphs remotely.

This is also without getting into the fact that once Eda has Harpy Mode... She just doesn't need Owlbert. She can fly, she uses glyphs, it's potentially dangerous for her to use her old friend who might still want to spread their wings, etc. like that. The palisman is no longer required, kind of like how we don't see Lilith's palisman in the finale because she has her own wings now. I am happy they have their wings but... Are their palisman just being left at home, without their companions?

That starts getting kind of close to why the Bat Queen didn't trust Luz in S1. And hey, it would have been a GREAT way to end Hunting Palisman. Rather than a brick of wood that was going to take a REALLY smart hand to make eventually work without either feeling awkward in execution or feeling pointless because whatever Luz said was going to end up feeling like something she could have said here, both of which are Stringbean frankly, it's that Owlbert comforts her. Eda sees this, smiles, frowns then shuts her eyes. When they open back up, it's to Luz and Owlbert, now in first person perspective from Eda's eyes, looking up at her and asking if she's okay. She wipes her tears, knowing what's right for her friend and her daughter and tells Luz that until she figures out what she wants, what fits her, she can use Owlbert. He has been getting a little chubby sitting around The Owl House after all and she's more likely to keep him from getting into mischief. Owlbert hoots in indignation while Luz puffs out her chest and goes "And what if I want to get into Mischief?" and Eda just smiles before saying that then they BOTH can keep each other out of trouble.

It's a genuine Mentor/Student moment that also has SO many shades of when someone hands down the old car that's been around for so long and meant so much to the older generation. Now it can be useful and ride anew with the sons and daughters who originally ran those tires into the ground. How it can cause mischief all anew while the old generations also knows how reliable it can be.

It even fits with what Luz's statement is eventually. "I want to be understood." Why not the family who took her in and showed so much understanding? Hunting Palisman is one of the genuinely good moments for Luz, Eda and King, brief as it is, in part because it is showing so much understanding of Luz. That she would appreciate the gesture, needs time, needs opportunity and doesn't need pressure. But that understanding never really goes anywhere. Eda never passes anything on to Luz. She barely ever teaches her anything, even when that was ostensibly what the show was about. This could have at least been a gesture bringing the elements closer together, rather than keeping them apart.

Instead, even when the family is all together to fight Belos, Owlbert just... Isn't there. He's gone from the finale until the endings start. Someone who always protected Luz, helped her, even back in the first episode when Eda tries to send Luz away with Owlbert and he's just... gone. Left by the wayside like so many elements that seemed to matter at one point.

Left to rot like so many abandoned palisman. That doesn't feel like how things should have gone. Not when there was so much to be gotten out of keeping him around.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

#the owl house criticism #toh critical #toh #the owl house #Owlbert

[twopoppies]

gina hiii, have you read any fics that you’ve liked recently?! sorry if you’ve answered this before but i can’t seem to find any new ones!!!!

Hi sweetheart. I haven't read much because I'm (somewhat unsuccessfully) trying to write. But these are the last few I read and really liked

Secrets, Santa?  By @indiaalphawhiskey (E, 19K) disaster gay Harry in all his bumbling, endearing glory still manages to make his incredibly hot boss (Louis) fall for him. This one has snappy dialogue, great internal monologue, and scorching smut. I’d expect nothing less from this author.

yeah, he's a looker (but i really think it's guts that matter most) by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain (E, 40K) I really enjoy fics where we get to peek in on Harry and Louis' relationship from an outsider's POV. And who would be closer to them than Louis' PA, Oli? I thought the writing in this one was delicate and emotional – the idea of reading about the pain of someone being kept from the person they love through the eyes of someone losing a different sort of love was really masterfully done.

no one's gonna know by jishler / @snowjosh (E, 9K) This author always does such a wonderful job of writing an established relationship fic where there’s so much warmth and expression between the characters, while also showing how much lust and passion there is. This is chock full of edging, exhibitionism, and dom/sub dynamics and it’s such a good read.

Golden by Shaylea (E, 128K) I loved this author‘s last fic, and somehow, they managed to write another captivating story that’s so immersed in the country it takes place in. I was sucked in right from the start and really like how they write complex, flawed characters that you still root and cheer for. It’s a bit neat in its conclusion, but I think it’s very much worth a read.

makes me wanna try her on by mercutionotromeo / @hazlouquitefinished (E, 2K) So simple, but so damn sexy. Please read this author's works... they're all among my favorites.

gold-skinned, eager baby by StarryDay13 / @daydreaming-sunflower (E, 17K) This was soft and tender and sexy and beautifully done. There were wonderful moments of gentleness and vulnerability as Harry awkwardly expresses his thoughts about his gender and his feelings for Louis, and as Louis reasons and holds space for who Harry is. I really just loved this one. And I cried. So that’s a bonus. 😆

distractions by fondleeds (NR, 4K) one of my favorite authors. The writing just feels effortless. This one is super short but sexy, tender, and sweet.

And these are two WIPs I'm waiting on to be finished, but the premise of each sounds up my alley!

Light It Up (On The Run) by theboyfriendstagram (E, 10/12, 51K so far)

“You’re quite relaxed for someone who has a gun pointed at them.”

“You won’t shoot me.” Harry dares, hoping Hydrogen (or whatever his name is) can’t tell he’s shitting himself right now.

“Wanna bet?” the guy dares, a smirk spreading over his lips.

Okay, why did Harry think that talking back to a guy with tattoos all over his body and a gun in his hand would be a good idea?

---  

‘Money Heist’/'La casa de papel' inspired AU. Louis Tomlinson is one of the most wanted criminals in the UK and Harry Styles is a law student who always did what his father told him to do, which includes interviewing for a job at the Bank of England. What Harry doesn’t know, is that his fear of standing up to his father will make him a hostage during the most notorious ten-day money heist in the history of the United Kingdom.

or

A heist!AU where Harry just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time because seven people are trying to pull off the biggest heist ever seen by mankind.

You Can Hear It In The Silence by Imogenlee / @imogenleefic (E, 22/?, 149K sp far)

When Harry Styles got accepted into a post-grad degree, he could no longer afford his flat, so he had three options to choose from:

1) Moving back into student halls. 2) Becoming homeless. 3) Moving in with his best (and only) friend, Niall, and three of Niall's other friends. He ended up choosing the third option. But it was a close race. Shame one of his new housemates reminded him why he only has one friend. If there was one that Louis Tomlinson couldn't stand, it was pretentious tossers, having grown up around enough of them. He was proper chuffed to move back in with his best friends and a couple of other lads. That was until he discovered one of them was the archetype for a pretentious tosser.

In the interest of seeing out the twelve-month lease without killing each other, they both try (debatable) to get along despite being opposite in almost every way, each having the communication skills of a cucumber, and secrets that shouldn't be kept secret.

#recently read #my fic rec #larry fic rec

[cogaytes]

hello @camelspit! i had you for the tgl gift exchange :D

thank you to @gay-otlc for hosting and @arsonistblue for beta-ing!!

Title: brothers

Wordcount: 1753

Summary:

"Who was that?" Jess asks before he can continue the argument. He can't help but be a little curious. The expression on Glain's face when reading the message had been softer than usual—almost…fond.

"Mind your own damn business, Brightwell," she snaps, holding his gaze with a dangerous expression that makes Jess shrink back…before she bursts out laughing. "Kidding. It's one of my older brothers. Rhys. Won't stop messaging me. He's a pain in my arse."

"Brothers are like that." He knows the feeling all too well. Knew the feeling.

---

or, jess and glain talk about their brothers. featuring he/she glain as a treat!

Warnings: none

read on ao3 or under the cut!

It's a beautiful day in the High Garda training complex. A gentle breeze brings cool relief from the hot Alexandrian sun, carrying the noise of the bustling city outside into the courtyard. Light glances off the metal of spears in the distance, where Troll is drilling new recruits. The rhythmic chanting of their call and response sounds almost musical from afar.

It's a beautiful day, it seems, to get his arse kicked.

Shouting some sort of battle cry in Welsh, Glain Wathen tears across the field in a blur of brown curls and bowls him to the ground on impact. Jess blinks once, twice, and before he has the chance to wriggle out of her grasp, he's pinned down with the cold steel of a blade held to his throat. "Yield!" his opponent crows, and Jess coughs, tapping twice on the ground with his free hand.

All of a sudden, Glain's weight is gone; he rolls to his feet with a catlike sort of grace, then offers him her hand. Jess accepts it gratefully, still huffing and puffing as he rises to his feet. Glain looks him up and down, seeming unimpressed. "We need to work on your technique."

"What technique?" Jess protests incredulously, "I didn't even get a chance to lift my sword before you were literally on top of me!"

The other tosses a smug smile over his shoulder. "Like I said. Technique." Jess rolls his eyes and follows her to the far side of the courtyard, where he can sink gratefully onto the shady grass and grab a canteen of water. Glain sprawls out as well and wipes at his brow, despite not seeming to have broken a sweat during that whole exchange.

"I don't see why all this 'training' is necessary, anyway," Jess complains between sips. He's not even a formal part of the Library anymore, and he's good enough at surviving that he's not concerned about ending up in a fight. Let alone one where he would only have a sword.

"Archivist's orders," Glain drawls. She's lying on her back now, not even looking at him, but Jess can hear the smirk on his face. 

Jess throws his hands into the air. "I don't even work for her!" He's starting to get the distinct impression that Glain just wanted to knock him around for a few hours under the premise of "training." Glain opens her mouth to retort, but he's cut off by the chime of a Codex. Jess frowns; he didn't think he'd brought his Codex with him to the complex. It must be Glain's message, then.

He watches as he rummages through her bag and pulls out the Codex. Its case is plain: smooth black leather, practical and no-nonsense. Very Glain. She reads the message, face shifting slightly, then writes out a quick reply before closing it and turning back to Jess.

"Who was that?" Jess asks before he can continue the argument. He can't help but be a little curious. The expression on Glain's face when reading the message had been softer than usual—almost…fond.

"Mind your own damn business, Brightwell," she snaps, holding his gaze with a dangerous expression that makes Jess shrink back…before she bursts out laughing. "Kidding. It's one of my older brothers. Rhys. Won't stop messaging me. He's a pain in my arse."

"Brothers are like that." He knows the feeling all too well. Knew the feeling.

Glain rolls his eyes in agreement. "Especially older ones." She pauses, as if weighing whether or not to continue. "Was Brendan older?"

Jess' stomach rolls a little, the way it always seems to when thinking about his deceased twin. He takes a second, but still answers the question. "No, he was younger by a few minutes." It makes Jess chuckle, to remember the way Brendan would glare whenever Jess reminded him of that particular fact. His expression sobers, though, thinking about something else. "He was so small when he was born that they didn't think he would survive the night. I think that's why…he always had something to prove."

Glain's presence is steady at his side. "I hated your brother's guts," he says, and Jess barks a surprised laugh. Even after all these years they've spent together, he's never managed to not be caught off guard by Glain's bluntness. "But I'm sorry that he's dead. I don't know if I've ever said it."

"Thank you," Jess replies softly. He wonders if Brendan and Glain would have gotten along in another world. Glain would have little patience for the way Brendan hid his true intentions with extra flourishes of speech, he thinks; he'd probably grumble for him to "say what you mean, cocky twp." But it would have exasperated affection in it, the same way he snaps at Dario now. No, Glain probably wouldn't have liked Brendan, but she would have respected him, and he her.

Jess' heart aches, knowing that neither of them will have the chance to know the other now.

"Did you sign him over to your-" Glain hesitates, glancing over at him, "To Callum, in the end?"

Jess nods. "I think he would have liked it. To know my father built something suitably ornate and expensive to commemorate him. And-" he takes a deep breath, "I thought…my parents should get to bury at least one son."

"That's right. You had another brother, you said."

"Yeah. Liam. They hanged him for smuggling when he was seventeen." He takes a deep breath. "We couldn't- if our family had come forward to claim his body, they would have killed all of us." Next to him, Glain hums in understanding. "I expect he ended up in a mass grave somewhere. But my father…it changed him. I think…maybe he couldn't see us as his sons after that, because there was always the risk that we would be caught too."

"Fuck that," Glain cuts in suddenly. "Soldiers die sometimes. Doesn't mean you stop seeing them as people." She stares him fiercely in the eye, and somehow Jess can't look away. "You deserved better than how he treated you." 

He swallows. The best thing about Glain, he thinks, is how he knows without an ounce of doubt that those are her true feelings, and how he shares them with a conviction that makes it so easy to believe. "Thank you. I— I needed to hear that." 

I wish Brendan had gotten to. His brother had always pretended otherwise, but he was the one who cared most about what their father thought of him. Jess was the disappointment; he knew that. He wasn't interested in inheriting the business, always more absorbed in reading the books that fell into his hands than smuggling them. Brendan had been the one his father put on a pedestal, and that meant he was the one with the farthest to fall.

He looks up to realize Glain is watching him, expression betraying the closest thing to concern she'd ever let show on his face, so he changes the subject. "Tell me about your brothers?"

Her face turns fond again. "I've got six of them. Four older, two younger. They're idiots." 

Jess laughs softly, hearing the visible affection in his voice. "But they're your idiots." The same way he and Dario and Thomas are her idiots. The same way he's Jess' idiot. 

"Yeah. They are." Her fingers trace the grip of his sword absentmindedly. "My older brothers were the first people who didn't treat me like I was fragile or helpless. Told me just 'cause I was a girl didn't mean I got to skip out on helping them with the horses, or shoveling out the stalls, or any of that other shit. Rhys even worked extra hours at the blacksmith to save enough coin to send me to postulant training. Knew it was the only way I could join the Garda the way I wanted. And when I came out, Elis gave me my first haircut."

"They sound wonderful," Jess says, and means it. Nothing at all like either of his brothers—Brendan would never display such obvious affection, and Liam had been too old for Jess' foolishness before he died—but wonderful nonetheless.

"You could meet them, if you'd like. I'm going home for Christmas. You could come." She grins wickedly. "Unless, of course, you'd rather spend it with Wolfe and the Santis."

Jess shudders. Captain Santi's family seems to make every gathering a competition to see how many people they can cram into the smallest rooms possible. They'd welcomed him with open arms—and bone-crushing hugs—last year, but he couldn't help but feel…out of place. Everyone was so boisterous and loud, while Jess has always preferred to fade into the background.  He'd ended up hiding in the corner with Wolfe after the second time someone clocked him in the head with an elbow during an impassioned speech. Apparently the Scholar spends every Santi celebration as far away from the others as humanly possible, nursing a glass of wine, and with his hands clasped tightly over his ears. "Depends. Will your brothers try to marry me off to every vaguely available cousin?"

Glain throws his head back and laughs. "Absolutely not. They tried bringing up that mushy stuff with me exactly once, when I was eight. You can probably guess how that worked out for them." Jess laughs, too; he pictures a young Glain pinning two brothers twice his size against a cottage wall with knives as long as her forearms. "No, the youngest will probably talk your ear off about dragons, and the older ones'll only be interested in hearing about your adventures." He smirks. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to add on all the parts where you tripped over your own shoelaces or got your hair singed off by Greek fire. We can't have you getting a big head."

Jess smiles, imagines sitting by a fireplace in a cozy sitting room, laughing with Glain's brothers and being cursed out affectionately in Welsh. "That sounds wonderful."

Glain grins. "It's settled, then. I'll let them know you're coming." He opens her Codex again and scratches out a new message. Watching him, Jess is hit with a sudden wave of affection. Glain has been such a steady presence, the past few years; he realizes that he doesn't know what he'd do without her.

"Glain?" Glain looks up from his Codex. "Thanks. For inviting me. And talking."

She grins at him. "Anytime. That's what brothers are for."

#the great library #tgl #tgl gift exchange 2023 #mine

[densi-mber]

A/N: Happy first day of Densimber to you all! As always, we begin with decoration day. Thanks to @mashmaiden for collaborating on this story.

***

Traditions Come and Go

“Baby, I told you I could get that,” Deeks said, hurrying towards Kensi as she toted a storage container of Christmas decorations through the house.

“It’s not that heavy,” Kensi insisted, shifting the box out of his reach as he attempted to take it. “You’ve been doing everything around here for weeks. Or at least attempting to. I can manage this.”

“I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

“Baby, I appreciate that, but just because I’m pregnant—”

“32 weeks pregnant,” Deeks interjected smoothly. Kensi sighed, accepting his point.

“Yes, I am. I can also squat with a 15 pound dumbbell in each hand,” she reminded him gently. “I don’t think this is going to strain me.”

“Ok, touché.” Deeks grinned self-deprecatingly. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok, I know you mean well.” She stretched to lean over the container and kiss him. “And who knows, in a couple weeks, I might change my mind and want you to do everything.”

“You just say the word,” he said, stealing another kiss.

***

Rosa arrived home just as they were unwrapping the now dozens of decorations they’d collected over the years. An entire bin is dedicated to various ornaments Roberta had passed down.

“Oh, I’m glad I didn’t miss everything,” Rosa sighed, hurrying to set her backpack and shoes to the side. She’d woken up early to pick out a tree with Kensi and Deeks before heading out for classes.

“Like we’d start without you,” Deeks scoffed. He patted the spot on the couch next to him. “Grab a seat and start unwrapping.”

“What is this?” Rosa asked, grimacing at a freshly revealed horse with pink hair and an oddly creepy expression.

“Grandma Deeks’ idea of a joke.”

“She said it was a family heirloom,” Kensi added.

“I don’t remember seeing it last year.” Rosa turned the ornament from side to side, seeming caught between interest and mild disgust.

“Yeah, that’s because we usually never, ever take it out,” Deeks explained. He took it from Rosa, tucking it back in with the rest of the unwanted and boring ornaments. “I’m thinking maybe this year it should meet with an unfortunate and tragic end. Do you think a fiery death is plausible?”

“Or we could just pass it on to our beloved oldest child,” Kensi suggested with mock innocence. “Keep the tradition going.”

“Oh, no thank you,” Rosa said quickly, raising her hands as she chuckled nervously. “I’m good. Though I wouldn’t say no to that aqua one over there.”

“That’s one of my—mmm.” Stopping mid-thought, Kensi rubbed a hand over her lower ribs, wincing for a few seconds.

“Was it croissant or donut this time?” Deeks asked.

“Donut, I think,” Kensi replied, arching her back. “I swear these kids are practicing for a soccer match with how much they kick.”

“Are you ok?” Rosa checked.

“Yeah, they’re getting stronger, but I’m fine. I guess they just wanted to join in on the fun.”

“But maybe hang out for a couple more weeks,” Deeks suggested, resting his hand over Kensi’s stomach.

“So, do you want to put the outside decorations up when we’re done here?” Rosa asked once they had lights strung around the tree.

“Actually, since things are going to be extra crazy this year with all the baby prep, we decided to just decorate inside this year,” Deeks explained.

“But you love Decoration Day.” While initially bemused by Deeks’ excitement last year on December 1st, Rosa had quickly been caught up in the general festivities and greatly enjoyed the entire premise.

“I do, but it’s only one year.” Deeks couldn’t deny he was a little disappointed at the thought of missing out on one of their traditions. He knew they’d barely notice though as everything picked up in the next few weeks.

“You know I’d help,” Rosa offered. “I can hold the ladder and even go on the roof if you want.”

“I really appreciate that, Rosalind, but you have your classes and finals to study for. It’ll be ok.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s not the first time it’s happened,” Kensi said. “The year we moved here, we were so busy packing and going to showings that we never got around to it.”

“Next year we’ll just have to do something extraordinary to make up for it,” Deeks suggested.

“Now, that worries me a little bit.” Not sounding worried in the least, Kensi pushed herself off the couch.

“Where are you going?”

“To get those Christmas cookies you guys made,” Kensi replied. “You should never decorate on an empty stomach.”

#ncis la fanfiction #densi #marty deeks #kensi blye #domestic densi #Rosa #pregnant Kensi #still manifesting twins #fluff #densimber 7.0 #densimber 2023 #densimber day 1 #by ejzah

[redsandspirit]

Matthew Stover ruined Dooku

It is perhaps generally accepted that Revenge of the Sith novelization by Matthew Stover is one of the best books ever written in the Star Wars universe, if not the best. It's not hard to see why, since in many ways the story is head and shoulders above the movie, and Anakin Skywalker is, in my opinion, better captured by the author than anywhere else in the Expanded Universe. Still, I can't say that I was completely satisfied with the novel. Count Dooku is one of my favorite EU characters and I was saddened by how he was portrayed by Stover.

Xenophobia

Matthew Stover's Darth Tyranus is a terrible xenophobe, who never fails to remind the reader of this even during conversations with his colleagues such as Grievous and Darth Sidious. He deeply believes that creating the Empire of Man is what he was born to do? Seriously? Dooku is so evil in this book that it seems as if he would have been able to carry out all of Palpatine's plans exactly to the smallest detail without the participation of Palpatine himself. I think Stover here erases the complexity of the character that Jude Watson and Sean Stewart were able to create, and that's something we'll come back to.

A government clean, pure, direct: none of the messy scramble for the favor of ignorant rabble and subhuman creatures that made up the Republic he so despised. The government he would serve would be Authority personified. Human authority. It was no accident that the primary powers of the Confederacy of Independent Systems were Neimoidian, Skakoan, Quarren and Aqualish, Muun and Gossam, Sy Myrthian and Koorivar and Geonosian. At war’s end the aliens would be crushed, stripped of all they possessed, and their systems and their wealth would be given into the hands of the only beings who could be trusted with them. Human beings. Dooku would serve an Empire of Man. And he would serve it as only he could. As he was born to. - Revenge of the Sith, 2

In the novels written before Revenge of the Sith, we saw many important episodes from Dooku's past, and there were no premises for xenophobia. As a child, he was constantly dealing with other sentient species in the Jedi Order, and his father figure was a literal gremlin. One of Dooku's childhood friends was Eero Iridian, who is also not human. Darth Tyranus shows some remorse due to the fact that he and Darth Sidious took advantage of the Troxans (a non-human species) to drain the Republic's resources. This definitely doesn't fit with the way in RotS Dooku gleefully imagines crushing non-humans under the new government.

“These are the envoys from Troxar,” his Master said. How could he know? Dooku didn’t ask. Darth Sidious knew. He always knew.“They are considering surrender,” Dooku said. “They claim they have a resistance planned, ready to rise in insurrection when the clone troops withdraw.” “No!” the flickering figure said sharply. “The war has already damaged the planet too much to make it worth saving. Its only value now is to chew up more troops and resources. Tell them they have to fight on. Promise them reinforcements—tell them you will be deploying a new fleet of advanced droids to retake the whole system within a month, if only they can hold on. Explain that such weapons will not be put in the hands of those who surrender.” “And when the month passes, and no reinforcements arrive?” “Help will come within another month at most. Promise them that, and make them believe it. I’ve shown you how.” “I understand,” Dooku said. How casually we betray our creatures. The hooded figure cocked its head. “Having an attack of conscience, my apprentice?” “No, Master.” He met the hooded figure’s hideous eye. “It was their own greed that brought them to you,” he said. “In their heart of hearts, they always knew what they were getting into.” - Yoda: Dark Rendezvous, 1

Technophobia

The next uncharacteristic trait that was added to the character is technophobia. Anakin Skywalker's prosthetic arm disgusts Dooku, and he almost spits bile while talking to Grievous. The aristocrat hates not only cyborgs, but also ordinary droids, calling them “repulsive” and hoping that they will be destroyed along with the General.

“Which is precisely,” Dooku said meditatively, “why it might be best if I were to kill him, instead.” “Are you so certain that you can?” “Please. Of what use is power unstructured by discipline? The boy is as much a danger to himself as he is to his enemies. And that mechanical arm—” Dooku’s lip curled with cultivated distaste. “Revolting.” “Then perhaps you should have spared his real arm.” “Hmp. A gentleman would have learned to fight one-handed.” Dooku flicked a dismissive wave. “He’s no longer even entirely human. With Grievous, the use of these bio-droid devices is almost forgivable; he was such a disgusting creature already that his mechanical parts are clearly an improvement. But a blend of droid and human? Appalling. The depths of bad taste. How are we to justify associating with him?” - Revenge of the Sith, 2

Dooku nodded judiciously to himself, frowning down at the translucent blue ghosts slinking toward Palpatine. “Sound the retreat for the entire strike force, General, and prepare the ship for jump. Once the Jedi are dead, I will join you on the bridge.”“As my lord commands. Grievous out.” “Indeed you are, you vile creature,” Dooku muttered to the dead comlink. “Out of luck, and out of time.” He cast the comlink aside and ignored its clatter across the deck. He had no further use for it. Let it be destroyed along with Grievous, those repulsive bodyguards of his, and the rest of the cruiser, once he was safely captured and away. - Revenge of the Sith, 3

Why doesn't this make sense? As with xenophobia, the previous books and comics do not contain any hints that Dooku has disdain or hatred towards people with prosthetics and cyborgs. Moreover, when Grievous proposed using Geonosian technology on the Jedi Padawans for experimental purposes, Dooku approved the idea. Not to mention, the Sith Lord enjoyed Grievous' training.

Grievous had been a delight to train, as well. - Labyrinth of Evil, 22

Love and friendship

Next, Stover gaslights the reader by talking about the friendship between Dooku and Lorian Nod. Because if we go back to Legacy of the Jedi, it turns out that Dooku wasn't such a bad friend. He cares about Lorian and tries to be careful with his words so as not to hurt his feelings. Then after Lorian betrayed Dooku by blaming him for stealing the holocron, did Dooku worry about his reputation? Sure, but what unsettled him was that he was betrayed by someone so close to him. Even after what happened, he considers Nod his friend and cannot decide to refuse his request.

He doesn’t remember quite when he discovered this; it may have been when he was a young Padawan, betrayed by another learner who had claimed to be his friend. Lorian Nod had said it to his face: “You don’t know what friendship is.” And he didn’t. He had been angry, certainly; furious that his reputation had been put at risk. And he had been angry at himself, for his error in judgment: trusting as an ally one who was in fact an enemy. The most astonishing part of the whole affair had been that even after turning on him before the Jedi, the other boy had expected him to participate in a lie, in the name of their “friendship.” - Revenge of the Sith, 3

His best friend had betrayed him. Throughout the years at the Temple, he could always depend on Lorian. They had shared jokes and secrets. They had competed and helped each other. They had quarreled and made up. The fact that this person could betray him shocked him so deeply he felt sick. Legacy of the Jedi, 3

Dooku didn't know what to say. He wasn't prepared to lie, but he couldn't say no to his friend. So he said nothing, and, after a long while, the two friends fell asleep. Legacy of the Jedi, 3

Was Dooku the perfect friend? Of course not, and his pride played a role in escalating the conflict, as did Lorian’s envy, but to reduce everything to the words that “Dooku was different and did not understand friendship” I think is a monstrous simplification. The loss of his friend played a big role in Dooku's life, and that's how the story ends.

Lorian had been wrong. Dooku's heart hadn't been empty. He had loved his friend. But he had changed. Lorian had betrayed him. He would never believe in friendship again. If his heart was now empty of love, so be it. The Jedi did not believe in attachments. He would fill his heart with nobility and passion and commitment. He would become a great Jedi Master. Legacy of the Jedi, 6

We further learn that Dooku cannot care about the feelings of other beings and does not even see those around him as entirely real. Now, I don't by any means think that characters with these traits are a bad thing, or that you can't do something interesting with them, but that's not Dooku. We've seen how important his relationships with some of the other characters are to him (there's a whole novel written about him and Yoda), and that he cares to some extent about the feelings of those around him. Moreover, Stover will not explore these new traits, because Dooku will die in the next chapter anyway.

He is entirely incapable of caring what any given creature might feel for him. He cares only what that creature might do for him. Or to him. Very possibly, he is what he is because other beings just aren’t very … interesting. Or even, in a sense, entirely real. For Dooku, other beings are mostly abstractions, simple schematic sketches who fall into two essential categories. - Revenge of the Sith, 3

Jedi Order

Stover's Dooku ideal Jedi Order would forcibly remove Force-sensitive children from their families. Perhaps it's just my opinion, but it seems strange in light of the fact that his rejection trauma, as described by Sean Stewart, is related to his parents and the Jedi Order.

And that Fist would become a power beyond any Jedi’s darkest dreams. The Jedi were not the only users of the Force in the galaxy; from Hapes to Haruun Kal, from Kiffu to Dathomir, powerful Force-capable humans and near-humans had long refused to surrender their children to lifelong bound servitude in the Jedi Order. They would not so refuse the Sith Army. They would not have the choice. - Revenge of the Sith, 2

Ultimately, I can make the case that the ending of Yoda: Dark Rendezvous may have served to develop Dooku and make him even more bitter, but that doesn't justify the radical personality transplant Matthew Stover performed. And now, I often see these lines used to say that Dooku was always pure evil, had no good intentions and was always pretending, and also see questions like "as a human supremacist, what did Dooku think of Yoda?" And how can we know? All of these things were added to the character at the last minute and didn't match anything we'd seen before. This is not my Dooku.

#star wars #star wars meta #revenge of the sith #labyrinth of evil #yoda dark rendezvous #legacy of the jedi #dooku #darth tyranus