#timeskip: a week later therapy time!

[ask-beast-o-tonicko]

Session 56 (Season 4 Finale)

KO had just finished placing an order for a new punching bag stand, and messages this as he walks to the train that was parked at the plaza:

"I ordered another punchy bag stand for me after I broke my last one... Should be arriving at my home in a few weeks, but first- therapy time! I'll be seeing you later!"

#timeskip: a week later therapy time! #ask-bot-ko #beast-o-tonic au #beast-o-tonic ko #tales from the multiverse #therapy carpool #therapy carpool canon #therapy announcement stuff #session 56 begin

[ask-mutant-ko-n-tko]

Session 67

"Well, break's over... I guess. I'll be back later!"

#timeskip: a week later therapy time! #((therapy break over)) #ask-mutant-ko-n-tko #mutant au #mutant ko #mutated au #mutated ko au #tales from the multiverse #therapy carpool #therapy carpool canon #therapy announcement stuff #session 67 begin #angst

[ask-kimerako-therapycarpool]

Session 66

[After messaging one of the KOs, he puts his phone in sleep mode and pockets it.]

I think that should do it for another break for me... Well... [He sighs.] Time to go to therapy and see if MKO is back to normal today. And if Mercury and DK will behave... And then in the weekend later, I have to go to my dad's again...

See you in an hour, guys...

#timeskip: a week later therapy time! #ask-kimerako #kimera ko #kimera ko au #tales from the multiverse #therapy carpool #therapy carpool canon #therapy announcement stuff #session 66 begin #angst #ko au mention

[kitashousewife]

snowed in

an: i have been so excited for this one!!!! i love ennoshita he is so handsome and beautiful to me heehee

pairings: timeskip!ennoshita x fem!reader

warnings: reader is also in school with ennoshita, just not taking PT classes, one bed trope, friends to lovers ish (more classmates to lovers), mentions of food and eating, lots of fluff!!!! lowercase intentional

-

ennoshita is your favorite classmate this semester. the history class the two of you are in is tough, stressing you out more than you had planned. thankfully he's incredibly knowledgeable, helpful, supportive, and kind. he's always helped you when you needed it, even answering your very late-night texts to help you with an assignment.

that's why you couldn't refuse his offer to work on your group project this weekend. you may owe him, but he's also very handsome, so you couldn't say no.

besides, how hard could the assignment be?

"how's your section coming along?" ennoshita asks from behind his laptop, words laced with a little bit of nervousness. the two of you decided to work at his place, a very old but cozy home that he shares with narita and kinoshita. it may look a little beat up, but it's relaxing, cozy, and has much faster internet than your apartment.

"it's...going!" you give him a weak, very tired smile. you have your workstation set up at his kitchen table, and ennoshita is sprawled out on the living room floor. he groans and rolls onto his back.

"i mean, if we would have done the project right the first time, we would probably be finished by now."

you sigh. "it's not our fault that the assignment was worded like that!" unfortunately, you both read the instructions wrong. after hour three, enoshita realized the grave mistake, meaning it's been about six hours of work.

"i'm almost done, thank god," he mumbles, rubbing his eyes before looking over at you. ennoshita is also quite glad that you decided to come over today. he's sure that you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. but, between pt classes, his part-time job at the clinic, and his other classes, he just hasn't found the time to ask you out.

narita told him that he's making excuses, but ennoshita swears he isn't.

"i think i'm about done, too. do you want to send me your part?" ennoshita hums, and a few seconds later an email enters your inbox.

he stands up with a stretch, hands placed on his lower back with a wince. he feels a little bummed if he's being honest. now that the project is done, you're free to go home.

"h-hey, are you hungry?"

you look up from your screen with a small smile. "a little, but it's okay! don't worry about it,"

he shakes his head. "it's the least i can do! you drove here, and you're editing my work, which is deserving of an entire three-course meal," he smiles as you let out a laugh. "unfortunately, since my roommates already left for break, i don't have much food. is take out fine?"

your eyes skim over the last section before you save and shut your laptop. "i don't mind, ennoshita! i can't be too picky since you so graciously offered."

"chikara," he corrects with a grin. "and okay. i'll order from my favorite place, i promise you'll love it."

while waiting for the food, the two of you clean up a bit before sitting in the living room, getting to know each other. you share a bit about your friends and family, plus your current job. ennoshita laughs when you gripe about your stupid boss and co-workers. he also takes his turn, sharing his love for volleyball and sports, even telling you about the rec team he plays with a couple of times a week. you learn that he's currently working a few hours a week at a nearby physical therapy clinic, which you can tell he loves by the smile on his face.

"and you mentioned roommates, how did you meet them?" you ask from the opposite end of the couch. you almost wish the couch was just a bit smaller so that you would have no choice but to get a little closer. the smell of his cologne is intoxicating.

"i've known them for years. we played volleyball together in high school," he starts, motioning towards a picture frame that hangs on the wall near the tv. "when i found this place, it was perfect. rent was a little high, but thankfully they wanted a change of scenery and decided to move in to help with the cost. they're really awesome guys," he laughs a little, shaking his head. his mouth opens to continue, but a few knocks on his front door grab you two's attention.

"oh! must be our dinner," ennoshita walks towards the door, and checks the peep hole before opening it.

"oh my god."

"is everything okay? was the order wrong?" you try and peak around the corner, but it's no use.

"have you looked outside at all?" his previously light and joyful voice is now filled with worry and concern. you quickly shuffle to the front door, and immediately understand his reaction.

everything is covered in a blanket of fresh, white snow. and by covered, you mean absolutely buried. besides the fresh snow tire tracks down the driveway, you feel like you are in a snow globe. the tires of your car are lost, the road is nowhere to be found, and the very crudely hung christmas lights swinging from the gutters glow dimly through the snow. while it's beautiful, you have absolutely no idea how you can get home.

"let's get in and eat. i'll turn on the news. maybe there's a storm we didn't know about?" ennoshita's warm palm rests on your lower back, lightly pulling you away from the chilly air sneaking in through the front door. he shuts it, hurriedly placing your dinner on the counter before flipping on the news. you open the containers up, dread filling your body as the broadcast plays.

headlines reading freak snow storm and road closures run across the screen, a man who's voice and smile far too cheery for the situation explains the effects citywide, and lists off school closures for the following day.

"that's much more exciting when you're a kid," ennoshita sighs, and walks into the kitchen, grabbing a couple glasses for the two of you.

"you don't happen to have a car that's good in the snow, do you?" your tone is hopeful, but you feel the complete opposite. you know for a fact that your car won't make it home, and with the roads the way they are, your friends wouldn't be able to get you either.

he lets out a nervous laugh before joining you at the counter.

"does a bike count?"

you snort. "as much as i appreciate that, i'm going to have to pass. i'm sure the bus is running! i can always get my car another day."

ennoshita picks up a couple of the containers. "i wouldn't mind walking with you to the bus stop! we can eat on the couch and can walk over when you're ready. no rush!" he smiles. you feel better already. one of your favorite things about him is how he's so calm, so sweet, and caring. without him, you are positive the report from earlier would have never been finished. you smile back at him, before reaching for the last container. his fingers brush yours, pulling away quickly before grabbing your glass of water. the two of you brush it off, but your heart definitely skipped a beat.

you take a seat on the couch, very ready to dig into your food.

"thank you, chikara. this was really sweet of you," you place your hand on his leg, and he about chokes on his dinner. he nods, swallowing his bite. "no problem!"

the two of you eat, the conversation never stopping for long. the two of you chat about school, hopes and dreams, favorite movies, and everything in between.

"that was so good! i can't believe i've never ordered from there," you exclaim, taking ennoshita's trash for him to the kitchen. he laughs.

"i'm sure they know who i am at this point. i'm almost positive i order at least once a week," he scratches the back of his head, slightly embarrassed by his habits. thankfully, you giggle in response giving him a honeyed smile.

"well, i guess it's time to head to the bus sto-"

the two of you turn your attention to the tv, where the same reporter as before informs the two of you that the bus will, in fact, not run until tomorrow.

"you've got to be kidding me," you groan checking your phone to see tons of messages from friends about the snow. "what do i do?"

ennoshita feels selfish. he feels terrible that you're essentially stranded, stuck with someone that you don't know terribly well. his heart sinks when he sees you, lip pushed out into a pout, worry written all over your face. the other part of him feels a little happy.

he wouldn't tell you, but he's very glad that you're stuck with him.

"you're more than welcome to sleep here! i don't mind at all, i'm happy to help. we have tons of extra blankets, and i have an extra phone charger somewhere," he puts his hand on your shoulder tentatively, worried he might scare you. thankfully you don't mind, even leaning into his touch a little.

"are you sure? i feel like i've imposed so much today," you feel your cheeks warm up a little bit. you feel a little excited. if you had to be stuck somewhere, you're glad that you are stuck with ennoshita. even if it does feel like a bad rom com.

"you're not imposing at all! i'm so glad you came today-" he stops himself, worried that he said too much. you look up at him with a shy grin.

"i'm glad i came, too."

ennoshita blushes, a pretty pink that makes his brown eyes stand out. he looks at the clock on the oven, shocked at how late it's gotten.

"you can say no, but if you'd like, you are more than welcome to borrow some of my clothes," he manages to get out, hoping the nervous tone doesn't show too much. he thinks you would look adorable in one of his hoodies, maybe even his sweats. "only if you want to, of course."

"s-sure, thank you so much!" you respond quickly. you want to smack yourself. was that too much?

ennoshita leads you to his room, patting his bed for you to take a seat while he grabs some things for you. he returns from his closet quickly, handing you sweatshirt and sweats.

"if you want a t-shirt, i got plenty of those too. are these okay?" he looks at you, brown eyes full of concern.

"it's perfect, thanks chikara."

the two of you stand in silence for a few seconds, before the two of you speak at the same time.

"d-do you-"

"i'll let-"

the two of you laugh.

"i was just going to ask if i could change somewhere,"

he nods. "the bathroom is just right next to my room. feel free to shower, take a bath, or do whatever you'd like. i even have extra toothbrushes if you want."

you can't help but smile. this is the nicest anyone has treated you in a while.

"you are so sweet. thank you so much."

ennoshita sinks back to his bedroom, changing into sweats and a sweatshirt of his own. he tries to straighten up anything he can before you come back, even fluffing the pillows a little. he feels so nervous and so excited at the same time. the intimacy of having you in his bedroom makes his heart race.

you emerge a few minutes later, and ennoshita has to force himself not to coo at how adorable you look. sweatshirt sleeves hanging a bit past your hands, sweats a little loose on your figure. you look as adorable, if not more than he thought you would.

meanwhile, you feel dizzy. his smell is so perfect, so intoxicating. now you're swimming in it, every sense is consumed by him. you just want to crawl into his lap, wrap your arms around him and fall asleep.

"i would offer one of my roommates beds to you, but i wouldn't sleep in them myself," he explains, grabbing extra blankets from one of the closets. you snort. he turns to look over his shoulder at you, giving you a smile.

"chikara look out!"

a few extra blankets come tumbling off of the shelf and onto his face, and ennoshita is ready to hide. he's embarrassed himself more than enough for one night.

"well, at least that's taken care of," he huffs. you can't help the giggle that sneaks out, which thankfully puts ennoshita at ease.

"the couch is very comfortable, but if you any extra blankets or pillows let me know. my room is-nevermind, you were just there-"

"this is perfect. thank you so much chikara, you're so sweet. you didn't need to do all this for me," you shake your head, setting up your bed. "i'll find you if you need anything, though."

he takes a step backward, putting his hands in his pockets. he's not quite sure what to do. do i hug her? do i just say goodnight? do i walk away?

"goodnight!" he gives a little wave before flicking off the lights and walking down the hall.

"goodnight, chikara!"

-

you're not sure what time it is when you wake up. it's still dark, the only light pouring in from the street lamp outside, dancing off of the snow that continues to build. you're freezing. even with the few heavy quilts and very cozy clothes, you shiver. patting around your blankets you finally find your phone, which blinks back at you. 3:22 am. you sigh, wrapping the blankets even closer around yourself. you quickly realize your phone hasn't been charging. unplugging and replugging, but nothing changes. moving to a different outlet, but still nothing changes.

the creak of ennoshita's bedroom door catches your attention, along with the call of your name.

"it's freezing, are you alright?" he whispers. you nod, hugging one of the quilts around you.

"just a bit cold is all, but i'm fine!"

you can't help but look at him. chocolate hair a little messy from sleep, sleep shirt hugging tight to his biceps. his fingers fumble with the thermostat for a few seconds, before he covers his face.

"oh no," he murmurs through his hands.

"what? is it broken?"

he shakes his head. "i think we lost power."

your mouth drops open. he rushes into his bedroom, grabbing his phone to call his landlord, who thankfully picks up on the first ring. ennoshita paces back and forth, and a muffled conversation carries through the hallway before he hangs up.

"well, we lost power. my landlord lives a couple doors over and is going to hook up our generator, but it might take him a bit," he rubs his eyes. "you don't have to, but it might be good if we just share my bed for a bit? it's getting cold quick,"

you nod. "i-if you're okay with it,"

he grabs your hand and walks you to his room. "please, the last thing i want is for you to get too cold."

you slide in to his bed, pulling the covers up. his bed is still a bit warm from before he left. you're drowning now, the clean smell of his sheets and the lingering smell of his shampoo envelope your senses. ennoshita slides in next to you, not too close though. he's worried about making you uncomfortable.

a few minutes pass by, but you can't seem to warm up.

"chikara?" you whisper in a small voice in hopes not to wake him up.

"yeah?"

you clear your throat. "u-um, you can get closer if you want, i don't mind,"

his brain short circuits.

"are you sure?"

"yeah, i'm sure. i'm still a bit cold actually."

he nods, not that you can see him. he moves closer, bodies only inches away from touching. the heat of his body is nice, helping you to feel a bit more at ease. without thinking, you reach for his arm to pull it over yourself.

you freeze. he freezes.

"i-im sorry i didn't-"

"i c-can move it if you-"

"no," your voice is small. "you can keep it there if you want."

he pauses before relaxing his arm a little, involuntarily pulling you a little closer. he doesn't want to pull you in anymore, because you could probably feel his heart beat.

each second that goes by causes the two of you to relax, and both of you warm up quickly. the warm glow from the christmas lights seeps into the room through his blinds, coating the two of you in a slightly orange haze. the rhythm of your heart lulls him to sleep, breathing becoming steadier. your eyes flutter shut, and your mind races. you haven't felt this comfortable, this warm, and safe in so long.

just as you begin to drift off, the sharp beep of the smoke detector cuts through the air, followed by the rumble of the heater.

"power's on," ennoshita sleepily whispers, pulling you a little closer.

"yeah," you whisper back, lacing your fingers with his.

the two of you fall asleep in each other's embrace, deciding to worry about how everything will play out in the morning. although neither of you figured this would happen, neither of you complain.

thankfully the weather gave the two of you the push you needed, even if it did cause both of you to be snowed in.

#heidswinterevent #ennoshita chikara x reader #ennoshita chikara fluff #ennoshita x reader #ennoshita fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #ennoshita chikara x you #ennoshita x you #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader

[calyxthenerd]

In the 1 month skip between episode 59 and 60 in Season 3 of Soy Luna, what are some things you think happened?

Im going to do this summarized hc style because I’m at the airport and it would take a while to write down a month’s worth of scenes

Sharon spends the first two weeks in the hospital, being unconscious for three days after the rescue team manage to pull her out of the fire, when she regains consciousness and starts babbling on about Bernie and “How dare they steal my fortune” and stuff, they go to ask Alfredo if he agrees to send her to a mental health facility, which he promptly agrees to, and that’s how she ends up getting treatment there

The fire only damaged Sharon’s Lili and Bernie’s and Ámbar’s rooms, which half relieved Ámbar and half pained her, because, while she could fully refurbish it to fit her, now more mature, tastes, since everything from her spoiled brat and goth phases turned into ash which upset Simón quite a bit, since he loooved her goth clothes, that meant that all her memories from those times were also gone, and not even Luna could cheer her up when she realized that, she locked herself in her temporary new room and cried for days, letting out all the pain she held in her entire life, only opening the door to grab the food that Monica left on her doorstep

Luna turned her parents’ old room into a memorial, putting everything that was left of them in there, she keeps it locked most of the time, the memories are too painful but when everything gets to be too much, she goes in there and talks to them, or cries, for a few hours

Luna and Ámbar go to therapy, after Simón, the Valentes, Alfredo and Nina insisting for months, that results in Luna, who is learning to prioritize her own well-being over other people’s comfort, convincing Matteo to also get therapy, and he, in turn, starts unlearning all his harmful and self-sabotaging behaviors

This particular point is canon divergent. So, since I don’t remember it happening, I’m gonna choose to believe there weren’t any Niric scenes after the timeskip, so that + the fact that while all the other couples were next to each other in that shot near the end of the episode, they were apart, can only mean that Gastón visited during his vacation period from Oxford and apologized, so he and Nina got back together, as it should’ve been, but he has to go back before the festival and Luna’s birthday, but Nina applied to go there a few weeks before, because, even though she might run into him, it was her dream to study abroad, long story short, she gets accepted and then rest is history

Since Sharon made sure she couldn’t go to the school in Paris, Ámbar applied and got accepted into one in BA, starting a year later than she was supposed to, but she, if anyone, is gonna turn that around, possibly overworking herself so she can graduate early, but she’s got her Mexicans to make sure she doesn’t take on more than she can handle

Nico and Ada end up breaking it off, since I don’t see how that would work, and he comes back right after Luna’s birthday, making the band complete, and since everyone else gets busy and stops going to roller as much, they start getting gigs in other places, eventually catching the eye of a more ethical record label fuck you vidia and signing their first album

There’s not much to be said about Jim & Yam, except that they’re thriving at their

Matteo released his first record the week before, since his songs were already decently polished and well rehearsed, the process was really fast

And since the whole group agreed that the Festival was their last performance together, with Nina leaving to join Gastón in Oxford, the band going full swing with their first album, Ámbar starting law school, Matteo going on tour, Delfi going to college for journalism, Jazmin getting the offer to be a part of Fundom, and lastly, to everyone’s joy, Benicio disappearing off the face of the earth, Luna, Ramiro and a newly redeemed Emilia, decided to form a team together, with Juliana’s guidance of course, the process of finding other members was quite a pain, but eventually they managed to find other three people, and they became quite known in skating circles across the world, their team name? Eclipse, after their main founding member and captain

I got a little carried away and started getting into their futures afterwards, but I hope you like it!

#soy luna #calyx writes

[aceontheline]

Love is in Bloom (Mass x Florida: Pt 6)

C//W: Some NSFW ahead. I will place a cut for where it is

Timeskip: A few months later

Mass and Florida were fairly comfy in their relationship now, but Mass still had a lot of work to do mentally since his last run in with his ex, Darren. He was attending therapy as regularly as him and his insurance could afford him to... At least once a week. Sometimes every other week. Florida was also a major help during this whole theraputic process, helping Mass do any and all grounding exercises that Florida and his therapist practiced together. Some helped, but Mass's favorite was to take Florida and go on a nice little drive, just the two of them. Driving sort of felt mindless, when you could blast your favorite music and just go wherever the road took you. So one day, Mass surprised Florida and did just that.

He insisted that Florida pack a bag for an overnight stay somewhere away from the Statehouse. He immediately agreed, packing an overnight bag along with Mass. The two of them left early in the morning and drove to wherever the road took them. They ended up at a restaurant for lunch first, then they booked a hotel for that night. After getting checked and settled in, the two were messing around. Mass got on top of Florida and looked at him with an eager, yet hungry gaze. Mass kissed his lover deeply, stroking his strong hands all over the sunshine state's body.

Mass then bore his fangs and nibbled all along Florida's body. Florida looked incredibly flustered and gazed longingly into his lover's eyes... Before wrestling him for dominance. The two were toppling each other with ease, where it felt like they only had a minute between each time they pinned each other. Mass realized that Florida had fangs as well, as he bore them to bite down on Mass's body. Mass groaned softly, his head slightly thrown back. Florida used that opportunity to bite Mass's neck, which made him growl.

The two kept doing this for a while. Bites, wrestling each other, and more kissing & biting. After a little while of this, Mass took off his shirt and looked down at Florida, who seemed rather flustered to see this. He smirked and licked his lips, pulling Florida's shorts down.

Florida's cock was already a bit hard, but Mass knew what to do to make it much harder. He took his rough hands and started stroking it fairly softly at first, getting back on top of Florida. He kissed Florida's body all over, then turned him around. Mass spanked Florida a couple times, making him moan loudly as each spank increased in strength. Mass then pinned Florida back down and made out with him, before putting one hand back on his cock. Perfect. It was nice and hard.

"This I can work with. I know what you'll like" Mass whispered seductively, licking his lips.

Mass immediately went down and sucked Florida's dick for a bit, letting him grip Mass's head, pushing up and down. Florida inhaled through his teeth, enjoying the feeling of his lover's mouth grazing his firm cock, pushing him down more. He noticed that Mass's cock was getting hard as well, looking at him with a pleading stare. Mass smirked, asking if Florida wanted it. Florida nodded.

"Wanna 69 instead?" Mass asked, looking at Florida for approval.

"Y-Yes" Florida replied, still trying to catch his breath.

Mass positioned himself up on top of Florida, while his mouth hovered over Flo's hardened member. The two began sucking and stroking each other off. After a while of this, Florida wanted to be the more dominant one, shoving Mass off of him and pinning him down. Florida kissed and bit his way down Mass's body and he seemed into it. Florida flipped him over so his lover's ass was facing him. Did Florida bring condoms or lube? Just lube. He applied it so, slowly sticking his member into Mass's virgin hole. Florida, then, stuck himself in deeper, making Mass yelp a bit.

Florida's thrusts became more powerful by the minute, but Mass was enjoying this thoroughly, as his moans and groans indicated.

"You like that? You like being pounded like this?" Florida demanded.

"Y-Yes! Aaahh!" Mass replied, practically squealing.

At some point though, Mass turned the tables. He hitched himself off of Florida and managed to wrestle him back down. "Although..." Mass's strong hand was firmly placed on Florida's throat. He knew not to deliberately try to choke, but rather place his hand in a particular spot. Florida was experiencing a mix of euphoria and intense arousal. Mass eventually released his grip on Florida's throat and gazed at him longingly, returning to the 69ing pose.

Before Florida came, Mass growled deeply, indicating he was also on the verge of climaxing. Once the two were finished, they swallowed each other's loads.

"Damn... You needed a good fuck like that, huh?" Mass asked teasingly, cuddling Florida.

"Yeah... Thank you..." Florida responded, kissing Mass's cheek and cuddling into his chest.

Mass chuckled and just cuddled with Florida the whole night, other than ordering some takeout and picking it up for the two of them to eat. "While it's on it's way, we should shower up" Mass replied, leading Florida into the bathroom first. They almost fucked again, but they didn't quite have the stamina nor the time for a second round. Instead, Florida went into the shower alone. By the time he was done, the food was on it's way. He agreed to pick it up while Mass took his turn.

The two cuddled all night while having food and watching a movie.

The next morning, the two lovers were still cuddled up together. Thankfully, they didn't have much to clean up, so they just grabbed their stuff and checked out. They went back to the Statehouse, only to discover the Northeast and Gov staring at the T.V in horror. Shit, Mass saw Darren walking freely out of Court. He slammed his fist down on the table.

"You gotta be fucking KIDDING ME. How did they let his ass GO?!" Mass angrily yelled.

"He got away with an insanity plea" New York replied blankly.

"Fucker's gonna drive ME insane if anything. Tell me I gotta sleep with a knife under my pillow or somethin'" Mass said in an exasperated sounding tone, flopping down on the couch.

Florida saw this as well, getting incredibly angry. Caitlin was rightfully in Jail after everything displayed, so why could this bastard stroll out freely on some bullshit like an Insanity Plea? Then it clicked to him. Florida asked Mass if Darren knew anyone that could've assisted him legally. Mass's face went pale for a moment... Shit. Darren's brother was studying to be a lawyer and was nearing his law degree when the two were dating.

Darren hired his brother to be his lawyer. His brother still sided with Darren, even after seeing all the evidence and got his brother bailed out. Just then, there was a doorbell ring. Mass immediately hid away somewhere and New York went to answer the door...

It wasn't a live trial. Darren was standing at the door, demanding to see Mass. New York leaned against the doorframe, looking at him up and down.

"I don't fuckin' think so, Kid. You're gonna leave my friend alone, or I can get MY connections to run you out of town" New York threatened. Darren scoffed directly in his face.

"Try me. Now MOVE. My boyfriend is in there-"

"Actually," Florida interrupted. "He's with me now. So you can fuck off. I am not afraid to eat a face again" he legitimately threatened.

Darren looked mildly terrified after that statement and backed off. For now. Mass went by Florida's side, thanking him and New York for the protection. New York nodded his head out of respect, kind of.

"Remember when you said 'Ain't nobody, no how gonna kill you but me'? Yeah, I mean that too. But like, we're just messing around when we say shit like that. I fear this guy could ACTUALLY hurt you. So, lemme talk to my 'connections'. Give or take a few weeks, this guy will be outta town" New York replied, staring out into the distance.

"And until then... I'll protect you too!" Florida said, posing like a bodyguard, making Mass chuckle.

"Thanks guys. I appreciate it" Mass responded, pulling Florida in for a hug.

Mass walked away with Florida to his room, locking the door behind them. He also shut all the windows and everything, just to be safe. Florida let him prepare all sorts of safety measures, then the two cuddled in bed for a majority of the day, just enjoying each other's company to the best of their abilities. There had to be some way to relieve the tension, so the two would occasionally kiss and admire each other.

Previous ( Here ) ; Next ( Here )

Masterpost ( Here )

#wttt #wttt fanfic #wttt shipping #wttt massachusetts #wttt florida

[myelocin]

sunny | miya a., bokuto k.

Synopsis: This is how the universe works: It gives you the sun, but oftentimes, takes it away with the clouds. Here’s how you love your daughter, your piece of starlight even though your whole life has been a back and forth push and pull between Atsumu--your sky--and Bokuto--your sun.

Characters: Miya Atsumu,  Bokuto Koutarou, Your daughter

Genre/Tags: Slice of Life, Established Relationship, Angst, Parenting!AU. Timeskip, Off-canon, Doctor!Bokuto, Love Triangles, Unrequited Love  WARNINGS: mentions of car crash | WC: 17000+

a/n: this is a commissioned piece by @23soong​

playlist

commissions | ko-fi

April 2030

-

This is how the universe works.

It gives you the sun, only to later give you the clouds. And Bokuto likes the sunny days.

He likes sleeping in when it’s Saturday, and staying late at work even when the night shift is slow. There’s the Yakiniku that’s good for a late dinner tucked in between a flower shop and a convenience store down the street, and the tea place just a block away from his apartment.

But he supposes his favorite things are the cards posted across the wall in his office. The tiny scribbles all coming from the patients he’s handled throughout the years in his profession.

Ten years ago, if you asked him where he’d see himself ten years into the future, he’d talk about some place with a court. Ten years later—now—he finds himself certified to wear a doctor’s coat as well as being trusted to heal the kids who should have lived a little more of their childhood.

It’s honest work, he thinks.

The hours are long, and the road to get here was brutal, but the sunny days come more often than the cloudy days. All the scribbles on his walls are testimony to the happiness that still stays. Thank you, often misspelled, or written with barely discernable handwriting, but then again, gratitude was often universal.

Just like how love is.

The days within the week are often split between the ones that are looked back at with a smile or something a little less than that. Because the reality is—his present always had to carry a smile.

He’s got a child in the west wing diagnosed with cancer. He’s turning eleven this year, and often talks about wanting to learn how to ride a bike.

Bokuto gathers his thoughts and pieces a few sentences in his head in advance before he enters the room every time. The clipboard in his hand has a lot of numbers he doesn’t want to look at, and jargon he wishes he doesn’t understand sometimes.

The boy’s had the same wish since he was seven, Bokuto recalls. On surgeries, right before he’d go under, Bokuto would ask him about the bike he wanted. It’s red, he’d start. Big wheels, he’d continue. And apparently, the street outside his house was wide enough for a race, and every time, he’d drift off before he got a chance to finish his wishes.

Because of that he wishes that the numbers on the clipboard would have more of a promising message after every surgery. Maybe he could ask more about the bike. How big was the street? Would he race with the same group of friends who always sent him cards every other week? Would the days be sunny?

He hopes every day is sunny, but because oftentimes the world gives him the clouds, he had to do his part and enter the room with the smile—hoping to capture a snapshot of the sun with him.

Every day he smiles, even though not every day will become a memory to be looked back on in happiness.

Some days it’s easy. He goes through his rounds and the numbers on his clipboards can let him deliver good news. The kid who’s been admitted for a while now is scheduled to be released after the scan cleared him, and the little girl who was admitted to her nth session of physical therapy can now pick up a pair of chopsticks and not shake too much.

The thank you cards on his office grow, and he stares at them with pride.

Then some days it isn’t.

Some days of the week, he can pick out the cards from the patients that just passed. On the far corner of the wall is a card with a red bike. It had big wheels, a boy beside it, and a big sun drawn with the smiley features coincidentally looking a lot like him.

Those days he breaks, even though he’s in the field desperately trying to rebuild the broken every day. He thinks to himself that life’s heartache is just as universal as gratitude. You say thank you because something good is given, then say please for when you yearn for something.

He remembers the boy hated needles. At every chemo session, he’d shake his head and look the other way, muttering a heartbreaking please to delay the process for just a second more. And Bokuto would say please, squeezing back the hand that would always clutch tightly at his, because he needed to be strong for just a little while longer.

Then even with that, it’s still a broken please, that he’d whisper to the room that can do nothing but listen, because he wants to know if given the time were to rewind and tick again, would there have been anything he could have done to hear the story about the red bike all over again—and reach the ending?

Realistically speaking, he knows that the most he can do is grieve about the buried thank yous.

So he takes another breather, pats his cheek, then finds a way to take the heartache and somehow stitch a smile with it.

Four silly characters pinned by the breast pocket of his coat, because he thought that the pens beside his nametag always looked too dull. A flower tucked in the pocket—where today’s was a single sprig of daisy.

April’s flower, he smiles.

The next patient’s always been fond of daisies.

Like clockwork, he takes the clipboard, gathers his thoughts, and just hovers over the doorknob for just a few moments before pushing in.

When he walks in, she’s already sat up in bed and looking like the sunniest day even though it’s been raining this past week.

At ease, Bokuto plucks the daisy from his coat pocket and hands it to her with an exaggerated bow.

“Princess,” he greets, and she giggles. “How are you feeling today?”

-

10 years ago | ‘11

-

“Good,” you answer, as soon as he appears in front of you and asks how your day has been.

Bokuto takes his seat beside you, popsicle stick in between his teeth and the summer tan already showing the clearest on his face.

You move over, making room, and then smile as soon as he reaches in the plastic bag and offers you a box of your usual drink.

“Why’s it always chocolate for you?”

You shrug at his question, crossing one leg over the other as you pop out the straw from the back and puncture it in the box, taking a slow sip and sighing at how cold it still is. “Just like it.”

Bokuto reaches in and opens another popsicle, the wrapper tearing audibly. “Coulda gotten you soda or something.”

Scrunching your nose, you wave off his offer of the other half of the popsicle. “Not my thing.”

“And what,” he laughs, “fighting with a preschooler to get the last carton of chocolate milk is?”

You roll your eyes, bumping him on the shoulder at the sudden recall of a past memory. “Hey,” you huff. “That’s something we pretend never happened. We shook hands on that.”

He peers into the contents of his bag, then back at you. “Handshakes don’t mean shit. If you buy me another popsicle, consider that deal done.”

“Your tongue is blue at this point,” you deadpan.

He sticks out his tongue towards you, laughing as soon as you grimace and lean away, shooing him off wordlessly. “And it can be bluer,” he responds cheekily. “If you buy me another one.”

“Tell me you didn’t spend this week’s allowance on one 7/11 trip.”

“No,” he laughs. “I spent it on two trips.”

At that you stifle a laugh, realizing that you could never really stay frustrated when it came to him.

Bokuto was your day one.

The next door neighbor’s only son that would knock on your door with more than a couple pieces of candy in his pockets and a toothy smile on his face. It wasn’t that you necessarily disliked him, but you wouldn’t consider him as someone you’d be automatically drawn towards either. He was clumsy, but he was honest.

Scrapes on his knees and the random Spiderman bandaids on his arms every time he’d knock on your door at precisely 4:20 PM and sit on the porch with a tin of cookies.

The first time you asked him why he would always choose you to invite to the park, he had only shrugged and offered you the tin, saying that no one else in the neighborhood enjoyed his company that much.

His words surprised you now that you think about it. When you’re eight, you would assume that you delight more within the bliss in ignorance than the harsh side of reality, but Bokuto seemed to be the opposite.

He’s always smiling, but right from the start—from day one—he was observant.

The older couple living at the end of the street was never quite fond of him. While Bokuto had a habit of jumping and waving at the neighbors each time they’d be out in their yards for the afternoon, when he’d near that particular house he would reel his energy back and dwindle into a slow walk, waving and keeping his head down.

But even so, the smile was still there. For the happy parts of his little world, hello was said through unfiltered happiness and a couple hops, while for the rest—it’s a polite hello and a less toothy smile.

The smile was always honest, though. Then again, at the end of the day it really was just him who was honest.

“You’re pretty when you let your hair down,” he told you on the first day, and after that, he had come to say that every day after.

Bits of honesty sprinkled between the cracks of every moment. The first tin of cookies turning into two, before he started sliding a box of chocolate milk your way after he noticed that you preferred it the most out of all the other drinks he had brought with him.

Right from the get-go, your sister would always reason that he only did that because it was obvious that he had a crush on you. But when you’re eight, you often just take kindness like it is.

He gave you cookies and chose to play with you out of all the neighborhood kids, because he appreciated your company. He started bringing chocolate milk instead of apple juice, because even at that age, Bokuto was a lot more observant than how the rest of the crowd would often perceive him as.

From day one, he’s stayed, so now, years later, you’re both still practically glued together.

You give him company, while he slides you cookies in between here and there and remembers that you prefer chocolate milk over most drinks.

He could never get the brand right though, but then again, it never bothered you too much.

You suppose that you could only know a person so much, after all.

You don’t know a lot about his dreams, but you know his passions. He smiles the most when the people around him are doing the same. He can’t fathom all your reasons for why you have such a love for the stars, but he does know the look in your eye when you begin to lose yourself within the swirls of the Milky Way.

Fifty percent a stranger, and fifty percent as someone he knew a little more than just the basics.

Bokuto thinks to himself that at this point, regardless of what you’ll tell him, he supposes it’s safe to say that he’ll love you all the same.

Because now, when you’re this young, love’s easy to define because it’s just the person you can share easy conversation with and sit shoulder to shoulder beside when it’s summer and the sun sets long.

He likes to think that it’s his truth. From day one, he told you that you’re pretty, and it’s the same words—up until now—that you’re starting high school and tiptoeing around unfamiliar soil. It’s nice that you’ve become familiar to him by now.

More than just slipping into the cracks of what’s convenient enough to know some days and forget in others, you’ve become someone who’s more than just present.

In a way, he hopes you’ll be someone who’s lasting. And he supposes that he makes sure of that in the little ways.

The summer after your first year of high school, Bokuto’s come to the conclusion that you’re not like anything he’s known, or have known and that different means nice.

He decides he wants more of you, and really, it’s as simple as that.

-

You’re comfortable with the constant, you think.

Life has a tendency to be predictable, and you didn’t mind—because predictability meant that it was safe.

When the bus would miss a couple stops, it was never a big deal. The streets around your stop had been engrained too clearly in your mind for you to step out somewhere two stops over and be lost. There’s a comfort in being found, right from the start.

A life lived in consistency, even though serendipity had a tendency to slip into and grow from the cracks from time to time.

Bokuto knows all that, so he feeds into it. He maintains your constant because along the way, he’s become a solid part of it.

And it stays that way, until this particular summer where things had no choice but to make a little room for a potential change.

From what you’re told, he’s the next door neighbor’s nephew who visits yearly all the way from Hyogo for the summer.

The first summer, Bokuto’s the first to say hello. He chews on the remaining bit of the popsicle left on the stick before wiping his hands on the sides of his shorts and holding a hand out in greeting.

From your spot behind him, you snicker, seeing the beginnings of a grimace stitch across the blonde’s face.

It’s easy to read boys like him, you think. Eyeing him from head to toe, you could guess he wasn’t much of a trouble. At the most, he’ll probably roll his eyes at a couple jokes Bokuto’s bound to let slip along the way, or scoff at some things you’ll say.

But then again, there was no point in filtering what you say. He wasn’t someone you were exactly aiming to impress anyway. Your usual summers would stay the same, like always, so he’s just going to be a little adjustment that won’t make too much of a difference. Maybe blondie will be in a couple of pictures, but you know the focus will always be towards you—especially if Bokuto’s the one holding the camera.

He’s here for the summer, but he won’t stay for the rest of the seasons.

When he finally shakes Bokuto’s hand and takes the seat across from yours, it’s then where you notice that maybe he’s not so perfect after all. Despite him introducing himself as an athlete, his posture as he sits is a little off. He leans a little, slouching to the left, and has a tendency to drape his torso across the table when and sigh whenever he’s tired.

He says he’s got a twin too. Had to explain that he looked just like him—because Bokuto insisted and asked—but would usuallyu end every sentence with an indirect jab that made him look better from a wider perspective.

You want to say that you doubt it, because Atsumu seems like a constant work in progress if anything, but by the end of the first summer, you had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t so bad after all.

-

Present | April 2030

-

One thing Bokuto’s learned about staying in the field for a good amount of years now is that once you’ve had the same patient for a while—they do more than just grow on you.

Sometimes he thinks it’s a faulty trait to have, considering the nature of this field, but at the end of the day he always comes to the conclusion that when faced with tragedies, it’s always better to be a little more human than technical.

He thinks of his patients as his own children.

On the clock or off of it, every day of the week, he’s roaming around the halls, going through his usual rotation like it’s just another day at work. The difference just comes in whether he wears his doctor’s coat or not.

Today’s a day where he does.

“Hey princess,” he laughs. “How you feeling today?”

Taking a seat by the foot of the bed, he offers her the daisy. She reaches forward and grabs it with a smile, poking the pins on his coat in the process as she goes.

“I like them today,” she laughs.

Bokuto glances down, then grins. “I like them too.”

She’s been admitted under him for a while now, he remembers. Only eight years old and she could have been enrolled in a sport by now, but instead there’s a wheelchair on the far end of the room and a slim hope of her walking again.

This is the lesson in life, he supposes. There are things that are given, only for it to eventually be taken. And it’s that, or it just hovers right over you—dangling in mid-air, unsure if whether it should still stay or go.

Three months ago she was fine. Still a regular for checkups, because he knew her parents well.

“I’m gonna be fine,” she says, breaking the silence and the train of his thoughts as she looks at him. Sat up with her back against the pillows in bed, Bokuto can’t help but smile at the honesty doused around her expression instead of the look of desperate hope he’s gotten familiar with over the years.

It’s a comfort to be reminded that while everything could go wrong at some point with this particular patient—somehow, she’s certain that she’ll be just fine.

The third line on the chart indicates all the possible surgeries that could change the flow of her recovery, while the fourth line is a fallback. Physical therapy classes, a visit with a child psychologist, and other routes that could just lessen what hurts at the most.

Bokuto never tells her about the reality of the two choices she’s got. Either she goes all in and takes the leap, dives under, hold her breath and pray for a couple of hours, or she takes a step back and try to remedy what’s already hurting in the moment.

He tries to skirt around the answer of her choice through a game.

Sitting in front of her, he takes the white board and marker she often draws on from beside the table and tries to smile at her. Breathing in and out, like always, he eases his nerves, the curved line on his face a little too shaky for stability.

She beams at him though, and at that, he relaxes. It’s nice to be face to face with the kind of certainty that’s proved itself lasting again and again.

The game was easy.

He gives a scenario, then she says if she wants to walk forward or back. Before the first procedure, it was about Princess Ariel who could decide between land or sea, given the pros and cons that could come out from both choices.

It was the concept that was easy. Just how much would you give, so what you take is worth it?

The pieces are laid out and the game is set in motion the second she comes into view and makes sense of her predicament.

“Ariel gives her voice,” she sounds out, slowly like she’s still trying to gather her thoughts. “So she could walk?”

“Do I have to give my voice so I could walk?”

Bokuto laughs, quickly shaking his head no. “That’s not what I mean.”

Huffing, she dramatically tosses her hands in the air, exasperation borderline exaggerated. It’s all in good spirits though, because as soon as she deflates, she rids herself of the uncharacteristic energy and thinks. “You’re asking me if I have to give up something…” she says, trailing off.

Bokuto pockets the pen he’s been clicking, trying to keep his anxieties regarding the matter controlled and at bay.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he ruffles her hair. “What we’re trying to do is avoid you having to give up something.”

-

Summer of 2015

-

The end of the first summer, Miya Atsumu’s still sort of a stranger.

You could say you know him well enough to raise a hand in greeting if you did see him somewhere, but that was unlikely. The distance between Tokyo and Hyogo was a long way, so the hellos and goodbyes at the beginning and end of every summer that followed after the first were usually final.

You wonder about him though.

The second summer rolls around, and you learn a little bit more than just the basics. Atsumu’s a piece of work. He’s clumsy when it doesn’t count, and sleeps in when he can. He likes tuna over salmon—a shame, really—but he’s never quite picky when it comes to the fruit slices you’d bring during for the festivals.

The third summer, and you can joke with each other now. Always sat in between him and Bokuto on the bus rides to the coast, he’ll usually lean closer to you to catch your head whenever the drive hits the second hour and you’re drifting off to sleep.

And ironically enough, it’s the same way for him in regards to you. He goes from just wondering about you in his downtime, to seeking out for Bokuto during the national meets his team participates in every once in a while with the top schools from Tokyo’s region.

He tries to be discreet—really—but Bokuto’s a lot more attentive than he gives him credit for.

The latter never mentions it to either of you though. Akaashi tells him it’s an act of selfishness, but in the instances his friend does mention what he’s consciously doing—those are the moments where he turns a blind eye and lets his words in one ear and out the other.

The fourth summer Atsumu spends with the two of you, Bokuto’s decided that he loves you.

In the subtle ways, at first, so he writes it off like it’s just a burst of infatuation at most. Then because over time, it proves itself again and again that it isn’t just that, he allows it to stay, pouring his hopes into it as if something favorable will bloom.

For a while, nothing really does, but the silver lining in what’s unrequited is the un-severed connection realized upon the reality that you still stay, regardless of the slip ups.

Summer festivals meant fireworks after sunsets. There’s a flat corner of his family house’s roof that ironically enough, fits three. You’re not too fond in lingering by the heights, but sandwiched inbetween what’s safe and what thrills you—it isn’t so bad from time to time.

Perhaps in the summer, brevity has its way of finding you.

You welcome it.

Like you begin to warm and welcome Atsumu’s presence the more frequent—constant—his summer visits have become. By the fourth summer, his number’s on your phone and he’s the voice that lulls you to sleep the seasons between one summer and the next.

Almost as if you’re fitting puzzle pieces together, there’s still so much to be unraveled, but fragment by fragment the corners of him become undone. When rationality has a tighter hold on you, you tell yourself that this will go, and Hyogo’s set at a distance for a reason, but by the time summer comes and he’s on the first train ride over to Tokyo, you’re the first to greet him at the station.

His hair’s usually mused, and sleep is clouding his eyes, but he cracks the smile that hasn’t changed since the first summer and first hello, and you’re caught. Like he’s a whirlwind or something greater—you can’t tell.

Bokuto’s a constant that’s got you gripped by the bones, but Atsumu’s the one who melds his soul with yours.

It’s euphoric, almost.

The night you watch the fireworks, they both hold out a hand, but you take Atsumu’s.

Bokuto turns away, already having connection and takes a metaphorical step back, afraid to trip the wire.

Atsumu’s usually the first to break the silence, doing so with a question. “What time are the fireworks starting?”

Then you glance at your wristwatch, pulling back the sleeves as you lean forward and squint through the dark. “In about forty-five minutes.”

He grins. “Wake me up?”

You wave him off while Bokuto groans, though his reasons for doing why is rarely ever spoken out loud. Oftentimes, you just assume that it’s because he’s a little upset because of one less company.

It’s one moment of that, before silence again.

He settles in his place because the distance is clear before it’s even labeled. This is the last summer before the distance, in both the physical and literal sense will grow even further.

Bokuto sinks into his thoughts. The first time he saw the fireworks with you, he was thirteen and you were eleven. It was on the yard, not on the roof, but the glow in the skies looked the same.

And still, he remembers every detail he could practically trace from your face as you looked to the skies, your eyes gleaming along with the bursts and the glow. It’s the same bits of gold and marmalade, tainting the midnight skies with a burning scarlet so red, pulsing, as if it breathes.

It’s then, where he began to chase the high that comes with the very peak of the fireworks.

Not like it’s an ending, nor a beginning, because that’s always going to be just a hello and a goodbye. Hello was easy, and it was lasting, but goodbye was a far-fetched word he knows he won’t be uttering around you anytime soon.

At the fourth summer—now—he chooses to love you beneath the sunny skies of every season, but even more against the burning scarlet of midnight’s highest peak.

Forty five minutes from now, love will glow as much as you.

Painted against irises of gold, the sky will breathe with scarlet licked flames, with you, bathed within its glow, and you’ll stand—golden even though the fabric you usually wear is usually a shade of opal or lilac.

Within the five second bursts, you’d always look at him midway and lace the joy you have through a smile, sharing joy with him.

Atsumu says he’ll be up by the time the fireworks roll around, but he always sleeps through it, Bokuto notices. You’ll poke him on the side and try to wake him up, but Bokuto will just wait for you to leave him be.

Maybe it’s selfishness that makes him want to consider the moment as yours and his, but he knows your hand is always reaching in between the space to hold Atsumu’s instead of his.

It’s like that until the lights die down.

Atsumu’s still asleep, and your eyes are still trying to hold the bits of light slowly dimming now. Closing your eyes, you take a breath, keep the snapshot of the golden and scarlet tinged skies, and open your eyes to navigate through the smoke and clouds, searching for the stars.

While Bokuto doesn’t exactly become a blur in the background, he’s shifted into the role of a makeshift bridge.

He knows that they will never rival an innate flame, burning from the core of the stars.

Your star.

Your sense of eternity, which paves its own way from the start to the finish.

As the fireworks dwindle, he sparks his light and lets the flame of what burns consume him. In his head, right now, he burns. Right now, he can mimic infinity.

“Hey Len…” he begins, then trails off quick. You nudge his shoulder and pulls your legs to your chest, resting your cheek against the top as you turn to him and wait for the continuation. “Wanna stay here,” he confesses. “You look at me like you’re always in awe here.”

Maybe you can love me too here.

“I always look at you like that,” you smile. “You’ll always be my sunshine boy.”

He smiles, the wax melting, and the wick beginning to collapse in itself, the edges burned into near ashes. “Always is a big word.”

“You’re someone worth the big words,” you laugh, not thinking much of what he says, though what does slip is also just the unfiltered bits of your truth.

Maybe you can hold my hand here.

“I’ve always thought your eyes looked kind of like the fireworks.”

“Akaashi says it’s like the moon,” he counters, eyes still to you, voice just slight hush above a whisper.

“He’s got a point,” you nod. “But maybe it’s just me—“

You’re never just you, he thinks.

“—but I’ve always liked how happiness bursts with you, Bo. You rise up to the sky with no problem, go boom, then the world remembers you forever.”

Caught in a daze, his heart that’s tried to lay still suddenly beats, and it’s love that thrums, steady.

The last few bits of the flame burns a moment more, before it succumbs, the smoke rising, perhaps to say farewell, or perhaps to carry the memory to the skies.

Would you remember me forever?

-

When the smoke clears and the stars come into the light, Atsumu wakes. Everytime.

Bokuto climbs back down from the roof, making an excuse about how Akaashi’s probably alone by the heart of the festival, and waves the two of you off, saying that he can always catch up with the rest of you later on.

The two boys would share a look, the both of them standing on opposite ends of the plane. One leads to the space where he can hold you, while the other’s just there, staying by the boundary, only to witness the world with you.

Beside you, Atsumu points to the stars, though he just stares at you.

There’s a difference between the light that bursts in a kaleidoscope of colors, and the lights that steadily glow and dot the skies, he supposes. And perhaps that’s just for you to define. Shall it be the colors you seek from the burst that comes and fades after hitting the highest peak, or the glow of starlight that rivals even the age of time.

Written among the constellations are stories yet to be founded, its metaphors woven in between the dots, cascaded across the skies like they’re meant to blanket you with what’s meant to be unraveled in the future.

Atsumu’s never been a poet, nor an astrologer, but there’s a poem found in the way you hold your hand to the stars and gaze at the swirls like you’re caught in the Milky Way.

And perhaps it’s love.

Perhaps you’re a metaphor.

You turn to him and he sees his piece of starlight just as you’re caught, face to face with your piece of the sky.

Though the absence of the sun is felt, somehow midnight feels sunny.  

-

The first time you see Atsumu cry, it’s the moment you kiss him on the cheek and tell him he’s about to miss his train.

He turns away, insistent that there’s just some dust caught in his eye and how you shouldn’t take anything out of constant because he just wasn’t like that. Bokuto waves him off, saying how he shouldn’t be ashamed to shed a few tears from time to time, but the moment ends with a reluctant goodbye and his face nearly pressed against the train’s window as wave him off.

There’s always the summer after this, but you don’t expect how by the fall—in time with the leaves turning scarlet and scattering the earth, that he’s dragging a suitcase behind him and looking sheepish as you enter your university’s gates.

“Look at him,” is how Bokuto nudges you afterwards.

The joy unmistakable on your face delivers a pang, but he pushes it down, reminding himself the nature of fireworks.

Atsumu’s red on the face again, and blaming the glossiness of his eyes against a pollen allergy even though spring’s already passed.

“He’s not scared to look sad again.”

-

The cloud often comes more than the sun during the autumn and the winter, but somehow, your days still feel sunny.

-

April 2030

-

‘—because that is what’s meant to be your infinity,’  Bokuto thinks.

Your anticipation of the daylight after the darkness while he just anticipated the colors from the momentary bursts.

Pulled out of his thoughts, he’s brought back into the present from the feel of little hands tugging the ends of his coat. He looks down, smiling at the way she twirls the daisy with one hand while beaming at him with less a tooth on smile.

The colors from fireworks never last, but perhaps things are meant to fade to give way for what’s meant to come, and meant to last.

Lasting like her.

She smiles the pretty kind of smile and twirls April’s daisy again.

Bokuto leans down, so he’s eye to eye with her. She reaches forward and pokes his cheek. “Uncle, hello,” she giggles.

“Chocolate milk, please.”

He smiles, remembering the kind he’s already committed to memory as your favorite.

-

Atsumu doesn’t have many fears, because since he was young, he was always taught not to dwell too deep into what fuels the fear.

“A ship sinks not because of the water nor the depth, but because of the water that’s allowed in and eventually weighs it down,” his father used to say.

His father was always reading books, the poetry in his words like second nature at this point.

Atsumu grew up modestly. A two story house in a decent neighborhood, and a shared room with Osamu on the second floor. Summer break in Tokyo, while the winter was spent in Hokkaido with his father’s extended family.

Maybe when he was five, he was scared of the ghost stories his mother would scare him and Osamu with, but clarity also comes with growing up. By ten, he realized that Santa wasn’t real, just like how by twelve, he realized that there’s no monster under his bed. Only Osamu, he supposes, taking the bottom bunk from time to time.

Because at this age, he’s learned that the good had a tendency to outweigh the bad.

For starters, he did meet you. A chopped up hello spanning over four summers and the occasional news from Bokuto, but by the fifth consecutive hello, even though summer did end, autumn was welcomed with you.

Then winter, then spring, and the all the seasons after that.

And out of all the places you could have moved to, and all the teams that could have accepted him—somehow the both of you would always find yourselves meeting just shy of the middle.

Not quite there, because he admits he did have to pull a couple of strings to find himself situated back in Tokyo again. But at the end of the day it was worth it, he supposes. The good outweighs the bad by a majority, because he’s always made it home to you.

Victories redefined as soon as you said I do, and what it means to be number one, again, the second his daughter was born.

In the present, Atsumu blinks at the reflection of his own face staring at him from the reflection on the windshield.

Three months of this, and he’s come to a point where sitting here is getting old. His daughter’s only eight, and instead of memorizing the turns to this hospital and knowing which deli and café is around the vicinity, he could have memorized a different route. She always did say that she wanted to start a sport.

Ballet, maybe, but he’s quick to chuckle, remembering that it was just a two week phase she went through after watching a few old Barbie movies with you when she was a little younger. Even though no one argues, she’s always had a way of insisting that she’s a princess even though she’s got a better way with balancing herself on the field than on a stage for a curtsey.

She smiles the same either way, and each time she does, Atsumu counts it as a win. Just another victory to add to the growing pile of reasons why he’s still number one—why his family’s number one, and just like that, the joy echoes.

That’s what Atsumu reminds himself of, anyway.

You’ve already went ahead, leaving the car in a haste as soon as you parked it—as always. And for a while, he stays. He unbuckles his seatbelt and leans back with the keys you left still on the ignition, the gears left on park. He sighs, closing his eyes for a minute.

His phone’s lying face down on the dashboard in front of him along with his wallet, vibrating with probably another text from you, and there’s a backpack in the back seat with clothes. Just a moment more, because he wants to stay and pretend like he’s everywhere else but the hospital’s parking lot. He doesn’t think of the gift shop that’s on the lobby, nor the coffee shop that’s beside the elevator.

Atsumu doesn’t fear many things, but he fears the idea that this could be what every day will look and feel like. You, constantly in a rush. Fingers tapping on the steering wheel, cursing at the red lights, and flying out of the car with the keys still on the damn ignition. A frozen themed backpack in the backseat filled with clothes instead of the notebook with the familiar scribbles, and a knot in his chest that won’t come undone no matter what he does.

Atsumu eyes the entrance and dreads the idea of walking in like nothing’s wrong.

It’s funny how he’s hailed as the country’s best setter, and how there’s a rows of gold along the walls of his house to really solidify that he’s number one, but it satiates nothing. Victory’s a tricky word when you’ve redefined love over and over again. Love that looks like family and feels like little hands patting his cheeks to try to pull for another smile.

Pulling down the visor, he slides the mirror open and practices for a smile.

It’s there, but it’s shaky.

The keys are still on the damn ignition and he doesn’t want to slide into the driver’s seat. With the phone still vibrating with notifications in the dashboard, Atsumu heaves a sigh before sitting up and readjusting himself back into the present. The noise from outside’s still muffled in the car, though slowly, just as he comes to his senses and finally picks up his phone, it trickles in.

The rest of the world trickles in.

There’s the siren from the ambulance coming in from the other side of the hospital zooming in then fading out as it passes the road behind him. Atsumu shuts his eyes, not exactly intent in reliving through the too-fresh wound that bleeds the more time goes instead of heals.

Healing’s a strange word.

Shaking away the thoughts, he picks up his phone. The bubble surrounding your text blurs the image of his daughter from her seventh birthday just a year ago. She’s got on the princess dress that took him to two cities over just to find, and a custom made tiara her uncle Osamu gifted her.

One way or another, the world somehow finds a way of asking him what it means to be a winner, and in hindsight he supposes he could just list out the victories that’s counted in an international level.

The world’s a witness to him claiming gold every time he steps on the court, but it dulls in comparison to all the firsts he’s shared with you.

The first I love you, in the autumn following that summer with the redefined fireworks. First dances, first apartments, and the first test with the two lines instead of one.

Then his daughter’s first tiny breath taken while he held his.

A smile on her face locked with the same, timeless happiness, from the first birthday to the next. And again and again after that.

That was victory, he thinks. Five little fingers wrapped around his thumb and a cry that broke through the stillness of the moment. On the sixteenth of April, eight years ago, he recalls sitting in the same parking lot with a beating chest and frantic eyes as he tries to search for which way was the entrance.

After he kills the engine and pulls the keys out of the ignition, he steps out of the car, his bag and phone in hand. It rings a few moments later so he answers, bringing the phone to his ear.

Your voice is the first to break through the static’s slight distortion. “Are you okay? Need help?”

It bothers him how his eyes almost naturally drifts towards the entrance as if he’s got the whole map of the hospital memorized. Eight years ago he was lost, and now, eight years later, this isn’t what he meant by wanting to be found.

He gathers his thoughts and muffles the whispers in his head that urges for what hurts to resurface and bleed. “I’m fine,” he says, through the gritted teeth he’s somehow masked into a smile. “Gonna grab some food before heading up. How is she?”

There’s a distant laugh he recognizes belongs to his daughter before you pause, voice drifting further from the phone as you join her in laughter.

It’s a silver lining, so he grabs onto what’s dangled closest to him and lets it fuel him. Atsumu’s resolve doesn’t lose its shakiness, but it does hang on. Gritted smile, and jaw tense, he knows the crumbs of joy is difficult to define as mercy—but reality reminds him that it is.

He closes his eyes and imagines that your voice is only drifting because you’re chasing after her around the room and not because she can’t move enough to reach something from the bedside table.

Eventually, your voice drifts in again, closer to your phone’s mic. “She’s fine—“

“—daddy huuurrryyyy—“

At the interruption, you laugh, and he supposes it’s mercy how he can feel the same relief wash over him at the same time it does with you.

He doesn’t have many fears, but with love, comes the inevitability of loss. And he’s terrified, Atsumu admits. Of this hospital and its layout he unwillingly has memorized now, and of all the what-ifs that lean towards a solemn ending instead of a happier one.  

-

“She’s doing better today,” you comment.

Hours later, you’re at the grocery store with Atsumu, by the produce aisle. He eyes the bag of apples, then contemplates, before relenting and grabbing the smaller pack, placing it beside the carton of eggs in the basket.

Eyeing it, you point out with a murmur, “The eggs are gonna get crushed, Tsumu.”

A lazy grin paints itself in slow strokes across his features, and you stare, relaxing your shoulders and playing into the part where everything’s still alright with the world. You push the cart and catch up beside him.

“Can just put it back and grab another one,” he jokes.

You elbow his side, acting annoyed even though the laughter in your voice gives the true sentiment away. “This is why Osamu doesn’t let you in his kitchen.”

“Because he lives to serve me,” he huffs.

You park the cart beside the vegetable section of the area, distastefully eyeing the crates filled to the brim with tomatoes. “You nearly burned down his kitchen after he just asked you to heat up a can of soup.”

He walks in front of the cart and grabs a plastic bag, looking over the tomatoes and sorting through the potato-filled crate instead. “You see I’m made to be a winner.”

You fold your arms on top of the cart’s handle and lean forward, intent on further poking at him. “Winners can’t heat a can of soup on the stove for their daughters?”

“Maybe not.” His cheeks burn red. “But winners have a black card and can order anything gourmet for them.”

“She insists to have her daddy’s cooking, though,” you laugh, finally giving in and reaching for a plastic bag of your own to bag a few tomatoes. You’ve never been fond of tomatoes, but you remember that Atsumu likes a couple slices on his sandwich, so you compromise.

Because there’s a lot of compromise that comes with marriage. You look at him digging through the crate and looking for a good potato and you sigh, finding love even in this.

“My cooking is limited to a can of microwavable soup and you can only cook fried egg with onion. Our kid’s either living off of her uncle’s cooking or takeout.”

“Still,” you persist. “I think she just likes hanging around when one of us cooks.”

He smiles, thinking of his daughter.

Atsumu doesn’t cook, and neither do you, but the both of you try from time to time. He’ll squint at the produce, even though people around are watching—because that’s how he noticed Osamu shops. You don’t ignore how the chosen bag of apples look picture perfect, and how he spent nearly twenty minutes inspecting each bag of apples undoubtedly trying to choose the perfect one.

At the end of the day, you know you’ll probably find a few with some bruises he didn’t see before, but love’s like that too. A few imperfections hidden behind what’s thought of as perfect.

It’s not a façade, but it’s just the second layer brought into light as soon as the first’s peeled off, the edges that looked like walls crumbling—unraveling the core of as love.

You look down at the basket of everything.

The wants, and the needs. The pieces of him, and of you. The compromise and the things shared. A plastic of tomatoes beside one with carrots. A carton of eggs and a few more of the chocolate milk you eventually got him to like too.

“Watermelon slices,” he murmurs, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You look at him, and catch the solemn gaze practically bleeding from his expression. “Should we get some?” he continues.

There’s an inescapable shift in the atmosphere that settles, felt just between the both of you. The room is full, and the intercom blares over the speaker, talking about some deals, but somehow, it feels like it comes to you just to slip by.

When you speak, the weight of the truth suddenly bears down on you, heavy. “We haven’t bought watermelon in a while.”

Atsumu chooses to stay rooted in his place—beside the foot of the cart, a good three feet away from you. A shrug is the best response you can offer in the moment.

He turns to look at you still. You stare back, the emotions inside you raging before it tides over, because it only takes something as little as a stare for the sharp edge of reality to slice through this bubble of a moment.

You look down at the cart.

On a normal day, your daughter would have been out with the both of you for the weekly grocery runs, and the contents of the cart would be different. Beside the cartons of milk, she’d have a box of her cookies and another box with the kind of popsicle sticks she’s always preferred over the pint of double dutch that Atsumu tries to persuade her with every time.

The basket that’s supposed to be filled with everything is missing a section that’s the product of all the compromise and agreements that’s born from love.

You want to grab the watermelon slices Atsumu’s still solemnly looking at, but you know the ache will grow into something that hurts far more than just the regular sort of yearning if you bring it home and have no one to share it with.

A part of you argues that Atsumu’s going to sit beside you and ask for a slice, but that’s the voice of the lover that tries to remedy all that lingers in hurt with the raw kind of love. The voice of reason—of a mother who aches—eases you into the reality of a hurt that just can’t be fixed with a kiss and a memory of a vow sealed with I do.

You shake your head, trying to shake the thoughts and the unease that grips you tighter than you fathomed. Slowly, the rest of the world trickles in, and once more, you’re forced to be pulled with the flow, rendering you helpless against the current. Atsumu’s there with you, though. Three feet away, by the foot of the cart, staring at the slices of watermelon you know he doesn’t want to take home to an empty house despite the yearning practically bleeding through the cracks of what’s unhealed.

In desperation, he looks at you.

The crowd ushers the two of you to take three steps forward—as if you’re strolling with the current, and absentmindedly, you both move. The announcement from the speakers above are blaring, and you’re aware that the vicinity is a couple notches above noisy by now, but you’re both rooted despite the motion.

The watermelon looks ripe, and your heart breaks, because your little girl would have ran up to the shelves and picked out the best ones herself.

With the both of you still caught within the current, for the both of you, it’s the other’s presence that’s just enough to keep your head lifted above and over the water. Atsumu gives you a tight smile, and you do the same.

You both breathe.

Neither lost nor found, you let the moment both stay and move. It’s a little thing that you suppose you’ve taken for granted. The cart’s full for the rest of this week’s grocery, but as you walk past the aisles she would have been running to and watch Atsumu take the contents and put it on the conveyer for checkout, it feels incomplete.

You know it’s not just the watermelon slices that are missing. It’s not just the biscuits, or the popsicles, or the echo of her voice that usually would have been beside you tugging at the tail of your coat asking to be lifted up even though she knows she’s growing heavier by the year.

She was growing so well, after all.

Atsumu looks at you, the question in his eyes unspoken, but there.

You shrug, while he does the same, understanding the fact that you don’t have it in you to lie and say you’re okay when he knows that with the situation, being okay is still far from it.

The customary “will this be all?” is asked by the cashier as she scans the last few of your items. Atsumu nods once, fishes out his wallet, handing her his card without extending the conversation longer than necessary.

There’s a lot that’s missing. All her favorites that could have been scanned and bagged by now, and the watermelon slices you enjoy the most when you share them with her.

And you know the sentiment’s the same for Atsumu, because the moment he nods his head and says that everything’s complete, his nose twitches and he pats pockets three times, passing it off as a little habit when he puts away his wallet.

Your heart breaks because you’ve always known the tells he can’t quite hide whenever he’d say a lie.

-

To simply dub the energy around the room as tense is an understatement, if anything.

These are moments where Atsumu feels the most inadequate.

With the three of you seated in a room with the doors closed, he shifts in his spot, unable to settle down. Bokuto’s sat on the other side of the table across from the both of you, the expression on his face somewhere between glum and tender.

You stare through him and focus on the specks dotting the wall, holding yourself together by ignoring what’s there—at what’s staring at you, unforgiving, straight in the eye.

Bokuto clears his throat and breaks the silence first. He turns to you first. “Lena.”

Your eyes flicker towards his for a split second, before it drifts back to the specks on the wall, your resolve not quite solid just yet. Beside you, Atsumu shoots him a look, and Bokuto nods, understanding.

“She’s gonna be fine,” your husband reassures, reaching for your hands clasped over the table. Bokuto tries not to stare longer than necessary.

“There’s a procedure,” he starts, then reels back as soon as he notices you lean forward, your eyes widening. Atsumu mirrors what you do, anticipating his words.

“It’s risky,” Bokuto reiterates, skirting around his words, trying to pick out what’s safe to say and what isn’t.

You push anyway, scrambling for more crumbs of a whole truth you aren’t sure you can handle as is. “But can she walk again if the surgery’s a success?”

Bokuto steels his gaze, and clears his mind, conditioning to lay the whole truth, unfiltered. “If.”

“If is still a possibility,” Atsumu interjects. He turns to you. “She’s a strong girl,” he urges, though it sounds more like a plea, “yeah?”

It takes a lot for you to tear your eyes away from him, the emotions that comes trickling out of him pouring out of him and into you steadily.

You’re caught in a daze; you’re hopeful, then afraid. Heartbeat rising then plummeting.

“The side effects,” you somehow stammer, breaking your gaze away from your husband’s hopeful gaze. You’re afraid the more you stare, the more you’ll convince yourself that she’s invincible.

The part of Bokuto that’s a friend hesitates, but as the doctor he pushes through those barriers and lays the facts as they are. “She may just never walk again.”

“This kind of surgery’s usually performed on much older patients, and if it hits a nerve then it could—“

Much like you, Atsumu begins to zone out. The part that hurts about trying to understand what you’ve supposed to have wrapped your head around by now is the fact that every little thing you try to not let slip, does just that.

It comes in one ear, pokes you a bit, then finds the exit out the other. This is where you begin to drift. Suddenly, you remember the laundry from the drier still in the basket that needs to be folded and put away. There’s the fridge that Atsumu said last week he’d get to and finally clean, and the vacuuming that needs to be done in your daughter’s bedroom.

Her bedroom.

The desk collecting dust because she hasn’t been home for three months now. Her dolls with the tangled hair because she refuses to throw them out, and the scribbles on her bedframe you always say you’d wipe clean but never do.

You’re hit with the urge that you’ve gotta move, because you have to go, but reason and reality keeps you rooted, though you want to get up, move, and leave.

“If it hits a nerve—“ you say, tasting the words, though you’ve already long decided that you hate it anyway.

Atsumu cuts you off. “Then she’s on a wheelchair for the rest of her life.”

Bokuto nods his head, allowing the silence to creep up on him, in hopes that it’ll shed light on the facts and ease him into a clearer headspace. Only when Atsumu looks up, his eyes have regressed to a place further than just blank. From his peripherals, he eyes the way you reach out and just barely hover over the fists Atsumu’s hands have curled up to, though you never cross the last bit of distance and step forward to touch him.

The look on Bokuto’s face is solemn as it is final.

“I’m sorry.”

You close your eyes, slipping into the space in your head that keeps you safe. You’re far away from here, you think, hoping to convince yourself and smooth out the lines of your façade.

“Thanks, Bo,” you manage to say. Atsumu’s nod is rigid as his quickly muttered thanks, afterwards turning away and making his way out of the room before more proper goodbyes were said.

You suppose tragedy could warrant an abrupt exit, so you shoot one last look of exhaustion towards your old friend and turn as well, following after Atsumu.

“Look at the both of you,” he laughs under his breath. “You’re both not afraid to look like a mess in front of the other anymore.”

-

By the time you make it to the parking lot, he’s the only car along the row still parked. If he were seeing himself from your perspective, he probably already would have been cursing the company who got the windows tinted, because the sight of him gripping the steering wheel and shaking is still visible.

Your heart breaks before anything else could come to you and try to heal.

Shaking your thoughts and clearing your head, you walk to the driver’s side of the car and open the door. “Let’s go.”

His hands don’t leave the steering wheel, and he stays in his place, still shaking. Atsumu doesn’t spare you a glance, but he nods his head. “I know,” he exhales. “Let’s go. Get in.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m not.” He holds his ground.

You sigh, still unrecovered from the weight of Bokuto’s words only moments ago. A car passes you, and your phone vibrates in your pocket. Checking the screen, you see Bokuto’s text, ‘U ok?’ pop up at the top of the emails from work. Even though the sentiment was appreciated, the fog in your head and the weight steadily dragging you by the minute reigns over rationality in the moment.

It hits you that you’ve been fucking tired. “Atsumu, come on. Let’s go.”

“Lena—“

“—Tsumu,” you cut him off. “Please.”

He doesn’t argue much after that. Though slowly, he eventually unbuckles his seatbelt, slides out of the seat, exits, and slips back in, seated on the passenger seat this time.

You’ve just barely made it out of the parking lot and not even drove to the end of the street before he prompts, “Isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to be mad at me?”

Your foot stays steady on the gas. “Because you insisted on driving even though you haven’t even been behind the wheel for three months now?”

“I could have drove us just fine.”

The abrupt stop at the stop sign jolts the both of you. “You say that, but why am I the one driving right now?”

“Because you forced me—“

“—no,” you counter. “Because the last time you tried getting behind the wheel, you pulled over and shook for ten minutes straight.”

Nobody’s crossing the pedestrian, and the streets are empty, but you stay put anyway. You turn to him. “That terrified me, ‘Tsumu.”

“I’m capable, Lena.”

“I didn’t say you aren’t.” You snap at him, then retract the heaviness in your tone as soon as it escapes you. “But it scares me when you don’t say shit.”

“You gotta stop carrying this like everything’s only on you to carry,” you sigh.

He turns away. Your foot’s still pressed firmly on the brakes and the car’s still halted. The streets are as quiet as the space surrounding the both of you, and you tap your finger against the steering wheel, not quite growing impatient, but instead, just anxious.

You sigh your truth. “We’re a team, ‘Tsumu.”

As the moment passes and the peace within the silence washes over the both of you, you catch yourself thinking that maybe this is what they mean by finding a poem in the in-betweens. Not that you want to decipher beauty within the cracks of a situation that’s already broken more than you can repair yourself, but a lesson comes anyway.

Maybe this is what the both of you need. In tragedy, what’s presented to you are the factors you can and cannot control. There’s going to be truth that’s hard to swallow, and more that stings the most before it tides over the same wounds it dug into and heals.

The bitter truth lies in the roots of all your wounds.

Your daughter’s been in the hospital for the last three months, and there’s a shot in the dark chance that she could walk again. Your husband shakes every time he puts his hands behind the wheel and doubts himself when faced with how black and white a yes or no can be.

There’s no beauty to be gouged out of the retched face of tragedy, nor is there a silver lining, but there is just observance.

You watch the world sway softly within the standstill you still haven’t escaped from at the stop sign. It’s probably going to take more than just brute strength and a few choice words to have Atsumu look at you and talk in acceptance with what’s the reality and the present, but you suppose you can ease him into it.

You can ease yourself into it too.

Repeating your words, slowly, you speak again, this time, looking at him. “We’re a team.”

“I’m hurting from all the same reasons you are, but we’ll get through this. We’ll either figure a way around it or get through it somehow.”

He looks at you, naked as the armor chips.

“We got this, ‘Tsumu,” you whisper now. “Always.”

-

It’s quiet when the both of you make it home.

You pick at the food on your plate, trying to blur the memory of the car ride over. Atsumu avoids your stare, sinking into the weight of his own shame.

And because it’s a routine, you close your eyes, say your thanks, and lift the fork to take a bite. You chew before you swallow, then wipe the corners of your mouth before grabbing your glass and taking a sip.

The fragility of love is written clear in the silence. It scratches like nails on a board, and when the tips of his fork accidentally drag against the surface of the plate, you wince. The sound echoes, and he drops his fork, apologies spewing out of his mouth in a mix of whispers and murmurs.

It all sounds angry, so you sigh, then face him, even though you shake.

The moment’s a bubble, so you hold your breath and tread around the edges scared if it’ll burst.

You put your fork down, then try to steady your eyes on his form. Atsumu shakes before you, his cries silent. Cheeks red and angry, and he’s biting his lips to try to preserve the silence, but it slips.

Or maybe it doesn’t.

Maybe you just have a way of breaking through the barriers and hearing him through closed walls. Like he’s someone more than just the person who holds you as tight as you hold him over the years.

Love’s fragile in heartache, but the strength that tightens the core has never once unraveled, you think.

You’re crying too, when he digs the heels of his palms deeper into his eyes and clenches his lips tighter together. There’s a weight that threatens to pull him under, and despite the wave that looms and threatens to take you under, you struggle through the surface and hold him—the rage of the depths be damned.

What anchors you below the surface is always going to be fear, but you know the two of you have always had a way of kicking and screaming through what threatens to drown. You can swim as much as you can sink, and because Atsumu hates to lose—you know he’ll come to his senses and kick to stay afloat eventually.

Against the clear blue waters and the sunniest skies, the depth and the currents remain the same. There’s a chance you’ll go—and stay—under, so while you can, you take your gulps of air and ready yourself for the storms.

But today you’re forgiving—merciful to the heart that bleeds.

You push yourself up from your seat after pushing the plates aside and grab his arm, pulling him up on his feet before tugging him to the bathroom.

Atsumu stands by the door, arms hanging limp by his side, sniffling from time to time. His refusal to turn his head and catch a glimpse of himself on the mirror doesn’t escape you, so you clear your throat, ushering him into the shower as soon as you turn the knob and let the water run.

He doesn’t argue. The silence is maintained as he follows suit of what you do, slipping off your clothes and undoing the straps, letting the cloth just pile onto the floor. On a good day—a normal day—he supposes you’d scold him for doing that, but with a sigh, he doesn’t even try to blink back the new onset of tears that pour because when was the last good day?

Stepping into the shower, he stands behind you, your back facing him.

Beneath the spray he tilts his head back, basking in the steam and closing his eyes as the droplets pelt across his skin, kissing it raw, unraveling the red.

You hang your head and cup your hands to let what runs pool, the screams in your head silent. Perhaps if you’ll catch the water, it’ll mix with the tears that are probably falling too and dissolve into something that cancels out the hurt.

The both of you stay like that for the few moments that somehow feels like it’s looping within its own eternity. Silently, you let what needs to bleed run, catching the fractured bits of the moments for a split second before letting it slip, the evidence of what hurts fading with the flow of the stream.

You wish it could fade like that.

The pain loops, and when your eyes focus, the white walls of the bathroom close in on you, so you shut them again. But you see red. You see a flash, hear a scream, feel what isn’t meant to close in almost collapse into you, and you heave—because you can’t fucking breathe.

There’s a voice in your head that amplifies the whispers of all your demons and it drags you by the second. Every syllable echoes, telling you that maybe you’re not worthy of this kind of life. They say a happy ending is meant to come to those who have given goodness to the world, so maybe this was your karma.

Like the fireworks you’ve contrasted against the timeless sort of love you tie dot by dot across the sky, stringing together your constellations of Libra and Aries, maybe you’re meant to just be fleeting.

It pulls you, but nothing anchors.

You’re drowning, and you hold your breath.

Despite being drenched, your palms are cold and you’re shaking, so you let what’s supposed to come just consume you. There’s a belief that what’s meant to be restored will find a way to seek balance, so maybe there’s a part of you meant to be given to keep the scales equal.

A give and take exchange you aren’t quite aware of, but you surrender to anyway.

You reach a happy ending and try to write it into stone, but maybe it’s not meant for you. Maybe it’s just bouts of fleeting happiness instead of the kind that lasts.

Your thoughts beckon the waves, then you release a breath, and surrender.

Atsumu’s hands gripping your shoulders tight is what resurfaces you. Wordlessly, he pulls you to him and buries his face in the crook of your neck. You sense his shaking before you feel the heat of the tears that bleed out of him and seep into you.

It doesn’t burn, because the ache comes from a familiar burden you aren’t a stranger to carrying too.

He speaks to you, though. Through the hands that wrap around your middle and search for your fingers to hold—to anchor should the current come and try to take more of what’s already been taken. The love that’s held you looks the same as it stays in the present and holds you still.

“I’m sorry,” you hear, the sound of his voice broken. The sound of running water mixes with the cries that still have the both of you shaking against the steam and the heat, but you hear his voice all the same.

It’s crystal clear.

Still feeling his hands try to search for yours, you take the initiative and lace your fingers through his, the white walls looking solid and still despite the blur. It’s still closing in, but it moves slower now. Your head’s spinning and at every blink it’s bright lights before a scream then the sting of red, and just like that the bubble bursts and you’re crumbling.

Atsumu catches you before your knees even buckle, your resolve dissolving, anxieties tipping the scales as you give in and sink.

The weight of the waves are heavy, and you both kneel down. Bare and vulnerable beneath the spray, when you close your eyes you force yourself to stare away from the depths—from the memory of bright lights and burning red—and face up. The sunny skies of just another Tuesday, like a bokeh through the clouds of waves.

You turn your body, still kneeling on the bathroom times and face Atsumu who hangs his head before you. When you cup his face and tilt his head to face yours, it dawns on you that the expression written across his face isn’t of shame, but instead, guilt.

His eyes are red and his voice just barely rises through the water when he speaks. “It’s my fault.”

You shake your head, the wounds of his heart unwritten across the surface in yours but when it beats, it hurts all the same. “No—“

He nods his head, hands reaching up to cup yours, keeping your palms that rest against his skin in its place. He leans in, like it’s a lifeline. And he closes his eyes, like he’s ashamed to hold the mercy you’ve never had second thoughts on giving.

“I was behind the wheel,” he reasons. “I looked away from the road.”

You shake your head, trying to pull him away from the current of his own thoughts. “No, Tsumu,”

“Yes, Len,” he chokes, still nodding his head, convinced at the flaws of what he thinks is his own truth. “I’m sorry. She was so perfect—“

“She still is,” you interject, silencing him. He lets you cradle him as he dissolves. “She’s always going to be.”

But because everything’s tumbling out, the demon that’s fed off of Atsumu’s own insecurities continue to gnaw. You hold him though, just as he does with you. Your hands on his face while his are around yours, the both of you intertwined and anchored in place.

Backs bare against the stream of water coming down, the surface screams red and the steam’s heavy to breathe.

In and out you continue to do so though, looking at him, and urging for him to do the same.

He struggles, still muttering his apologies again and again even though you keep yourself still and just hold him—reminding him that you’re with him regardless of the depth.

Love is trying to stay afloat even though neither of you are fit to stand. It’s taking the other’s hands and cupping eachother’s faces, looking past the bruises and the unhealed little nothings, not trying to make sense of the sin, but rather remedy the pain.

Out of dust, you try to pluck yourselves bit and bit once more and keep what’s meant to be whole, complete.

His heart stitched with yours, and his soul intertwined with the severed ends of what’s slipping from your bones.

Love, as a saving grace.

An aphrodisiac tied in a kiss; desperate and starving, like this momentary bond will seal the fractures once again.

But before it rages, it turns gentle.

You cry, while he does the same.

Atsumu holds you and keeps you against him tight, just as you do the same. Red and raw, you’re bare against the water, but you can breathe just fine—a sign that there’s nothing crashing over you that could perhaps take you and drown.

What a mercy it is to be loved, like it’s a mercy to hold the skin that’s sinned and built tragedies, softly, as if it’s glass.  

-

Later when you’re both out of the shower and clothed, face to face as you lie in bed, you’re the first to lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. Taking a breath, though you try to fill your lungs with peace, what comes to you is a mix of fear and premature sadness.

Love holds you, though.

Love, as your daughter’s old baby blanket tucked in between you and Atsumu, and Atsumu’s arms, steady through the tremble unfaltering against your form.

Eventually, he mumbles. “I don’t like eating dinner without her.”

His voice is quiet, as is the night, and while even Tokyo slumbers, sleep evades the both of you.

Against him, you keep your eyes closed as you nod your head too, agreeing with him. “I hate it too.”

“I hope Bokuto’s feeding her well.”

You chuckle softly. “Of course he is. I don’t doubt him one bit.”

First, there’s silence, and then, a sigh. “You’re right,” Atsumu gives in, the truth irrefutable.

“If you were in her position, would you trust him to do the surgery?”

“Would you?” you ask, cracking an eye open. His eyes are still closed, and you watch, as the lines on his brows furrow before they eventually relax.

He nods his head. “I wouldn’t put my life in anyone else’s hands.”

“Then yeah,” you laugh. “I suppose I could trust him.”

“We make decisions quick,” he mutters, then presses a kiss against your forehead.

You hold out your pinky the same time he opens his eyes and peeks at you. “Because we’re a team, aren’t we?” you smile.

There’s a lot of uncertainties that come with a situation hanging on the rocky what if scenarios, but he can never question the feel of full clarity when you wait for him at the halfway mark. He raises his own hand towards yours, looping your pinky with his and locking it, leaning forward to kiss his thumb the same time you do.

“A team.”

-

It’s a little over two in the morning when Bokuto picks up the call from his phone. In comes the customary hello, the two-and-a-half beats of silence (because it’s become a habit to count everything now) before the hesitant yes that’s murmured, only to be reiterated again, tone more solid the second time around.

“Lena’s always trusted you,” Atsumu says next, and Bokuto leans back in his office chair, the paper cup black coffee cooling and abandoned on his desk. He just stares at the steam. Easy breaths, clear thoughts.

“Is the Miya Atsumu giving me a pep talk?”

The atmosphere lightens, though the traces of the situation’s heaviness still remains, lurking just beyond the walls of this room. Bokuto rolls his shoulders, leaning back against the plush of his chair and closes his eyes, the smell of antiseptic and dangling life hanging like a fucking ghost around the room.

“The Miya Atsumu wouldn’t have fucked up this bad,” he laughs, the static present, though it masked nothing over the phone.

Bokuto laughs. “Maybe.” Then he continues. “But you’re also just Atsumu.”

“Atsumu that bastard who swept Lena off her feet even though she was doing fine with me.”

“Bo—“

The latter pays him no mind. “Atsumu, the guy who fell asleep through every firework display because he didn’t need that fleeting little moment to impress Len so he could stay.”

“You’re still just Atsumu,” he laughs, his earlier momentum dwindling, voice growing softer. “You fucked up a lot back then, so you’re still allowed to fuck up now.”

“My daughter has a chance of never walking again,” Atsumu retaliates, a mixture of both regret and grief coming into the light instead of an expected anger. “I could have committed every other sin, but I could be taking something I had no right with from her.”

Bokuto heaves a sigh, recognizing the fissures of a man who’s too broken down in abstract pieces. To heal isn’t a connect the dot situation, he realizes. To heal means to dig deep and to carve out a slice of yourself that bleeds raw from the roots of both sin and misfortunate, hoping to douse it in shreds of mercy that still must come from the self.

Atsumu lets the silence stretch over the phone, and Bokuto chooses to say nothing more.

This isn’t his battle, because he can only go so far.

Still, he throws crumbs of what could remedy, because a lifeline wasn’t for him to give.

“Just remember that you’re not unforgivable, Atsumu. This isn’t your burden alone to carry.”

“—The surgery,” Atsumu replies instead of a thanks. His throat constricts at the influx of emotions, but this time nothing pulls him under. In the moment, it just feels as if there’s more than a couple of currents pushing and pulling him from here to there.

He trails off from there, but the message reaches Bokuto anyway.

Speaking as the decade and a half long friend who’s seen Atsumu in both his victories and dives, he nods his head. “I got it,” he affirms. “You can trust me.”

And it’s as simple as that.

As black and white as that.

Fear settles because the unknown comes and takes the place of sin, baring its fangs and digging into the bones like poison.

There’s a remedy for the hurt now, though.  

-

If it wasn’t for the background noise of the clock ticking and the city sounds outside a little muffled through the closed window in the room, Bokuto would have had a heart attack.

3:31 and as he’s doing his rounds, he peeks into your daughter’s bedroom expecting for things to be in order.

Only that it isn’t.

The lamp on her bedside table’s flicked open, and she’s got herself huddled in an awkward makeshift position, head turned to the window, and body bent awkwardly with the little movement she could make do, without subjecting herself into too much pain.

Bokuto knocks on the door anyway, chuckling softly as her shoulders jump.

He approaches the side of the bed she faces and squats down, eye to eye with her. “Hey princess,” he lightly chuckles with a wave. “It’s 3 am.”

Unlike the kind of energy she usually returns, she only shrugs this time. “I know.”

“Any pain?”

She shakes her head. “Everything feels tingly.”

“Need me to—“

She cuts him off, and he pauses, already having stood up, hand reaching out for the call button just by the headboard. “Uncle Kou,” she murmurs, averting her eyes from the window for a brief moment as she looks at him.

It’s then where he finally notices the plush she hugs to her chest, her fingers digging tightly into the bear’s faux patch of fur. Closing her eyes, she hugs the bear tighter against her, sniffling. “Wanna stay here,” she murmurs.

As if a sense of déjà vu washes over him, his heart hums in both memory and empathy. He eyes the spot by the far end of her bed, then takes a seat, turning his body a little so she could still see him.

Bokuto hums. “And why’s that? You gonna miss your uncle that much?”

She shakes her head. “It’s safe here.”

“It’s safe at home too,” he points out.

“I know,” she shrugs. “But everytime daddy sees my wheelchair he looks sad.”

“Do you still feel safe with him, though?”

There’s no hesitation when she answers. Bokuto laughs as he watches her nod her head rapidly, her little eyes still shut tight.

“If you feel safe with him, then staying here with your reason this place being safe is just a lie,” he laughs.

“You wanna stay because you wanna hide,” he tells her, and when she cracks one eye open, peeking through her lashes, Bokuto offers a smile she’s grown familiar with. As her response, she doesn’t say anything more after that.

“Why do you wanna hide?”

She shrugs. “What if I can’t be happy all the time for them?”

He eases her into a little more crumbs of a chipping truth, though.

“Then you aren’t,” he answers. “There’s no one who’s happy all the time. Things come and go and happy days are like that too.”

She looks away, caught in the web of her own thoughts, so Bokuto offers solace.  

Quite easily, he slips into nostalgia. “Your mom ever tell you that I was best friends with her and your dad?”

“She talks about summer festivals with you and daddy all the time,” she replies.

“Ah,” Bokuto smiles. “Since we were little, we would watch the fireworks together, until eventually, your dad started joining us so we all watched together.”

“—Mommy said he always slept through it—“

He laughs. “Your mom remembers the important stuff, I see.”

“She would always say sometimes fireworks are gold like Uncle Bo’s eyes at night.”

When she opens her eyes and stares at him, she smiles, finding truth in the words of the stories you used to tell her. Against the warm light of the lamp, and the depth of the skies, you see gold. Like the four second fireworks that burst. Caught in time for just a split second and infinite among the sea of people below who let their eyes become a canvas for a mere moment in time. Reflections crystal clear and gleaming, like moonshine and starlight mirrored over a still lake.

“Mommy tells me the best stories,” she sighs dreamily, momentarily forgetting the fears as she loosens her grip over the bear.

“What about you dad?”

“He trips a lot,” she giggles. “Daddy talks about his medals and I see the whole world clap for him, but they don’t know how often he trips when he’s trying to run up the stairs.”

Bokuto eases into the slowed flow of the conversation, the emotions that had nearly been leaping, now rendered almost idle in place. “He’s a good guy though,” he tells her. “Your dad.”

Suddenly reminded of you, the look on her face almost mirrors yours as she looks past the windows, her gaze evidently caught by the stars. The clouds part, and the moon doesn’t glow quite as much as the other days, but for a city, the stars are rather bright tonight.

She smiles, and Bokuto’s struck, remembering you.

“He’s the best. Always going to be number one.”

“Does he think he isn’t sometimes?”

“When he trips, yeah.” The look on her face flows with the Milky Way, and a truth is founded in the moment. There’s timelessness found in the age old stars, because as your daughter points to the speckles, and traces a constellation he still can’t follow even at this age, he sees you, just days after the first hello.

Except he’s not a child again, and grasping at love, again.

He’s grown and staring at a product of love that a part of him believes has been woven into the fabric of time, foretold by the stars.

At your piece of starlight that’s lived among your piece of the sky. And because you called him sunshine, all those years ago, what the sun does is dip below the horizon so the sky—infinite as he is—shifts into the hues of black and midnight so the foretold stars could finally be seen as they burn.

Because they’re meant to be unraveled.

After your piece of the sun let the sunny skies go, your piece of starlight finally guides the way to your world’s turning point.

“Your mom,” Bokuto starts, addressing her earlier question. “She went through a lot to get here. Said no a bunch of times. Cried when she said she wouldn’t. She thought she’d be happy forever some days then has the biggest meltdown the next day.”

“She—no,” he corrects himself, “—they, I mean your mom and dad, think of you as their little piece of starlight, so you’re safe,” he smiles. “I promise you.”

“Like I’m written in the stars,” she laughs, puffing her cheek. “Mommy used to play a game and she’d say that a lot.”

Bokuto laughs, glad that the joy begins to resettle once again.

-

He decides to play the same game himself later that day, when the sunset fizzled into the black and moonshine blanketed the city.

Given a scenario that either has him moving forward or back, he presents himself with the variables. It’s you and him.

Perhaps this is just a scenario to satiate what was buried and left unsaid all those years ago, or a test to himself to see if yes and no really is as black and white as he believes it to be.

He closes his eyes and envisions himself in a room. Your daughter’s in the picture, and Atsumu comes and goes. What’s constant is him—because he has been constant—and you, because you’ve always went against the fleeting nature of fireworks and stayed anyway.

Should he take a step, his take will have you give a piece of the joy that’s lasting after the burnt edges of summer’s scarlet fades.

In the moment, you’ve most likely arrived by now, in your daughter’s room along with Atsumu, spending the night before her surgery’s schedule in the morning.

Bokuto keeps his eyes closed, then as a last ditch attempt to satiate the part of him that’s grasped at the hope bursting at the peak then fading as soon as it comes with the fireworks, dreams of what could have been should you have chosen him.

Then he smiles, the truth—ironically enough—unraveling in the dark, through the message that’s always been written in the stars. In your stars.

Constellations looking like three dotted stars gleaming like the fireworks, though claiming its mark—its eternity in the skies found even though the red fades and the black deepens, consuming the colors that don’t break through its walls.

Your glow stays. Your forever’s written in permanent ink, anyway.

In your story, he’s just a burst of colors that boom as it burns, so he trickles away, letting the midnight consume him little by little till he’s gone.

Then it’s gone, going, then, gone.

(But not really.)

He’ll stay as the clouds at midnight, and as the sun on your sunniest days. As Uncle Bokuto that will ruffle your daughter’s hair, and Atsumu’s friend who’ll remind him that he becomes the most human within the moments he lets him go, and fall.

Thinking of the team that’s in a room just down the hall, he cracks a smile and crosses his arms one over the other. Eyeing the paperwork scattered across his desk, the photo of the three of you plus your daughter in a frame by his computer’s monitor, he feels for the pieces and thinks that he chooses to neither step forward nor back.

He’ll stay still, and let the clouds flow.

Though you’ve told him he’s the color that bursts and remains as a snapshot, he supposes his colors will always be part of the blend of midnight. Muddled together and painted in the singular shade hand crafted to showcase the stars, he supposes the strokes of red and gold will always be part of the canvas that allows your starlight to bloom.

(Because that’s what lingers.)

The manmade kaleidoscope makes way for the heaven made infinity that comes to the world as guides, as blessings, as stars.

As the memory he’ll always have built with you.

As your pieces of sky, starlight, and bits of the sunniest skies.

As love—

-

(As if it’s your ayahuasca.)

The kind of love that saves because it’s the kind that’s been built from dust.

From across the room you watch as Atsumu tucks your daughter in bed, the white blankets the ones from her room, the smile on her the same as when you’re home.

This is the love that’s saved you. Whether it had been predestined or prewritten in the stars, you don’t exactly know, but it’s here, it’s built, it’s held, and it’s yours. Atsumu waves you over, so naturally, you let yourself be pulled by the current.

The truth is, the water could always turn on you, and so could the clouds in the sky. While you’ve held yourself together by kicking against the water and keeping your head just barely above the water, this little moment that keeps you planted on the shore feels safe, and feels yours.

That night you and Atsumu lie on either sides of your daughter, careful around the edges, covered by white skies.

It’s sunny.

Your daughter giggles, and beneath the covers, she reaches and pokes Atsumu’s cheek, her joy felt.

It’s sunny.

Beneath the white blankets you’ve got for skies, it’s safe. Atsumu reaches over and threads his fingers through yours, finding you through the maze of the pillows and blankets every time, as if he’s got it all mapped out and memorized in the back of his head.

Your daughter raises her hands, poking at the sheets that Atsumu domes around the bed and comments something about how pretty this sky would be if graced with starlight. Then you watch, as Atsumu swipes away her bangs that have been steadily growing, and press a kiss to her forehead.

“Your hair’s growing,” he teases. “Can’t see your eyes anymore if you keep growing too fast.”

She’s quick to roll her eyes, and at Atsumu’s guffaw, you laugh. “Daddy maybe you’re just getting old and can’t see me anymore. Don’t pin the blame on me.”

“Your mother,” Atsumu quickly deadpans. “You’re taking after your mother so well.”

She laughs again. “So sensitive.”

-

Though the three of you are meant to fall asleep like that, it’s a little over one, just a few hours later where you wake up with a slight jolt. On the other side of the bed, Atsumu stirs. His hand first grabs the blanket and tucks it against your daughters sides, fitting the sheets properly before peeking at you, raising a brow and whispering his question of is everything okay?

“I had a dream,” you admit, whispering softly. “That she was gone.”

Atsumu stays silent, so you continue. “That I lost her, ‘Tsumu,” you break. “Like I did with our little girl before.”

It’s a sore subject that reopens the wounds he thought had already been healed, he thinks. And much like before, he still finds himself at a loss of words, never knowing exactly what to say.

So he shifts to his side, pulling the blanket towards the three of you and scoots upward, sitting up and leaning over the frame to pull you closer. Cradling your daughter, you lean towards him and just drift.

Not a lot of words exchanged, because love, in the form of reassurance washes over you in bouts of touches that make you feel like you’re safe, and home.

In the dark you trace the outline of your daughter’s sleeping profile, then kiss her forehead.

She smells like honeydew and home, and love.

Atsumu, sat up, watches the two of you and just cradles you in, letting you know with his steady breaths that he’s there with the both of you, and that the room is safe.

“Lena,” he hums.

You tilt your head, but you don’t say much.

“I love you.”

And as soon as he says it, though it doesn’t work like a charm—because love isn’t lucky—it soothes your soul like it’s a promise.

She’ll be fine, because we’ve always gotten through everything.

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You’re doing just fine.

You hold the hand that hovers over your cheek, and you look at him.

We’re doing just fine.

Your daughter shuffles in bed, turning a little and burying her face into your chest, her hands somehow holding onto Atsumu’s arm that’s drifted close.

It’s a broken moment, but you suppose this is what you can make do with the fragments that try to mash itself together into a piece of comfort at the end of the day. You hold your daughter just like that, closing your eyes and dreaming of starlight in sunny skies.

She’s little again in your dream. Chocolate on the corners of your lips because she’s always got a tendency to tug on Atsumu’s jacket sleeve to ask for a couple swipes of the honeydew scented wipes she knows he keeps around with him. The memories jump, but the love stays the same.

The sense of home overflows, and you’re drifting—high with the stars.

She’s one and waddling towards you, saying dada as her first words, prompting Atsumu to break into a new onset of tears. She’s two and there’s a little tiara on her head she can’t seem to part with. Three, and she’s twirling in a dress. Four, and she’s learning how to write her name with scratches at first. Five, and the trophy room in your house has a wall dedicated to all her little drawings. Six, and she’s jumping into puddles, plucking flowers from the neighbor’s yard and running everywhere.

Seven, and it’s a lucky year.

Eight—

Atsumu saves you before you think of the crash, and the light.

Eight, you realize, and she’s here. Against the white blanket cotton skies, her head tucked right under your chin.

Atsumu smiles, breathing in and out, and finding love overwhelm him slow.

Steady.

Easy.

He squeezes your hand beneath the blankets and murmurs a quick goodnight as you kiss his chin and lay your head back down, drifting off into sleep.

Love’s like this, he supposes.

Watching you, and feeling more than a sense of home. There’s this kind of love that saves him from the pull of whatever current they’ve always said rages the most when you’ve finally found yourself at your happiest.

Three hours from now, and he’ll probably break down again, but right now, he doesn’t.

The clock ticks slow, and the world slows, probably in the same speed you’ve always talked about when it comes to the galaxies and the Milky Way.

He loves you, so he could fly to the stars.

He loves you, so he’ll keep you in his arms.

-

By seven in the morning, there’s a couple nurses that follow after Bokuto as he enters the room and tells the both of you it’s time to get things prepped and wheel her into the OR.

Your hands are cold again.

And because he knows you, Atsumu’s the first to notice seeing as he practically wastes no time in stepping beside you and threading his fingers through yours, squeezing your hand as a quiet way of saying he’s right there.

You laugh, because his hand’s just as cold as yours.

Exiting the room meaning to follow your daughter up until the door, Bokuto chooses to walk side by side with the both of you instead of leading the way. She’s still awake while they roll her down the hall.

One by one, she points to the lights and counts each ones that pass over her, tripping over her words and mispronouncing more than just a few, bursting into a fit of laughter as soon as Bokuto would poke her side and try to correct her.

Morning’s quiet, but she never is.

Your hands are cold, and your stomach is tied in knots. And when you look towards Atsumu, his expression is as troubled as yours.

“Daddy you look like you need to go to the bathroom,” is the last thing she says pointing at him and laughing as she leans her cheek up towards you waiting for a kiss.

Brushing her bangs aside, you hold out a pinky towards her, meeting hers in the middle as she locks it and promises that she’ll come out of the surgery running. In her eyes you see bits of your most loved fragments of starlight, and she’s burning, foretelling a soul that’s yet to have even gotten through a fraction of a life that’s sure to be lived.

Her pinky squeezes yours, and she pokes your cheek, pressing her forehead against yours. She smells like honeydew and the detergent she would always pick out when the time came to wash her white blankets she’d always call her makeshift skies.

Atsumu’s red eyed and pinching himself, so Bokuto claps him on the back as he gestures for the nurses to wheel her in.

Before the doors close, she’s raising her hands and waving frantically, a grin so wide on her face, it’s as if the pale luminescent lights of the hospital are suddenly warm, dousing the room in something sunny.

“Mommy take a picture of daddy, he’s crying!”

Then the doors shut, and Atsumu takes it as his initiative to fully let go of himself and weep. Shaking with your own resolve just barely holding itself together, you gather the crumbs of what little composure you have and take the seat beside him, squeezing his hands that are still as cold as yours.

There’s an inner debate in Bokuto’s head that half argues him to walk forward and try to offer at least a bit of consolation, and another that tells him to just let the both of you be.

Because he’s still the friend, at the core of this all, he makes the decision to walk forward and stand in front of the both of you. His hands are in his pockets, and there’s distance.

When you shift your gaze to look at him, he’s already smiling.

“She’s never gonna let you hear the end of it if you don’t take that picture of Atsumu right now,” Bokuto laughs.

You don’t even try to extend your plea, at this point. The laugh that escapes you is shaky, as are your lips you have to bite down to keep from quivering too much.

“How you feeling?”

Bokuto’s question is rhetorical, merely asked to keep the atmosphere light, but the both of you continue to shake anyway. Brevity’s always had its way of coming and going in life, and right now, you beg for it to come again, and stay just a little longer than how it usually does.

Atsumu shakes his head, the entirety of his vulnerability escaping him. “Like shit,” he sniffs. “Like fucking shit. I don’t know what else to say man, I just feel like shit.”

Bokuto shakes his head, finding somewhat of an irony in the parallel of the moment. Recalling the moment he shared with you all those years ago. “Look at him,” he prompts, and you smile, finding both ease and fear overlap each other but never quite get to the point of overwhelming you as Atsumu squeezes your hand, resurfacing you right back the second something threatens to pull you to the depths.

He stares at you with obvious tear-tracks and red eyes that come with the tears he can’t quite blink back even if he tries so hard.

“He’s not afraid to look sad anymore,” you finish, finding more than just a sense of comfort in the vulnerability that keeps your heart beating.

-

Fin.

-

“So,” your daughter drawls, as soon as she wakes up from the anesthesia, finally coming to her senses. “I’m okay.”

Lifting a heavy arm, she drags it up and forward, pointing towards Atsumu who watches her with careful eyes. When he leans forward, she’s quick to change her stance, opening her palms to pat his cheek lightly, the smile on her face sleepy, but there. “Daddy I’m okay.”

On the other side you hold back your own trickling bits of vulnerability, keeping the waterworks in, as she inches her other hand across the bed before just knocking the back of it against yours, too tired to do anything more.

You cradle her little hand gently.

Atsumu closes his eyes.

You mirror him, doing the same.

“Daddy’s still number one,” she mumbles. “Mommy too.”

“—and me,” she adds, as a quick after thought right before she drifts off to sleep.

The clock on the bedside reads 2:01 AM, and it’s then where you finally notice the date. April 16.

Tucking her in the white blankets, you move around the room, taking your place and sitting just beside Atsumu, resting your head against the crook of his shoulder as soon as he opens his arm and invites you in.

Your piece of the sky blankets the room in midnight and peace, just as starlight burns.

And with a sigh, the next breath you take in feels like peace. Warmth douses your skin as you touch her little fingers while Atsumu kisses your temple.

Sunny, you think.

It’s midnight, but somehow, the world feels sunny.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader #hq angst #haikyuu x reader angst #haikyuu slice of life #haikyuu fanfictions #haikyuu fanfic #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu scenarios #miya atsumu imagines #atsumu x reader #atsumu scenarios #atsumu imagines #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto koutarou scenarios #bokuto koutarou imagines #bokuto x reader #bokuto angst

[kurinoot]

agape

-> agape (Ancient Greek ἀγάπη, agapē) is a Greco-Christian term referring to unconditional love, "the highest form of love, charity" and "the love of God for man and of man for God". 

pairing: akaashi x gn!reader

themes: fluff with some angst at the beginning, akaashi just taking care of you, bipolar!reader (that’s why please read this fic with discretion), post-timeskip

word count: 1,310 words

trigger warning/s: mentions of mental health-related issues! if you want to talk about it or just want someone to vent out, you can slide into my dms! also, warning for language!

notes: so hello! this is my contribution for the mental health collab, and I chose akaashi! I hope that you have read this top portion before reading the fic just to give you a heads up! anyways, this is to raise awareness on mental health in general (and on bipolar disorder) and to help others who don’t have mental health issues and of course, destigmatize them! a HUGE appreciation to @rosesandtoshi, @nerdynstoned, @vanille--kiss, @meiansmistress, and to my love @ssrated1volleyballplayer 💕 for proofreading this and fact-checking it for me! I really appreciate it considering the subject of this fic :)

chant: all of me - john legend (lindsey stirling violin remix)

“This sucks,” you softly whine in frustration as you fold your arms and lay down your head on the table. Your boyfriend can only look at you in worry as he tenderly caresses your hair, humming a soft lullaby that he knows can help you ease down from your episodes at times.

You huff in frustration at literally everything—the intense shifts in mood swings, medications, therapy sessions, the pitying or judging looks, and the stigma—as tears well up and threaten to spill from the growing swell on your eyes. You just want to live a normal life—a life without unpredictable mood swings, daily medications, and therapy appointments.

And a life where you don’t have to feel every inch of ogling eyes staring right at you.

A life just like everybody else.

And yet here you are.

You never fail to feel envious of almost everybody else. At least they don’t need to take medications every single fucking day just to keep their mood in check. They also don’t need to attend psychotherapy sessions because of something that would stay with them for life. And they don’t have to suffer the stares of other people just because they’re having a fucking meltdown.

“Shh,” he hushes softly. “It’s okay, I’m here if you need me, my love.” Keiji coos with tenderness.

The last week at work has left you in shambles, as an unpredictable depressive episode made its wave to disrupt your routine once again. You were grateful that your boss understood your situation and gave you a time off work, but it has still left you grating with so many thoughts drilling its way into your head. It didn’t help that you were still in a depressive episode today, and it definitely didn’t help that you want to cry at your boyfriend's comforting words and overwhelming support. You can only muffle your cries at the fact that you are so goddamn lucky to have a doting boyfriend like Keiji.

‘What the fuck did I ever do to deserve Keiji? I really don’t deserve him. Not like this,’ your mind slews, overwhelmed with all the negativity you’re feeling. Ever since finding out about the state of your psyche, he’s been nothing short of a very patient and compassionate boyfriend, and once again he proves to you how much he loves you even in your current state.

“It’s okay, my love. Cry your heart out if you have to, my love. I’m here.” You hear his calm voice as he wraps you in a cozy hug beside you, accompanied with a light but meaningful kiss on your temple as you bask together in the silence in solace. After a few minutes, Akaashi goes to check on you only for him to hear the wisps of your soft snores. Only then does he proceed to carry you with all his might and carefully place you on the bed, covering you with your favorite bamboo-scented white comforter that never fails to calm you down in your sleep.

As soon as he’s assured that you’re resting soundly, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, hastily unlocking it. He’s greeted with a photo of you on his screen and he lets out a smile, saying a ‘That’s my girl’ in his head as he opens his browser and types ‘bipolar disorder’ on the search bar.

“So that’s what it is...” Akaashi mumbles in understanding as he scrolls through various credible sources about your condition, wanting to keep himself educated to learn more about you and how to take good care of you. From what he can understand, you experience mood extremes - manic and depressive episodes which can tick off of you at random and unexpected times. It is something incurable, he reads, but taking prescriptions as well as psychotherapy can help reduce its effects.

‘So that’s why Y/N takes her prescriptions everyday...’ he realizes as he clearly recalls the day he found your prescription medications in one of the cupboards.

He searches more about it, adding more and more tabs on his browser when he glances at the clock, only to be greeted with the flashing LED that says 2:58 AM. With a huff, he closes his phone, settling it on the nightstand before he uncovers the sheets and plops down beside you, ensnaring you in a warm embrace as he dozes off into unconsciousness.

A couple of hours later, Akaashi wakes up to the sound of his alarm. He rubs both of his eyes, yawning before his hand goes to turn off the blaring sound to make sure that you don’t wake up. He gives you one last hug, then kisses your temple, cheek, and shoulder before unwrapping himself from the warmth of the sheets you share together.

‘I still have time.’ Akaashi huffs in mind, glancing at the clock that glared right at him at 6:32 AM. He rushes over to the bathroom to clean himself up before he goes to the kitchen to prepare something for you.

The mixed scent of the bamboo from the comforter and the scent of what seemed to be tamagoyaki—your favorite egg omelette rolls—wakes you up and you jolt awake to see the empty space next to you. You frown only to realize that Keiji must be preparing breakfast as your stomach grumbles from hunger. Not for long, Keiji graces your dazed vision as he carries a bed tray with a steaming plate of your favorite egg omelette roll, a bowl of miso soup, and a freshly brewed cup of tea on the side. The icing on the cake, much to your shock, is the bottle of prescription medication placed neatly near the cup of tea with an attached note that said “Don’t forget!”

“Good morning, Y/N. I hope you’re feeling good,” he greets you calmly with a gentle beam, leaving a peck on your forehead.

“Keiji~” you huff out with a slight pout as he places the bed tray on your lap. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

Akaashi rubs your hands with his, looking into your eyes with love before he takes one of your hands and places a tender kiss on it. “You had a rough week and must be exhausted, so let me do this for you. I’m here for you, okay?”

Your eyes widen at his words and his gestures as your eyes unconsciously become wet with tears. ‘Why is Keiji so good to me? I don’t deserve this I can’t—’

Akaashi must have sensed it, because he wraps you in a comforting hug. Your heart feels like it is going to burst as you hug him in return, crying with full force. It doesn’t help that he is caressing your hair gently with one hand while he rubs your back with the other.

“Shhh. I’m here, my love. Tell me how you are feeling.”

He patiently waits for you as you swallow all the incoming tears and the growing lump in your throat before a smile graces your lips. “I-I just, I don’t know. I feel so loved right now.”

Akaashi smiles, giving himself a pat on the back internally as he hugs you a little bit tighter. You both bask in each other’s warmth and comfort.

“Now come on, let’s eat. The food will get cold. I’ll grab my own food so we can eat breakfast together. The next time you have a therapy appointment, if you’re comfortable, I would like to accompany you. That way, I can understand you better and do my best to accommodate your needs. Only if that is something you’re alright with though.”

The fact that he was so willing to try and see things from your perspective meant everything to you. All that you could do in that moment was cry a little bit harder as he holds you.

remember to keep yourself educated, sisters! destigmatizing mental health is more important than ever! and being sensitive and caring to those who deal with those problems is what those people need :)

back to the mental health collab masterlist (yet to be posted)

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #hqhq server #mental health collab #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #agape #haikyuu fics #haikyuu imagines #haikyuucafe #witchy.writes #tw // mental health #tw // bipolar disorder

[rappaccini]

So what about what everyone does after the timeskip to you doesn't make sense?

okay so like... first off, the timeskip even being a thing is just... bad? skipping everyone’s most pertinent character development to reset them into characters we have no reference for is... bad?

while there feels like a kernel of truth in what everyone ends up doing, enough so that with some minor tweaking you could absolutely make it work, i still feel like there’s something inherently off about everyone’s situation.

and i still feel like the amount of time elapsing is still wrong. klaus landing first i think makes sense and works as long as you account for the Dave Problem (if you don’t, he has to land later in the lineup), but he didn’t need to spend three years there.

if i had to rank them in order of most to least sense:

1. hating that vanya gets amnesia aside, if she gets stuck in dallas for three weeks, gets bonked on the head and magically loses her trauma, mental illness and all her memories, then yes, i absolutely see her staying with the people who did that to her because she’d have no other options.

and honestly, the amnesia is so unnecessary because i could absolutely see vanya trying to pass herself off as normal and staying with them anyway? vanya wants a loving, happy family and trying to attach herself to the literal first one she sees, and compromising who she is in the hopes that she can finally be cared for by them, actually makes sense. vanya starting to break up said family by starting an affair with one of its members after knowing them for less than a month is something i also completely buy she’d do.

again, the glaring problem is the amnesia. get rid of it, and you’re fine.

2. diego. him immediately fucking himself over by getting himself arrested for trying to crimefight? yeah, i buy that. him getting tossed in a mental asylum for ranting about being from the future and needing to save the world? yeah, i buy that.

i don’t buy that he’d be given therapy there, or that he’d be treated well by any of the staff or that the asylum would have been integrated race or gender-wise. and i don’t buy that he would magically handle all his anger issues and get over his girlfriend’s death in two months. if anything, he needed to be there even longer.

3. klaus. he would start grifting, he would start using his powers (which he is now unafraid of) to do so, and he would start a cult to fast-track that process. after three years of it, i can absolutely see him ending up in a similar space as he is in canon, with a massive following he’s completely fucked over.

however i don’t think he would have left the cult or lost interest in it. it’d have just turned into a new addiction of his. he’d have gone from chasing substances to chasing dave to chasing the attention and gratification his followers give him. if anything, he’d have to be dragged kicking and screaming away from his cult, the same way he had to literally get himself tied to a chair to get clean in s1.

ugh but then comes the Dave Problem: you establish that the supposed love of klaus’s life, who he has lost only a day or two ago, is in the 1960s, in the south... and he doesn’t seek him out?

basically you have to create a scenario wherein klaus unsuccessfully looks for dave before giving up and starting the cult, and probably uses said cult’s resources to track him down during the events of the plot.

4. luther. i can see luther staying in dallas, at first in the literal alley where everyone landed waiting for them, then later doing menial work trying to get by. but i don’t buy that stickler-for-the-rules boy scout luther would ever do that work for a mobster. 

i buy that luther would go to reginald for help, but i think it’s a massive fucking mistake to have luther going home to his father and being rejected by him and then disowning him entirely be relegated to a flashback sequence. that’s development we have to see for ourselves as it happens. so you can’t have him do that yet, which means he can’t have been in dallas for more than maybe a few days or a week.

and i don’t buy that luther, who wants nothing more in the world than to have his family together again, would simply give up on looking for them. no way would he just go ‘well i guess they’re dead’ and settle in. he’d be scouring dallas for any sign of them.

5. allison. while aspects of her situation make sense... there are too many holes.

first off, yes, the show established that allison’s vocal cords were damaged but not severed, so two years later her having her voice and her rumor back makes sense, and being able to speak hoarsely after about a year does too. but it’s bad for her character to have learning to cope with her disability or her lack of rumor skipped over, so they shouldn’t have done it. two years is too long.

next: yes, allison officially has an established pattern of coping with being alone in a strange city by attaching herself to a man that reminds her (aesthetically) of luther, transforming herself into the woman he wants her to be, and getting him hooked on her while keeping herself emotionally distant enough to be able to drop him quickly. i like that. i think it’s interesting, and i like that this time, she manages to have a relationship in which she doesn’t rumor her husband but is still lying to him. i also think that raymond is the kind of man allison would fall for.

but if you’re not gonna do anything with the rest of that manipulation, or with how allison fundamentally does not trust ray and primarily married him as an in with the community, or with how ray in turn does not trust allison or seem to care that much about who she is as a person (given that he let her keep so much from him in the first place), then don’t do it at all.

and: allison waiting for months for the family to arrive, and while waiting acclimatizing to dallas by working at the salon and adopting the styles of the period? yes, makes sense. i totally buy it. her throwing in with the civil rights movement in the hopes of speeding things up? yeah, i can see that.

but allison giving up on the family and settling down to stay in the sixties... no.

if she gives up on the family, fine, i can see her losing faith. but then she’d just go and try to find a way back to the future on her own. allison’s a cunning, tenacious person in her own right, she’s trapped in a horrific place, and her child is in the future. there is no way she would give up on finding a way home to claire. [or if she does, she should be in the absolute pits of despair]

so honestly, i feel like she would’ve taken a route similar to luther’s: probably charting a way north to speak to reginald, as her only real option. and again, the family can’t do that because we need to save that disgruntlement for the events of the plot itself.

so essentially: she shouldn’t have been in dallas for that long.

#asks #tua s2 salt

[shinneth]

Gem Ascension Tropes (General: C - E)

Refer to the initial post for details on this. Here’s the full version on Google Docs.  

Call-Back: There are loads of these in GA. So much that, much like Shout-Outs and Mythology Gags, really warrants its own page.

Campfire Character Exploration: Happens towards the end of Act I’s first chapter with Peridot and Greg. A similar scene plays out late in Chapter 6 of Act II; this time with Greg, Lapis, and Bismuth.

Capital Letters are Magic: Word of God imposed an unorthodox rule in the story: in the context of a gem’s gemstone, the name of the gemstone (which matches the gem’s by default) will not be capitalized. So, Peridot’s gemstone will be referred to as a peridot. However, in reference to the hard light forms of Peridot’s fellow kind that aren’t her specifically, whether individually or in a group, they are referred to as Peridots (or a singular Peridot). The rationale is that while the gem species will always be lower-case as it would be for any kind of species, the specific type of gem is more analogous to a nationality/ethnicity, which is always capitalized for humans on Earth. So, gems in their hard light forms such as Peridots and Pearls are (as far as grammar is concerned) analogous to Americans and Germans. 

The only exception to the rule is quartz, which is always left in lowercase unless the type of quartz is specified, as there haven’t been any gems in canon that were ever just called “Quartz”. That might make quartzes more like another subclass, such as a “superhuman”. 

Clip Show Episode: Chapter 7 of Act II can be seen as a slight parody of this, as the climax is comprised of a collection of excerpts from Peridot’s Video Wills from each chapter of Act II up to this point, including a repeated part of the message introduced earlier this chapter. Justified, since this is presented as a group-effort project (led by Amethyst) in order to awaken Steven from the Angst Coma he put himself into at the end of Chapter 1, and snap him out of his Heroic BSoD regarding his refusal to watch Peridot’s message to him.

Coitus Ensues: After Romance Ensues for Sphalerite and 5XF in This is Who I Am, it transitions to this pretty quickly. Chapter 6 ends just as they start getting into it. The following chapter timeskips this, but makes it very clear the last 41 hours was full of nothing but this for the couple.

Colorful Theme Naming: For certain characters that are exclusive to GA’s continuity, they follow a similar naming pattern to their canon counterparts, but deviate a little. Peridot’s Super-Powered Alter Ego is named Chartreuse Diamond, while the fusion comprised of Chartreuse and White Diamond is called Celadon Diamond. Steven’s awakened form is named after his mother as Pink Diamond 2.0.

Commonality Connection: 5XF and Sphalerite quickly bonded over their shared issue of trying to find out who they really are; Sphalerite hasn’t existed long enough to learn who she is independent of Steven and Peridot, while 5XF has to completely start from scratch as a Homeworld refugee learning how to live for herself for the first time in her life.

Convenient Cranny: In Chapter 7 of Act I, while Peridot and Sapphire are stuck together in a crowded terminal, Sapphire informs Peridot of a small hiding space like this that they’re closing in on and can use for cover. Sure enough, it’s found moments later; Peridot and Sapphire duck into the alcove just in time to evade Yellow Diamond and the pallified Blue Diamond.

Costume Evolution: Peridot and Lapis reform at the very start of GA with a cheap upgrade (basically stars added where diamonds once were on their original outfits). By the end of Chapter 6 in Act I, Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl receive their canon CYM outfits upon reforming. Lapis is poofed midway into the final chapter of Act I and reforms in the final scene of said act with her CYM ensemble. Peridot poofs offscreen after Act I and doesn’t reform until the second scene of Act III’s opening chapter, where she finally gets her CYM upgrade.

Crapsack World: Homeworld, per canon. Probably even more exaggerated in GA, though. On top of the fact that Individuality is Illegal, it’s both told and shown through Peridot just how cutthroat the environment is for the working class. She pretty much had to be a Manipulative Bastard just to get the opportunity to learn life could be better than that.

Crisis Makes Perfect: Throughout Act III, Steven and Peridot attempt to fuse on two separate occasions – both times result in failure that neither can make sense of, but it strongly implies Peridot’s Era 2 limitations simply make her incapable of it, much to her despair. It’s later proved that Peridot can be fused with in Chapter 7, but that was through a forced fusion with White Diamond where Peridot had little to no control or involvement as Celadon Diamond. Once Peridot is so heavily triggered by Pumpkin’s death that her rage and agony actively tears apart the already-dying Homeworld throughout Chapter 8, she brings about the Darkest Hour for everyone as it becomes apparent that everyone’s going to die along with Homeworld. Steven takes it upon himself to calm Peridot down; not only to stop her destructive behavior, but to fuse their Alter Egos to make the Diamond of Miracles, which is their only hope coming out of this situation with their lives. It’s unknown at the time whether or not Pink 2.0 and Chartreuse’s fusion is the miracle diamond; it could just as easily be a fusion of Pink 2.0 and White Diamond, and presumed to be more likely given Steven and Peridot’s fusion track record. However, with some intensive Epiphany Therapy, Peridot (as Chartreuse) can finally fuse with Steven (as Pink 2.0) – they become Iridescent Diamond, the miracle-granting Diamond they need to survive Homeworld’s apocalypse – and manage to escape Homeworld just before it explodes.

Cult of Personality: Per canon, the Diamond Authority as a whole has been this for untold amounts of millennia. It’s especially prevalent with the propaganda-fed Era 2 gems like Peridot, who weren’t around during the infamous war with Rose Quartz rebelling against the order. In GA, this mostly applies to White Diamond exclusively, as Yellow and Blue aren’t around long enough to properly represent any kind of threat or notoriety to the Crystal Gems. Although Peridot has long since overcome this sensationalism in canon, she and Steven legitimately worry that this Diamond Propaganda will shift over to their Diamond Alter Egos after the main GA series, now that the OG Diamond Authority and Homeworld are gone and they’re left to guide millions of confused Homeworld gems who were abruptly immigrated to Earth.

Curb-Stomp Battle: The Crystal Gems are on the losing end of one in Chapter 6 of Act III after it’s revealed the White Diamond they’ve spent so much time fighting is a fake.

Darker and Edgier: Compared to Change Your Mind, yes, GA very much is. Word of God phrases Gem Ascension’s premise basically as “What would happen if everything just went to pot after the first few minutes of CYM?”. It’s not all-serious, all the time, but unlike CYM, there are quite a few major character deaths, not every villain is redeemed, and the story ends giving Status Quo is God the middle finger.

Darkest Hour: Chapter 8 of Act III is where this happens. The situation is bleak enough at this point, as the Crystal Gems’ spaceship has been obliterated. While Peridot finally managed to break out of the Celadon Diamond fusion, Greg is severely injured, and Pumpkin succumbs to her wounds not long after reuniting with Peridot. Prior to this, Peridot (who never suffered loss like this before) was in hysterics and highly unstable. Steven forced himself to implement tough love to drag Peridot back down to reality after the latter snapped and brutally hit Lapis, but by the time Peridot got her act together, Pumpkin died. Heroic BSoD ensues, combined with an Angst Nuke, and suddenly Peridot is unwittingly tearing up an already-dying Homeworld with her agony alone. Once she Involuntarily Shapeshifts into Chartreuse Diamond, every structure still standing on Homeworld is shattered into pieces and all forms of transport crumble, which eliminates any hope of the Crystal Gems finding another way off the planet. Peridot is so consumed with grief that she can’t hear anyone else, and the storm she conjured is so potent that it’s dangerous to even get near her. It’s looking like foregone conclusion that the Crystal Gems will be going down with Homeworld after all. Once the group spots White Diamond approaching them again, Steven realizes he has to act before White tries to force him into fusion. The only hope he and his friends have now of leaving Homeworld alive is to make the Diamond of Miracles a reality – and most don’t even believe such a being truly exists. Even more unlikely is Steven and Peridot’s Alter Egos being the miracle they’re looking for, as the pair has not been able to fuse at all. At this stage, however, Steven either has to make it work, or be obliterated with his friends.

Dawn of an Era: Garnet believes in Plans Change that Era 3 starts now, rather than a week or so prior during the Era 3 ball on Homeworld. Thematically, it is more appropriate to consider a time post-GA to be the real starting point of Era 3, given how much of a drastic shake-up there is in the status quo, as well as an entirely different setting for most of gemkind where they’ll lead vastly different lives than they had in the past two eras.

Death of Personality: Another way to interpret a pallified gem.

Delaying the Rescue: Steven attempts to defy this at the end of Act II, but the Crystal Gems begrudgingly acknowledge that they should return to Homeworld only when they’re better-prepared to take on whatever traps White Diamond has laid out for them, as well as how to fare in White Diamond’s Homeworld. They all hate having to leave Peridot to be tortured for so long, but know there’s no point in going back if they don’t know what they’re doing. Especially since Peridot made it clear in her messages that she’d never forgive them if anyone was to lose their life attempting to rescue her.

Despair Event Horizon: Once Steven and Peridot’s Alter Egos form the Diamond of Miracles, White Diamond – while she doesn’t outright say as much – is done. She was so certain she would be this mythical being and make her planet perfect again, but instead White is now reliant on the two people she tormented the most and was driven to make minions of. Her omniscient powers mean nothing now since there are no bodies left to snatch (and on top of that, she no longer has subjects to lord over), and the Crystal Gems don’t hesitate to rub it in White’s face that she has nothing left. Though it’s mostly at Steven’s behest, the Crystal Gems won’t even kill her and are quick to dismiss White once they’re finally granted a way off Homeworld. Above everything else White lost, her relevance and her legacy are what she can’t bear to lose most of all. She attacks the Crystal Gems one final time with the Energy Donation Steven granted her on request, but that was not only thwarted, but Peridot nearly destroyed her with her own attack… until she saw White Diamond’s fear, which was much more satisfying to the low-caste gem than a shattering. Added with suffering a final parting shot from Connie, which gave her form blemishes, White could no longer live with herself. The mightiest of all Diamonds being terrified of a Peridot and cracked by a human was too much to bear… and a short while later, White self-destructed.

Don’t Look Back: At the climax of Act I when the Crystal Gems escape through the terminal tunnel to their spaceship, this order from Peridot is the last time most of the Crystal Gems hear from her until they reunite with her in Act III.

Doomed Hometown: Homeworld. Once White Diamond starts a hostile takeover of her own planet at the end of Act I, infecting every bit of it with her pallification, the planet itself is drained of what little structural integrity it still had and is set to crumble. The planet itself is completely gone near the end of Act III.

Downer Ending: Compared to Change Your Mind, it certainly is. On its own, it isn’t so bad as there’s an optimistic view that everything is starting on a clean slate and will be done better this time around. But compare that to White, Yellow, and Blue Diamond all still being alive (and White Pearl) in CYM, now friendly with Steven and the Crystal Gems, and casually visiting to enjoy time with everyone on Earth… meanwhile tying up every possible loose end, including curing all of the corrupted gems. Gem Ascension concludes with many loose ends, on top of another set of gems in need of a cure outside of the corrupted.

Dream People: Peridot and Steven have grown very close together even before they became an Official Couple, so it’s no surprise that Peridot’s idealized perception of Steven who takes place of the real deal in her imagination and dreams looks and acts almost exactly like Steven himself. When Peridot is imprisoned in her own subconscious with him in Chapter 2 of Act III, she talks to him just like she would with the real Steven. And while under the impression that she’ll never see the real Steven again at the time, Peridot is more than happy to cherish her imaginary Steven as the next-best thing she’ll ever be able to have.

Dual Age Modes: Chartreuse Diamond and Pink Diamond 2.0 are not only a great deal taller, but have much more developed bodies than Peridot and Steven.

Earned Stripes: How one can interpret Lapis and Peridot gaining stars on their outfits after reforming. Even more prevalent in GA since they first reform with their original outfits only with stars added, then Lapis reforms a second time at the end of Act I with the new outfit she gained in CYM. Peridot follows suit at the start of Act III.

Earth-Shattering Kaboom: Homeworld’s fate when Gem Ascension concludes.

End of an Age: As Gem Ascension ends, it’s evident that life for the Crystal Gems will never be the same again, but for entirely different reasons from Change Your Mind. 

Not only is the Diamond Authority completely eradicated, but Homeworld itself no longer exists. 

Homeworld’s colonies are still intact, but have no idea what happened to their home base. It’s a safe bet many will devolve into anarchy with civil wars abound once they learn the truth. 

Most gems who lived on Homeworld were rescued, but the majority are pallid and thus stuck in stasis like their corrupted counterparts. And unlike CYM, no cure has been made for either affliction, which means that is an ongoing endeavor made doubly harder. 

The Homeworld gems who aren’t affected have abruptly immigrated to Earth and are just as Locked Out of the Loop as their brethren in the colonies. It’s up to the Crystal Gems to educate thousands of confused and terrified citizens what happened and what their lives will be like from here on out.

Getting Homeworld gems adapted to Earth will be hard enough, but it will be even harder for them to comprehend how to live free from Diamond rule. It won’t help when they eventually learn Steven and Peridot’s Alter Egos are the only Diamonds left in existence, as the couple have no desire to continue the regime of their predecessors.

Unfortunately, they will have to use their Diamond identities to make any headway with the colonies, meaning Steven and Peridot are doomed to be put on a pedestal and garner a lot of unwanted public attention.

Garnet invokes this in Plans Change, when she voices her belief that Era 3 didn’t start with the ball that took place shortly after Steven went to Homeworld. Instead, she believes Era 3 starts at this point, on a clean slate, where life will be completely different for everyone.

Enemy Civil War: The fate of the Homeworld colonies after the events of GA, or at least the presumed fate. The Crystal Gems intend to set things straight after they figure out how to run their own operation on Earth.

Ensemble Cast: During Act II.

Epistolary Novel: Act II

Evil Power Vacuum: Acknowledged In-Universe in Act III after the deaths of Yellow and Blue Diamond. It’s a bit hard to ignore the fact that White Diamond obliterated two thirds of her own order, so it’s painfully obvious why she seeks to have Pink Diamond 2.0 and Chartreuse Diamond under her thumb.

Exposition Beam: Used twice only in Act III. In Chapter 4, Steven uses his empath abilities while touching Peridot’s gemstone to link their minds; not only to catch up on what he missed with her over the past six days, but to figure out what exactly White Diamond did to her mind so he’ll know how to fix her current problem. This ends up backfiring in the form of a traumatic side effect, unfortunately. In Chapter 5, Peridot does this for the rest of her friends, only this time using her gemstone as a Mental Picture Projector rather than directly linking minds with them.

Exposition Cut: As lengthy as GA is, there are a few times where this is put in place. Namely a speech from Peridot that starts at the end of Chapter 6 transitions to Peridot ending her speech at the opening of Chapter 7. Another exposition speech told by Peridot is cut like this in Chapter 5 of Act III.

#gem acension #gem ascension tropes #gem re:ascension #ga references #steven universe #su fanfic #su fanfiction #stevidot #peridot #su peridot #garnet #su garnet #amethyst #su amethyst #pearl #su pearl #lapis lazuli #su lapis #bismuth #su bismuth #connie maheswaran #greg universe #su lion #su pumpkin #white diamond #pink diamond #yellow diamond #blue diamond #yellow pearl #white pearl

[ask-beast-o-tonicko]

Session 57 (Season 5 Beginning)

He exhales.

"Well... here I come. Getting on the train. On the way to therapy...

Be good today."

#timeskip: a week later therapy time! #ask-bot-ko #beast-o-tonic au #beast-o-tonic ko #tales from the multiverse #therapy carpool #therapy carpool canon #therapy announcement stuff #session 57 begin #angst

[ask-mutant-ko-n-tko]

Session 56 (Season 4 Finale)

KO wraps up his text to Tamaris, informing her that he will order burritos for her once today's therapy will be over.

"I gotta get something for Tamaris after therapy is done, soooo... I'll be back, BYE!"

#timeskip: a week later therapy time! #ask-mutant-ko-n-tko #mutant ko #mutant au #mutated au #mutated ko au #tales from the multiverse #therapy carpool #therapy carpool canon #therapy announcement stuff #session 56 begin

[kazliin]

Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches Official Timeline

Some people have been asking for a full timeline of the events of the Rivals Series so I’ve decided to finally make one. This will be updated as the series progresses. Also, I am listing the events by calander years (January to December) but the actual skating seasons usually cross from the August of one year to the March of the next so keep that in mind as the fic tends to refer to the skating by season.

Start chapter 1

Year 1 –

Yuuri - 10 years old

Viktor – 13 years old

December:

·       Yuuri sees Viktor skate for the first time at the JGPF during Viktor’s junior debut

·       Viktor turns 14 on the 25th just after the JGPF

 Year 2 –

November:

·       Yuuri turns 11 and is gifted Vicchan and tickets to the JGPF of the next year

December:

·       Viktor turns 15

 Year 3 -

November:

·       Yuuri turns 12

December:

·       JGPF. Yuuri watches Viktor skate as he breaks the Junior Grand Prix world record and meets him for the first time. The rivalry begins

·       Viktor turns 16 a few weeks after the JGPF

End chapter 1

 Start chapter 2

Year 4 –

November:

·       Yuuri turns 13

December:

·       Viktor wins silver during his senior debut at the GPF

·       Viktor turns 17

End chapter 2

 Start chapter 3

Year 5 –

March:

·       Viktor wins gold at the World Championships

August - November:

·       Yuuri competes at his first Junior Grand Prix Series in the Trophee de France and the Rostelecom Cup

·       Yuuri turns 14

December:

·       Yuuri competes at his first JGPF where he fails in the SP due to nerves

·       Viktor sees Yuuri crying alone in a deserted room but doesn’t approach him

·       Yuuri watches Viktor skate as motivation, does better in his FS and places 4th overall

·       Viktor turns 18 after the GPF

 Year 6 –

March:

·       Yuuri wins bronze at the Junior World Championships

·       Viktor wins Gold at the World Championships

·       Viktor spots Yuuri walking along a corridor but Yuuri doesn’t stop to speak to him

End chapter 3

 Start chapter 4

Year 6 cont –

November:

·       Yuuri turns 15

December:

·       Yuuri tries and fails a quad toe loop at the JGPF and wins bronze

·       Viktor turns 19 after the GPF

 Year 7 –

March:

·       Yuuri skates to the theme of victory and wins gold at the Junior World Championships

·       Yuuri meets Celestino and Phichit

·       Yuuri runs into Viktor in a bathroom and their conversation doesn’t go well

·       Yuuri moves to Detroit

End chapter 4

Start chapter 5

Year 7 cont –

April – November:

·       Yuuri tells Phichit about Viktor

·       Yuuri turns 16

·       Yuuri competes in his first Grand Prix Series

December:

·       Yuuri competes in his first GPF

·       Yuuri has a panic attack between the SP and the FS

·       Yuuri places 5th at the GPF

·       Viktor turns 20 after the GPF

 Year 8 –

February:

·       Viktor wins gold at the Olympics

·       Yuuri begins to attend therapy for his anxiety

March:

·       Yuuri wins bronze at the World Championships, Viktor wins gold and Chris wins silver

·       Yuuri is caught glaring at Viktor on the podium on camera

End chapter 5

 Timeskip between chapters 5 and 6

Year 8 cont -

November:

·       Yuuri turns 17

December:

·       Yuuri wins bronze at the GPF

·       Viktor turns 21 after the GPF

 Year 9 –

February

·       Yuuri wins gold at the 4 continents

March

·       Yuuri wins silver at the WC, Viktor wins gold

End of timeskip

 Start chapter 6

Year 9 cont –

November:

·       Yuuri turns 18

December:

·       Yuuri wins silver at the GPF, Viktor wins Gold

·       Viktor turns 22 after the GPF

 Year 10 –

March:

·       Phichit wins bronze at the Junior WC

·       Yuuri catches Viktor looking at him and Phichit before his SP in the WC

·       Yuuri’s SP scores higher than Viktor’s

·       After the FS Viktor’s combined score beats Yuuri by one point

·       Yuuri has his first dream about Viktor

End chapter 6

 Start chapter 7

Year 10 cont -

August-November:

·       Phichit makes his senior debut

·       Yuuri wins gold in Skate America

·       Viktor has a leg injury during a failed quad lutz in Skate Canada which prevents him from skating for the rest of the season

·       Yuuri wins the Rostelecom cup and skates one of Viktor’s old routines in a deserted Russian rink. Viktor watches unnoticed

·       Yuuri turns 19

December:

·       Yuuri wins gold at the GPF

·       Viktor turns 23

 Year 11 -

February:

·       Yuuri wins gold at the 4C

March:

·       Yuuri wins gold at the WC

End chapter 7

 Start chapter 8

Year 11 cont

November:

·       Yuuri turns 20

December:

·       GPF. Viktor’s SP outscores Yuuri’s

·       Yuuri changes the jump components of his FS to try and up his technical score, pushing most of his jumps into the second half, adding in an extra quad and attempting a quad flip which he has never yet landed in competition. He fails to land the quad flip during his FS

·       Viktor skates and Yuuri leaves the arena, knowing who has won

·       Yuuri wins silver, Viktor wins gold

·       Yuuri falls into a depression after his loss but is motivated by Celestino

·       Viktor turns 24

 Year 12 –

February:

·       Yuuri wins gold at the Olympics, Viktor wins silver and Chris wins bronze

·       Yuuri speaks to Viktor on the podium

·       Viktor doesn’t show up immediately to the afterparty and Yuuri gets blackout drunk and forgets the rest of the night

March

·       Yuuri wins gold at the World Championships and Viktor wins Silver

·       Yuuri and Viktor dance together at the banquet

·       Yuuri and Viktor sleep together for the first time

·       Yuuri attemps to sneak out of Viktor’s hotel room but runs into Viktor who is bringing him a drink before he can leave. They part.

End chapter 8

 Start chapter 9

Year 12 cont –

November:

·       Yuuri turns 21

December:

·       GPF. Viktor wishes Yuuri good luck before his free skate

·       Viktor wins gold and Yuuri wins silver

·       Yuuri congratulates Viktor on his win

·       Yuuri almost comes to terms with losing but it is ruined comments on social media while sends him spiralling

·       Yuuri and Viktor sleep together for a second time but Yuuri doesn’t stay the night

·       Viktor turns 25 after the GPF

 Year 13 –

March:

·       Yuuri places first in the SP during the WC

·       Yuuri is injured during the warm up for the FS in a crash with Viktor

·       Yuuri insists on skates but comes 6th due to his injury

·       Viktor invites him out to dinner as an apology

·       Yuuri calls Viktor by his first name to his face for the first time

End chapter 9

 Chapter 10

Year 13 cont –

November:

·       Yuuri turns 22

December:

·       Yuuri wins gold in the GPF and Viktor wins silver

·       Yuuri and Viktor talk at the banquet and then sleep together for the third time

·       Yuuri tells Phichit about Viktor

·       Viktor turns 26 after the GPF

 Year 14 –

March:

·       Yuuri and Viktor wish each other luck via text before the WC

·       Yuuri comes in third in the SP behind Viktor and Chris

·       Chris tells Yuuri what happened after he got blackout drunk at the Olympics

·       Yuuri overhears Chris and Viktor talking but doesn’t understand the content of their conversation

·       Yuuri wins gold, Viktor wins silver

·       Viktor invites Yuuri up to his hotel room and Yuuri accepts. They sleep together for the fourth time and Yuuri stays the night

·       Yuuri half-wakes to Viktor singing to him and tracing patterns on his back

End chapter 10

 Start chapter 11

Year 14 cont -

November:

·       Viktor has qualified for the GPF. Yuuri is due to skate in the Rostelecom Cup as his first event and arrives in Russia early

·       His plane is delayed, hotel room given away and luggage lost which forces him to go and stay with Viktor

·       Yuuri meets Makkachin and they get along instantly

·       Yuuri and Viktor share the same bed but do not sleep together

·       Yuuri struggles to perfect his SP

·       Yuuri takes Makkachin for a walk and has dinner with Viktor

·       The next day Yuuri cooks dinner for Viktor as a thank you. He talks to Mari in Japan and asks her to make sure Vicchan is kept on a lead from now on to avoid him getting hit by any cars. Viktor and Yuuri spend the evening together with Viktor acting as a translator when they watch TV so that Yuuri can understand

·       Yuuri, Viktor and Makkachin go sightseeing around Moscow and Viktor takes a picture of Yuuri

·       Viktor lets Yuuri borrow one of his old costumes and Yuuri chooses the Eros outfit which he remembers Viktor skating in when they met for the first time

·       Yuuri realises he may have been wrong about what kind of person Viktor is now

·       Yuuri seduces Viktor with a version of the Eros routine and they sleep together for a fifth time. Yuuri spends the night.

·       Yuuri wins gold at the Rostelecom Cup the next day

·       Yuuri turns 23 a few weeks after leaving Russia

End of chapter 11

Start chapter 12

Year 14 cont -

December:

·  Yuuri and Viktor meet along with a couple of other skaters before the GPF for dinner

· Viktor beats Yuuri in the SP the next day

· Viktor and Yuuri sleep together that night and Viktor discovers Yuuri has never slept with anyone but him

· Viktor wins the competition the next day and Yuuri realises that he doesn’t mind like he used to

· Yuuri overhears other skaters talking about the fact that Viktor will retire soon.

· Yuuri and Viktor sleep together again and Yuuri finally reveals why he used to hate Viktor so much

· The GPF ends and Viktor turns 27 a few weeks later

Year 15 -

January:

· Yuuri goes to watch Viktor skate in the European Championships and gets jealous when he sees someone else flirting with Viktor

· Yuuri meets Yuri for the first time and is given an ultimatum

· Yuuri realises he is in love with Viktor

End chapter 12

Start chapter 13

Year 15 cont - 

January:

· Yuuri confesses everything to Phichit and decided to tell Viktor his feelings

March:

· Yuuri and Viktor skate together at the World Championships

· Yuuri almost confesses to Viktor but is put off by the public reaction and his own fears. They sleep together the night between the short program and the free skate

· Viktor catches Yuuri taking his anti-anxiety medicine the morning of the free skate and mistakes it for doping. Yakov catches them and swear he will tell the ISU that Yuuri is cheating and get him banned for life. Viktor tries to prevent it but is too late and Yuuri runs away.

· Yuuri is tested to prove his is not taking performance enhancing drugs and the news of the allegations and medications is leaked to the press although not through either Viktor or Yuuri’s sides. This further complicates matters

· Both Yuuri and Viktor perform terribly in the free skate due to emotional devestation and neither win medals 

· Yuuri leaves the stadium before Viktor can reach him and goes back to Hasetsu for the first time in 8 years

End chapter 13

Start chapter 14

Year 15 cont - 

March - July:

· Yuuri returns home to Hasetsu unsure of whether he will continue to skate or retire 

·  Yuuri has several important conversations about skating, Viktor and his future with various important people

Yuuri decides to return to Detroit to skate

July - Novemeber:

· Yuuri trains in Detroit to prepare for the upcoming season

·  Yuuri finally takes down the poster of Viktor

·  Yuuri competes in the Grand Prix Series at the Cup of China with Phichit and the Rostelecom Cup with Yurio

·  Yuuri turns 24

December:

·  Yuuri competes at the GPF in Barcelona and decides to try again with Viktor

·  Viktor skates to Stay Close To Me and Yuuri finally realises the meaning behind his programs and that they are directed at him

·  Yuuri skates to Yuri on Ice in response and declares his love of Viktor to the world, breaking the FS world record in the process 

·  Viktor and Yuuri kiss on live TV

·  They mutually agree to talk it out and begin their relationship together

End chapter 14

End Part 1 of the Rivals series

#until my feet bleed and my heart aches #yuri on ice #rivals series #umfb&mha official timeline

[ask-mutant-ko-n-tko]

Session 57 (Season 5 beginning)

"This last week felt kinda long. Cause of... y'know."

He takes a deep breath.

"Anyway. Be back."

#timeskip: a week later therapy time! #ask-mutant-ko-n-tko #mutant ko #mutant au #mutated au #mutated ko au #tales from the multiverse #therapy carpool #therapy carpool canon #therapy announcement stuff #session 57 begin #angst

[ask-mutant-ko-n-tko]

"Gonna be back here in 50 minutes... ish! Later!"

#ask-mutant-ko-n-tko #timeskip: a week later therapy time! #mutant ko #Mutant KO #mutated au #mutated ko au #ok ko alternate universe #tales from the mulitverse #therapy carpool #therapy carpool canon #therapy announcement stuff #session 39 begin

[ask-kimerako-therapycarpool]

Well, another day of unpredictable therapy is here... Guess it's time to get going.

#timeskip: a week later therapy time! #ask-kimerako #Kimera KO #kimera ko au #ok ko alternate universe #tales from the multiverse #therapy carpool #therapy carpool canon #therapy announcement stuff #session 39 begin