yaaay-propellerhat

[yaaay-propellerhat]

The door and windows are shut tight and Trumpet is huddled beneath the bed, hidden from prying eyes and flapping wings. He's good to spend the rest of his life here away from everyone.

Only something's bothering him. Trumpet wonders if Tio Bad knows that Asha is gone.

...Trumpet wonders if anybody knows that HE'S gone.

Not in a cynical way; it's just that if Tio Bad knows that HE'S gone, and Trumpet tells them that he knows that ASHA is gone, then Tio Bad will be able to figure out where Trumpet is.

Trumpet doesn't want anyone to know where he is.

So the question is what Trumpet wants more: to tell Tio Bad something that they might already know on the off chance that they DON'T know, or for nobody to know where he is.

The long moment he takes him to decide makes him feel like a selfish coward. Asha is his sister and her blood is on the floor. He opens his comm.

...

He quickly feels like even more of a selfish coward as his thumbs outright refuse to hit the keys.

#yaoiverse #roooll credits!!! #standalone don’t rb

[yaaay-propellerhat]

Trumpet warps to Asha’s house, still in the same daze he was in when he left. His body aches with the phantom warmth and yield of cuddling his sister, needing to make it real more than anything.

The door is open. He walks into the house, croaking “Asha-”

Blood. Blood and claw marks on the floor.

Trumpet is far too smart of a child for him to not immediately understand all of the ramifications of what’s happened, and what could have happened, and what he doesn’t know and what the worst could be and what the best could be and ultimately the only things that are true.

It’s just a matter of his emotions catching up.

He falls to his knees, first. Mentally, the information is still ticking and ticking. Two plus two equals four no matter which way he adds it up. And then strange, shuddering breaths start to leak out through his nose. And then his mouth opens and the breaths start to come with noises and it’s- it’s probably crying, yeah?

Only it’s not. Trumpet is LAUGHING.

Everything all bubbles up in his lungs like carbonation, like steam shoved from an overworked engine. It’s not funny. It’s so not funny that it’s the funniest thing in the world. Of course this would happen. Of course this would happen to him. Why not? He has nothing left for this, nothing at all, nothing, nothing. He was already so far down. He didn’t know there was further to fall. So he laughs.

And then his laughs get higher and longer until he’s just shrieking, over and over, and then the tears come, so he also sobbing and then he doesn’t know if he’s laughing or screaming or sobbing as he kneels on the ground. Whatever it is, his lungs heave it out of his mouth like he’s throwing up, and whatever’s inside of him gets so big and overwhelming that he reaches up with both hands towards his elbows and digs in and scrapes long, deep, triplet gouges into his forearms and lets the rake and the sting and the throb alleviate the pressure in his chest. Only then his own blood is on the floor and there’s so much of it and there’s a profound feeling of loss and despite Asha’s love of color the floor suddenly looks Federation-white and he’s lost his sister and his shoulder hurts and then there’s terror and horror so deep inside of him that it pounds upwards like a piston into his stomach and his vision blurs…

…

…

…

Eventually he starts to exist again.

There’s new blood spatters on the floor, along with vomit. It trails to the corner of the room he finds himself huddled in, staring ahead with dead eyes. Blood still drips from his arms, lazily, like syrup.

Trumpet sniffles and sighs. With shaking hands, he pulls a health potion from his bag. He downs it and lets the cloying taste of melon and gold and wart slide down his throat. The wounds close up. The roiling blankness inside of him doesn’t go away.

Puppet-like, empty like a doll, he gets up. There’s some cleaning supplies in the corner. He cleans up his own blood and sick, moving achingly slow, careful to avoid the dark brown stains of what he knows to be Asha’s. Hers. Her.

Her scent is still everywhere. Trumpet grabs a blanket out from under the bed and smells it. Then, like he’s drinking water, he hugs it right and breathes it in deeply and feels tears start to drip down his cheeks again.

He wraps himself up tight in Asha’s blanket by one of her bloodstains and lets his mind drift away again, eyes open and blank. His finger traces the pattern of the spatter on the floor; runs lazily through the gouges she’s left.

Nothing Trumpet’s body is doing makes sense to him anymore. All he feels is a vague helplessness as it starts to cry again.

#yaoiverse #straightverse #cw child distress #roooll credits!!! #❤️❤️❤️!!!

[yaaay-propellerhat]

Where are you going?

Asha

None of your busi

What are you, a cop?

[This ask has been deleted]

#yaoiverse #🥳🥳🥳💣 #🧨💥💥💥🎉

[yaaay-propellerhat]

Are you really running away?

I need

I don't

I'm not

[This ask has been deleted]

#🧨💥💥💥🎉 #🥳🥳🥳💣 #yaoiverse

[yaaay-propellerhat]

Trumpet finds the note from Maximus and doesn't know how to feel.

Ice lines his stomach and twinges like he has to vomit, but that's not a feeling he recognizes.

His face starts to get numb and to prickle a little bit, but that's not a feeling he recognizes.

His fingers feel thick and clunky and the cold needles creep down his wings, but that's not a feeling he recognizes either.

He's feeling something, but none of the words that he could use to describe it fit the situation, and so he doesn't know what he's feeling, or if it's different from how he should be feeling, or anything like that.

All he knows is what he wants to do,

Moving slowly through the house, he looks for things that are his. The backpack from Pomme and its contents. The cat plushie.

And that's...it, he realizes. The bed and the crayons and paper are Maximus's. The extendo arm is from Pierre, and so is the drawing desk that makes his neck and shoulders and back hurt less later. They're not his, so he can't take them, but he also can't really see anybody else putting them to use, so he puts them all with each other, arranging them into a neat little corner.

He should leave a note, too. He doesn't want to. He wants to be gone.

He hopes the neatness of the pile says "thank you" as he steps out of the house and warps away.

#standalone don’t rb #yaoiverse #roooll credits!!!

[yaaay-propellerhat]

Trumpet obeys. There's not much else to be done. This from Dan is new.

Still, it's- empty.

He just feels empty.

Trumpet finds Dan replacing the scorched wood of the living room floor and stands there awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs.

“…Hey.”

[@yaaay-propellerhat]

Dan jolts for a second before looking over at Trumpet. A hand over his chest. "Nether, you scared me." He laughs softly.

"Do you need anything or do you just- want to watch?" He pulls his hands away from a half broken piece of wood.

#roooll credits!!! #dan.

[yaaay-propellerhat]

Trumpet wordlessly enters the room and crawls up onto the bed, sitting next to Maximus with his back against the headboard. He starts to pick at his claws, not looking at her.

"Tio Bad told me what's wrong with you," he says.

[@yaaay-propellerhat]

Maxo didn't move, just peered at him out of the corner of her eye. She should have figured that he'd be told soon. It still made her feel sick to her stomach.

"Ah. I'm... I'm sorry."

#roooll credits!!! #maxo.

[yaaay-propellerhat]

After breaking the news about Maximus, Tío Bad asks if Trumpet is okay. Trumpet insists that he is. They ask if he wants to talk about it more. He says that he doesn’t. They say that they’re always available before warping away.

Trumpet doesn’t know what to feel.

#yaoiverse #roooll credits!!! #standalone don’t rb

[yaaay-propellerhat]

Hey kid do you want a hug

Like. In general?

#🧨💥💥💥🎉 #🥳🥳🥳💣

[yaaay-propellerhat]

fuck. if you dont know then nevermind

I think you should kill yourself maybe

#🧨💥💥💥🎉 #🥳🥳🥳💣

[yaaay-propellerhat]

come back what did you mean by this

sorry for your loss 😔 again. its rough out here for you kiddo

huh? what are you talking about

#🧨💥💥💥🎉

[yaaay-propellerhat]

sorry for your loss 😔 again. its rough out here for you kiddo

huh? what are you talking about

#🥳🥳🥳💣 #🧨💥💥💥🎉

[yaaay-propellerhat]

Trumpet wakes up in the windmill again.

Standard fare. It’s been a while since he’s had one of these, but they do crop up every now and again. He just has to sit through the emotions until he can wake himself up, usually.

Only it’s different this time. There’s light coming through the windows. He can hear birds chirping outside. And the room he’s in is- different. The walls are covered in wild colors. There’s furniture. A music player. A chest. Pots with flowers line every windowsill. And…the arms of the windmill jingle. He glances out the window. Somebody’s tied chimes to the slowly-spinning blades.

He opens the chest. Stacks of bombs and flowers greet him, along with seagrass. …He grabs a stack. That’s what turtles eat. What-

Something nudges into his ankle. There’s a turtle crawling slowly around on the floor. It must’ve been under the bed.

Trumpet feeds it some seagrass.

This is weird. Trumpet keeps digging and finds more stuff. “Boy” clothes. “Girl” clothes. Hair ties and a brush. Two pairs of round sunglasses, like Maximus wears.

…What the fuck is going on?

Outside, music starts. Trumpet’s ear twitches. It’s dim, but the composition style is…familiar.

Slowly, a pit growing in his stomach, he climbs down the ladder and peeks outside.

The first thing he sees is the porch to the house. Maximus, Pierre, and Dan are all sitting on the steps, laughing together.

Trumpet blinks, taken aback. He’d forgotten what his original parents looked like when they smiled. And Maximus’s hands are normal as he squeezes Dan’s. Pierre says something to Dan, who laughs. Maximus, faux offended, reaches over and playfully swats him.

Trumpet blinks. His chest aches, like somebody’s pushing their fist into his throat from the inside up.

Maximus looks somewhere off the porch and calls something, loud enough for Trumpet to hear. “Cuidado, mija!”

Trumpet’s eyebrows arch. He follows Maximus’s gaze.

There’s a girl. She’s dancing to a song that sounds like it was written by Maximus. She’s short and thick, a little gordita, like he used to be. She has blue and black hair in a messy bun. She’s wearing an orange sundress. She’s holding a bomb.

She’s wearing a propeller hat.

She turns back to the porch, revealing dark, round sunglasses, and makes some kind of exasperated motion at Maximus before flinging the bomb down. It explodes when the beat drops.

Trumpet realizes that his mouth is hanging open slightly. Carefully, he glances at the porch, then starts to creep closer to the girl.

There’s some structures here he doesn’t recognize. A large, fenced in pond where turtles swim and play on the shore, all with names. A little pen where he can hear spiders hissing. Flowers everywhere. And little machines that do random shit- spin or make noise or pump water in a loop.

Trumpet feels eyes on him and turns back to the girl. Round, black sunglasses stare back at him like compound eyes.

He freezes.

The girl glances back at the porch. Seeing her parents distracted, she runs over to Trumpet and pulls him behind the wall to the spider enclosure.

They scrutinize each other for a bit. Trumpet feels like his heart has stopped. She didn’t stay that short, now that he’s seeing her up close - she’s actually a little bit taller than him.

Her hands start to move. She’s- talking with her hands. A hand language. Trumpet’s never seen anything like it, but somehow, in the way you know things in a dream, he can tell what she’s saying.

“Who are you?”

She doesn’t even recognize him. Even though he knows who she is. It hits him like a slap in the face. His eyes well up with tears.

The girl’s brows furrow. “Who are you?” she repeats. “What are you doing at my house?”

Trumpet’s mouth feels clunky. He licks his lips, rasps, then asks, “Trump?”

The girl’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “NO. That’s my OLD name. My new name is Best.”

“…Best,” Trumpet repeats numbly.

The girl nods. “TheBest. Best for short.” She squints at him. “Now what’s YOUR name?”

Trumpet still doesn’t answer. He blinks back tears and opens his mouth again.

“Y-you’re a girl?”

“No,” she replies. “Not all the way, right now. Only sometimes. And sometimes I’m not a girl at all. It’s-”

She shakes her head, waving her hands as if to scrub what she’s said out of the air.

“Who ARE you?” she signs in harsh, dramatic motions.

Trumpet stares at her.

Best stares back at him.

Trumpet licks his lips and opens his mouth.“Nobody,” he croaks. “I’m nobody at all.”

His breath hitches and he starts to cry, slumping to the ground.

Best crouches beside him, her hands flying furiously. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? What happened to your shoulder? Do you need food? My parents can help you, or my big brother-“

Trumpet closes his eyes to block out her words, keening high in his throat.

“Best? Où êtes-vous allé?” Pierre’s voice calls from the porch. Best’s feet rustle over grass as she pokes back out to respond.

Trumpet rocks back and forth, whimpering to himself. He feels hands settle on his shoulders and Best’s body slot against him, squeezing him gently around the shoulders.

He gasps, opening his eyes again.

The world is silent and dark. He’s on his bed in the living room, guarding the door. His eyes throb. His shoulder throbs.

Trumpet feels his face. He can feel the exact shape of his bones. There’s nothing soft about him anymore. He wonders if his cheeks even dimple when he smiles anymore.

He covers it all with his hands and starts to sob, the only noise in the dark.

#standalone don’t rb #yaoiverse

[yaaay-propellerhat]

okay

👍

[PRIVATE MESSAGE]

Hey Trumpet it's Chayanne. I'm trying to find the new kids's parents but I don't know what they look like or where they are or who they are and you've got the picture memory and read the files so what can you tell me?

the new what???

#roooll credits!!! #yaoiverse #🛟🛟🛟!!!

[yaaay-propellerhat]

[Excerpts from Trumpet's Notes App]

Asha and Leo and Pomme are all six and sisters but it's way different??? thing to think about more

I miss when it was Bobby and Flippa and Tilin and me

If I went back to live in the Federation again would I still like it or would it suck

Pierre treats me like nothing bad ever happened to me I think

My animal crossing villagers from favorite to least favorite: 10...

I think Maximus is going to die and I don't know why it makes me so mad

I know why Chayanne is like that now I love Asha a lot

Everything is normal and fine mostly but when I lie down at night I feel like I'm about to break into a million tiny pieces and I cry until I fall asleep and then all my dreams fucking suck and I think maybe it's gonna be like that forever

#ooc: this isn't visible to the dash #ooc: just a peek into his dark and twisted psyche #yaoiverse

[yaaay-propellerhat]

Yeah we do

okay.

is it like really bad every single night for you too?

#nobody look #🧨💥💥💥🎉

[yaaay-propellerhat]

does anybody else ever feel like they're made of paper sometimes

#nobody look #🧨💥💥💥🎉