#the player characters are about the size of one arm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlightspencie · 5 months

Text

tenderly, tragically

Description: Silly, lifelong best-friendship leads to a lot of meaningless teasing. Though, sometimes teasing comes from a place of truth. It’s just that sometimes, those getting teased are the last to know why.

Pairing: Best friend!James Potter x Reader

Warnings: fluff, some angst, smut 18+ (p in v, praise kink, whiny james, size kink, first time for both), drinking, its really idiots to lovers

Word Count: 7.8k (just fluff): 9.4k (smut)

A/N: smut is at the end, and there’s a warning before it starts since it’s kind of like an alternate ending/extra bit. if you JUST want fluff, it ends at a good point for that before the smut starts :) ALSO: as with all of my marauders fics, characters are aged up (19-20)

fic playlist

“Jamie,” I squeal a laugh, chasing after him.

He laughs, continuing to out-run me. The bastard.

“Not my fault you’re slow,” he calls back. “Catch up, love, or you’ll get caught.”

I run harder, jumping on his back when I get close enough. We both knew he’d slowed down to let me get closer, but neither of us bothered to mention it. He laughed, holding onto my legs as they wrapped around his waist, slowing until he was walking.

“You’re going to get us caught, you know that?”

I snort a laugh. “Please. There wasn’t even anybody there.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, finally dropping me from his back, and instead slinging an arm around my shoulders.

“They could have, though.”

“But they didn’t,” I say pointedly. “Besides, Remus, Peter, and Sirius are still actually in the Slytherin dorms. Lousy look-outs we are because of you.”

He chuckles, walking us towards the stairs.

“They’ll be fine,” he shrugs with a cocky smirk. “Besides, I doubt even most of the Slytherins would object to a little prank on Snivellus.”

I hum, nodding a little. “I guess. Still. You’re a bad friend.”

“You ran too,” he accused, his brow furrowing. “Don’t go and pin all this on me.”

“You told me to run!”

“You didn’t have to listen!”

I scoff, shaking my head. He gives me an irritated look, but pulls me a little closer under his arm. We get into the common room, and without even asking, he starts ushering me to their dorm room.

“Why?” I ask, knowing he knows what I’m asking.

“Sue me for wanting to spend some time with my life-long friend,” he says, quirking a brow.

I push him away from me, but he doesn’t really let me get far. He opens his door, pushing me in first. I immediately flop onto his bed face-first.

“Not complaining now, are you?” he asks, laying next to me.

“Not my fault your bed is so comfy,” I say, my voice muffled by the mattress.

I feel the mattress dip, and look up to see him also turned on his stomach, right next to me.

“If you really wanted to get me alone this bad you could’ve asked,” I say with a wink.

He rolls his eyes, but a smile gives him away.

“Please. I know you’re secretly hoping for it, but we both know that’s never going to happen.”

“Me?” I laugh. “As if. What would I do with a quidditch player?”

He scoffs, an offended look on his face.

“I’ll have you know that I am very desirable, and half of that has to do with the fact I’m the seeker, thank you.”

I roll my eyes. “Uh huh. And what’s the other half?”

“You seen this face?” he asks, a cocky smirk on his lips.

“Unfortunately I have.”

“You’re mean,” he says, a laugh breaking up his attempt to be offended.

He pushes me a bit, but I hardly budge. I laugh at his attempt, but apparently that was the wrong thing to do. He perks up, trying harder to fully push me off the bed, now.

“Hey!” I say in protest, fighting back against him.

He laughs, both of us practically fighting as he keeps trying to push me off. I see an opportunity a moment later and take it: I grab onto one of his arms with both of mine.

“Ha!” I say loudly. “Can’t push me off now unless you also fall off.”

He pauses, then an evil smirk comes onto his face. My face drops as I realize what he’s about to do. He scoots over, dropping both of us onto the ground. I squeal as we fall, and I end up taking the brunt of the fall as he lands on top of me.

“You should never threaten me with a good time. You know I can’t resist,” he says, not bothering to alleviate the pressure of his body pinning me down.

I groan. “You suck. I didn’t think you’d actually push both of us off just to get me.”

“Then you don’t know me very well,” he replies with a quirked brow.

“Please. I know you better than anyone and you know it.”

He opens his mouth to snark back at me, but the door opens before he gets a chance.

“You two are the worst,” Sirius says, clearly out of breath. Then, he scoffs as more footsteps follow behind him. “And look at this! They ran off on us to… Canoodle on the floor.”

I furrow my brow, pulling a face as I try to see him around James.

“Canoodle?” I repeat in disgust.

James finally starts getting off of me, kneeling on the ground next to me as I start pulling myself up. Remus and Peter give us a look.

“We’re not… canoodling, and you can blame Prongs for us ditching. He’s the one who took off running and told me I had to, too.”

Remus quirks a brow at that as Sirius goes to sit on his bed.

“You didn’t have to listen to him,” Peter pipes up.

“That’s what I told her,” James says, giving me a self-satisfied look.

I make a sour face at him, pushing his arm a little. He pushes me back, and I straighten up. Though, Remus must notice that look on me.

“Don’t you two start up again,” he says, pointedly looking between us. “If I have to watch you two flirt any more I might throw up.”

“We’re not flirting,” James grumbles. “She’s just fun to mess with.”

“Mm. And you’re just easy to win a fight against,” I add.

He looks at me quickly. “You didn’t win the last one.”

“Because you pushed us both off the bed!” I exclaim.

“Oh, shut it, you two,” Sirius says, his arm draped over his face. “We’ve been back for three days and you’re already acting up.”

I snort a laugh at Sirius’s annoyance, climbing back onto James’s bed. I sigh with my face in the pillows, feeling him climb over me to get to the other side a second later.

“You got us in trouble,” he whispers.

“Your fault, not mine,” I reply.

“You’re the one who insulted my perfect face.”

“You’re the one who pushed me first,” I argue back.

“Oi!” Sirius calls out again, leaving us both laughing.

Our first few weeks of school go off without a hitch. The boys continue pulling their little pranks, occasionally dragging me along with them. I settle into my space this year, glad to still have Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas as my roommates. We always tended to get along quite well.

I start reading a new book one night, absolutely enraptured with the story, probably even more so considering it’s helping me to avoid the homework that I really should be doing. I get though the first couple chapters before I notice Lily staring at me.

“What is it, Lils?”

“Can I tell you something?” Lily asks suddenly.

She looks around the room, seemingly to make sure the other girls are really gone for whatever she’s about to say.

I look at her over my book. “Sure.”

“Promise not to tell anyone?”

I nod. “Promise.”

She sighs, sitting up a little straighter. “I think I have a thing for someone… Well, for James.”

My eyes widen. “Really? You wanted nothing to do with him a little while ago.”

“I know. I just… I don’t know. Maybe I’m just bored or something, but I’ve been thinking about telling him.”

I nod. “Yeah. You should.”

“Really?” she asks, surprised.

“Why not?”

She smiles to herself. “Yeah. Why not? Do you think he’ll say it back.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe? He did have a crush on you before.”

She hums to herself. I laugh a little, shaking my head.

“I think I’ll do it tomorrow. Better to do it sooner than later, yeah?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I shrug noncommittally. I really just wanted to get back to my book.

“You don’t even care,” she groans after a moment.

“This is a really good book, Lils,” I laugh.

“Fine. I’ll stop bothering you.”

“Thanks,” I smirk to myself.

She scoffs again, though I know she isn’t really offended. I wish her good luck as we head off to our classes that day, knowing she was planning on telling James sometime in the morning.

I end up finding him later, though I try not to press for answers the second I find him. We sit on the grass in the late afternoon, watching some first years play a little quidditch match for fun. It’s uncharacteristically warm outside, and the sun shines down on us. After half an hour of watching the kids play, I glance at James.

“I wanna show you something,” I say suddenly, standing.

James looks up at me in confusion. “I’d prefer not to move.”

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest.

“It’s a nice day. Sunny and no clouds. Please, just follow me?” I ask, almost whining. “Promise you’ll like it.”

He leans back on his hands. “How do you know?”

“Because I found a secret place in the woods, and you’ll be the first person besides me to see it,” I offer.

He quirks a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now get up.”

He grumbles to himself as he gets up, following me as we walk towards the woods. I start leading him through the trees towards the destination I had in mind.

“What were you even doing in here? It’s dangerous,” he says quietly.

“I was fine. Just had a long day and wanted to explore. It was in the daytime anyway,” I say matter-of-factly.

He hums to himself, clearly dissatisfied that I went out here by myself. But as I finally lead him to our destination, his annoyance wears off.

“Whoa,” he says, his eyes a little wide.

I smile. “See? Told you it would be worth your while.”

He looks on at the small clearing. There’s a little pond with clear water, the space in the trees allowing some sunlight to reflect on the water. It looks peaceful at least, and nearly-heavenly at best. I look at him expectantly.

“How’d you find this?” he asks, squatting by the water. He dips his hand it. “Whoa. It’s warm.”

I nod, still standing. “I found it when I was exploring, like I said. A few weeks ago. I charmed the water to stay warm, so I’ve been out here two or three times to swim. Thought I’d show you before it gets too cold.”

He smiles, standing up. “You want to go swimming? You didn’t bring any—”

His eyes widen as he finally looks at me. At this point, I’ve already started taking off my robes and my shirt.

“What?” I ask, brows furrowed. “You act like you’ve never been around me getting dressed. We’ve been friends since we were like six years old. Now, hurry up. Faster you get undressed, the faster we get to swim.”

He rolls his eyes at me, begrudgingly taking off his clothes, even though part of him still looks excited that I’d found such a nice little place.

I start wading in once I’m down to my underwear, the water feeling nice and warm in contrast to the slightly-cool air. I hear him come in after me in a moment, and turn to watch him.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“Can’t believe you were hiding this from me,” he says, hiding a smirk.

“Oh, please,” I reply, floating on my back in the water. “You’re lucky I showed you at all. Nobody else knows about this. You should feel honored.”

I hear him hum and splash around a little, though my eyes are closed. I bask in the warmth of the sunlight on my face.

“Did Lils talk to you today?” I ask after a few minutes of silence.

“Yeah.”

I upright myself, looking at him as he aimlessly walks around in the water.

“And?”

He glances at me, giving a shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” I press, furrowing my brow. “What’s that supposed to mean? What did you guys talk about?”

“I have a feeling you already know,” he snorts a laugh.

I roll my eyes, wading closer to him. “So she told you?”

“Yep.”

“Well, what happened? What did you say?”

He sighs dramatically. “Does it matter?”

I splash him a little. “I’m gonna hear about it no matter what. She’s my roommate. Just wanted to know from you before I see Lily later.”

“Told her I wasn’t interested,” he says quietly, splashing me back a little.

I pause. “Why? You always had a massive crush on her.”

“Not in like a year,” he says.

“So you just rejected her?”

“I didn’t reject her,” he furrows his brows, looking away from me. “She told me she liked me, and I just told her I wasn’t into her like that. She didn’t ask me a question, so it wasn’t a rejection. Just being honest.”

I groan. “Jamie, she’s going to kill me. I’m the one who encouraged her to tell you.”

His eyes widened. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“I thought you liked her!”

He pauses for a moment, then splashes me again, this time fully soaking me. I scoff a laugh, in shock as the water hits me. I glare at him, then splash him back just as hard. He starts going on the attack, practically throwing the water at me repeatedly.

“You absolute tosser,” I say, continuing to splash back, though I can’t help but laugh.

I start backing up as we both continue, now laughing and barely able to see with how rapid-fire we’re going. Eventually, I turn and start running for the shore as much as I can while being chest-deep in water. I squeal as I hear him closing in on me.

“No, no, no,” I laugh, getting closer and closer to safety.

“Should’ve thought about trying to run a little harder, love,” James says back, still giggling to himself.

He catches up to me when the water is finally below my hips, and grabs around the waist, pulling both of us backwards. The water goes over our heads for a moment, and I gasp out a laugh as we emerge again. He sits us up in the pond.

I turn in his arms, smacking him lightly on the chest. “You’re awful!”

“You love me,” he smiles brightly, still sitting on the ground in the shallow water. He pulls me in a little closer. “You’re just mad that I won.”

“Still can’t believe you said you didn’t like her,” I say, brushing some of his wet curls away from his eyes.

“Not gonna lie to the girl,” he shrugs, swatting away my hand.

“Still. I thought for sure you’d be excited.”

“Hm. I don’t know. Maybe a couple years ago, but not anymore.”

“At this point I’m convinced you’re driving girls away on purpose. When was the last time you dated someone?” I laugh.

He looks at me, mockingly offended. “Excuse me?”

“What?” I exclaim, still laughing. “Last girl I remember seeing you with was some Ravenclaw a few quidditch wins ago, and even then, you were just sucking face because you were drunk.”

He finally pushes me away from him, trying to hide a smile. I chuckle, gaining my bearings, and finally landing comfortably on my knees in the water a foot away from him.

“You wouldn’t be so offended if I were wrong,” I tease.

“Yeah? And when’s the last time you dated somebody?”

I scoff. “You scare off every boy who tries to ask me out.”

“Cause they’re all ridiculous,” he states, making a face. “Are you seriously telling me you wanted to go out with that Johnny kid from Hufflepuff?”

I smirk. “Touché. But still, it’s not my fault I’m not dating anyone. You, on the other hand…”

“What’s that supposed to me?” he quirks a brow.

“You’ve got all kinds of girls chasing after you. What’s your excuse?”

He pauses for a moment, then smirks. “Who else would waste all their time with you if I were too busy with some girl? You’d be all alone. I’m doing you a service by staying single.”

“Please. You and that ego, I swear,” I shake my head. “I have plenty of friends outside of you.”

“I’m the best one, though,” he says, a brow raised with a cocky smile.

I make a face, then splash him once more for good measure.

“That’s it,” he mumbles, tackling me.

I yell a little with a laugh as his arm wraps around my back and drops me onto the bank where the water was scarce. I keep my head propped up as much as I can, though the rest of me is still covered in a little bit of water. It doesn’t help that James is pressing me into the ground.

“Admit it. I am the single greatest person you’ve ever met.”

I laugh again. “In your dreams.”

“Not letting you up until you admit it.”

“Guess we’re stuck here forever, then,” I argue back.

“Guess so,” he says plainly, dropping his full weight on me. I groan, my breath getting squeezed from me. “Best to make myself comfortable, then.”

“You’re so heavy,” I whine.

He chuckles, just quietly observing me for a moment. I tilt my head in question as he doesn’t snark back. He swallows, a small smile still on his face, but a little bit of color now in his cheeks. My eyes widen a little bit.

“Jamie—”

He doesn’t give me a chance to get anything else out, his lips pressing to mine softly. I freeze, in shock at the sudden change of circumstance. My best friend is kissing me. He pulls away when he realizes I wasn’t kissing him back, his cheeks taking on a deeper shade.

“I’m sorry, I don’t…” he shakes his head, looking at me with his lips still parted. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

He gets off of me quickly, getting out of the pond and back to where we left our clothes. He casts a drying spell on himself and starts getting dressed. Meanwhile, I’m still in the water, feeling like I’m stuck. I swallow with a dry throat, turning to see him starting to pull on his pants. I finally get up, quickly moving towards him.

“Jamie—“

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that,” he shakes his head, not looking at me.

I let out a frustrated groan. “We have to talk about that, James.”

“Not right now. Just,” he sighs, looking at me quickly. He takes out his wand again, casting that same drying spell on me. “Get dressed. We don’t want to miss dinner.”

I stare at him for a moment as he continues putting his clothes on, then finally move to get mine on. We finish getting dressed in an uncomfortable silence, that kiss playing on repeat in my mind. Why would he do that?

I look at him when I’m done to see him staring at his shoes, his hands shoved in his pockets. I walk nearer to him, though he takes half a step back when he notices. I furrow my brow.

“Don’t start that.”

“Start what?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Pulling away from me,” I say, grabbing his arm and tugging him closer to me. “I don’t know what just happened, but I’m not going to lose you as a friend all because you—”

“I’m not pulling away from you,” he rolls his eyes. “I just— I don’t want to… I’m embarrassed. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

He scoffs. “Right, because there’s nothing embarrassing about trying to kiss your best friend while she looks at you like you’re crazy.”

I sigh. “I just didn’t know what was happening. You’ve never done anything like that before.”

He looks away, chewing at his lip. “Can we just forget about it? I really don’t… I didn’t mean to.”

I fall quiet for a minute, trying to gather my thoughts, but they’re all seeming to escape me. I let go of his arm, taking in a deep breath.

“You know I love you, right?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah. I know.”

“Okay. Yeah, we can forget about it,” I nod. “You want to go get dinner, then? I heard a rumor they’ll have those apple tarts you like.”

He looks at me, smiling a little bit. “Yeah?”

I nod again, smiling back. “Would I lie?”

He chuckles a little, nodding towards the way we came into the woods. I start leading the way back out until we see the castle again. He catches up to me at that point.

“Sorry again,” he says quietly.

“About what?” I ask, raising a brow. “All I remember is us swimming around. Unless you’re apologizing for tackling me in the pond, in which case, you’re forgiven only if you get me some chocolate frogs next time we’re in Hogsmeade.”

He smiles a little. “Yeah. Promise I will.”

“Good,” I say, knocking into his shoulder a little.

He nudges me back. Of course. I go a little harder the next time I knock into him, until we’re both practically pushing one another over as we head towards the castle. He gives me a particularly hard shove, barely catching me by the arm before I actually fall to the ground. We’re out of breath from laughing when we finally get to the castle, feeling wonderfully back to normal by the time we reach the Great Hall.

We walk up to the marauders, taking our usual seat across from the three boys.

“Hey,” I greet.

“Where were you two for the past hour?” Sirius asks with a quirked brow.

I snort a laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, considering we saw you wander off into the forest,” he says, leaning forward on his arms with a smirk.

I roll my eyes. “None of your business.”

“Always so secretive,” Remus says, stabbing a few potatoes on his fork before looking between us.

I glance at James who laughs as soon as we make eye contact. Though, I also catch another pair of eyes when I turn towards him, and wince a little. Lily looks at me with her brows furrowed from a little ways down the table. I shrug at her, unsure why she looks upset with me. She rolls her eyes, going back to her conversation with Dorcas. I sigh.

“Great. Now Lily’s mad at me because you had to go and turn her down,” I say to James.

Peter laughs. “He turned her down?”

“When did this happen?” Remus asks, looking much more curious now.

“You need to learn how to shut it,” James says to me, his voice a little high as he shakes his head.

“They would’ve found out anyways,” I say, barely feeling sorry at all.

I hold back from chuckling as James is pelted with questions from the boys, focusing more on my food and trying to ignore the occasional sour glance I get from Lily.

Though, I couldn’t escape her forever.

I walked into my room after a night of sitting around with the boys and Marlene in the common room. I thought I would be going to bed and falling asleep, but clearly it was wishful thinking. Lily stared at me from her bed as Marlene and I shut the door behind us.

I raised a brow. “Hi?”

Marlene looked between us, excusing herself to take a shower. The traitor.

“What the hell?” Lily said, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, what the hell? Why have you been giving me sour looks all day?”

She scoffed. “You told me to tell him, and you know what he did? Oh. Wait, of course you know. Because of course he already told you. Because of course—”

“Oh my god, Lily,” I roll my eyes, going to sit on my bed next to hers. “I’m sorry that I was wrong about how he’d react, but I had no clue. I thought he still had a thing for you.”

She huffs a sigh. “I should’ve known you were setting me up. What, do you like to see me embarrassed?”

“If I did, I would’ve gone along to watch it happen,” I say, annoyed at her attitude. “Sorry I was wrong, but I didn’t know. And you said you wanted to tell him, anyways.”

“You don’t seem to be that sorry considering you were back to hanging around him again all day.”

“He’s my best friend, Lily. I’m not going to ditch him because he didn’t have feelings for you,” I say, shaking my head.

She stands up suddenly. “Well, maybe you should. Maybe if you weren’t like… In love with him, you’d be a better friend to me.”

I stare at her in annoyance. “You need to get a grip. I wouldn’t have encouraged you to try telling him if I was ‘in love’ with him. We’re friends. You’re being insane.”

“Well, clearly he at least has feelings for you!”

I furrow my brow. “Excuse me?”

“Why else would he reject me?”

I laugh against my better judgement. “Are you serious? One boy doesn’t like you, so it just has to be because he’s in love with someone else? Lily, I love you, but that is the most egotistical thing you’ve ever said.”

“But you’re not denying it.”

“James isn’t in love with me. Have you considered that he just doesn’t like you anymore? It happens. People move on,” I say, sighing. “Just… Go to bed, Lily. This is a ridiculous and pointless argument.”

I lay back on my bed, closing my eyes while I wait to get into the bathroom. I hear Lily mutter something under her breath, but choose to ignore it. The more she got angry with me, the less I cared that she got her feelings hurt. I didn’t want to be unsympathetic, but it was getting hard to be concerned when I was blamed for a boy not liking her. Obviously James didn’t like me.

Obviously.

I think.

He did kiss me.

I open my eyes, staring at the ceiling for a moment. James didn’t like me, did he? He’d never shown interest in me before. That kiss probably just happened because he was confused. He wanted to forget about it, anyways, so clearly that had to mean he didn’t mean it. And I didn’t feel that way about him anyways, so it didn’t matter.

Except, I did feel my heart pound a little differently when he looked at me before the kiss.

I didn’t hate the way his lips felt.

Seeing him smile at me on the walk back did give me a few butterflies.

But, no. That’s nothing. He’s my best friend, I wouldn’t suddenly start feeling that way about him. I couldn’t. It’d be ridiculous.

It’s not like I’d spend the rest of the night thinking about him. Except that I did. A lot.

I woke up the next morning, feeling like I was going insane. I’d never felt that way about him before. Of course, I always though he was attractive. How could anybody look at him and not think he was gorgeous? But there was never anything more besides friendship. So why could I not stop thinking about him?

My eyes feel heavy as I sit in my last class of the day, James trying repeatedly to mess with me throughout the class. With five minutes left, he leans in closer. Since when did he start smelling so good?

“Hey,” he says quietly, drawing my attention. “What’s wrong? You’re not getting mad at me.”

“Just tired, Jamie,” I shrug, staring at the notes on the chalkboard that I haven’t copied down.

“That’s a lie. I can tell.”

I sigh. “Have you ever… Has anyone ever told you something about yourself that you thought wasn’t true, and then… And then you realize they might be right?”

He furrows his brows. “How do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Like, let’s say someone tells you that you like strawberries, when you’ve never liked strawberries. But then you think about every time you’ve had a strawberry, and you realize that you actually really did like strawberries. A lot more than you thought you did. Like… you realize strawberries are your favorite fruit.”

He stares with a confused look, tilting his head. He reaches up, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead.

“Are you feeling alright?”

I lean away from him, rolling my eyes. “Cut it out.”

He smiles, nudging me slightly. “Can’t say I’ve had that experience, no.”

I groan. “This sucks.”

“Why can’t you just tell me what actually happened?” he asks. He pouts. “Please?”

I smile at him, trying hard to be annoyed, but finding it difficult. *God, I’m in trouble.*

“I just can’t. It’s… private.”

“You never keep secrets from me.”

“I don’t even know what secret I’m keeping just yet,” I sigh, resting my chin in my hand. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Aw,” he coos. “You say that like you aren’t already.”

I push him, laughing softly, though we both straighten up when the professor reprimands us. We give a quick apology, still smirking at each other the next time we catch one another’s eye.

The next days pass by in a blur as I come to terms with what I’ve been feeling. It doesn’t help that I couldn’t talk to anyone, especially since Lily was still mad at me. Now, though, I couldn’t blame her as much. She somehow realized I was into him before I did.

“Hey,” Remus says, coming up to me as I sit in the common room. “It’s late. Why are you still here?”

“Why are you?”

He shrugs, sitting next to me. “Can’t sleep. Moon’s coming in a couple days.”

I hum in acknowledgement. “Gotcha.”

He settles into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks sideways at me as I stare into the fire.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Cause I can’t tell anybody.”

He scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. You’ve been off for days. James keeps complaining about how you’re not spending time with him as much.”

I shake my head, not responding.

“You need to talk to someone about this.”

“Can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

I look at him. “Seriously. I can’t talk to Jamie about it, Lily’s still mad at me, and Marls and Dorcas are too gossipy.”

“You can talk to me,” he shrugs.

“You wouldn’t get it, though.”

“Try me.”

I let out a breath. “You have to promise this stays a secret.”

He nods. “Promise.”

“Okay,” I say under my breath. “Okay. So, um, Lily got really mad at me the other day because of the whole…. Confession thing. And I didn’t understand why, and she started accusing me of things, and obviously I disagreed… But then something she said kind of stuck with me.”

“She’s just mad. Don’t listen to her,” Remus says, shaking his head. “You know how she gets when she’s in one of those moods.”

“But I think she was kind of right,” I sigh. “That’s the problem. She thinks… She told me she thought I was into James. And not like friends, like really into him.”

Remus’s eyes widen a little. “And… are you?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for the past week, and… I think I might be.”

“Whoa. I know we always tease you two for how close you are, but I never thought you…”

“I know,” I groan, my face in my hands. “And I know I haven’t been hanging out with him as much as usual because of it, but I don’t know what to do. How do you tell your best friend that you suddenly realized you’re in love with him?”

He doesn’t answer, just reaches over and gives me a hug. I accept it, sighing a little.

Our next week goes over just like that. I don’t avoid James by any means, but I try not to always be alone with him. I do find more opportunities to talk with Remus about it all, though, and it helps. Just to have someone to listen to me as I complain about my feelings. I do the same for him when he has troubles, though mine seem silly in comparison. He always tells me not to compare, though.

Unfortunately, though, as much as those chats help me process my feelings, they don’t help me get over those feelings at all. If anything, they only grow the more I think about James.

It’s super annoying.

Even more annoying is Lily’s smug look when I tell her about my feelings for James. I expected her to be mad at me, but she did something worse: she laughed at me.

“I knew it!”

“How? I didn’t know!”

“Because you are so obvious,” she shakes her head.

I scoff. “I’m clearly not that obvious or else you wouldn’t have told me you had a crush on him.”

“Alright. Fair enough,” she quirks a brow. “But still.”

I roll my eyes, walking over to hug her.

“Sorry about that. If I knew I had a crush on him I wouldn’t have told you to go for him.”

“Sorry back,” she says. “Shouldn’t have gotten mad at you that he told me no.”

“I agree,” I laugh.

She whacks me in the arm, laughing back.

I try to go about my life as usual over the next couple of weeks. There’s no sense in making myself miserable or drawing attention to my small shift in behavior. I find myself still doing most of the same things I always did. Just a bit more carefully.

I sit with the boys at dinner, laughing at their stupid jokes and the plans they have for pranks. I finish my food, pushing the plate away from me, and listening in on a conversation being had between Sirius, Remus, and Peter.

“You know, those three plan on being out all night,” James says quietly, leaning close to me as he watches the three boys talk.

I raise a brow. “Yeah? Doing what?”

“They wanted to just be out of the castle for the night. Think Sirius and Remus are going to the shrieking shack, and Peter is sneaking out to go meet up with some other friends in Hogsmeade, I guess.”

“And you aren’t running off?”

He shakes his head. “Told them I’d stay behind. Thought me and you could have a sleepover. Like old times.”

I chuckle. “It has been a while.”

“I think close to a year. They’re always in my space,” he says, feigning annoyance. “But it’ll just be us tonight, if you want.”

I push down whatever feeling rises in my chest at that and agree, despite my better judgement.

He pulls me into his room that night, immediately going to the foot of his bed, looking at me like he’s about to change my life.

“I brought something a little… fun,” he smiles, opening up his trunk to show me his secret stash of drinks. “Thought we might finally crack it open.”

I laugh. “And you didn’t think to tell me sooner?”

“Hey, we’ve had plenty at the Gryffindor events,” he smiles. “This is just for us. Our secret.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m the greatest.”

We find ourselves on his floor after a few drinks, feeling fuzzy and happy. We talk about nothing for hours, occasionally passing a bottle between us.

“Maybe we should do this more often,” he says, smiling up at the ceiling. “I miss spending time with you like this.”

“We’re always together.”

“You spend a lot of time with Moony lately. Not fair, I want you all to myself,” he chuckles, poking my side.

I laugh, poking him back. “I’m still all yours. Love Moony so much, but you’re still my favorite I think. Now, if Sirius decided to start hanging around me more, then you’d be in trouble.”

He giggles, his cheeks rosy. I watch him carefully, feeling warm in the face myself, but for a different reason.

“You have a really cute laugh,” I say before I can think about it.

He looks at me with a smile, his tongue poking out between his teeth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I nod.

“You’ve never told me that before.”

I shrug. “I should’ve.”

He stares back at me for a moment, giving me a little silly smile. He leans over me, propping himself up with his forehead next to my head. He leans down, much like he did that day we went swimming. But this time I kiss him back. My hand finds his cheek, holding him gently as I let him work his lips against mine. I can’t deny the warmth that spreads over me or the butterflies I feel this time.

This time it lasts for a few minutes, neither of us bothering to pull away. Whether that’s because he actually likes it or because we’re both drunk and don’t know any better, I don’t know. I also don’t care.

He finally pulls away after a little while, still giving me that smile as if he didn’t just take all the air in my lungs away from me.

“We can pretend that one didn’t happen, either,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, unsure what to say. I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen, but I couldn’t tell him that without outing myself. I settle for the way his hand mindlessly reaches for mine as we go back into conversation like nothing ever interrupted us in the first place. Eventually, we move to his bed, preferring the softness of the mattress and pillows over the hard ground.

“Can I ask why you’ve been spending all your time with Remus?” he asks during a lull in the conversation, playing with my fingers as he does.

“Just became better friends recently, I guess,” I say, glancing at him. I admire his face for a moment before snapping out of it. “Some stuff I can talk to him about that I haven’t been able to tell anyone else. It’s been nice to have someone to listen.”

“I could do that for you. You didn’t have to go to him.”

“Not this time, Jamie. It’s… different.”

“How?”

“It just is,” I sigh. “I’ve had too much to drink for us to be having this conversation, James.”

He whines. “Please? I just want to know.”

“No. Maybe I’ll tell you someday, but not now.”

He grumbles, turning over and resting his head on my chest. His arm rests over my stomach. I just hope and pray he doesn’t feel how hard my heart starts beating when he does.

“Play with my hair?” he asks, his voice a little muffled.

“Okay,” I reply softly, running my fingers through his messy hair. “This okay?”

He nods a little. “Mhm. Thanks.”

We don’t wake up until the next morning, still stuck in that same position.

I find myself with Remus again the following night. I sit on a chair, and he lounges on the couch, trying not to judge me for putting myself in that situation. I don’t tell him about the kiss, but he hears about everything else.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” he says after a beat of silence when I finish explaining. “You either need to tell him, or put some distance between you.”

“I tried that today.”

“I know,” he rolls his eyes. “It’s all James could talk about. Complaining the whole day that you weren’t eating with us or not going to the library when we were.”

“See? I feel like nothing I do is right in this situation,” I say, feeling defeated. “Like, how am I supposed to keep spending time with him like everything’s normal when I’m practically floating every time he so much as looks at me. It’s pathetic. And I can’t just ignore him, cause then he goes and bugs you all.”

“Maybe you just need to—”

“Hey,” James’s voice calls from behind us.

I look at him, noticing the annoyed look on his face. It doesn’t seem like he’s overheard us, but I can’t tell why he looks so irritated. Usually he’d be annoyed if I didn’t bother with them all day, but he looks… mad. I quirk a brow.

“Hey,” I say, confused.

He doesn’t reply, looking a little upset and a little lost. I turn back to Remus after a moment of silence, our conversation effectively being cut short. I stand up quickly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say to Remus, starting to walk past James in order to get to my room.

“What’s going on?” James asks, grabbing my upper arm.

I turn around quickly. “What?”

He clenches his jaw, then looks at Remus. “Moony, we need a minute.”

Remus goes to argue, but drops it quickly when he sees James looking more serious than he ever has. He gets up, giving me a sympathetic look before he heads towards the boys’ dorms. I glare at James as he hasn’t let go of my arm yet.

“Why did you do that?”

“Why are you with him again?”

I scoff. “You mean our friend? Did you ever think maybe we were talking?”

“That’s the problem,” he says, dropping my arm.

“How is that a problem? I’m going through something and he’s just trying to help—”

He sighs harshly, looking around like he’s lost. He looks back at me with his brows furrowed.

“I don’t get it,” he says, practically whining. “You never keep things from me, and now you’re telling Moony all of your secrets and ditching me for him and… And I don’t understand it. We’re supposed to be best friends.”

“We are, Jamie, there’s just some things that I can’t—”

“Why not?” he swallows, tears starting to prick his eyes. “Why can’t you tell me? You never do this. We tell each other everything.”

I freeze for a moment, my mouth drying up as I look at him. I want to reach out for him and hold him and make him feel better. But I also want answers, because it’s his fault that everything got screwed up. He didn’t have to reject Lily. He didn’t have to kiss me when we were swimming. He didn’t have to do it again on his bedroom floor. He didn’t have to treat me like I was the most important person in his life.

“Then tell me why you kissed me,” I blurt out.

He shakes his head a little. “I don’t know.”

“Then figure it out! You don’t just get to kiss me and then act like you just did it for no reason.”

His chest heaved from his breathing, staring at me. His cheeks tinged pink again as he took a moment.

“I—I just wanted to. I don’t know. You were there and you were looking at me like that and you just…” he huffed a sigh. “I just wanted to kiss you.”

“Why?” I asked, frustrated.

“Because,” he said back, his tone matching mine. “Because I always want to kiss you and I slipped up and did it one time—”

“You did it twice!”

“Okay! Two times,” he exclaims. “We promised we would just forget about it.”

“And what exactly is that even supposed to mean?”

“You’re so fucking oblivious,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes. “God, what do I have to do to make you understand that I’m—”

I wait as he stops talking. “That you’re what?”

“I’m in love with you. I have been forever, and you’ve never cared,” he says, letting out a shuddering breath. “And now you’re spending all of your time with Remus. And it’s so embarrassing that I’m sat here hopelessly in love with my best friend of over ten years while she’s running around with another one of our friends.”

“Running around with him? We sit in the common room and talk because you’re fucking infuriating!”

“Oh, so you’re gossiping about me?” he asks, voice raising as mine does once again.

“Not gossiping, just—”

“Just what?”

“I’m in love with you, too, you fucking tosser!”

He looks angry for a few moments, then it switches to confusion, then shock, and possibly the five stages of grief before he finally lands on raised brows and an open mouth.

“You what?” he exclaims.

“You’re so annoying,” I say, groaning. “Yeah, Lily had to go and tell me I was in love with you, and she always has to be fucking right about everything, doesn’t she?”

“Are you listening to yourself right now?” he asks incredulously, furrowing his brows. “You just told me you loved me.”

“I’m aware, James,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Well… Did you mean it?”

“Obviously,” I say, shaking my head at him like it was a dumb question.

“You’re so dumb,” he says under his breath.

Before I can say anything else, he’s moving forward, his hands on my cheeks as he crashes his lips into mine. I melt into him, this kiss being way more passionate than the one we shared the night before. I hold onto his waist, letting him deepen the kiss, though it only lasts for a minute or two after that.

He pulls away. “You’re infuriating. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You didn’t tell me anything, either!”

“I kissed you twice!”

I roll my eyes. “That doesn’t count. You said we should forget about both times.”

“Only cause I thought that’s what you’d want,” he defends, making an annoyed face.

I try to be angry, but it’s a difficult task. I reach up, running a thumb over his furrowed eyebrows.

“So grumpy,” I mutter. “Just told you I was in love with you. You’d think you’d at least try to be happy.”

He scoffs a laugh, pulling me into a hug, his face buried in my neck.

“I’ve never been happier.”

We hear footsteps coming down a few minutes later.

“You owe me ten galleons,” Sirius’s voice says.

I look over James’s shoulder as he keeps holding onto me, not caring that our friends are right there.

“You were betting on us?” I ask.

Sirius nods with a smirk. “And Peter just lost. He thought you’d take until the end of the year to get together. I said it’d be in this term.”

“I didn’t bet,” Remus says from behind Sirius, holding his hands up in surrender with a small smile. “Glad you worked it out, though.”

I smile at them, shaking my head and turning my attention back on James again. He looks at me finally.

“I’m glad, too,” he says quietly. “Think I might’ve combusted if I had to keep pretending I didn’t want you like that.”

“Didn’t do a great job at covering for it, though. Still kissed me twice.”

“You say like you didn’t love it,” he smirks with a wink.

————-> SMUT STARTS HERE. 18+ <-————

James finally pulls away, taking my hand in his.

“Good, now that you’re all out the room, if you’ll excuse us…” he says, pulling me past the boys who all groan in disgust.

I giggle as he practically runs to his room with my hand in his, kissing me the second the door is shut and locked. I smile into the kiss, my arms around his neck. He starts kissing my cheek and jaw after a few minutes.

“Hope you’ve been feeling the tension as much as I have, cause I could probably cum in my pants right now if you asked me to,” he says casually, as if it wouldn’t send a wave of arousal down my body.

“Oh my…” I trail off as he bites at my neck softly. “Are we gonna…?”

He pauses, his eyes wide. “Oh. I probably should’ve asked before I assumed, huh?”

He winces a little at his own excitement, cheeks tinged pink.

“Sorry.”

I smile softly. “That’s okay. I— I want to, I just didn’t know if that’s what the plan was.”

He smiles again brightly, kissing me once more. He giggled against my lips, then starts backing me towards the bed.

“I really do love you. Kind of embarrassing, really. I think I have forever,” he says softly, laying me down on the mattress and crawling over me.

I let out a soft breath. “Embarrassing for me, I think. I didn’t even realize until someone else told me I did.”

He laughs again, starting to kiss down my neck.

“I kind of always wanted you to be my first time, to be honest,” he says against my skin.

I pause, realizing what’s really happening. “Oh. Oh my god.”

“What?” he asks, leaning up to start unbuttoning my shirt.

“Wait, have you never… You haven’t done this either, have you?”

“Not all the way,” he shakes his head, then looks at me with wide eyes. “Is that okay?”

“That’s okay. I haven’t either. Just… You know. I’ve done some hand stuff but that was it.”

He looks at me again, then starts laughing a little. I find myself laughing right back as reality sets in for both of us.

“We’re gonna take each others virginity,” I say, still laughing a little. “Oh my god.”

He snorts a laugh. “Didn’t wake up this morning thinking this would happen, that’s for certain.”

I smile. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he teases, dropping a kiss on the tip of my nose.

I watch as he finishes taking off my shirt, getting up just enough to help him pull it and my camisole off completely. He sits back on his knees, staring at me for a moment.

“You alright, Jamie?”

He nods. “Doing great, love.”

He starts taking off his own shirt, then. As many times as I’d seen his arms and chest, you’d think I wouldn’t still feel amazed seeing him in just his trousers… But I couldn’t stop staring, either. He leaned back in, kissing me again. I let my hands run over his arms and back, having free reign to do so and enjoying it. He nipped at my lip, a little noise leaving me and making him smile against my lips. I do the same to him, both of us ending up grinning at each other again.

“This is nice,” I say quietly. “Doing this with you, it’s nice. I like that we don’t feel like we have to act… sexy.”

“Well, that because it’s never an act for me, love,” he winks with a smirk.

I pull him back down with a giggle, though the smile is wiped from my face when he rolls his hips into mine. Feeling him hard for me for the first time leaves me a little breathless, especially when he’s grinding into me. I small groan leaves me when he does it again.

“Like it when you do that,” he says into my ear, doing it again just to get another reaction out of me. “I like those little sounds you make. So pretty.”

I find myself breathing heavily, my hands squeezing between our bodies to start unbuckling his belt. He gets the hint and sits up, pulling it off himself.

“Get out of those, yeah?” he says, nodding at my bottoms as he works himself out of his.

I comply immediately, shimmying out of my trousers and tossing them onto the ground. He gets back on top of me as soon as we’re both one layers closer to what we really want. I let my hand slide into his underwear as he stars kissing at my neck again, letting out a shuddering breath when I finally feel him. He whimpers into my neck as I start stroking him, rutting his hips into my hand.

“Feel so good, love,” he says, voice whiny and desperate.

I groan back, especially as one of his hands slides under the band of my panties to slip a finger into me. I feel myself growing hotter, kissing him and swallowing the moans he lets out as my hand keeps working him over.

“Shit, Jamie,” I moan as he adds a second finger.

“Good for you?” he breathes out.

“Yes,” I say breathlessly. “Yes. Very.”

I whine as he gets me closer to the edge, his hips doing all the work as my hand stopped moving up and down his length. He adds pressure to my clit with his thumb, sending me careening over the edge with praises and his name on my lips.

He pulls his hand away from me suddenly.

“Can’t wait any longer, love,” he says, voice wrecked.

He slides my panties off my legs as I take my bra off. Then, I watch with wide eyes as he pulls his underwear off, his cock bigger than I was expecting by far. I knew he felt big, but seeing him was entirely different.

“Fuck,” I say, staring at him. “Don’t know if I can take that, Jamie.”

“Yeah, you can, love,” he nods, settling between my legs and kissing me softly. “You can take it, baby.”

He pushes himself up just enough for both of us to see him rubbing his head through my slick before prodding at my entrance. He starts pushing in slowly. I let out a loud groan, my eyes shutting.

“Shh, just relax, love,” he says, lips hovering over mine. “You’re doing so good. Taking it so well, baby.”

He whimpers against my lips as he keeps pushing in slowly.

“So big, Jamie,” I moan, watching him disappear inside of me.

“I know, baby,” he says, a few more little noises spilling from his mouth. “I know, but you’re being so good. My good girl.”

He bottoms out, both of us panting and holding onto each other as I adjust to the new feeling. It hurts a little, but not in a bad way. Especially when he starts moving. That bit of pain makes way for a lot of pleasure once he starts rocking into me at a steady pace, whining and moaning into my ear.

“S’good, Jamie. You feel so good,” I say, trying to catch my breath.

“So good for me, baby. Squeezing me nice,” he whines, pinning me down under the weight of his body. “Good girl. So proud of you taking me so well.”

“Gonna cum again,” I say, feeling it building in my stomach again.

“Me too, baby. Just a little more,” he says, pressing his face into my neck again. “Don’t want to be done so soon, but you feel so perfect. You’re so good for me.”

I moan at his ramblings of praise, his words only causing me to get closer to that peak again. I hold onto him tightly, my body wrapped around his as he fucks into me like we’d done it a million times before. I speak his name over and over and over again as I crash down, my eyes rolling back from the intensity of the orgasm, and the fact that he doesn’t stop fucking me through it.

Though, near the end of my peak, he moans out a hundred more praises, my name falling from his lips as I feel him fill me up with his cum. He whimpers again against my skin as he finishes, not stopping the movement of his hips until he’s visibility overstimulated.

We breathe heavily, holding onto one another tightly as we come down from our highs, his hair sticking to his forehead as he leans in to kiss me softly again.

“Holy shit,” he whispers. “You’re perfect.”

I breathe out, a small smile on my face. “You… Yeah. Oh my god. I thought the first time was supposed to be bad.”

“It was perfect for me. But I barely lasted, it couldn’t have been that great for you,” he says, looking a little disappointed that he might not have done a good job for me.

I shake my head. “You still made me come harder than I ever have. You were incredible, Jamie. I mean it.”

He smiles softly. “I’m gonna have to kick them out of here more often. I might be addicted now.”

“And we have more things to try,” I add. “Can’t let this happen only once a week or something. Too much to figure out, I think.”

He giggles again. “Like what?”

“I’d really like you in my mouth next time.”

His smile drops. He starts nodding quickly. “Yes. Yeah, I’ll kick them out at two in the morning if you ask. Whatever you want.”

I laugh, pulling him into another kiss.

“Now, we have to figure out that contraceptive spell, or else we might be in some trouble,” I say with a smile.

“Sorry about that,” he smirks, clearly not sorry. “I’m sure Sirius knows it.”

“Please. As if he isn’t fucking Remus whenever those two run off to the shrieking shack.”

James’s eyes widen. “What?”

I snort a laugh.

“And you called me the oblivious one.”

#james potter #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter smut #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #best friend!james #bsf!james potter #marauders smut #marauders fluff #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders x reader #marauders #luna still hates jk

3K notes · View notes

maochira · 1 year

Note

Hii!! Can you do Blue lock boys with a short reader like 160cm? Characters is (reo, chigiri, Kaiser, isagi, ego and ness)

You can delete ness if you feel that they are too many 😭😭

Don't worry that isn't too much at all!! I actually wrote a request with 14 characters once??? So yeah I don't mind!!

Characters: Reo, Chigiri, Kaiser, Isagi, Ness, dad!Ego

Part 1 (Barou, Nagi, Bachira, Shidou, Rin, Sae)

Requests open! - masterlist

Tags: gn!small!reader, headcanons for the players can be seen as platonic or romantic, I only write Ego as a dad/father figure or older brother so uh here we go with dad!Ego!!

Reo thinks it's so cute when you sit on a chair and your feet don't completely touch the floor. He likes to pull you on his lap, so your feet don't touch the ground at all. Having you on his lap also means he gets to wrap his arms around you, which makes him feel like he's protecting you.

Chigiri thinks you're so cute. He loves to hug you from the back and rests his head on top of yours all the time. Sometimes he even picks you up and spins your around a bit. But he also loves to tease you about your height, especially in situations where your height doesn't even matter. He just points out "Ah, I forgot how small you are" when you're literally just walking around.

Kaiser loves to use you as his arm rest. Wherever you're standing, expect his elbow on your shoulder. He absolutely loves to tease you about it and often says things like "Look how tiny you are!" and asks to compare your height to his at least once a week.

Isagi is very casual about your height. He never makes a deal out of it or points it out. He still can't help but let out a slight chuckle whenever you get on the tip of your toes to hug him. Even though he never says it, from the way he looks at you it's very obvious how cute he thinks you are.

Ness is a bit obsessed with your height difference. He points it out at any chance given, but not in a teasing way. He adores you very much! Ness speaks in a very loving tone every time he says "You're so tiny!" and "Don't worry, I'll grab that for you!" when he reaches his arm to get something from the top shelf for you.

Dad!Ego expected you to grow up to be as tall as him, or at least somewhat close to his size. But apparently, you're not getting that one last growth spurt and are for ever cursed to be tiny. He points it all the time and says things like "If only you got more of my genes." He's not genuinely upset over it, but he thinks it's funny how offended you get sometimes.

#bllk #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock headcanons #bllk headcanons #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x you #reo mikage x reader #ego x reader #jinpachi ego x reader #hyoma chigiri x reader #reo x reader #chigiri x reader #michael kaiser x reader #alexis ness x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #isagi x reader

1K notes · View notes

sashimiyas · 1 year

Text

The Burden of Being

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

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

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

Word count: 22k+

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

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

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

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

They were all there. You remember.

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

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

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

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

You weren’t there. But you do remember.

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

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

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

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

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

And gods, do you remember the pain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, Samu?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do ya… do ya know who I am?”

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

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

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

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

“October.”

“What day?”

His face pinched momentarily.

“What day, Samu?”

“What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya recognize anyone else in the room?”

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

“Yeah, and who else?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll get through this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He does.”

“He doesn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It all made sense, logically, scientifically, situationally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that’s exactly what happened.”

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

Memory.

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

You couldn’t either.

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

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

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

“It’s okay. Osamu will be okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop looking at me like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m right here.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” Osamu is pleased with your ascent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave me alone.”

“Are ya crying?”

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

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

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

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

“You hate me!”

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

“But you think I’m stupid.”

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

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

“What’d ya do?”

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

“Tell me. So we can cry together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t.”

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

“I told ya, I won’t.”

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

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

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

“I hate him. He’s so ugly.”

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

“What?”

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

“That is not funny, Miya Osamu.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New memories. Fake memories.

Lies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The world is so effortlessly beautiful.

And that’s what makes it so cruel.

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

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

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

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

Akaashi looks down at you unimpressed.

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

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

Your reaction flattens his expression even further.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not need help,” you supply.

His reply is nonplussed, “you do.”

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

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

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

“There’s only one bed.”

“The floor is fine.”

“It smells like mold.”

“Let’s buy a candle before we leave.”

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

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

“It’s my pleasure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you still remember. You devotedly will.

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

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

The joke never comes.

“Did you ever want to talk about it?”

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

“That’s why you’re here, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve seen him?”

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

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

“I heard you sold the food truck.”

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

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

You laugh. “Not happening.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you shake your head.

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

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

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

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

“Come with me,” Akaashi says.

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

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

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

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

“Always,” you say.

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

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

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

You reply only with a wide eyed surprise.

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

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

“Yes, but I won’t.”

“You’re aberrant.”

“I’m assuming that means ridiculous.”

“Close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s open Onigiri Miya up again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That seems ambitious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you talked to him lately?”

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

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

“And…”

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

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

“But it ain’t him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He didn’t use molds.”

“Unfortunate. We’re not Myaa-sam.”

“Neither is he.”

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

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

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

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

The answer seems obvious that you can only gesticulate.

“Are you inane?”

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

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

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

“You’re mean,” you settle on saying.

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

You smile, “yeah.”

His mood lightens, “me too.”

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

“Yeah, that sounds right.”

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

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

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

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

“Fine cooking, dear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

o.mo.ide

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

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

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

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

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

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

They stay. They always will.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile, “Mumu.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He grew out his hair,” you observe.

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

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

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

“You don’t–”

“–proud of him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya know that I–”

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

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

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

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

He says it like he really does love you.)

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

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” is all he replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miya–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

“Oh, gods. Why are you even here?”

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

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

“Now? When you’ve had all this time?”

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

“For what?”

“Samu went no contact on me.”

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

“He listened to you?”

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

“So what changed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just wanted–”

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

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

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

Atsumu nods gratefully, “of course.”

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

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

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

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

Finally, you feel understood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O – Oh…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you come hungry?”

“I did.”

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

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

“No?”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

“I’m glad you did.”

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

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

“Shit.”

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

“My smoothie spilled all over my cup holder.”

“Oh no. Did you ask for another one?”

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

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

“It ain’t funny.”

You agree, “I know. It’s the worst.”

“Then why are ya laughing?”

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

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

“No, it’s going to get sticky!”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Cry.”

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

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

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

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

“Stop,” you have to hide your lips.

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

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Saying those things.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you smoking a lot?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s a worrywort.”

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

“He means well.”

“Sure he does.”

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

“Would you like to see the back?”

“Really?” his giddiness prompts yours.

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

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

You nod. “Yeah, that one’s yours.”

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

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

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

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

2K notes · View notes

artificial-transmutations · 10 months

Text

A new character

"I approach the king and bow, before I say: 'Greetings, most noble King Tanarath, first of your name. Allow me to introduce my friends and my humble self.'" Brian said enthusiastically.

There was a moment of silence on the table before Dylan, another of the players, groaned: "Dude..."

Brian blinked and readjusted his glasses. Dylan sighed and explained: "You're not playing your bard anymore. That is totally out of character for a barbarian! Look at your intelligence stat. There's no way your character would even be able to form sentences like that."

"Oh. Right." Brian said. It had been four sessions now since his bard had died at the hand of a wicked owlbear, and although he had been sad about it, Brian had really looked forward to playing something else, for a change.

So, he had created Briarok, his barbarian. While he absolutely loved his new character stat-wise, he sometimes had trouble of actually playing the huge, muscled and dumb-as-a-brick man.

"So, I guess, I just go: 'Yo, king! What's up?'?"

Brian could feel the cringe in the room. Why was it so difficult for him to get into character? Steven, the dungeon master rolled his eyes. "Uhm... okay, let's try this one more time. Before I continue the session, I'd like you to say something in character. You just need to get into it, Brian."

"Yes, Brian, you need to... become one... with... your... barbarian." Dylan mocked in a slow, hypnotic voice and laughed.

"Okay, I think I got this." Brian said. He thought about the character he had created. Brian had chosen the barbarian class because of the raw power and durability it provided. He wanted to be able to protect himself and his friends from harm. Besides, barbarians were just plain awesome. Brian also chose the name Briarok, because he thought it was a cool name.

However, getting into the primitive mindset was difficult for him, especially since he was used to play a bard with lots of charisma.

Brian rolled up his sleeves, took a deep breath and flexed his unimpressive muscles.

"Alright!" he said in a loud voice and nodded.

The other players looked at him with disbelief, before Dylan laughed again: "Okay, that was kind of cool. I give you a 7/10 for trying."

However, something weird had happened. Brian was the stereotypical nerd, with no muscles to speak of. However, when he just flexed, small mounds of muscle popped up on his arms. When he relaxed his arms, however, the bumps did not shrink away again, but stayed visible.

"What the..." he mumbled and rolled up his sleeves further, trying to get a better view.

He could see his own arm, and the small protrusions. It wasn't much, but it looked definitely different from before. Wanting to explore further, his eyes scanned the room before settling on the six pack of large soda bottles on the floor. Usually, he had his fair difficulties lifting the 12 kilograms worth of beverages, but right now, it was easier. It was still a notable weight, but somehow, it felt lighter than before. In fact, he longer he lifted it up, the lighter it felt.

"Hey, guys?" Brian asked, while still staring at the soda bottles.

"Yeah?" Steven replied.

"What's the heaviest thing in this room?"

"Uhm... I'm not sure." Steven mumbled.

"The sofa?" Dylan offered.

"Not sure, but it's pretty heavy."

"Yeah, probably."

Brian placed the large bottle down again and flexed his arms. Bi- and triceps were now clearly visible on them, and didn't disappear when he stopped flexing, like before. His arms weren't the only thing to change, Brian noticed as he went over to the sofa. His shirt clung to his back, as if it was several sizes too small for him and his pants felt constricting as well.

Brian bent down and grabbed the sofa. Were his hands bigger than before? He needed to know now. With a grunt, he started lifting. Very slowly at first, but then it became quicker and easier.

Brian should be confused and normally, his brain would have gone to overdrive, trying to process what was happening, but for some reason, Brian only felt... good about it! His thoughts were slower than usual, but he felt a good deal of pride. He managed to lift a sofa with ease! That was awesome! He bet nobody else in this room was able to do that. He was the strongest of them!

With the sofa safely on the ground, he turned around to look at his friends.

They were all staring at him, eyes wide. Brian couldn't remember having seen anyone looking that surprised. Dylan looked at him and slowly shook his head. "Dude. Did you just lift a sofa?"

"Yeah, I did!" Brian answered with a big smile.

Dylan's mouth opened a little further, and his eyes went wider.

"You're all... ripped and stuff." Dylan remarked.

"Yeah, it's awesome! But sorry guys, I have to get out of my shirt and pants now, they're way to small."

Brian began to fumble on his button fly with his large hands and needed several moments to get it open. The buttons almost flew through the room as he released them.

The reason for the enormous pressure was not only Brian's package. His hips had become considerably wider and stronger. His ass was pronounced and muscular and exerted its own pressure to the construct. However, even though it was not *only* Brian's package, it certainly also had a part: his entire crotch region had become bigger and more prominent. Brian's soft cock made a clear outline on his retro pants. Would it become hard, Brian was sure it would rip right through them.

Brian took his pants off and stood there in only his underwear. It was now tighter than ever and stuck to his body. He gave his friend a broad grin and tried to work on his shirt. That, however, proved to be way more difficult. By now his shirt looked like it was painted on him, showing the clear outline of impressive pectoral muscles and at least a six pack underneath.

"Damn, man! You're... hot!" Dylan said in awe while Brian was still trying to wiggle out of his shirt.

With a frustrated grunt and a gasp from his friends, Brian finally resolved the problem another way. He grabbed his collar with both of his strong hands, and with a bulge of his massive arms, he just ripped the clothing in two, from top to bottom. His undershirt went down the middle, along with the remnants of his destroyed button fly, as he held up the pieces in front of himself.

Victory! He just felt like shouting, so he roared loudly in triumph and threw the remnants of his clothes to the ground.

Grinning broadly, he grabbed his chair and pulled it away from the table before sitting down with his legs spread widely. Man-spreading like that and readjusting his large package shamelessly, Briarok rumbled loudly in his deep new voice:

"Alright! Where were we? I want to kill stuff!"

Dylan, Steven and the other friends had trouble to hide their erections from the display of raw power.

Steven gulped and continued: "Okay, so, after speaking to the king, you venture out into the cold mountains..."

I think I would enjoy playing with that dude afterwards! What do you think? If you want to see stories like this as soon as they appear, alongside exclusive content like the 15(!) picture candidates that did not make it into this story, be sure to subscribe to my riot page!

#male transformation #muscle transformation #dumbing down

426 notes · View notes

tentacleteapot · 2 years

Text

it’s been said many times before but Ranni is easily the funniest character in Elden Ring, and in my opinion she’s the funniest character FromSoft has ever written

she was so vehemently opposed to being used by the higher powers in the Lands Between that she responded to being picked as a potential new goddess by killing her own body and moving her soul into a doll body with four arms. (said doll body may just happen to look exactly like the person she learned her signature magic from.) she did this by stealing a piece of the physical manifestation of the concept of death, and then had one of her many siblings assassinated with that same piece of the rune of death, and she flat out admits she did all of this to your face if you ask her about it.

she is (apparently) on a first-name basis with your horse, and the only reason she initially introduces herself to you is because she heard your horse has a new master and wants to find out what you’re like. she’ll comment on what a “ruffian” your horse has chosen as a master if you’re rude to her. she uses an alias the first time you meet her, and said alias, Renna, in addition to being the name of her mentor, is literally just her mom’s name with two letters dropped from the end. (it's also just her own name with slightly different spelling and one letter changed.)

her first body used to be really tall, so now she constantly tries to appear taller than the player by sitting on a wall the first time you meet her, and later by sitting on a pile of books, concealed by her robes, on top of an already decently tall chair. conversely, she later abandons her relatively more human-sized doll body to hide out inside a tiny little replica OF her doll body, and when you find her she pretends to be an inanimate object the first few times you talk to her and then she gets pissed at you for figuring out it was really her.

she responds to marriage proposals by saying “okay that’s fair, but you have to become royalty first, I’ll see you when you have that figured out” and then leaves you a free sword because that’s the traditional wedding present the women in her family give their spouses. and then when you’ve beaten the game she DOES in fact take you as a consort, no questions asked. there is absolutely no gender-specific dialogue of any kind at any point when you talk to Ranni, including when you propose to her, and she is the chaotic bi representation I know a lot of my bi friends have been hoping for.

if you try to fight her mother, an optional boss most people will go after during their playthroughs because the benefits are pretty useful, Ranni impersonates her mother by creating an illusion of her at the height of her power, and has her ‘mom’ say she hopes Ranni is able to achieve all her weird goals as her ‘death’ quote if you destroy the illusion… but also if you destroy the illusion she just. leaves. and you reappear in the same room as her mom, who’s seemingly totally forgotten you two ever fought, without any apparent worry you might just try to pick that fight again.

if you ask to work for her while having an ulterior motive (due to already being on a quest that requires you to gain her trust so you can snoop around her castle) she immediately calls you on it but also finds it funny enough to let you work for her anyway. then if you come back to her after she's given you what you want, she continues putting you to work because why not? you came back, after all. she is the best she's such a fundamentally weird person and that makes her feel so effortlessly real, like a friend of a friend you're always hearing crazy stories about. I love Ranni so much.

#Elden Ring #Ranni #Ranni the Witch #Renna the Witch #Rennala #Elden Ring spoilers #i didn't mention Blaidd or Iji or Seluvis here so if anybody to add on talking about her relationship with them PLEASE feel free #daphne.txt

2K notes · View notes

anticanonsposts · 5 months

Text

Random Fluff Headcanons-König pt. 2

Completely SFW

He loves surprising you with little trinkets and shit, he is well aware that your favorite color is pink and legit if he has to run to the store to grab something and he sees something in pink, you can be sure that he’s gonna buy it for you. (I am self inserting.)

Side note its super fun to see him in your bed, like this hulk of a man in your hyper feminine pink ass bed filled with stuffed animals. (I am self inserting again)

One point of slight contention in your relationship, at least during the beginning, was how much faster he walked due to his height. Like the first few times you walked anywhere with him you would be panting trying to catch up while also not seeming like you were putting too much effort in.

Since at the beginning he was also very nervous and wanted to impress you, he typically would be lost in thought and not realize so you eventually need to point it out to him

When you do he is very apologetic, it takes him a while but eventually he is able to walk with you without dedicating a whole lot of thought to monitoring his speed.

Fun thing tho is whenever you two need to catch a bus or train he will just scoop you up and jog to catch it, this way you’re faster and the driver can’t miss his frame charging towards them.

Random but if you work early in the morning he loves going/walking to work with you. Since it is so early, not many people are out and about so there’s less eyes on him which makes him feel more relaxed.

Whenever you guys sit on a couch together whether alone or with friends his arm is always draped over the back of the couch and you rest your elbow on his thigh, given the height difference it makes him the perfect arm rest. It is also a form of touch that doesn’t make him uncomfortable to do in front of people.

This guy opens EVERY single door for you, to the point that it becomes a game to you when you try to open one before he gets the chance.

He also always insists on paying when you guys are out, it doesn't matter what you are doing, dinner, drinks, stopping at Target for some essentials.

He has literally been in Target with you grabbed the items from you when you talk about paying then quickly walking to the front and paying before you can even catch up to him.

He has also taken your phone before while you were in the shower, gone to your (whatever app you buy things from most) and changed the default payment method to his card.

It took you like 3 trips/purchases for you to even notice and once you did he acted like he had no idea what you were talking about and that it had always been like that.

I really like to think that when he was in grade school he went out for the football team (soccer) and the coaches just put him in the goal because of his size, he was just so big that players on the other team were too scared to go near him or the goal.

I feel like he loves the x men movies because he sees them as being exploited for physical traits that they have no control over, and these same traits being seen as both a hindrance to him being ‘normal’ but also very useful in more violent contexts. He also feels like he is often treated very differently because of his size so it is comforting to him to relate to any of the characters in x men, since that is such a prominent part of their storyline.

A little angsty but when you first started going out he was always worried that you would be afraid of him, and not feel safe, since you opened up to him about your past and not feeling safe around a man you trusted, he just assumed that due to his size and nature of his job that you didn’t feel safe with him.

That is until one day when you two are just cuddling in bed, maybe watching a movie, maybe on your phones, and you nonchalantly say that you feel very safe and secure with him, and to say he was happy would be a ridiculous understatement.

#cod x reader #konig cod #konig x reader #cute #fluff #sweet #headcanon

165 notes · View notes

kosije · 4 months

Note

hi there! if it is possible could you do a piece where the reader (fem) and iwa/akaashi go to a park to walk the reader's dog, where two kids approach the reader while they are sitting on a bench and ask her to play with them. iwa/akaashi has been planning to propose to the reader for a while and on the way back he asks them their opinion on children and the reader replies with something that convinces them that they are the one.

thank you in advance!

ㅤ( ㅤ҉ 🌳 ) puppy love

a/n ★ ׂ first post of 2024! thank you so much anon :) this was fun to write. i tried to see who i wanted to write for more, but i couldn’t! so today i present you a two course meal (^з^) scroll down to read akaashi’s part, but yk i had to put my fav first _(:3 」∠)_

— main masterlist | haikyuu masterlist

c/w ★ ׂ akaashi x fem!reader / iwaizumi x fem,reader, reader has a dog, reader is a physical therapist, reader likes kids, mentions of marriage/proposal, fluff, akaashi’s part does have a make out session (but i did try to make it tasteful)

🌱 choose your character!

player 1 — iwaizumi

you're painted in a golden glow. a star walking beside him as you talk about everything that had happened at work. today was a good day, you say. your patient has had a breakthrough and can now walk without support. her muscle movement is almost fluid and her mood has brightened up tremendously ever since.

your dog seems just as happy as you are. it practically prancing between you and Iwaizumi.

"how was work today? you got off pretty early," you coo, nudging him with your shoulder.

"oh, yeah—" he coughs, suddenly interested in the strap of the bag full of your snacks and dog stuff. "yeah, one of my clients was a no-show so i just closed my availability after i finished."

his stomach does flips, he hates lying. he hates keeping secrets from you, but he can't tell you he's been out looking for engagement rings all day. he hasn't even stepped foot in his gym; he has been planning with his clients to skip today all month.

in reality, while you have been at the hospital, he has been around every jeweler in the area, trying to find the perfect ring for you. he knows what you like. he knows your ring size, your favorite stone, and your favorite metal.

but none of them seemed like the one.

he had come across this hole-in-the-wall shop on his way back. not the cleanest, but not sketchy, but he had no time to look. he had just bookmarked it and drove home.

"that's nice. i'm happy we could do this, we rarely go out on weekdays."

"yeah? been missing me hunny?" he pouts, eyes closed, making mwah noises to you.

you scoff, but mush his face between your hands and plant a big kiss on his lips and he can taste fruit on your lips.

"so so sososososososo much, haji." and you kiss him again on the cheek, then the other, then one last peck on his lips, and he can't help the smile that spreads across his face.

you two walk for a little longer this time with his thump under the waistband of your pants until you reach the benches by the climbing frame.

"wanna rest up?"

you nod to him and plop down together, sighing. you tie the leash to the bench arm, and iwa digs through the bag for the dog bowl and water.

you two cuddle up together. your hands play with the fabric of his shorts, and his arm is stroking your side as you watch children play, people work out with their dogs, and birds fly from tree to tree.

it's peaceful. and it's natural. and he's nervous.

a couple of laughs break him out of his trance, and when he's focused again he sees two kids, a boy and a girl, nervously asking you to play with them.

"we wanna play hide and go seek, but we both wanna hide. and- and- and- my grandma said that we should ask someone to seek for us s-so we don't argue," the girl says, twisting her foot into the dirt as her brother silently plays with your dog.

"yeah?" you look to iwaizumi, and he nods, not in any objection. "where should i count?

ㅤ ㅤ҉ 🌳

you play with the kids for about fifteen minutes. running around — tag, hide and go seek, fetch with your dog, and racing with them. he watches you from the bench, laughing with the kids, and something of a flame ignites within him. his heart squeezes and his face warms more and more just at the sight of you. you're so carefree and happy. the kids are giggling and smiling ear to ear as you pretend to run as fast as you can, only to get tagged back and go back to chasing them. your dog is sitting between his legs as he adds ice cubes to his bowl for him to chew on, and he thinks he's never been happier.

it feels as natural as breathing, seeing you with the kids, and he doesn't even try to stop himself or the drumming of butterflies in his chest, daydreaming of you two at the park with kids of your own. you running around with them and playing. him setting the table for you all. him reading them bedtime stories as you kiss their foreheads and tuck them in, leading him back to your guy's room, hand in hand, with a pretty rock on your ring finger.

he watches as the kids light up at the sight of the older woman walking toward you and smiling brightly. it's no trouble, i had fun, he hears you say. she thanks you again and the kids wave bye to you and him before you walk back to the bench. your face is a little flushed and your baby hairs are sticking to your forehead messily.

"tired?"

"not..really..." you huff with your hands on your hips and head facing the sky.

"i can see why their grandma needed a break. It took you 15 minutes to get sweaty," he laughs, a large hand rubbing your hip.

"good thing when that happens with ours, i'll have you with me," you laugh, plopping down on the bench next to him. he's silent for a little while, can tell that you've noticed it when you turn your head to him.

"baby, you're all flushed." you touch his face to examine it, and he grabs it, bringing your palm to his lip.

"it is a good thing that we'll have each other, isn't it," he mumbles, and there's a boyish smile glued to his face.

you give him a funny look and kiss him softly, and he remembers to check that hole-in-the-wall spot tomorrow

"2 kids max though."

"there are only two of us," he agrees.

player 2 — akaashi

he likes how you look when it's cold. likes how you look bundled up and cozy, how you always rub up against his side. you're always so warm, it feels too good, you always say. how could he ever complain though? he may not say much, but he loves it when you're holding him, touching him somewhere innocuous, like you have to have some sort of physical connection with him at all times. call him clingy, but he'll just tell you he's in love.

your dog seems just as calm as you are, walking close between you and Akaashi.

"how was it with your client today?" you ask, playing with the hem of his cuff.

"unremarkable, feels as if it never even happened," he says and mentally slaps himself for being so literal. you're none the wiser to his lie. or the fact he's been looking for engagement rings all day. how many flower shops he's passed looking for your favorites. how many venues he's bookmarked. so instead, he's asking you how it went with your patient.

"pretty good," you say, smiling into your scarf. it belongs to him, but he the way it looks on you more. "making some real breakthroughs. she'll be running in no time."

"that's good, 'm proud of you both. this means you'll be spending more time at home?"

"just a little. she asks if we do more intensive workouts now—push her to her limits. feels like the home stretch, though."

"can't wait till the discharge, we should celebrate over dinner."

"my favorite?"

he laughs at the way your puppy dog eyes peer up at him. "of course."

and you do a little happy dance, bend down to tell your dog the great, and he's happy. his heart is hung heavy in his chest for you, but it feels as light as a cloud. and despite the sting in his cheeks, he can't stop smiling.

you guys reach a bench by a pond and sit together. you let your dog play in the grass in front of you two as he pulls a book from his satchel and wipes his glasses before putting them back on his face.

"will you read to me?"

and of course, he says yes, because it makes him so happy to entertain you. you compliment his voice, tell him it makes you calm whenever he speaks, tell him it makes reading feel more intimate, hypnotizing almost. god, if only you knew half the things you do to him.

"excuse me," he stops for a second, and you both turn to see a little boy and girl standing in front of you.

he tells them hello, and the boy asks him to read to them too.

"our- we like books a lot. and we can be very quiet," he whispers that last part. "my grandma says it's okay, she's right- right there." he follows the kid's finger to an older woman, quietly sitting by another bench close by, glancing between the kids and the two of you.

he points to himself, and the two kids with a tilt of his head and she nods, hands settling into her lap.

"can i pet your dog?" the girl asks, and you gush.

"of course, sweetheart!"

"can i sit next to you?" the boy asks him, and he nods, holding the book out away from his body, picking the boy with his free hand and letting him settle against the side of his body and reads.

ㅤ ㅤ҉ 🌳

he gets about a chapter deep before the kids fall asleep. the little girl had been settled in your arms just a moment after the boy had asked, as he read.

"your voice is like a lullaby," you muse, nudging his foot with your own.

"or maybe this book is just that boring."

"note even," you whisper through a smile. "you're just a natural."

the kids stir awake moments later, now with their grandma by their sides. she thanks the two of you, tells you how time is catching up with her and she can't do as much for them as she used to.

"it's no problem, ma'am. i can tell that you do so much already."

she thanks you again, cupping your hands as the two kids position themselves next to her, grabbing onto her skirt.

"and might i add, it is so nice seeing a couple so good with kids. tell me, do you have some of your own?"

"no," you laugh, placing your head on his shoulder. "not yet."

and when you wink at the woman, she laughs, putting her fingers up to her lips. "not for long either, i can tell."

and you both giggle at one another as he sits there flushed. not yet. it repeats in his head even as he trails you back to your car. his face is burning. he's not so immature as to be flustered by the thought have having a child with you. but he can't stop the feeling he gets when you say things like that.

not yet.

"earth to keji?"

he jumps slightly, hand sweeping up to cover his mouth.

you look worried. your lips are in a pretty pout and your hand is on his chest. "what's wrong?"

he says nothing, doesn't dare to use his words, and so he kisses you. and it's somewhat feverish and terribly lovesick. his hands are warm on your face, and his glasses are fogging up, but he doesn't care. he is fighting for air in between your moans and he'd be perfectly content with passing out as long as your lips are on his. as long as you are his.

eventually, you guys have to pull back. your lips are plumper and he's sure his area deep shade of pink.

and keji doesn't care about the venue, or date, or anything else, because as long as he can tell you "i do," he knows he'll be the luckiest man on earth.

"i have a different idea as a celebration for when your time with your patient has concluded," he says.

you pout. "so no dinner?" so damn cute.

he kisses your lips one last time before starting the car.

"you'll still get that dinner, hun."

© all rights reserved. all content published on this blog belongs to me, kosije. please refrain from plagerizing, reposting, or translating my works. i do not allow adaptation in any way without my permission!

#( ☆ ) haikyuu #( ☆ ) fluff #iwaizumi hcs #hq iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader #iwazumi fluff #haikyuu fluff #akaashi x reader #akaashi headcanons #akaashi fluff #haikyuu x reader #akaashi keiji #iwazumi hajime

108 notes · View notes

howtofightwrite · 7 months

Note

how can I describe an intense, suspenseful and viscous fight between two werejaguars and a human(who’s good with a gun) without it becoming repetitive “he clawed him”, “he shot him” for several pages?

As a disclaimer: for the werejaguar portion of this exercise, I’m going to focus on the jaguar part over the were part. Supernatural creatures come in all shapes and sizes and all with different rules attached. Anything I say will need to be balanced against the rules of your setting and what works for you. In this case, I’m assuming the jaguars are the antagonists but you can easily flip flop this the other way round to have it work.

The key aspect of building a good fight scene is understanding the players and the environment. Everything on top of that is technique, but you can’t get anywhere without a good foundation. This is the research phase.

Ask yourself what your characters want. What is the difference between what they can do vs what they want to do and what they’re willing to do? How do their weapons work? How do they choose to fight? Their background, current goals, and personality will dictate their actions. The temptation is to be general, but boil it down into specifics. This character is not just good with guns, what guns are they good with? The gun (or guns) the human character has chosen to arm themselves with will substantially change the shape of your fight scene. Are they carrying a weapon that would have an advantage over a big cat, much less a supernaturally enhanced big cat? Remember, good with guns doesn’t necessarily mean good at hunting, especially not hunting large predators. At what range is the weapon most effective?

Try to take every character in the scene into account. It’s easy to focus on your POV character as the decision maker and let them control the pace of the fight scene, but combat involves more than one character and more than one decision maker. Fight scenes are really 5% choreography, 20% characters strategizing, and 75% sitting there trying to figure out “well, if Character A lunged and Character B jumped out of the way on a 45 degree angle and is now behind Character A, and they’re in a narrow-ish hallway with a trash can, five windows, and no weapons, they’re going to do… what? exactly?” It’s the ultimate Choose Your Own Adventure game and fight scenes work best when the author makes an effort to manage both sides of the chessboard. It’s not about the end, it’s about how they choose to get there combined with whether or not their decisions work and their gamble pays off. Remember, it’s always a gamble and it’s okay to let your characters be wrong.

In this case, you don’t really have a fight so much as you have a hunt. That’s the through thread here between your characters. What this translates into is that your human needs the cats in front of him to get a clean shot while the jaguars want to be behind their prey. Big cats when they’re hunting and guns in general heavily rely on positioning to be effective. Neither of these two groups are going to want to be out in the open. For the human in this situation, an exposed back is a death sentence. This becomes especially true when there are two cats and they have to track both of them. As for your human, guns become less effective the closer you get. Despite what Hollywood teaches us, these are not close range weapons suited to hand to hand. Unless you’re working with a shotgun, you’re stuck with basic physics. The bullet needs time to travel to build up velocity for maximum penetration.

Jaguars are ambush predators. They use up a massive amount of energy per attack, which means they only have a few tries to get it right. Each failure carves off a massive chunk of their ability to continue the hunt before retreating. Humans, meanwhile, are persistence predators. Our animal brain is geared to outlast our prey, to pace them to death rather than run them down, and then kill when they are exhausted. Cats are also, by and large, solo hunters. Some cats do hunt together (siblings banding together happens more often than you might think, even outside of lions when there’s food to support it) but it’s generally not the norm. Whether this causes an instinctual conflict for your werecats is up to you. Their human half may be enabling them to hunt with sophisticated pack tactics. If so, I’d challenge you to consider what that looks like and sounds like as they communicate.

Your human with the gun is limited by the amount of ammo they have. They may be able to outlast the jaguars (depending on supernatural rules.) However, their ability to make a successful kill diminishes with each failed shot.

Jaguars, pound for pound, have the strongest bite force out of all the big cats. Their preferred hunting method isn’t to scratch or claw, it’s to sink their teeth through the back of the skull and into the brain in one swift, clean strike. Unlike some big cats, they largely don’t preferentially suffocate their prey first through the throat clamp. The claws are here to stop their prey from moving while they get that bite in. (If you’re having trouble visualizing how a jaguar moves, climbs, and stalks, I recommend watching some nature documentaries. Or, read some accounts of jaguars hunting humans. It happens.)

In this scenario, nobody’s squaring off unless it’s a feint. Both parties will be moving, getting into cover, and hiding until they can get into a good-ish position to make their attack. They’ll be relying on their senses to find their opponent and maneuver around them. Jaguars, being better at hiding, would in this scenario be forcing the human out of cover to look for them and, depending on their level of teamwork, utilizing each other as bait to lure their prey out. And they might work on getting the human to waste their ammunition first to limit their risk. If they’re smart, they’re trading off and the movement is coming from multiple directions. So, even if your human has a weapon that will kill the jaguars in a single, lucky shot, they’ll still (probably) be breaking cover to put themselves at risk and get a clean line of sight.

I’m not taking questions on the cats being better at stealth. I have an indoor white cat who ghosts off in a small apartment whenever she wants. Where is she? Somewhere. I don’t know unless she wants me to know. Cats are not dogs or wolves. They have a different methodology when it comes to hunting and even large cats possess the ability to vanish in urban environments that aren’t designed for them.

Anyway, this is your suspense. It’s not an original idea, but I recommend leaning harder into thriller, suspense, and horror when it comes to cats instead of straight up action. That terrifying gut twisting sensation of being all alone, not knowing where the enemy is, maybe hearing them but not being able to gauge how far away they are. Go watch some horror movies with big cats hunting people. Like The Ghost and the Darkness (1996) about the Tsavo man-eating lions, which, while not jaguars, is based on a true story and is a fantastic film.

It’s easy to get stuck on the concept of trading blows. “He punched him” and “he clawed him” and “he slashed him” or “he shot him” but remember that initial attacks are about creating openings. It’s rare for your opponent to magically be in the position you want them with all their vulnerable openings exposed, unless they’re caught by surprise. A lot of initial combat is about building into or setting up your finishing move, all while your opponent tries the same from the other side. Instead of thinking about your combatants as standing in stasis and duking it out, remember that they are in motion. They are moving, they are circling, they are bracing, they are hunting for that new position, that unguarded opening. If the opening is not there, create it.

-Michi

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #michi answers #how to fight write #werejaguar #urban fantasy

171 notes · View notes

roanniom · 2 years

Note

Steddie except both boys play for the football team and there’s a new cute slightly chubby new cheerleader and during the years of school you get a crush on them and the boy have their fun with you

Love the specificity of this!

Sweets

Steve Harrington x chubby!fem!reader x Eddie Munson

Warnings: Semi NSFW, Steddie x reader, the beginnings of smut, mmf, making out, drug use (pot), all characters are over the age of 18 though still in high school, few explicit description of body size, but Eddie and Steve are reeeeally fucking into your body

You’re sure the rest of the squad is going to come looking for you soon. You’d disappeared during cheer practice, promising to be right back. But you never returned. Instead you’re sitting on the picnic table outside behind the gym, with the two hottest football players at Hawkins High.

Eddie Munson always seemed too rock and roll to be an All American sports star, with his wild curly hair often pulled into a low bun under his helmet, a mischievous smile on his lips. Steve Harrington, however, had the golden boy look down to a t, but you knew for a fact he was just as much trouble as Eddie. They stand before you in their letterman jackets, matching in clothing but completely unique and different from one another in style.

Steve was the one who’d slipped the note to you during English class. The note that said to meet him and Eddie out here at 4pm. They both knew you had cheer practice then - all the football players knew when the cheerleaders had practice - but the wink he’d give you, along with the wink Eddie gave you over Steve’s shoulder, silenced any protests you may have wanted to make.

And that’s how you find yourself here, smoothing your short skirt down over your thighs as Eddie lights a joint and Steve surveys you with a grin, arms folded over his chest.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show, sweets. Didn’t know you had it in you to be bad and skip practice like this.” You swallow at the nickname, one he’d given you on your first day as a new kid earlier in the year. You’d been assigned to sit between him and Eddie in biology - the teacher had made some comment about needing to split them up anyway - and when you’d taken out a lollipop Steve had laughed and called you “sweets” for the first time.

Meanwhile, Eddie is blowing out a cloud of smoke and shaking his head.

“Nah, I always knew she had it in her. You like staring at us when you don’t think anyone’s looking. That’s not what good girls do, is it?”

You feel warmth heating up in your belly but you lift your head as confidently as you can and smirk back at him.

“And what, you like smoking behind the school to feel like a bad boy?”

Steve lets out a hearty chuckle and Eddie grins wickedly.

“I prefer the word ‘man,’ but whatever floats your boat, sweetheart,” he says with a wink. Steve grabs the joint Eddie offers and inhales deeply, looking at you over the burning tip.

“Skipping practice, hanging out with two football players alone...wanna make it a hattrick?”

“If that’s a sports reference you’re going to have to translate. I don’t speak jock,” you say, a smile teasing at your lips that makes Eddie bark out a laugh.

Eddie sits beside you on the table and throws a casual arm around your shoulders.

“He’s asking if you want to get high with us,” he clarifies. A thrill runs up your spine.

“Sure, why not?” you ask, reaching out your hand towards Steve. His eyebrows shoot up in amusement and he hands you the joint.

It takes a few moments to get used to the burning sensation and the strain on your lungs, but you’re proud of yourself for not coughing too much and it seems like the boys are, too.

“What d’you think, Harrington? She’s a natural.” Eddie’s still got his arm around your shoulder but now you’re leaning against him, feeling your head start to get light and airy.

“Sure you haven’t done this before, sweets?” Steve teases. He sits on the bench on your other side, at a lower level than you and Eddie who sit atop the table. His hand slides over your calf and up under your bent knee. You do your best not to shiver.

“Never smoked. Some of the cheer girls and I broke into my dad’s liquor cabinet once though,” you admit, hoping it’ll impress them. Eddie cocks an eyebrow.

“See I knew it! Sweets has a naughty streak in her!” You can’t tell if it’s his words or the fact that Steve’s hand has migrated to your thigh which has goosebumps erupting all over your skin. Eddie continues. “So what did you girls get up to? Topless pillow fights?” He waggles his brow at you before passing the joint to you again.

“That’s something straight out of a teenage boy’s fantasy,” you scoff, trying to will your heartbeat into check.

“Who do you think you’re talking to, baby?” Steve says with a grin.

“So that’s what you fantasize about? A bunch of girls having topless pillow fights?”

“Nahhh,” Eddie says, feigning bashfulness and swiping at the air. Then he looks you dead in the eye. “Not a bunch of girls, just you.”

Your stomach flips. But you don’t miss a beat.

“Just me isn’t much of a pillow fight.”

“Ooo she’s sharp, Munson,” Steve cries out. “Not sure how you manage it with all these curves.” His grip tightens on your fleshy thigh and you intake breath sharply.

The heat in your stomach drops to your core. You never got a lot of male attention in your old school, so when you’d first met Steve and Eddie, their flirtatious ways had alarmed you. Your instinct was to believe they were fucking with you, but as time went on they wore you down. They were such an outrageous pair, tag teaming you with teasing compliments and questions and attention.

When Eddie ran into you in the halls he’d always stop what he was doing, even mid conversation with other jocks, and ask how your day was while cheekily batting at the hem of your skirt.

Steve always demanded to be partners with you in English when the teacher divided people into pairs, giving you a roguish smile and exclaiming things like “I’d say you’re the brains and I’m the beauty, but you’re hot enough to be both, so where does that leave me, sweets?”

Together they kept your mind spinning every day. You weren’t exactly friends with the two of them, but they ate up a lot of your time and energy and you’d begun to feel so wound up that you felt like you’d soon burst if the tension didn’t lessen somehow.

“You say that to all the girls, Steve?” you ask quietly in response to his comment about your curves. Eddie’s hand joins Steve, curling around the roundness of your other thigh. Steve grins.

“Of course not. No girl’s got curves like you.” He says it simply, with a shrug. Like he’s not causing your heart to palpitate in your chest. Eddie’s hand slides up and down the length of your thigh, getting closer to the hem of your skirt on each upward movement.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know the effect you have on us.” Steve says. You’re looking down to the right to watch him as he speaks, but Eddie grabs your chin and turns you to look at him just as Steve moves up to sit on your other side on the table.

“Running up on that field with this body.” Eddie says the word ‘body’ like it’s obscene.

Steve’s hand is the one to grab your chin now, bringing you back to look at him.

“Jumping and bouncing and...” Steve trails off shaking his head with a fond chuckle. “Fuck. We see you scanning the sidelines during your little routine.”

Eddie’s chin rests on your shoulder, his face nuzzling against your neck making you gasp.

“We see how your face lights up when you see us there. Watching you, sweets.”

Your jaw works but nothing comes out. You’re way too overstimulated. Fighting through the haze of your high and all of the ways that they are pressing in and touching you and speaking and filling your senses.

“You gonna deny it, sweetheart?” Eddie practically purrs. You hold your breath for a second and then shake your head slowly. You’re staring straight ahead at this point but you feel both boys fidget in their seats at your response. Steve hums in approval.

“The only question left is...which one of us are you really looking at?” You can hear the smile in Steve’s voice even though you can’t see it. Eddie is still draped over you, one hand squeezing your thigh, the other arm around your shoulders while his chin rests on your shoulder.

“Which one of us do you want?” Eddie asks, his voice low and vibrating into your bones.

You don’t think. You don’t stop to consider for even a second. Your voice is breathy but the word is sure.

“Both.”

What happens next happens in a flash.

Suddenly you’re yanked up and onto Eddie’s lap, straddling him. His mouth attaches to your neck and that would be enough to send you to the fucking moon but then Steve Harrington’s hand is on your opposite jaw, holding you still as he moves in and arrests your mouth in a searing kiss.

The sensations are overwhelming. You can’t even begin to process what is happening, but your body responds naturally to the stimulation, giving into the pleasure of receiving everything it had barely even dared to desire.

“Harrington, let her breathe, fuck!” Eddie grumbles, pulling away from where he’d been sucking on your neck. Steve obliges and you gasp, only then realizing how lightheaded you’d become from lack of oxygen. You only get a second’s reprieve before Eddie is yanking you by the back of the head towards him and sealing his mouth to yours.

“Oh real nice, Munson. That’s letting her breathe,” Steve says sarcastically. He does, however, shift his focus to go to town on the side of your neck closest to him, no doubt blooming twin hickeys that would match the ones Eddie had sucked on the other side.

At first your hands don’t know what to do, but then they take on a life of their own. Winding up so that your hands can did into the hair at the napes of both boys’ necks. Pulling them in and keeping them against you, willing their mouths to continue devastating you in this way.

It’s Eddie who finally puts a stop to everything, pulling away from your mouth - though you lean forward to chase his lips with a whine - and yanking Steve back from your neck as well.

“Having a good time?” Eddie asks with a smirk. Your eyes, which have been squeezed shut until he speaks, crack open and you blink at him, turning to blink at Steve as well.

They both look so fucking good. Their lips kiss-bruised and wet, their hair a little mussed, but otherwise both still handsome as ever. Meanwhile you probably look disheveled as fuck. It’s unfair and you pout about but Steve laughs.

“I think she’s upset that we stopped. Aren’t you, sweets?”

You lean forward to try and kiss Steve, practically crazed at this point and needing to go back to drowning in their attention. He holds you back a bit with a grin and Eddie places a hand on your cheek, dragging your attention back to him.

“Want to take this party on the road, sweetheart?”

~*~

Tiny taglist (not sure who here is into Steddie x reader so I am sorry in advance if this is not your jam!!!): @millenialcatlady @theoncrayjoy @sacklerscumrag @cowboy-kylo @boomhauer @copycatkillerfics

#steddie x reader #steddie x you #steve harrington x eddie munson x you #steve harrington x eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x steve harrington x reader #eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut #steddie smut

2K notes · View notes

rebuilding-the-garg · 1 year

Text

The Gargantuan Fossil

This post was from the beginning of my project, thus some information I’ve written here is outdated. Please read my recent posts to see up to date information.

The Gargantuan Fossil is one of the most recognizable parts of the mid-portion of Subnautica’s gameplay. Its sheer size strikes both terror and awe into the hearts of players who stumble upon it. It’s unfortunate that only a third of the creature’s fossilized remains can be seen. Even using the Freecam command to check under the map reveals that the rest of the skeleton remains unmodeled. This is all we have of the Leviathan.

“Gargantuan Fossil” is quite the accurate name, considering just a third of this creature’s skeleton measures 402 meters in length, with the creature’s total size being an estimated 1,100-1,500 meters. Just the skull itself is under 100 meters, and our human player character can nestle comfortably in even its smallest eye socket. I would’ve tried to show our human character’s model for a size comparison, but this thing is so large you wouldn’t even be able to see him.

There have been many different reconstructions of this behemoth of a fossil, the most popular being this commission piece made by Tapwing, for the YouTuber Anthomnia, shown below. And while it’s cool, it’s... not all that accurate.

In the past, I actually helped create a Gargantuan Leviathan mod based off Tapwing’s concept, working alongside other incredibly talented artists (who will remain anonymous, they can talk about their experiences as they please) and some... not so savory individuals. I don’t want to be associated with that old Garg. This reconstruction project is both a way for me to move on and make something better than what I had in the past, and to test my skills and knowledge in the various natural sciences.

Although there is a second specimen, the skull of a younger instance, this fossil holds no significant data outside of showing just how small these creatures start out as. As shown in the image below, despite being a much younger instance, our player character could still fit inside the Leviathan’s smallest eye socket, although it wouldn’t be as spacious as its adult counterpart.

The game’s PDA (Personal Data Assistant) states that the Gargantuan Fossil is approximately 3 million years old, which is INCREDIBLY RECENT. For reference, 3 million years ago we still shared the planet with multiple other hominid species like Australopithecus afarensis back in the mid Pliocene. The Subnautica we know today is a byproduct of a mass-extinction of megafauna, such as Leviathans. My guess as to how the Gargantuan got this big is a combination of deep-sea gigantism and an evolutionary arms race against the other megafauna alive during its time, with prey attempting to become larger than its predator to avoid predation, and the predator growing to continue this cycle. When this ancient ecosystem of leviathan-class super predators collapsed, likely because of the meteor that struck Planet 4546B, the Gargantuan Leviathan was out of a substantial food source and went extinct. It could be possible that these creatures even gave live birth due to their serpentine body and massive size, making them too large for life in the shallows, where laying eggs is easiest.

NOW. LET’S TALK ABOUT THE BONES!! It’s important to figure out if the Gargantuan Leviathan had a cartilaginous skeleton or a bony one, so let’s count the bones!!

There’s TWO WHOLE BONES!!! AND IF YOU LOOK NEXT TO IT!! THOSE RIBS ARE BONES TOO!!!! UWAA!!! SO MANY BONES!!!! How can we tell this is bones? It’s simple! Cartilage is rubbery and flexible, so it doesn't fossilize well, while bone is hard and rigid, perfect fossil material!! Cartilaginous skulls also tend to be made up of many little interlocking bones, with bony skulls being made up of only a small handful!

Another thing I found interesting about the Gargantuan Skull is that it seems to have a ball and socket joint? This could have just been a similar mishap to the top and bottom jaws being fused in the skull’s model, but I’m trying to keep things as close to the original anatomy as possible. The ball and socket joint probably evolved to help with the burden of such a massive and heavy skull and allowing for greater speed and range of motion. In a world full of Leviathan-class predators, being able to have a wide range of motion would be extremely beneficial in locating both potential predators and prey.

Despite its immense size pushing the claim this Leviathan was an apex predator, it sports a small pair of horns, which is unheard of in large apex predators here on Earth. The darker coloration leads me to believe that these aren’t just horn cores, but the entire horn. These horns were most likely used to assist in defending itself against predators while it’s still small and vulnerable. It could also be a possibility they were used for threat displays and territory fights though it seems unlikely due to their small size. Sexual displays are also unlikely since just about every creature in Subnautica seems capable of asexual reproduction, as noted in the PDA entry for eggs. Asexual reproduction seems to be a very ancient basal trait in Planet 4546B’s evolutionary lineage and was most likely evolved to help species persevere even with low numbers and harsh conditions, preventing the dangers of inbreeding.

Overall, the skull’s shape and tooth structure suggest a piscivorous diet (of course it eats fish, the planet’s 99% water), and its shape specifically is reminiscent of an Orca and Redondasaurus. The lack of nostrils stumps me, there’s no openings in the skull aside from its eye sockets, however there’s also no evidence for a gill apparatus. I’m... going to have to come back to that at a later date. Though I personally believe the Gargantuan Leviathan was an air breather due to the lack of evidence for gills.

OKOK, ENOUGH ABOUT THE SKULL ASRIEL, WHAT ABOUT THE RIBS?

WELL... THE RIBS ARE... SOMETHING.

Behold! My very poor photomash of the same two images to show the total approximate length of the Gargantuan Leviathan, and a bad edit to show off what I believe the whole skeletal system would look like! (skeleton image credit)

Despite the game’s PDA describing the Gargantuan Leviathan’s body as “eel-like,” its skeletal structure is more reminiscent of a snake. The ribs show no indication of limbs, so it probably had a dorsal fin similar to eels or sea kraits.

One thing I’ve noticed about the Gargantuan’s ribcage is the existence of what appear to be bony, avian-like uncinate processes, which help the trunk’s muscles pump in and air out of the body, adding onto the idea that this leviathan breathed air. These uncinate processes in diving birds are especially long, which help reinforce the body and musculature, allowing the animal to stay underwater for longer periods of time.

My hypothesis for the role the Gargantuan Leviathan played in its ecosystem is similar to the Sperm Whales of our world, taking in large amounts of air before diving into the depths to fetch their food.

Next week, I’ll be doing more research into the skeleton and possibly beginning work on fleshing the Garg out! If there are any sciencey folks out on Tumblr who want to add their own input, feel free!! I want information!! Correct me if I got anything wrong!!

#long post #VERY long post #speculative biology #speculative paleobiology #paleontology #marine biology #fictional biology #subnautica #character analysis #monster biology #leviathan #gargantuan leviathan #essay

406 notes · View notes

canirove · 3 months

Text

My neighbour Rúben | Chapter 8

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

This year everyone had outdone themselves with the Christmas market, making it look like something from those cheesy movies, and Julia was loving it.

She had already bought an ugly jumper to wear on Christmas day, a few ornaments for our tree, and now we were looking for one especially for me.

"You are living with us now, which means that you deserve to have your own ornament to put on the tree" Lucy said. "It must be something that represents you."

"What was yours?" Rúben asked her. He was looking so cosy and handsome with his nice coat, his hat and his scarf... It was impossible not to stare.

"A shark."

"A shark?" I chuckled.

"That's what one of my teachers told me when I finished my career, that I was a shark. So I took it as my animal” she shrugged. “What's yours?"

"A cat" Rúben and I said at the same time.

"Oh, twins!" Julia giggled.

"Twins indeed" her mum said. "Though Rúben, I think you are more of a tiger. Because of your size, I mean."

"It's not the first time someone tells me that" he grinned before both he and Lucy turned to look at me.

"Let's see if we can find twin cats for you!" Julia said, grabbing me with one hand and Rúben with the other. Now she was the one being my guardian angel.

But after checking most stands and not finding anything, she finally gave up.

"Mami, can we go ice skating? I'm bored."

"Sure. But I'm afraid that’s something Rúben isn't allowed to do, right?"

"I'm afraid not. But don't worry, Julia. We'll keep searching for those cats while you and your mum have fun" he smiled.

"Oh, perfect. We'll meet later where they have all the stands with food so we can have that hot chocolate. See you, guys" Lucy said before disappearing with Julia.

"Should we continue?" Rúben asked.

"Ok" I smiled. Or tried to. I was alone with Rúben. At a Christmas market. Looking for ornaments for my tree. Why did this look like a date the two main characters of a romantic movie would have?

"You know, if we can't find a cat, maybe we can find a piano" he said. "I know it is something kind of bittersweet, but you wouldn't be here if it wasn't because of it."

"I guess" I said, checking one of the stands and seeing a familiar face. "Is that..."

"Uh?"

"Come" I said, grabbing his arm and walking towards the stand. "That's your friend John, isn't it?"

"That is him, yes" he chuckled, checking the ornament. This stand had personalized ones with both City and United's players, and they actually looked pretty cool. "Do you think they'll have mine?"

"Hello, can I help you?" the owner of the stand said.

"We were wondering if you had..."

"Oh, you!" the man said with a big smile. "I know who you are! Looking for yourself?"

"I actually am, yes" Rúben replied.

"I think there are none of yours there, let me check down here" he said, opening a box behind him. "Yours sell really well, especially among women. Wonder why” he chuckled. “Here you are."

"Oh, my God" I said, looking at the ornament the man was showing us. "Do you make them yourself?"

"I do, miss. Do you think I make him justice?" he laughed.

"This tiny version of him is much better" I smirked, looking at Rúben through the corner of my eye. He was rolling his eyes but also smiling.

"The good thing about this one is that he will fit under your tree. The real version is too big and there would be no space for other presents” Rúben said.

"Who says I'm asking to have you under my tree?"

"Who says you aren't?" he replied with that smirk. "We'll take it."

"Oh, wonderful" the man said. "But it is a gift."

"No, no, I can't accept that. We are paying for it."

"But you are... You!" the man said, trying to not catch people's attention. "I can't make you pay for this!"

"You spent your time and money making it. It's the least I can do" he replied, his wallet already in his hand.

"Ok, then" the man said, putting the ornament on a small package. "My son won't believe me when I tell him I sold one of these to the man himself."

"Why don't you take a photo together?" I said. "That way you'll have some proof to show to your son."

"Oh, no, there is no need. I don't want to bother you anymore, have people recognise him, and ruin your date."

"We aren't..." I began.

"It'll be fine, don't worry" Rúben smiled. "Can I ask you something?" he said after I took a few photos of him with the man.

"Of course” he replied.

"Do you know about any stand that sells cat ornaments? We are looking for a couple."

"I don't know if I've seen any, but there is one that sells like cat miniatures with fur and everything. Kids love them, they aren't creepy” he laughed.

"We'll check it. Thank you very much, sir" I said.

"Thank you both" he replied. "And Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas" Rúben smiled.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"I'll take over now" Lucy said, picking Julia from Rúben's arms. After meeting with them again and finally having that hot chocolate, she started to get tired and didn't want to walk anymore, so he carried her all the way back home until she fell asleep. "Thank you very much, Rúben."

"No problem.”

"You can keep the welcome party going, tho. There is no rush to come home" Lucy winked before closing our apartment's door. Well, technically it was hers, but...

"Do you want to come in?" Rúben asked. "We've been walking for a while, you may want to rest your feet."

"Sitting down and resting my feet sounds like a wonderful idea, yes" I said, following into this apartment. Despite being the same as Lucy's, Ruben's looked very different. And not only because there were no toys laying around.

"What do you think?"

"It looks... It looks like you."

"What?" he chuckled.

"I didn't imagine you with a house full of stuff and furniture of different colours."

"Oh, you mean that I have a boring house because I'm boring."

"That's not what I meant and you know it" I said, sitting down on his couch. His very comfy and soft couch. "Oh my God."

"Comfortable?"

"You can't even imagine. Can I lay down?"

"Make yourself at home" he chuckled.

"This is the best, Rúben. Who cares if it's boring?" I said, closing my eyes.

"Don't fall asleep."

"Too late. This is it. See you in a week."

And maybe I didn't see him for a week, but half an hour...

"Good morning, sunshine" he said when I opened my eyes. He was sitting next to me, my feet on his lap.

"What... what happened?"

"You fell asleep."

"I did?"

"Yup."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to. But I guess I was way more tired than I thought. What time is it?"

"Almost dinner time. Do you want to stay? I can order something."

"Ok."

"Just don't fall asleep again" he smiled, putting my feet to the side and getting up.

"I'll try not to” I smiled back.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Don't forget this" Rúben said, giving me the package with his ornament.

"I thought this one was for you?"

"I'm not putting my face on my tree” he laughed. “Besides, we agreed you were the one putting it because the real me was too big."

"That's what you said."

"Does that mean that you will be asking Father Christmas to find me under your tree?" he smirked.

"If you come with that sofa, maybe" I said, matching his smile. And then we just stared at each other in silence while smiling, no awkwardness between us. At least until his phone rang.

"I better go pick that up" he sighed.

"I... Yes, you should."

"Good night, neighbour" Rúben said, opening the door with a little bow like Roger always does.

"Good night” I replied, trying really hard to not start smiling like an idiot and miserably failing.

#ruben dias #ruben dias fanfic #ruben dias imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

53 notes · View notes

hiraya-rawr · 2 years

Text

Dragonspine (Playable AU)

synopsis: short drabble where you're a genshin character and your player logs out while the team is in Dragonspine // reader is a hydro allogene

team: Reader, Diluc, Kaeya, Klee

notes: the reason why I always log off in a city, while sitting down xp I get worried. this is somewhat sagau? they're self aware but definitely doesn't follow sagau themes.

"Of all the places-" You shiver, bringing the blanket closer around you and Klee. As a hydro allogene, Dragonspine was the absolute worst place for your player to log off in. Not only were you more susceptible to the cold, but your player didn't even drop you off near a waypoint or statue.

"Is it that cold? Klee isn't cold at all!" The little blonde girl peeks up to you as she sits on your lap. You huddle her closer, nodding. Thank archons for warm pyro allogenes, Klee was the perfect portable heater, she was cuddle-sized too.

"Hydro allogenes get cold faster than any other allogene," Kaeya notes, patting the top of Klee's head as he sits next to you on the fallen log.

The fallen log Diluc had to chop off.

Multiple shorter logs are dropped on the clearing in front of you, thudding on the ground cleared of snow as the aforementioned redhead glares at Kaeya.

"If you could make yourself useful and help gather firewood, then perhaps no one would have to freeze the night." Diluc glares at the cavalry captain.

"You seem to be doing quite well on your own though?" Kaeya smiles, "Besides, if worse comes to worse-" He brings an arm around your waist, pulling you -and Klee- closer to his side, "We can always. . . huddle together for warmth."

Klee squeals, not at all minding a group cuddle, but prickles of heat began to spread across your cheeks at the thought of cuddling with the two most known bachelors of Mond in the isolated wasteland of Dragonspine. Diluc must be feeling it too, as he looks away to hide his growing blush.

Looking away, Diluc coughs into his hand, "Why -pray tell- are you even here? A cryo allogene in this environment is hardly of any use. Moreso if they can't chop up their own firewood."

Kaeya laughs, placing his chin on your shoulder, "Are you questioning our all powerful creator? I'm sure the player had something in mind placing me here. Besides, (Y/N) would be awfully lonely without m– hey!" You shove him off your shoulder, moving away with Klee in your arms

"You're chin is too cold." You huff, facing away.

Kaeya looks exasperated, Diluc merely chuckles. "Seems like there really is no use of a cryo allogene here."

"Klee thinks so too. But Klee is also really really happy that big brother Kaeya is here!"

"Thank you, squirt."

"Can we light up the fire now? I feel like I'm turning into a past tense here." You shudder, not meaning to intrude the moment but those dry logs would look really good in flames right about now.

"Let Klee do it!" A large flower of fire forms above her head as she prepares her charged attack, you panic at the sight as Kaeya and Diluc stumble over.

"No!" They both shout, the flower dwindles into light sparks as Klee looks down.

"Aww..."

You flinch, looking at her, "No, no, we mean. . . you can, but you have to use the smaller bombs. Just one bomb. Not your charged attack or burst, okay?"

Her expression quickly lightens up, hopping down from your lap, "Mhmm! Klee will only use one bomb extra carefully!"

With that, the three of you feel a little bit more reassured, sitting on the log as Klee approaches the bonfire. She waves her hand around, summoning a. . . rather large bomb.

Her elemental skill.

"Klee will summon one bomb with smaller bombs!"

"KLEE, NO!!"

One elemental skill later and a quick panic over saving your camp from tinier bombs, you sit back on the half burnt log with a dead expression as Klee apologizes.

"Do. . . you guys think Albedo is in his camp?" Kaeya suggests.

"Albedo it is."

navigation

note : i planned a longer and darker version about getting stuck in dragonspine with the team but... for the meantime, this sounds cuter hehehe

taglist !! @absolut-wildflower @boundedbyfate @sadlonelybagel @eissaaaa @ladycoleigh @nejibot @milkypompon @bloodreaper08 @irethepotato @x-zho @roriver @mich-cola @mxsomn @ackrylik @nicebonescomrade @starforecasts @stygianoir @nejibot @yuminako

#diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #playable au #genshin #genshin impact #genshin playable au #klee #genshin diluc #genshin kaeya #kaeya #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #kaeya alberich #albedo #genshin klee #genshin crack #genshin fluff

2K notes · View notes

thatguy03 · 1 year

Text

Character Mods - Male tf

Tyrell unlocked the door to his apartment and walked toward his living room, dropping his work bag in the entrance hallway. "Carlos, I'm home!" He shouted from the living room. "Well you're home early." Carlos said while walking out of his bedroom in his pajamas. "Is that a bad thing?" Tyrell replied in a sweet tone. "Not at all, babe. I've been waiting all day for you to come home, I have a surprise for you." He said before giving Tyrell a kiss on the cheek. Carlos ran over to their PS4 and booted it up. Tyrell had a confused look on his face as them playing the PS4 after he got home from work was not a surprise, in fact it was what they did everytime he was done work to wind down a bit.

C: "So you know how you love street fighter 5, right."

T: "Ya..."

C: "And you know how you like to play Dan, but he sucks."

T: "Yes..."

C: "Well I found a mod online that could make the characters in the game much stronger."

T: "Why does this sound like a scam."

C: "Look, I know it's kinda sketchy, but there were a lot of good reviews and google said the site was trustworthy."

T: " Fine, I'll try it, but you're paying for another PS4 if this bricks mine."

C: "Deal!"

He excitedly booted up street fighter 5 before Tyrell had a chance to change his mind. They both grabbed a controller, ready to see what the mod had in store for them. They got to the character select screen and a text box suddenly popped up on the screen. The text box read "Strong Characters Mod, click yes if you want to make you're characters extremely strong". Carlos pause for a moment and pressed 'Yes'. Another text box showed up, "Are you sure you want to permanently change your character. Once you do, you cannot go back". "Its permanent?" Tyrell said with slight concern, "I can just uninstall the mod if we dont like it, I dont know why it made it seem so ominous". Carlos pressed 'Yes, I am sure' with little hesitation. A final text box showed up, "Thank you for using our mod, enjoy you're increased strength". It seemed like an odd choice of words but they didnt have time to think about it before a shock came through their controllers. They tried to drop the controllers, but felt frozen in place. Tyrell looked at his hands to see that they were growing. One by one, each finger grew longer and thicker while his hands grew to the size of NBA players, making his controller seem tiny in comparison. The shock he felt in his hands traveled up his arms. As the shock traveled through his forearms, they grew larger than his biceps as thick veins surfaced from under his skin. The feeling ran through his previously skinny biceps, blowing them up out of proportion. His biceps grew to the size of melons, ripping through the sleeves of his work shirt. The transformation continued into his shoulders, making them broaden and further strain his shirt. His traps grew, lifting his shirt up slightly as his neck thickened, popping off the button on the collar of his shirt. Waves of definition pressed against the back of his shirt as the muscles in his back grew to match his broad shoulders. Tyrell felt pressure begin to build under his shirt as his flat chest began to grow. Within seconds, two solid chunks of meat were visible from under his shirt, making it stretch. Tyrell let out a loud groan once the pressure finally released as his meaty pecs broke through the next few buttons on his shirt, leaving his hairy chest exposed. The fat in his stomach seemed to melt away, getting rid of his soft love handle and giving his upper body a V shape. His abs grew proportional to his thick chest, ripping through the last few buttons on his shirt, making it fall onto the couch behind him.

Tyrell perspective seemed to shift upward, partially because his spine adjusted to his new height, but also because of the sheer amount of fat and muscle flooded into his ass. The pressure became too much for his pants, first popping off the button on fly before splitting then down the seem. This revealed his rock solid dick as it grew, finally stopping at a massive 8 inches. The transformation moved down his chicken legs, growing them to a over twice their size. His quarterback thighs were complemented by his now hulking size 17 feet.

Tyrell seemed to snap out of his haze, but he still fully wasnt there. Memories of bodybuilding and spending a majority if his free time at the gym flooded his brain. His personality was bodybuilding, he even met his boyfriend Carlos at a bodybuilding competition. 'Carlos!', he thinks before turning his head towards his boyfriend. He sees a massive 200 pound hunk sat naked with ripped clothes surrounding him. Something about Carlos didnt seem right, he was a skinny twink, wait no hes a bodybuilder Tyrell reassures himself. He must have zoned out in the middle of some foreplay, he thinks as Carlos jumps into his arms.

444 notes · View notes

stillness-in-green · 7 months

Text

On Heteromorphs and Heteromorphobia (Arc XV - My Villain Academia)

(Skewing away from the wiki arc titles here, because come the eff on; everyone on god's green earth calls this My Villain Academia, not "The Meta Liberation Army Arc.")

At the request of a kind asker, I'm trying something different with footnotes this time; you'll find them at the end of the relevant bullet point, rather than at the bottom of the post. I've also flagged the numbers in purple, though I left the text itself the default color. I hope people find that a little easier to handle than having to scroll all the way to the bottom, have two tabs open, or wait until the end when they've forgotten the context.

Content Warning: Mentions of the KKK, as well as anti-Korean hate crimes/speech in Japan.

The My Villain Academia Arc (Chapters 218-240)

Chapter 218:

Tsuyu’s weakness to cold is noted in-canon, rather than in a volume extra profile.

All of the people featured specifically in the Detnerat commercial are heteromorphs—a four-armed woman, a walrus gent, and a little gelatinous boy. Re-Destro pontificates about how people with these “newer types of bodies” struggled in the new era because they couldn’t find products that would meet their daily needs; mass production was not equipped—could never really be equipped—to handle the endless variety of body shapes and sizes that came about due to the Advent of the Extraordinary. It recollects the mall scene back in Chapter 68—or, even further back, Ojiro’s character sheet and UA’s lack of varied desks—and calls the reader to consider, once again, the sorts of special needs that those with heteromorphic bodies might have, and how difficult it can be to meet those needs. RD says that his company’s ability to rapidly customize and produce unique goods for every customer has made them #1 in their industry (lifestyle goods). Assuming there’s at least some truth to the commercial shpiel—and the newscaster does at least call Detnerat “a big player”—it suggests that plenty of other companies are not so good at the rapid+customizable combination. Of course, not all companies are trying to be all things to all people, but specialization costs money—as do speed and customization, really, and note that nowhere in the commercial is there a talking point about affordability! So mainly what the commercial leaves me wondering is what degree of inconvenience is still felt by heteromorphs, especially those who are somewhat cash-strapped. That strikes me as a particular hazard when it comes to child bullying. Of course, Japanese schools have uniforms, but I wonder how available tailoring and alterations are for students with particular needs? Is there a provided budget for that sort of thing? Financial aid? How much did Ojiro’s parents have to pay for him to have a full set of uniform pants with a hole for his tail in them? How about Shouji getting all his uniform tops made sleeveless? What arrangements had to be made for Shouto’s gym uniform to be fire retardant? Even setting uniforms aside, there are also their social lives outside of school to consider. Kids will absolutely notice when one of their number wears the same clothes all the time, or home-made clothes instead of name brand, or with obvious patchwork and repair. As in real life, it’s at the intersections of more than one type of disadvantage—in this case, a heteromorphic body combined with a low-income family—that problems become more likely.

Here in 218, almost fifty chapters after the first mention of them, we finally get the proper introduction and explanation of the Meta Liberation Army. Of course, they aren’t heteromorph-specific—the closest any of the named commander-types in RD’s inner circle get is Curious, with her bright blue skin and black sclera,[1] though certainly Re-Destro himself has drifted somewhat away from baseline compared to his ancestor. Regardless, their foundational belief is the deregulation of quirks, stemming from a time when any deviation from the norm made meta-humans targets. The compromise society reached—that quirks require a license to use—is restricting enough on those whose abilities are found with a baseline body, but, as I’ve brought up before, it makes life even more potentially fraught for heteromorphs. That kind of thing is basically a pre-written excuse for heroes or police to stop and harass a heteromorph they don’t like the look of! And while the evidence of that kind of bias has been pretty circumstantial thus far, it’s about to get way, way less so. [1] Wacky hair colors being somewhat de rigueur in anime, we’ll give her a pass on the purple hair.

Chapter 220:

Here we finally hit the major leagues: the Creature Rejection Clan, or CRC. The Japanese is igyou haiseki shugi shuudan, with igyou and shuudan being pretty straightforward—igyou is, of course, “heteromorph,” and shuudan is any sort of organized or self-identifying group of people, anything from a family unit to a business organization, even all the way up to a nation. Haiseki shugi is the important bit, with shugi meaning “doctrine; principle” and haiseki meaning “rejection; expulsion; boycott; ostracism.” Thus, “group whose doctrine is the rejection of heteromorphs.”[2] Note that, in the Japanese, the word in the group’s name is heteromorph; they didn’t pick something more insulting or derogatory. They didn’t really need to, since igyou is, as discussed back in the introduction to this piece, plenty derogatory all on its own. So Caleb Cook went with a translation of igyou that would better get that derisiveness-in-the-context-of-a-hate-group across than his choice way back in Chapter 14. Creature Rejection Clan is a fairly localized translation, but Cook was pretty frank in his Twitter thread on the chapter that he was thinking about the KKK when he made the decision. And it’s not an unwarranted comparison! Of course, I wouldn’t think to presume Horikoshi’s that up on the history of racism in the U.S., but combine the cod-religious trappings and the full robes and hoods with an explicit textual description of hate crimes, and it’s an extremely easy parallel to draw. [2] The Japanese also gives the abbreviation of CRC, with the databook eventually coming out and revealing that it really stands for the name they’ve chosen for themselves in English, the Curious Rejection Committee.

That established, it’s notable that Spinner, in describing them, says that they commit hate crimes against “people with heteromorphic quirks”—a nearly word-for-word translation of the Japanese igyou-gata no ningen. This leaves aside the idea I’ve spent so much time talking about, that heteromorph discrimination is aimed broadly at those with heteromorphic bodies, and not only those with the more narrowly defined heteromorphic quirks. Shortly, however, I’ll cover some evidence that Spinner is over-generalizing, or just misinformed.

In the meantime, take note of a few things the CRC guys[3] actually say here, starting with the fact that they call Spinner a lizard. Instantly, a word that was previously a snippy and dismissive little shrug in Dabi’s mouth takes on the weight and ugliness of a slur. Further, they call the League of Villains “sins against nature”—or, in a more literal translation, “impure criminals.” I provide the more literal translation there because it’s more specific. My immediate question of the English translation would be whether the CRC judge the League as being sins against nature simply because of their criminality, or because of their association with Spinner, but the Japanese makes clear that there are two separate labels being flung there: the League are both criminals and impure. This idea of impurity brings in a religious dimension to heteromorphobia, a dimension heightened by the line (dropped by the English translation) in which the CRC accuses the League of invading a sanctuary—in Shinto, shrines have to be kept pure. The CRC calling their hideout a sanctuary, with the added context of, “They have a lizard with them. How disgusting,” thus makes it pretty clear that the impurity is about Spinner’s presence, not just the League’s assorted crimes. This spiritualistic justification for bigotry will later be made even more explicit in Shouji’s flashbacks. [3] With skull masks right there on their hoods! A real, “Are we the baddies?” moment, but given some of the other things we get on them later, it's possible the skulls are meant to contrast what e.g. Spinner or Koda’s skulls might look like: baseline human versus animalistic or “misshapen.” Credit to @codenamesazanka for connecting the dots on that!

Spinner also gives us here the line that I covered back in the terminology section at the beginning:

We’ll go with the official version this time.

So here we have the observation that the word absolutely everyone uses, the word that, as far as we know, academically defines an entire category of quirks, is an unpleasant, even rude word. But what is the alternative? We’re never given one. Indeed, Spinner doesn’t suggest one; he says that the nice thing to do is “avoid” the word instead. In other words, talk around it. See again what I said at the start about all the difficulties baked into that prospect.

Later, we get the first drops of Spinner’s backstory, and hit again on the “lizard” thing, with the note that Spinner’s backwater, stuck-in-the-last-century hometown called him “the lizard freak.” He grew up with it, grew accustomed to it, thought there was nothing he could do to change it—he might even have internalized it somewhat, though clearly by the time Chapter 160 rolled around he was ornery enough about it to complain. It's perhaps also notable that Spinner knows who the CRC are. Though we’ll later find out that their numbers have hugely diminished, he not only recognizes them, he’s not even surprised to see them—unlike many, Spinner knows the CRC never truly went away. (Compare his lack of reaction to, for example, Shouji's unsuspecting classmates, who will later be shocked, just shocked, that this kind of ugliness still exists in their country.) So just to state the obvious here, yes, the presence of active hate groups does irrevocably shift the lens on everything we’ve seen up to this point. You can’t say calling a heteromorph an animal is harmless, a little insensitive at worst, maybe even meant as a cute nickname, when that same language is used by openly violent bigots.

The volume version gives us, at the end of the chapter, further notes on the CRC. It’s full of relevant tidbits, so I’ll provide the text in its entirety:

Once superpowered society grew more stable and less chaotic, this group emerged, based around a lack of acceptance for those with body-altering quirks. They started out with demonstrations and protests but eventually started committing violent hate crimes. Most felt this was taking things too far, so the group saw a sharp decline in membership and a scattering of factions. These days, one faction might only reject people with animal properties, while another focuses its hate on people with irregular heads. These two, among others, have very few members left. The faction that Tomura and the villains attacked was one that stood by the original group's fundamental tenets.

So what is there to gather from this? Let’s break it down a point at a time.

“Once superpowered society grew more stable (...)” If you’ve ever lived through a time of increasing acceptance for a marginalized group, particularly if that acceptance involves measures for legal protections being passed, you’ll recognize what this is. Just to pick a few U.S. examples, the KKK didn’t exist until after the Civil War;[4] proactive federal bans on same-sex marriages didn’t start getting passed/proposed until individual U.S. states started legalizing them and civil unions. When opposition to something is the norm, said opposition often doesn’t start organizing until they see that status quo being threatened; they weren’t organized before because they never imagined they’d need to be! That’s what we see with the CRC: they didn’t formally declare themselves until it started looking like quirks—and especially non-baseline quirks—were going to find legal acceptance. [4] Literally. The last day of the war was May 26, 1865; the date the first Klan was founded was December 24 of the same year. Easily the most vile thing I learned in the process of writing this piece.

“(…) based around a lack of acceptance for those with body-altering quirks.” This is what I was referring to when I said Spinner's characterization of the CRC might be a little bit off: the CRC wasn’t founded because of a hatred for specifically heteromorphic quirks; they were founded because of a hatred for different bodies, a descriptor that could also apply to those with transformation-style quirks! Those, too, are quirks that alter bodies, after all; it’s just possible for people to turn them off, which is not the case for those with heteromorphic quirks. So Spinner was not quite on the mark before. Further, note that the phrase “body-altering quirks” is used here—a phrase that’s similar in meaning and much less othering than igyou. It doesn’t fully cover everything I use “heteromorphic” and “non-baseline” to cover, in that it’s still murky in situations like e.g. Cementoss’s, where his emitter quirk is entirely independent of his oddly shaped head, but it’s still a useful term! Except for the small complication of where it isn’t found: anywhere in the actual story. The fact that Horikoshi uses it in an author’s note, but it comes up nowhere in BNHA proper, puts it in an unclear place as far as in-universe alternatives go. Has it just not come up because Horikoshi hasn’t thought to include it? Or has it not come up because it’s not a phrase people in-universe use?

“They started out with demonstrations and protests but eventually started committing violent hate crimes. Most felt this was taking things too far, so the group saw a sharp decline in membership and a scattering of factions.” Confirmation here of what Spinner said about the CRC and hate crimes, but note what this doesn’t say: that the CRC was outlawed. There are, I suspect, a couple of factors influencing that. o Firstly, while Japan has legal methods to restrict undesirable organizations,[5] making it difficult for them to raise funds or engage in publicity, the country doesn’t actually de facto criminalize membership in such organizations. That distinction is part of the legacy of violent crackdowns on labor groups and protest movements in the first half of the 20th century; people tend to get very loud about anything that whiffs of the government trying to give itself the power to get that heavy-handed again. Assuming that the laws haven’t changed overmuch in HeroAca!Japan, then, I wouldn’t expect membership in the CRC to have been criminalized outright, but the volume extra doesn’t mention any kind of legal repercussions at all. That, I think, may go more to my next point. [5] The relevant laws are aimed mostly at terroristic groups or organized crime. o Secondly, another thing Japan has very, very little of is hate crime legislation. From my research, there are only two laws of any note: a federal law passed in 2016 and widely regarded as toothless thanks to it lacking any criminal provisions targeting offenders,[6] as well as a local ordinance passed in Kawasaki in 2019 that went as far as mandating fines against repeat offenders, among other measures.[7] [6] It required the government to start “implementing measures” to eliminate such speech/behaviors, as well as to “respond to requests for consultation” from victims, but did not directly mandate consequences for offenders. [7] I suspect from some of what I read that Osaka has picked up a similar ordinance, but I didn’t find anything detailing it specifically. Osaka and Kawasaki are home to the largest and second-largest population of Koreans living in Japan. One major thing neither of these measures did, though—and something activists have been pressing for—is to establish standards for considering discriminatory motivations when issuing sentences against those who have committed violent crimes. To pick an example that made the news last year, a man committed arson out of openly admitted hatred for the Koreans he targeted, but nowhere in the trial or discussion of his sentence did the prosecution ever bring up discrimination.[8] [8] https://mainichi.jp/english/articles/20220829/p2a/00m/0na/015000c Also, it’s worth noting that both of these measures were aimed at ethnic discrimination—speech and behavior targeting people living in Japan while being themselves, or being children of, people of non-Japanese ethnicities. They did not address discrimination based on e.g. religion or sexuality. Folding both of those points together, the image we have of the CRC is of a violent hate group whose existence is regarded as perhaps distasteful and extremist, but not actually illegal. Even what few laws Japan has now wouldn’t have applied to anti-heteromorph discrimination, because, while they may look wildly different from a prototypical Japanese person, heteromorphs still are Japanese, and therefore not protected by a law based solely around ethnic discrimination. Incidentally, the ordinance in Kawasaki laid out a number of specific examples of the kind of behavior it was looking to address, and one of those examples was likening victims to something other than human. I know why that was included in the context of anti-Korean sentiments,[9] but it certainly does shade e.g. Dabi calling Spinner a lizard more harshly to know that there’s legal precedent for categorizing such dehumanizing language as hate speech. [9] An extremely common form of anti-Korean hate speech in Japan is to refer/allude to Koreans as cockroaches.

“These days, one faction might only reject people with animal properties, while another focuses its hate on people with irregular heads.” This is a good echo of the sort of factionalization you see in organized religion, wherein the minutiae of tenets that seem similar to an outside eye are the topic of vicious, vehement inter-group debate. More to the point, however, it provides an excellent illustration of the senselessness of bigotry. They can’t even keep their own discriminatory dogma straight! Probably the second most common complaint about the story’s use of heteromorphobia—after calling it retconned-in bullshit that didn’t exist until Chapter 220—is that it’s illogical, that it makes no sense to judge people because they look a little different in a world where everyone is now a little different from the way we see the world. And I wonder if the people who say that are listening to what they’re saying. “Illogical bias that has no foundation in reality is unrealistic?” What do these people think bigotry is? Racism, sexism, xenophobia, ableism, religious discrimination, all the many different shades of queerphobia: all of these are built on foundations of fear and hate for people who are fundamentally still as human as anyone else, yet they all exist, and have existed, and will go on existing for quite some many years still. Because irrational hatreds are, by definition, irrational. Heteromorphic discrimination is the most realistic societal dynamic in the entire series! That little rant aside, I also want to highlight the first group in the excerpt above—people with animal properties. Check any talk on the theme of, “So you can believe dragons but not black people in fantasy?” and you’ll run into the ways people are much more ready to suspend their disbelief for full-on fantasy than for something that, rightly or wrongly, pings them as incorrect, and it’s easy to imagine animal-associated heteromorphs running into a similar issue: it’s fine for people to just look weird, but looking like an animal, that’s bad and unnatural. A heteromorph who just looks like nothing in particular other than “non-baseline” is not evoking the baggage of animal anthropomorphization and cultural animal symbolism that someone who looks like a bird, a lizard, a dog, an orca, etc. is.

Chapter 223:

Shigaraki refers to Gigantomachia as a gorilla. It’s debatable how much this is of a piece with Dabi calling Spinner “Lizard”—Machia’s only actual animal quirk is Mole, not anything simian, nor is Machia particularly ape-like in anything other than his large size—but it does stand out to me that Spinner, who we know to have strong opinions about animal epithets, just refers to Machia by name or as “the big guy.”

Chapter 224:

Mr. Compress calls Machia “our pet gorilla”; see note above.

Chapter 226:

Curious introduces the idea of quirk counselling, telling us that its goal is to align people to a unified understanding of how the world and society work, but that it’s flawed in that it winds up emphasizing peoples’ differences instead. The advisor at the hospital raid will include quirk counseling in his litany of grievances, so I’ll discuss its possible utilization against heteromorphs more there, but for now, recall that I talked previously about how quirk-based behavioral tics might vary from person to person by comparing Hound Dog with Sansa. With that in mind, it’s not a big reach that some heteromorphs might run into similar problems with quirk counselling.

There are a good number of what appear to be heteromorphs through the Curious fight; whatever the MLA’s core views on quirk supremacy, the organization self-evidently makes ample room for heteromorphs, even if, like e.g. the red panda guy in the crowd jumping Toga inside the noodle joint, they don’t seem to have any other stand-out powers beyond the fur and fangs.

Chapter 229:

Twice notes in his flashback that something about his eyes always rubbed people the wrong way, scared them. We’ll eventually see this same thing with Tenko on the street—a totally normal-looking child, but the look on his face scares people away even more than the blood. And I can’t help but think, “If even a totally baseline person’s eyes can creep people out, how much easier—and more extreme—is that reaction for the more out-there sort of heteromorph?”

Gori makes the tiniest of cameos in Twice’s flashback, playing backup off to the side when we will, in current times, find him having worked his way up to the interrogation chair himself.

Chapter 230:

Geten brings us quirk supremacy via his understanding of the MLA’s goals. It’s hard to say how accurate this is, since the MLA leadership is inconsistent on what exactly their vision of Liberation entails. Whatever it is, it certainly doesn’t seem to dissuade the MLA’s own heteromorphs, though of course there’s a big difference between how e.g. Spinner or Ojiro versus Gang Orca or Mirko would fare in a societal quirk free-for-all. Likewise, the MLA is a cult, so one can’t discount the likelihood of double-think in its members.

Chapter 232:

Re-Destro talks about the state of the country in Destro’s infancy, a period in which metahumans suffered “constant abuse—blatant discrimination.” Merely for speaking out that her child was just like everyone else—that his special power was just a quirk—Destro’s mother was killed by an anti-meta mob. This gives us further evidence of the violence metahumans faced. Of course, in that time, the hate wasn’t distinguishing between types of quirk, but with that being said, an emitter and a transformer can still hide the truth about themselves with far more ease than heteromorphs—recall All Might’s discussion about the early days of quirks back in Chapter 59, in which the panel showing four people with quirks contained only one baseline person. It would be entirely unsurprising for an outsized number of the metahumans killed in those days to be heteromorphs.

Chapter 233:

The confrontation between Trumpet and Spinner gives us Trumpet clucking about Spinner having a weak meta-ability—Gecko lets him cling to walls, and that’s about it. It’s a striking contrast to someone like Mirko or Gang Orca, or even Tsuyu, all of whom have some combination of big power moves and a veritable fleet of sub-abilities. We can see the way Hero Society prizes powerful, flexible quirks in this. Having a strong quirk can help overcome the societal bias about heteromorphs, but if you’re stuck with a weak quirk and a weird face, you lack that metaphorical ticket out.[10] [10] Incidentally, the fandom reflected some of that attitude as well. There was a widespread assumption that Spinner’s quirk would be really useful or situationally powerful, otherwise why would Horikoshi have hidden it for as long as he did? Then, after the reveal, there was a certain amount of complaining that Spinner was useless to the League, and why even bother with him? Sometimes, life imitates art in some very unflattering ways.

Trumpet brings up that Spinner was a recluse, “mocked and pilloried,” and we see Spinner in his hikikomori days. What we’ve gotten on Spinner up to this point suggests that the abuse he endured was mostly verbal, though one can imagine it was pretty rough when he was young enough to be the target of school bullies. There’s a certain amount of temptation to minimize that in comparison to his response: most people who are bullied or targeted by discrimination don’t grow up to become terrorists. But there was, we will eventually find, more visceral stuff going on—and parts of the country that were even worse than Spinner’s hometown.

Spinner spent most of his life trying to fit himself into the world around him; his strongest parallel in the League in this regard is Toga, as they were the two that held themselves back, let the world define what they were and how they should act, right up until they saw something that caused them to snap.[11] Trumpet tries to do much the same to Spinner here (albeit probably less as an intentional psychological attack than Skeptic’s attempts on Twice), but Spinner, like Toga, is long past the point where he would swallow that abuse without fighting back. When you tell someone they are something long enough, they eventually start to believe it—but if you aren’t careful, they’ll start to embrace it, at which point those weaponized words change hands. [11] Shigaraki and Dabi, by contrast, pushed back harder, trying to get the world to accept them and never accepting it when their families (and particularly their fathers) told them to stop. Twice was ejected without getting the chance to try to contort himself into a shape that fit the world, whereas Mr. Compress seems to have been raised to reject his society's accepted norms from the start.

Chapter 234:

We see an image excerpted from Quirks and Us, a children’s book published by Curious’s outfit, that exhorts the reader not to judge people by their quirks. It really, really begs the question, “If this is what’s being said in literature published to coax people towards anti-suppression radicalism, what on Earth is normal society saying?” Regardless of that absolutely wild disparity, though, the fact that there are children’s books being published about quirk bias being wrong suggests that the world very much does have a problem with quirk bias. Indeed, that much has been shown throughout the series, not merely in terms of anti-heteromorph bias, but also the bias against “villain quirks,” as well as the widespread idea that people with weak quirks—or no quirks at all—are weaker people overall, pitiable folk who lack the power to live their fullest lives or pursue their dreams unhindered.[12] People on more than one of these axes of discrimination will, as in real life, be more likely to experience discrimination and violence. [12] Villains like All For One and Geten may say it more loudly, but it’s not only villains who believe it—perfectly good-hearted people like All Might and Midoriya Inko fall into that trap as well.

Chapter 237:

Nothing much to say about Shigaraki’s flashbacks save to note that, if people won’t stop to help a lost and bloodied (and baseline) child, they sure as hell won’t intervene in anti-heteromorph bullying. Recall that Kirishima was accused of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong for trying!

-----

Thanks as ever for reading along, everyone! How was the new footnote format? Should I keep that up for lengthy meta going forward?

I was kind of expecting to be able to wrap this up (the main canon, at least) in one more post, but I underestimated the amount of writing I'd be doing for the first war arc. For next time, then, I'm looking to cover the Endeavor Agency, Paranormal Liberation War, and Dark Hero Villain Hunt arcs. See you all then!

#bnha #heteromorph discrimination plot #bnha worldbuilding #bnha meta #my writing #creature rejection clan #tw racism #tw hate crime #bnha spinner #iguchi shuuichi #meta liberation army

83 notes · View notes