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horseshoegirl · 6 months

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Set Me Alight - Part 1: Seventeen Going Under

📜I know I should be working on FFA (Forever After All). However, I got bit by this idea of a fire look-out of all things, then had a whole dream about it. Naturally, I had to fic it. Due to story choices and plot later in the series, I have made a fictional National Park. However, it is loosely based on Mount Rainer and Olympic National Park in Washington.

❗️+18, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character, Anything Can Happen in the Woods, Forced Proximity, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, post-college daggers, Camping/Hiking AU.

Thank you to @desert-fern for helping me with the title!!

#6k Words

Masterlist | Part 2

Camping was the last thing you wanted to do on your week off.

It will be fun, Nat said. It won't be just the two of us going, she said. It's just hiking and a campfire and seeing the sights, she said.

It was not fun. It was not just hiking and a campfire. It was a fucking bad idea.

Why, you might ask?

It was hiking in a state national park, deep in the wilderness, with only a few fire lookouts as the closest thing resembling civilization. It was miles, miles, from your home state. It was going to be fucking cold, and wet, and rainy. It would be muddy slopes, climbing up cliff faces, and watching out for blind roots and sharp rocks haphazardly sticking up from the ground. You knew you wouldn't even get to enjoy the amazing scenery because you'd be too busy making sure you didn't accidentally die by stumbling over said rock or root down a cliff.

No, all that you could have handled, despite your initial protests. That wasn't the issue.

Because 24 hours post leaving your house and arriving in Seattle, she had failed to mention that fucking Jake Seresin had been invited along too.

It wasn't as if she didn't have a chance to. Oh no, there had been many ample opportunities for either her or her boyfriend, Bradley, to let you in on that secret. Like when the two of them picked you up from your apartment in the extremely early hours of the previous morning to start the journey to Seattle. Or the long drive there, or when you checked into the hotel that night.

Nat and Bradley had been shifty about who else had been invited in general too, but you suspected the usual group. Maybe their girlfriends, if the prospect of leaving the city wasn’t too much for them.

Despite your initial protests, you were actually excited to go. Lakespur National Park was a beautiful sight at any time of the year. The mountains were snow-capped and tall, like they were touching the sky. The trees were the brightest shades of green, especially after a bout of rain. The lakes and rivers were deep pools of unreal bright baby blue, and you knew from the website that there were a couple of waterfalls hidden amongst the trails. The cliffs were high enough, too, that if you managed to find a nice lookout, the views could have stretched on for miles. And neighbouring nearby, you could spot Mount Rainer standing non-threateningly as it could in the distance.

You wanted to paint as much of it as you could before the week was over.

You had awoken in your hotel room that morning in a good mood. You appreciated the few hours of sleep you could get before you had to spend a week in the literal woods, surrounded by bugs and animals who probably wanted to eat you, sleeping in a tent with nothing but a bed roll.

That same feeling carried over to now as you opened the truck door, the scent of dirt and fresh pine invading your nose. Grabbing the support handles on either side, you carefully lowered yourself to the ground, sunlight hitting the sides of your face. It felt good to be out here; the warmth, the fresh air, the sounds of nature going on around you in the early morning light.

Nat sighed affectionately, throwing her arms wide as if she was trying to hug the entire forest. "Ah, Nature!"

You rolled your eyes, but your smirk gave you away. "You said that yesterday morning when you picked me up. It's going to get old, really fast."

She closed her eyes, giggling to herself and starting to spin on the gravel, tilting her head back. You couldn't help but laugh with her as she twirled around, the stones and dirt crunching under her feet.

Nat’s friendship was the only one that had survived College. You’re not entirely sure how you became friends either; it just kind of happened out of the blue one day. She had been in a sorority and ran in the popular crowd, so to speak. You worked in the campus art supplies store selling paint and double-stapled-backed canvas’. And when you weren’t there, you were in the studio, painting or sculpting or doing something creative that usually ended up with you covered in whatever messy medium you had decided to work with.

From those things alone, she had no real reason to want to be your friend.

You suppose you could at least trace it back to that group project the two of had been assigned to do with two other people. Two other people who didn't do jack shit, despite multiple protests from both of you. The two of you had ended up pulling an all-nighter in your apartment off campus, and to your surprise, a girl from a high-ranking sorority had been way kinder than you expected her to be.

You wanted to say the two of you bonded that night, sharing stories and laughing at funny social media posts when you forced yourselves to take breaks. And when the project was done and over with, you didn't expect her to stay around.

But she did. Suddenly, in the aftermath, she was there, texting you about her favourite book series, dragging you out of the studio, and lifting your head off a literal canvas to ensure you had something to eat or drink. She'd sit with you in the library when you had to study art history and bring coffee. And when drama hit at her sorority residence, she moved into your apartment off campus.

That's how you met Bradley. And then his football team. And the biggest asshole to ever live. You regretted a lot of things on that night, and you not standing up to him was at the very top. Written in red. And underlined.

After what he said, after what he did, you never wanted to see his face again.

Once Nat steadied herself against the truck, you turned to catch your gaze on a few familiar figures unloading their gear. You waved hi to Mickey and Ruben as they made their way over to the three of you, gear and supplies thrown over their backs. Mickey was the first to reach you, sweeping you into a hug and ruffling your head over your baseball cap. You're smiling up at him when he pulls back.

"Ready for some adventure, Maeve?" he grins.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe we’ll find some interesting things to get up to. Sightsee, tell ghost stories, see a bear or two.”

“Really, a couple of bears. You think I could take them on?”

You snorted, reaching up to slap the rim of his baseball cap down. “Only you would want to have a fight with one.”

“Come on, you’re not scared, are you?” he said, dramatically holding his hand over his heart before reaching for you. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Suddenly, a new voice pitched up from behind him. "You are joking, right? You know he will be pushing the two of us in front of him and then running for the hills screaming like a little girl."

You giggled at Cora, his girlfriend's, remark as she pushed him out of the way to give you a bear hug. “The only way you’d ever come close to looking good in that scenario is her painting it.”

Mickey frowned. "That hurts my heart, baby. Really. You really think I'd leave you ladies alone to fend for yourselves?"

You and Cora snorted at the same time. "We know you would."

Mickey pouted, and Cora only laughed, resting her cheek on the top of your head as she laughed. But you were too focused on watching Jessica, Ruben's girlfriend, approach the group, and you had to brace yourself. While you hadn't known her long, Jessica's presence often accompanied an undercurrent of tension. Her lips were curled up in what you deemed a practiced, superficial arc, the kind of smile that was more a social formality than a genuine expression of pleasure.

"Hey Jessica," you greeted her with as much warmth as possible.

She offered you a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes, and you had to force yourself not to take a step back out of Cora's arms or shutter at those eyes, wanting to tear you apart. She looked harmless, with short brown hair that framed her bubbly cheeks. But inside, you knew and felt the familiar twinge of discomfort that came from interacting with someone who clearly harboured less-than-friendly feelings about you.

Instead, you searched for Nat, who was saying something to Bradley as she lay across the front seat of the truck, leaning across the centre console with the door wide open. You called out to ask her, "Who else are we waiting on?"

There was a long-standing pause before Bradley was the one to shout out, "I don't see Javy's truck yet!"

You were about to open your mouth to reply, the retort on your lips, before someone honked a horn, and you came face to face with Javy’s Blue Chevy, kicking up stones as the massive tires rolled into the parking lot. The metal frame sparkled against the early morning sun, and you had to cover your face with your elbow to shield your eyes from the glare. Ruben called out, clapping his hand against his fist, calling out, “They arrive, finally!”

Mickey reached over and slapped him on the back, letting his hand rest on his shoulder. “Fifty bucks says pretty boy spend forever getting out of the shower?”

You jolted at the nickname. To anyone outside the group, the pretty boy reference could have been referring to Javy. But you had the context. There was only one person they could have been referring to, and like a volcano, you wanted to blow your top.

It was at this very moment you realized Nat and Bradley had purposely lied to you by omission.

“Oh no,” you grumbled out, and Cora instantly stepped back, taking her hands off you as if you were on fire and holding them out in front of her. And the two idiots realized what they had admitted, eyes wide as they took you in.

“Oh, Maeve, we thought…”

“Thought what?” you seethed. "What did you think, exactly?"

Javy cut the engine of his truck and swung open the driver’s door, turning in his seat to see everyone, a huge smile on his face as he took everyone in. That was until he landed on you.

“Maeve…” he called out cautiously, hopping down and holding his hands out in front of him nervously.

Don’t Maeve me! Who is in your truck with you? And don’t tell me it’s just Veronica.”

Javy bit his lip, contemplating what he could possibly say to you that would get you to calm down and just listen. But the longer he took, the more you came to the realization that that asshole was, indeed, riding shotgun in his truck.

And when the front passenger door opened and closed, the second you saw the flash of blonde hair, your vision turned red.

And just let that - every single good feeling, every thought of not needing to worry about him showing his face - quicken into flashing white anger. The whole group seemed to know it too, tensing up as your face started to turn beat red, and your mouth was poised open, ready to give the worst shout of their lives.

"Fuck no, Nat! Absolutely fucking not!” You practically screamed, turning to face her with your hands on your hips. Mickey dropped his chin to his chest with a sigh. “Yup, there’s the Midge we all know and love.”

Natasha sighed, mocking your stance as she readied herself for the argument. "Come on, you wouldn't have agreed to come had you known."

"You're damn fucking right, I wouldn't have agreed!" you fumed. "Why on God's earth would you think a whole fucking week with the two of us in close proximity would be such a good idea?!"

Nat went to reply, but the sound of shuffling gravel and a low, resonant thud of weight shifting on the side of Javy’s truck interrupted her, letting all of you know who inserted themselves into the conversation.

"Good to see you still have that mouth on you, Midge."

You slammed your eyes shut in annoyance at the sound of his voice.

Midge.

The not-so-subtle nickname he had bestowed upon you that everyone had suddenly taken to using. They all figured it was in reference to your height, or maybe for short for your weird ass name, as Jake once called it. Out of all of them, including Nat, you were the tiniest of the group. The entire football team towered over you, and while they meant it affectionately, endearingly, in the kindest way possible, Jake had to be the cocky smart ass.

A Midge was also in reference to a fly. A small but fucking annoying fly. He just had to double-whammy you twice.

Bradley came around from the driver's side of the truck, a slight grimace on his face. "Sorry, Maeve, I thought she had told you he was coming.”

Nat might have played a part in not telling you Jake would be here, but she wasn't solely to blame for his presence. No, that was entirely Bradley's fault.

Jake was his best friend, after all.

You marched forward, staring into his face, a finger pointed and pressing deep into his chest. "Why the ever living hell did you invite him!?"

Bradley regarded you for a moment before letting out a sigh. "You know why," he mumbled under his breath only to you, looking down at the breast pocket of his jacket.

Your heart twinged in your chest. You did know why. You helped him pick out that ring. Bradley wanted to propose to Nat on this trip, and it only made sense he'd want his best friend around when it did happen. It quelled your anger for a few seconds.

You could have handled a day. Maybe. A morning or afternoon. A few hours. An hour. Yes, you could have managed to be in the same space as Jake for one single hour. One hour, with doors and indoor plumbing and a driveway where you could park your car for a conveniently easy escape.

Not a whole fucking week. In a forest. With him.

"Please, Maeve," Nat begged from behind you. "This week is important to me. To us. We just want to have a good time with everyone together.”

With your back still facing her, you slammed your eyes shut.

Only if she knew the real truth behind such a statement.

Letting your head rest back on your neck, you opened your eyes to stare up at the sky. You knew you had to do this for Nat. She was one of the few friends you really had, and she had done more for you than you ever thought possible.

You owed her that much.

You turned to face her, taking in her pouting lip before your eyes finally tracked to Jake. He had crossed his arms, still leaning up against the side of Javy's truck. You watched as he wetted his lips in amusement. Your eyes stalked the movement, and for the first time since he arrived, you finally set your eyes on him.

"Oh, come on now, Midge," the asshole grinned at you. "Surely we can get along for a couple of days."

You gritted your teeth, your face scrunching up in disgust.

It had been close to six months since the last time you saw Jake Seresin. He had brought some chaotic tramp who was obsessed with horoscopes and star signs to Nat and Bradley's housewarming party, offering up no conversation except she was a Cancer and that it had to be the explanation and answer to any bizarre behaviour she might possess. You hated that. You hated her, though hate was too strong of a word to use on someone you'd probably never see again.

It made you want to throw up to see how she clung to Jake like he was her personal meal and how he ate it up with no shame.

But Jake didn't look like he did back then. He was more laid back now, in a button-up shirt and a short beard, ray bans hanging from the hem of his shirt. Nothing like the stereotypical playboy college type with rich parents that you knew him to be. Not the man with sharply defined edges and polo shirts as if he was about to descend on his mother’s fancy golf club. Not if he had been handed everything in his life on a silver platter.

Turning your head, you saw Nat's pleading gaze, and when you turned to Bradley, he mouthed a desperate "please." Sighing, you motioned for him to open the tailgate, only to grab your hiking bag from the flatbed and hoist it over your shoulders dramatically.

Adjusting the straps on your shoulders, you huffed out, "Hell better be fucking freezing over if I was ever forced to get along with you."

Collective sighs went up around the group, and you swore you could even see a few sag their shoulders in relief. Yet, that cocky asshole only continued smiling, maybe even wider than before.

"Chin up, sweetheart. There are worse people you could be stuck with out here, in the wilderness."

Your cheeks felt hot. "I'm not your fucking Sweetheart, Asshole."

"Would you like to be?"

Six fucking months and he hadn't changed. Even before that, with how intermittently you saw him. You were too scared to do anything back then about him and his attitude and his fucking mouth.

Now? You’d hit him in a heartbeat now. You were about to, if not for a gentle hand on your arm that prevented you from stepping forward to take a swing at him.

"Come on, Midge, you can stay back with us."

You allowed yourself to be turned, coming face to face with Bob and his girlfriend, Grace. You unclenched your fists almost immediately.

You liked Bob. He was sweet and kind and always had a smile on his face. And Grace had been nothing but kind to you since the day you met her. She looped her arm through yours, securely holding it to her side.

"He's not worth the brain cells," she whispered in your ear. You giggled loudly.

Bradley whistled loudly, making the group gather around, placing him and Nat at the center.

“Thank you all for coming! We all need to check in with the park ranger first,” Bradley started. “But first things first, we need to go over the rules and responsibilities!”

Nat pulled out a piece of paper from her jacket pocket, unfolding the edges and holding it out in front of her.

“Bob and Grace, you’re in charge of campfires! That includes the wood, the setting up and putting out! We don’t need to create any forest fires, so you guys are on this one!”

It made sense, you thought. They were probably the most responsible out of the group. Though you were slightly surprised they didn’t put Bob in charge of the map.

"Bradley and I are in charge of food! You carry your own shit during the day, but at the end of the night, it goes in the bag to hang up in a tree."

Collective murmurs of agreement went around the group. Nat continued to sound out names and tasks. It was obvious Mickey and Cora would be deemed the group's first aid leaders, Mickey being a firefighter and Cora being a nurse. Javy and Veronica were assigned to be on the lookout for freshwater, though you suspected Javy would be more cautious of looking for the designated spots than Veronica would be. And Ruben and Jessica, you had to hold in your laugh when her face dropped into an absolute look of displeasure when Nat called out they'd be on trash and trail sweep duty.

“Finally, Midge and Jake.”

You raised your eyebrow at the implication behind the ‘and' and what form of torture she might have in store for you.

"Navigators," she called out, eyeing the two of you cautiously. "The both of you will take turns navigating us to all of our campsites, trading off the compass and the map. One day, it's Maeve, the other Jake."

You wanted to argue, to call out that Jake wouldn't be able to navigate himself, let alone a group of people, through a national park, but you stopped yourself. You knew of the delicate balance you needed to maintain. Nat knew it, too. It's why she approached you with a careful eye

“Don’t kill Jake,” she eyed you sternly before turning to Jake and pointing her finger. “Don’t kill Maeve.”

You sallowed. "I won't if he doesn't start it first."

From the sound of the shift in gravel, you knew Jake had set his eyes on you, and you could feel them burning holes into the side of your skull. You resisted the urge to meet his gaze, to challenge or confront the unspoken thoughts you felt hanging between you. Instead, you focused on Nat, nodding to acknowledge the assignment.

Nat knew better, glaring at the two of you discerningly. She knew the two of you well enough to sense the undercurrents of tension. You had been careful with her, never revealing the true reason behind why you held so much disdain towards Jake. And you had no idea what he might have disclosed to them, but you were sure it was laced with the same damn message as always, shouting it as loud as he could to the first person he saw.

Midge is a bitch. I don't know why you’d waste your time being around her. She is as two-faced as they come, and whatever she's said or done, it's a personal attack on me when I've done nothing wrong.

Nat sighed, her frustration evident. "I mean it. If you two can't get along, at least be civil. Or so help me, I'll feed both of you to the first wild animal I see."

You knew she was joking, but the seriousness in her eyes conveyed the underlying ultimatum.

"Fine," you huffed first. Jake rolled his eyes, huffing out a less than enthusiastic, "Fine."

You could almost hear the single collective thought of the group: 'This should be interesting.'

Although the pair of you agreed with Nat's terms, tension remained between you. Nat gave each of you one final, pointed look before rejoining the others, leaving an awkward silence in her awake.

Jake, with a knowing and equally cocky smirk, couldn't resist throwing in a final quip. "Who knows, maybe at the end of all this, we might share a tent," he called out over his shoulder as he began to walk away, his voice loud enough for others to hear.

Yet, all he did was loudly laugh at your reply when you heatedly shouted back in kind, "Fuck off, Seresin! Unkindly, fuck off!”

---

You reached the first campsite around early mid-afternoon, having navigated these woods thus far with the agility of a deer avoiding a thicket of thorns and stones, always aware and always at least several feet apart from the one thing you were sure would kill you if you weren't careful.

You had stayed at the back of the group with Bob and Grace as much as possible, catching up with them while Jake took the lead, navigating everyone toward what would be your home for the night.

Grace spent the time talking about her job at the museum. She was a curator, which is probably why you got along with her so well. While she was passionate about the history surrounding a piece of art, you loved the actual creation process. That's how she met Bob, who had been hired there as an archaeologist.

Somewhere along the way, you realized you were only catching snippets of the conversation, her latest exhibit she was building with Bob. You felt bad but placed the blame entirely on the asshole with the compass.

It was a miracle the group ended up at the actual campsite. Jake had done everything wrong. From holding the compass incorrectly to naming the wrong trail markers or reading the map as if it were a field guide to an 18-hole golf course at a rich man's club. With each move he made or every word he spouted, saying it was "This way" or "That," you had to bite your tongue. Even if you tasted blood, you weren't going to start something he couldn't finish.

It didn't stop the glares, though, or the dirty looks. Or the fact your brain couldn't stop trying to figure out what point he was trying to prove by dressing like that?! If you hadn't spent as long as you had hating him, you'd even go as far as to say he looked good.

Fuck Maeve, you are not going there!

Your home for the rest of the afternoon and night was a sparse little clearing framed by several big trees, the branches high enough that it seemed like they were protecting the space below. Everyone had instantly split up, searching for a spot where they might set up camp. You found one easily enough, not too far from everyone else but enough to make the space your own.

Setting up your tent, you watched with a smirk from a distance as Jake wrestled with his tent, the poles flying in all directions in some comedic fashion. You contemplated whether or not to go over and help him, though it almost seemed sweeter to watch him struggle.

The further away he was, the better.

You had strategically chosen a quiet corner, just close enough between Bob and Grace and Cora and Mickey. You wouldn’t dare go anywhere near Nat and Bradley’s tent unless you didn’t want to get a decent night’s sleep. You were already scarred from College. You didn’t need another instance topping that one.

Grace and Bob had already taken the liberty of making the fire for tonight, rearranging the designated stone pit in the middle of the site into the correct shape and loading it with firewood. Everyone was already sitting around it, off in their own stories and conversations before dinner. You’d initially been drawn into the conversation with Nat and Grace sitting next to you, but it had taken a different turn, and your initial laughter had sounded more forced than you’d care to admit.

And you were too busy watching Jake on the other side of the fire, waiting for the moment he’d strike. But the afternoon lagged on, and he never did. Not until he finally caught your eye, that familiar smirk playing on his lips - the one you know he knew got under your skin - that your ability to tolerate his presence cracked hard.

You stood abruptly, not allowing him the chance to wind you up like some toy.

"I'm going to go for a swim," you said pointedly to Nat and Grace, ignoring the asshat sitting in the corner. "I shouldn't be long."

They only nodded at you, continuing back to their conversation. Bob was the only one who seemed to address your remark.

"Be safe!" He called out after you. "The park ranger said to be on the lookout for bears!"

You mocked-saluted him with two fingers. "Scouts honour!"

You didn’t hear the hushed whispers or giggles you left in your wake from Jessica or Veronica, nor did you see how Jake’s eyes narrowed, watching you depart from the group.

The lake wasn't far off from the campsite, maybe about a five-minute walk. The promise of cool water and some peace and quiet to sort out your thoughts was enough to entice you away from the group and lift your spirits. You didn't know how many opportunities you would be able to find on the rest of the trip to escape like this, so you knew you needed to take them when you could.

In addition to the warning you got about the bears in the area, the other wildlife you might encounter, and even the strict warning the group received about this being peak wildfire season, the Park Ranger also mentioned this particular campsite would be the only one with decent cell service. If you wanted to call anyone before you ventured further into the park, you had better do it now.

You called your aunt as you walked. She picked up on the fourth ring.

“Did you step on a snake, or did you get mauled by a bear?”

“Hello to you too, Aunt Viv.”

Your Aunt Viv was considered the crazy one out of your family. Not because of her mannerisms or personality or the fact she probably was borderline close to adding “Friendly Wine Aunt” to her title, she was the only one to have broken off from tradition. She was, perhaps, one of your favourite people in the world for that reason alone.

“Well, when you told me you’d be spending a week out in some fucking forest, I assumed you wouldn’t have cell reception.”

You rolled your eyes, haphazardly avoiding a sharp rock sticking out from the ground, when you finally realized it was in your path.

“At this point, I wish it was one of the above. That way, I’d have an easy and reasonable way out,” you pouted.

There was a pregnant pause on the other end until you heard the thump of a bucket drop to the ground somewhere. “You were so excited to paint those landscapes. What happened? Is he there?”

You huffed. She knew you better than your own parents and your own brother.

“That obvious?”

She sighed through the phone, and you could picture her shaking her head. “Honey, nothing ruins your excitement more than that fucking waste of a man.”

You giggled at her remark. “I regret ever showing you his photo.”

“A woman my age can fantasize all she likes, even if he is a downright bastard.”

“And did say mention of said bastard just make you drop a bucket of apples?”

It was harvest season for her, all the way back in California. Aunt Viv’s apples were probably some of the best you could ever get on this side of the West Coast. Growing up, you always loved to run through the lanes of Galas and Smiths, climbing the trees for the best and brightest apples to eat.

“Don’t you worry, my dear. You know the worms aren’t that fast.”

You shook your head affectionately, finally lifting your eyes off the trail to take in the water. There was a part of you that regretted not bringing your sketchbook down with you, but you knew you could never do it justice. The blue of the water would never have matched the correct shade, and you wouldn't have been able to get the curve of the shoreline the right way or shadow the rivets of water at the right depth.

Sitting on a nearby rock, you dropped your head between your shoulders, letting it hang low.

“I don’t know what to do, Aunt Viv,” you sighed into the phone, pressing your hand to your forehead. There was another pause.

“Maybe you could talk to him about what happened?” she offered hesitantly.

“No, absolutely not,” you rushed out in a single breath. "I barely knew him for a single night before he started running his mouth about me. Why should I give him a chance when he never gave me one in the first place? Besides, he doesn't even know I know what he said."

You were met with more silence on the other end before she affectionately admonished, “Maeve, you don’t have to be scared of him. He’s just a man.”

Her words echoed in your mind, a gentle reproach that chafed against your pride. You weren't scared of Jake. Not really. Not of him, exactly, but of facing those feelings his words had stirred in you - feelings of inadequacy, of not being enough.

It held your breath hostage in a vice grip, tight.

“It’s one week,” you said, the words a half-hearted attempt to convenience yourself of the idea more than her. “It’s just one week where I can find ways to stay out of his way and not be a bother, and then I can leave and come help you out and drink all the dirty apple cinder I want.”

“You can have all the dirty apple cinder you want when you get here, but Maeve, don’t you shrink yourself down for a man who wouldn’t know a diamond if he held it in his hand, okay?”

Your grip on the phone tightened, her words stirring the embers of your resolve. “I’ll just keep to myself and the painting. That’s what I’m here for, right?”

“And your friend, right? Nat?”

You were. But even then, there was a small part of you that was deeply unsure of the why.

“Yeah,” you replied softly. “Bradley, too.”

She gently reminded you to have fun and to be safe before she had to go. The second you hung up your phone, you sighed, rubbing your eyes.

Pushing your towel off your shoulder and placing it on the rock beside you, you reached for the hem of your shirt, peeling it away from your body before doing the same with your leggings. You let your fallen pieces of clothing pile on the ground, and you closed your eyes, letting out a deep breath as you breathed in the clear air, finally allowing yourself to relax.

“Boyfriend trouble, Midge?”

Almost.

Gritting your teeth, you made to cover your body, your arms wrapping themselves tightly around your torso, your nails digging hard into your skin.

"Why the hell would you want to know, of all people?" you snapped at him, turning slowly on your heel. Standing before you, it took you a second to remember just how massive Jake was.

It had been a while since you’d been this close to him. His height and build, attributes that in another context might be admired, now served to remind you of the vulnerability you felt around him. You, with your smaller, short frame staring up at his face, were only reminded of that fact. The broadness of his shoulders, stretching the fabric of his button-up in a way that spoke of strength, with the way he always seemed to carry himself, made him see larger as if he was occupying more space than what was physically possible.

You stood there, trying to hold your ground, but the disparity in your sizes made you feel exposed, almost childlike. He's just a man, your aunt had reminded you.

Yeah, he is a man.

A man you hated with a burning passion. That was clear as day.

"Why are you here, Seresin?" you asked pointedly, ignoring the absence of a reply. He eyed you back. "Same as you. Bradley's going to purpose and wanted his best friend here."

You rolled your eyes. "No, what are doing fucking following me?"

"Fishing," Jake shrugs as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, spreading his arms out to prove a point, the rod and fishing line bouncing in his hand.

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Fishing? Really? Then please, be my guest. Poaching is a great way to get yourself kicked out of the park.”

Jake scowled at you. “You ever hear of catch and release, Midge?” he scoffed.

The laugh you let out was heartless. “Clearly, you know the concept all too well.”

You were dead set on escaping him, turning on your heel and marching towards the water without another word. Jake clearly thought the opposite, reaching forward to grasp at your elbow, pulling you back.

"Midge, stop! It's so like you to run off and ignore all your problems!"

Your turn towards Jake was sharp, a swift pivot that tore your arm from his grasp. Your eyes blazed with raw, unfiltered fury and resentment.

How dare he touch you!

"My problems!? What fucking problems would those be? I'm not the one purposely playing show and tell with my ego!"

Jake's face hardened. "My ego? You're the one making a scene every five minutes. You're the one that needs to calm down."

You glared at him, unwrapping your arms from around your chest to hang them at your sides, balling your hands into fists.

If he wanted calm, you'd show him the exact opposite.

"I'm not the one offering up cheap shots with every other breath. If you throw it at me, I'm going to throw that shit right back!"

Jake's eyes dropped to your exposed skin and the black bikini you had quickly changed into when you set up your tent. You saw it happen, and with each pass over your body, it felt like scrutiny, as if he was picking apart your every flaw, every scar, every wrinkle or flabby piece of skin. It was more ammo for more cheap shots later, no doubt.

Oh, so it's my fault then?" he sneered. "You're the one always ready to jump down my throat at the slightest provocation. Maybe if you weren't so defensive all the time, we could actually have a civil conversation and not ruin the fucking weekend for everybody."

You went to cover your body once again. "What do you fucking suggest then? Considering you cannot stand to call me out on something every two seconds?"

"Me?" he scoffed. "You're the one that seems to shutter in complete disgust every time I'm within breathing distance of you."

The retort was there, right on the tip of your tongue, ready to be unleashed on the world. That he said the same about you first, behind your back, no unless. It hung on your bated breath, waiting for the first word to be spoken, but something tethered you remain silent.

You couldn't admit that you knew, not know. You couldn't confront him about it either. He had proven here, and many times before, that the fault solely rested within you. And if you confronted it, that meant dredging up all the pain you meticulously buried under your disdain.

Admitting the real reason behind your spite, acknowledging the hurt he had caused, felt like giving him power over you, and that was the last thing you wanted.

You were going to back out before you said something you might regret.

"Okay, how about this? " You stated, holding your hands up in front of you, equal width apart. "This is you, and this is me. And this," you exaggerated, moving one of your hands into the center of the imaginary space you created, "is the boundary. We do not cross the boundary. We do not talk unless necessary, and we don't get into each other's way but to pass off the fucking compass to one another."

Jake scoffed. "You can't expect me to believe that is going to work?"

You dropped your hands to your hips. "Well, Mr. Smart Ass, have any other ideas that don't involve ruining Nat and Bradley's week?"

"I'm not that fucking heartless, Midge!" Jake retorted, his voice rising. "I'm not going to ruin it for them, but I won't tiptoe around you either. Whatever your problem is with me, it's yours to figure out on your own. Until then, put your selfish feelings and attitude aside and let them be happy!"

Something hit you square in the chest with his words. Your eyes began to sting, the sensation warning you of the impending overflow of unforgivable tears, and you tried to covertly blink them away. Everything was converging into a single, painful point in your chest, your mind now racing past every insecurity, every moment that had been magnified by Jake's previous words the night you met him - now being echoed yet again.

It was a raw exposure you hadn't anticipated, nor one you were prepared for.

"I'm not being selfish." You tried to hide the hurt from your voice. "But I guess that's a little too much to ask from someone like you."

Jake clenched his jaw. "Fine," he shouted, throwing up his hands. "You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours!"

"Fine!"

You stomped off with a shaky breath towards the shoreline, trying to ignore the tremor in your hands or how your stomach was flipping inside out, falsely warning you of some unknown danger or threat. Jake stormed off at the same time as you, stones crunching under his boots, and you had to force yourself from turning back to watch him leave.

Instead, you stepped into the water, the cool temperature shocking your system, but you pushed on, stepping forward until your waist was level with the lake.

Wading deeper into the water, you try to cast him from your mind. The lake water enveloped you, the cold water soothing on your skin and joints. You tried to pay no mind to Jake as you heard him cast his line off down the shoreline, letting your hands glide along the water's surface instead. You watched how the ripples cascaded out, surrounding your hand, and you found the motion soothing.

You suddenly sprung forward, diving under before you kicked yourself up into a dead man’s float, trying to push every single intrusive thought from your mind. Slowly treading the water with your hands, you let the silence flood your ears.

It wasn't an impossible task. You could do this: ignore him for the entire week and get away without interacting with him unless absolutely necessary. You could stay back with Bob and Grace or Cora and Mickey while he did whatever with the rest of them. You would let Nat have her moment to celebrate with her friends when Bradley did decide to pop the question, and you would smile and hug and toast to whatever came of it.

In some ways, you already had been. Because if staying at the back of the pack, away from Jake and out of everyone's hair, was the one thing you could do to make this experience the happiest for her, for them, you would do it.

So it was at that moment you decided Jake fucking Seresin was not going to have any opportunities to drive that fucking wedge any deeper than it already was.

But if a bear did decide to show up, you knew just exactly who you were tripping first.

Tagging a few people from the tag list form! Let me know if you want to be tagged! Or if you're interested in being tagged in fics now or in the future, Click here.

Taglist:

@desert-fern @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @fanficfandomlove @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hookslove1592 @dizzybee03 @kmc1989 @lynnevanss @dempy

@shanimallina87 @wildxwidow @keyrani @atarmychick007 @buckysteveloki-me @trickphotography2 @stargazer-88 @tinytotontheoversizedpony @alldaysdreamers @The-dark-and-the-mystery

@formulafun @djs8891

-Lucky/Wickett/Em

Part 2: Abracadabra - Coming soon!

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spacecowboyhotch · 1 year

Text

Over a Ledge

summary: just the taste of his name on your lips can be too much— until you taste him.

pairing: santiago ‘pope’ garcia x fem!reader

warnings: symptoms of ptsd, water/swimming, friends to lovers, perceived unrequited feelings, kissing, cuddling

wc: 1.9k

an: wanted to write the one-bed trope with santi in a non-violent setting and birthed this lol

oscar characters masterlist | requests are open

He’s on vacation with his closest friends, a rest and reset that you’ve all practically forced him into, and the pool has a waterfall.

The sound is tolerable during the day, in the bright warmth of the sun, in the comforting cocoon of being with all of you. His brain can tune it out, make it soothing background noise, a simple distraction easily pushed into the back of his mind to be dealt with later.

It’s later now. Yes, the pool has a waterfall and his window is nearest to it. In the quiet of the night its cadence rings loudly in his head. There is no escape, nowhere to run. The window is shut tightly, a pillow over his head, and still, it plagues him.

All he can think about is the rain they froze in. The weight of the water, how the raindrops fell so hard they seemed like they were the size of baseballs. How at least then, even as they sat on the brink of hypothermia, soaked to the bone, there were 5 of them, that he’d have lived the rest of his life there if it meant that Tom lived.

It’s the middle of the night and he goes to find the switch. There is no way he can spend a week in the house like this.

He pokes around, walking circles around the waterfall in hopes to find a switch. When he has no luck, he looks at the filtering system for the pool. Still nothing. Maybe it’s in the pool. He knows it’s a long shot but he’s out here, he might as well try. He’s in his boxers already, so he strips off his shirt, before jumping into the deep in near the waterfall.

With the chill of the night, the water is colder than usual, and goosebumps ripple across his skin. It feels as if every strand of hair on his body is up, standing at attention. He paddles through the water, dipping under the surface as he searches for a switch of some sort.

“What’re you doing?” You call from behind him.

He whirls around in the water, sending a wave to wet your feet. He glares at you, crossing his arms, “Fucking Christ, announce yourself would you?”

You glare back at him with a feigned offense, “I was here first, actually, Santiago.”

“And you just sat in the shadows like a fucking creep?”

“Maybe. What’re you doing?” You repeat your question, but this time you get up, coming to the edge of the pool.

“Trying to turn this goddamn thing off,” He gestures to the waterfall, water splashing.

“Why, what’s wrong?”

Santi is quiet for a moment. So much is wrong. There’s not enough time to explain all the things that are wrong with him, some of them so old and faded he’s not even sure they count anymore. There’s always been something wrong, some empty feeling has sat in his chest since he was too young to name it. His service didn’t help, the gorge had just grown bigger and deeper. New wounds accompany it.

“It’s uh, just keeping me up,” He finally offers, his gaze faltering.

You can tell by his tone that there’s more to it. But, you've never been privy to meaningful information from Santi, never been deemed important enough.

“I’ll switch with you.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You didn’t, I offered. I mean, you could sleep with me if you’re really worried about kicking me out. It’s a king-sized bed.”

You’re skating on the thin ice that’s between you and your feelings for Santi. When Frankie offered to introduce you to his friends, you hadn’t given it much thought. You take care of his daughter while he and Vanessa work, he’s like family— it made sense to get to know him better through his friends. And so you’d said yes, not realizing that you were going to meet Santi.

Santiago.

Just the taste of his name on your lips can be too much. But, he’s never shown any interest in you— and if there’s one thing he’s good at it’s flirting. You’ve seen him in action, seen him charm many women in various places, from bars to grocery stores to the concession stand at one of Benny’s fights. But, he’s never tried to charm you, and that’s enough for you to keep your mouth shut. Keeping him at a distance? Well, that’s harder than it should be knowing what you do.

“Sleep with you,” He repeats clumsily, as if he is speaking some language he doesn’t know.

“Yeah, so you won’t hear the waterfall, I won’t have to move all my things. You wake up early anyway, you could head back to your room before anyone else is awake, y’know so no one thinks—”

“They won’t think anything.”

“Right, of course not,” You say sharply, and Santi immediately notices your tone.

“Wait a minute—”

“There’s a towel I brought down just in case I decided to swim, take it,” You point back at where you were sitting. “Just knock on the door once you’re good to go.”

Before Santi can explain what he meant you turn on your heel and head back into the house. He doesn’t get to say that none of them think anything because they know he couldn’t risk losing you. Since Frankie had introduced you two, all of the guys noticed a change in him. Santi is tender with you, even if you don’t realize it. You are delicate, as delicate as a flower just as it blooms, and he’s known for destroying anything he touches. The last thing he could bear is destroying you.

He wades to the stairs, slowly climbing from the pool and drying himself with the towel you spoke about. Once back inside the house, he dresses in some sweatpants and an old army tee that’s much too thin for him to be holding onto. He hesitates when he makes it to your door, standing with his fist raised for several moments before he knocks gently. There is no answer and so he knocks again. And again, a bit harder this time.

He’s about to head back to his room when you finally open the door, out of breath.

“Sorry.”

He frowns, reaching out for your arm, “Are you okay?”

You fight off the urge to shiver, moving with the opening door so that his hand falls away, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. C’mon.”

The two of you do this song and dance, awkwardly asking about which side to take. Staring at each other and looking away as you make it to your respective sides of the bed. Quickly sliding in and turning over, as if the sight of the other amongst the sheets is some sacred ritual for worthy eyes only.

You’ve never seen him like this before and the only thing you can contribute to is him having to spend the night with a woman he doesn’t want. With you.

You turn that thought over and over in your head, the start of a spiral you’re sure will keep you up all night when he speaks.

“What I said earlier, about them not thinking…I didn’t mean it in the way you thought I did.”

“There’s one interpretation of what you said, Santiago. We don’t need to talk about it.”

“What were you doing when I got to your door?”

“What?”

“When I knocked, you answered out of breath. What were you doing?”

“Pacing.”

He turns over to face your back, hoping that you’ll turn over so he can read your face. “Pacing?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you—“

You refuse to go through this back and forth with him. You’ll face it hea-on, get it all out in the open so that you both can look it in the face once and never again. Maybe this way, you can still keep in your life with minimal awkwardness. If you’re honest with yourself, you’d bear any amount of awkwardness if it meant you got to keep him in your life.

Turning over with a frustrated huff, you say, “Because you’re you, and I’m me and this is just…not in the cards for us, Santi. Okay? Do we have to talk about it? Is it not glaringly obvious enough?”

Santi blinks rapidly at you before his face softens, “Not for the reason you think.”

Now it’s your turn to blink, confused by his words, his tone, his soft eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“There’s too much here,” He gestures to himself, to his heart. “I can’t let you see it. I won’t. I won’t do that to you.”

For a handful of moments, all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. All of the pieces fall into place. He’d held back for you. He’d ignored this for you. He’d been resigned to holding onto his feelings and doing nothing about them for you. To hide you from his pain. To protect you from whatever overwhelming mixture of emotions bubbled inside of him.

“I’m not afraid of what’s inside of you, Santiago, it’s all you. That’s what love is, it’s witnessing every part of someone and staying.”

“Love?” He repeats cautiously.

“Love,” You say again, reaching out slowly to run your thumb over the swell of his cheek. It feels like had always imagined it— a contrast of smooth and prickly from his stubble.

He leans into your touch eagerly before he grasps you by the nape of your neck, every piece of his resolve crumbling under the weight of you. The weight of your love and care for him. The gasp you let out dies when his mouth presses against yours. It is not gentle, not slow, or steady. Santi is starved for you, his kiss firm, tongue licking into your mouth like he’s finally found all he’s been searching for. He’s so frenzied that the kiss turns sloppily, loud, and wet and exploring as he holds you tightly in place. You groan, trying to match his fervor, his passion, but there is no matching Santi— there is only succumbing to him.

“Love,” He whispers affirmatively, his eyes cloudy with it.

Your smile is bright, giddy like a kid who’s won some sort of contest and gets to pick out their prize. But you've already gotten yours. You hug him, latching to him tightly before you pull away to look at his face again.

This is all real. Santi is yours. All yours. Will he let you in now?

“Tell me about the waterfall?” You ask delicately.

There’s no holding back once he sees the sincerity in your eyes. You want to know, to be there for him and he trusts you in a way that he trusts no one else. Sure he trusts the guys, but there's something different about the vulnerability he’s sharing here with you tonight.

So he tells you all of it. Every single detail. He lets you gather in his arms, holding him close to your chest as he spills, not only words but tears. You wipe his eyes, listening intently and when he’s done, you know there’s nothing you can say to make things better. But you aren’t trying to be his savior, just his support, a shoulder that he knows will always be there and unbiased by his work, a sliver of peace. Eventually, he goes slack in your arms, the tears melting to snores.

You grin, holding back your giggle as his snores grow louder and louder. You had told him what love is, that it means witnessing it all. But, you had never promised you wouldn’t tease him about some of it—not when he currently sounds like a freight train.

santi taglist: @hotchaways, @honeybrowne, @jitterbugs927, @theconsultingdoctor10, @awesomemikaus, @tanzthompson, @siezethenights, @clairevoyanceee, @moonmalice, @tiffanypooh, @dearvirtualdiary-blog1, @marc-spectorr, @xbellaxcarolinax, @toracainz, @roseqzpd, @rosecentaur1916, @mccn-bcys, @hotchs-bitch, @missdictatorme

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #santi garcia x reader #santiago garcia x fem!reader #santi garcia x fem!reader #santiago garcia fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #arson writes randos

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stoned-rat · 1 year

Text

The new steam version of dwarf fortress is amazing and I fucking love seeing how many people are enjoying these silly little guys and their misadventures. So here is a random collection of things I love about dwarf fortress, it's community, and it's history. (Plus some personal anecdotes)

-That one time fish became one of the games greatest threats

-That one mod that brings deadly carps back

-Training dwarven children with "danger rooms" filled with wooden spikes

-New training mechanics being added to prevent players from throwing all their children into spike pits

-When players posted their best mermaid genocide blueprints, and the creators had to patch the game AGAIN to stop their players from commiting outrageous war crimes

-bOATS and the lack there of

-The game is under halfway done according to it's creators. The game has been in development for 20 years.

-not only do you have gay, asexual, and bisexual dwarves, but animals too. Wondering why you arent getting any chicks? Sorry, your rooster likes cock.

-That one time I wasn't thinking and built a baracks next to a waterfall and my military kept throwing themselves to their deaths

-No race is actually "evil." Goblins and animal people can even join your fort and become valuable citizens.

-Elves are cannibals.

-The game being considered notoriously hard, but actually having extremely customizable difficulty settings. You will just get bored of everything going well.

-That one mod in the steam workshop that changes all the models to have giant tits

-The way dwarves will just refuse to do what you want them too

-Forts falling to their knees because cats kept adopting dwarves and having kittens until the game won't load anymore.

-The fact there are canonically no boats, but dwarves will continue to migrate to your haunted glacier year after year.

-When rain causes PTSD

-Guiding nobles under a bridge so you can lower it and they are literally crushed out of existence

-pangolins are invincible, and your hunters will pass out from exhaustion before killing one.

-The steam version coming out with a glitch that causes archers to not pick up crossbow bolts, but instead bash their enemies to death with their crossbows.

-Anyone's first attempt at redirecting a brook

-The game will always be available for free. The ASCII version will stay available for free download on Bay12, and will continue to be developed alongside the steam version. The premium/steam version was introduced to help the creators afford medical costs and thousands of people came out to buy a game that has been free for nearly two decades, and always will be.

-When asked what plans the creators had now that they were millionaires, they both said they had been more focused on the dwarves than the money and don't even know what they will do with all of it, beyond take care of themselves and keep working on the dwarves.

#dwarf fortress

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oddinarylani · 8 months

Text

epilogues to 'i just wish you cared about me'

pt 1: chan, lee know, changbin, hyunjin

a/n: part twos to continue off of the original post, i'll work on maknae line soon.

𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷.↴

there was a sea of green surrounding you. mountains covered in a wash of evergreens intermingled with low hanging clouds and misty fog surrounded the house. the air smelled different there, the humidity nearly smelling sweet - it was fresh and green and freeing. chan had chosen the vacation spot himself and surprised you with the trip, asking you to pack your things and not ask any questions until you arrived. funny enough, when you both arrived, you were too breathless to speak, instead leaning your cheek into his shoulder with awe, your arm wrapped around his waist as your eyes feasted on the display before you. black detailing accentuated the house against the greenery of the forest, it stood out proudly - strong. nearly every wall was lined with floor to ceiling windows, and a waterfall cascaded on a cliff side just across the second floor balcony.

“chris…” you turned to him, still sleepy and jet lagged from the flight over, a hat sitting low on your brow. “you-you didn’t have to do this.” he grasps your hand, luggage in the other, and lead you to the front door where he keyed in a code to enter. “of course i did.” he chuckles cheekily, smiling as he pulled you inside and left your bags by the front door.

inside was just as beautiful as the outside of the house, similar black detailing with dark wood accents. your lips remain permanently parted, eyes wide and agape with awe. “i think i might cry, honestly.” you laugh a bit, your hand coming to cover a small bit of your mouth as your eyes watered with happiness.

you wouldn’t have guessed that seven months into your relationship with chris that you’d be smitten, head over heels, and everything in between. “no noooo, don’t cry.” he grabs you by the waist to pull you into his arms, swinging you from side to side as giggles fill the room. “this is crazy, no one’s ever done something like this for me before.” you laugh more when you feel the water building in your eyes, feeling beyond happy.

“well i’ll just have to be the first, hm? you deserve it!” his sweater clad hands find your face and your cheeks squish together a bit as he does so. he’s bare faced and so adorable it makes your heart wrench - everytime he smiles it shows in his eyes and the corners of his mouth smoothly wrinkle. it didn’t matter what he did, what he wore, or how he looked - your heart would soar with adoration every time you looked at him.

“this is- i can’t- how long are we staying?” you ask, hands still resting around his waist.

“fourteen days.” it’s followed by an attempt to wipe the smug smile from his face, but the house fills with his laughter anyway when he sees your reaction.

“christopher! oh my gosh!” you bury your hands in your face as you feel the tears will actually spill any moment now.

“it’s okay, baby, it’s okay. i got off work for youuu and i pushed my deadlines baaack, it’s all good!” he wraps you in his big arms again and you quickly follow, burying your face in his chest.

seven days on your trip, halfway through, and you never wanted it to end. your home was beautiful but this was different. every morning you woke to rain and the sound of the waterfall on the opposite mountainside waking you from slumber with kisses to your ears. coffee was shared with chris on the balcony, he’d wear a jacket with nothing underneath and shorts and it wasn’t the first time you admired him, no, absolutely not, but this trip brought something different out in him.

he was effortlessly gorgeous. the milky bathe of his skin against his clothes always made him look the prettiest. in reality, he didn’t have to do much to look beautiful. he just was. it made you want to scream, but also made you long to just stare at him a moment longer. the heart shaped curve of his lips, the darkness of his hair, the spread of his collarbones and chest, the column of his neck - you could go on.

sleep still weighed on your eyes, but you looked over to him one morning with your head resting on the chair you sat on. mist wafted through the crisp air - you wore only his shirt and underwear so the morning breeze kissed your legs and brought goosebumps in it’s wake. “hey, look at me.” you had said. “hm?” he raises his head and looks at you, really looks at you, and feels a bit of flush creeping up his cheeks at just the sight of you looking at him.

“you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen.”

and maybe it was the lack of filter you faced in the mornings or it was just the swell of your heart in your chest, but either way you were left with a flustered chris in your hands - his cheeks and ears red and his eyes looking elsewhere. “stop,” he draws out, face in his hands. “i should be telling you that.”

“oh we can make this a battle, i’ll win for sure.” you’re confident, the rain picks up a little.

“you think so, huh? bring it on.”

cue you proving effortlessly that he was prettier - though he argued back easily (still red in the face though) it ended in a draw. the decision never made, and chan now truly puddy in your hands.

the rain yet again woke you from slumber, your eyes remained closed for a moment more as it bring you from sleep in the quiet haze of your bedroom. chan laid next to you, sprawled though his hand remained on your waist, the other tucked up under his pillow. his hair was curled and sweet and he looked so peaceful. peaceful like you’d never seen him before. he wakes a moment later and you’re already reaching for your camera.

“noooo, don’t take pictures yet. let me put on makeup or something.” he chuckles, burying his face into his pillow as his bare back was now exposed to you.

“let me, please? you look so pretty right now, i have to.”

he let you, only after coffee and when he’d woken up some more. you returned him to the bed with his hand in your own, and you told him to just sit.

he gets himself comfortable, shaking out his hair some more before covering his legs in the covers and looking at your lense. “there, like that.” you kneel one knee into the bed and snap a photo at the perfect angle. you take some more of him sitting up, a few as he stretched and the light hit his ripple of muscle adoringly. his body was perfect to photograph, all that hard work showed in his muscle pattern, the depth and reaches of his skin as it naturally contoured.

you order him to lay down now, which he does so on his side with his hand supporting his head. “hey,” he nods his head. “how you doin?” of course, since it’s chris, he can’t finish it without laughing. “you’re a dork.” you smile behind the camera, still snapping one in his ridiculous pose.

you snap more until you have him lay with his head on the pillows and you swing a leg around to straddle his waist. one hand naturally comes to rest on your hip, the other tucks into the pillow behind his head. “so handsome.” you smile, snapping some before he pauses, smiling softly to himself. you lower your camera a bit as his hand comes to rest on your cheek, his thumb stroking your soft skin.

“i love you.” he says, suddenly. your cheeks flush, but you have the perfect idea. you bring your camera back up with his hand steady on your face still, and snap a picture.

“i love you more, baby.” you kiss his palm, sitting back on his lap as he leans back up, now resting on his palms as you look over the last few you’ve snapped. his hand reaches perfectly just out of frame, and you admire the shine of love in his gaze that you’ve managed to capture.

“you look so sweet here,” you frown, showing him the photo.

he groans, ever his own worst critic. “show that to no one, please.” you lean forward, pressing a kiss to the side of his face.

“oh it’s gonna be my lockscreen for sure.”

𝓵𝓮𝓮 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀.↴

bathed in warmth, heart pumping, blood rushing, washing over your cheeks with a warm flush - putting pinks in your skin, keeping you warm - minho’s careful sweet gaze flutters over your face with admiration of your existence. you were alive. wildly so. it shows in the cuts in your cuticles, the bruises underneath your skin, the redness under your eyes when you were tired, your need to eat - to bathe - to sleep. minho’s gaze turns somber, looking over your face as if he was thinking (he always was)

he’s positive the last of his humanity has left him. he can’t remember.

how your hair curled around the pillow, looking up at him like he hung the moon and stars in the sky. “what’s wrong?” you ask, noticing the stained pink corner of his mouth, and running your thumb over it. he takes your hand before you can pull it from him, turns it over smoothly to kiss your knuckles. “nothing.” it’s simple, sealed with a smile, and he leans back into his palm to look over you in your bed.

“you’re thinking.” you note simply, holding onto his hand to feel the ripple of chill off his skin. “i’m always thinking.” his brow raises, ever smug as minho typically was.

your eyes roll lightheartedly. “that i know.. what i don’t know, is what troubles you.”

his lips tug to the side, you could see his brain working now, wondering if he should tell you or not, pondering over the possibilities. his brow furrows again, this time he looks over your hand, admiring the shine of gold on your finger, reminding you of your love forever awaiting.

“what you said, a few nights ago. about wanting to be changed. that’s what troubles me.”

you frown softly, wishing to wipe the concern from his handsome face - worry didn’t suit the gold gleam of his eyes, you liked it better when he was smiling. you push yourself to your elbow, matching his gaze now. “i know it does… but it’s a wish i have to stay by your side.”

“you can live out the rest of your days by my side, grow old and i’d still love you.” he assures.

even just at the sound your heart breaks. “but i want to live centuries with you, i won’t be beautiful when i’m old.”

his hands smooth over your cheeks, fingers parting when they meet your ears, and he raises your gaze to look at him. “i’ll always want you, even when you age.”

you smile softly, leaning forward to press your lips to his own just once before parting. “i still wished to be turned. i think it would be cool.”

“cool? my centuries of torment were cool?” he chuckles, laying beside you now. “i didn’t mean it like that! but we’d be a cool power couple.”

minho yet again is left with the tangle of his feelings, unable to make up his mind, feeling as though he wouldn’t please you no matter the outcome. the reality of becoming a vampire was a death beyond comprehension, he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. yet, the idea of ever having to leave you behind tortures him as well.

“i wish you saw the value in your life.” his voice is soft, a level of sentimental you rarely saw in him. he always kept composure, always quick with a comeback - fast with wit. but to see him melt in the face of your request, leaves your chest aching a bit.

you shuffle closer to him, cupping the back of his head to let him roll to rest on your chest. “i do have value, i promise you. but i’ll always want you.” your fingers stroke through his hair.

“this-” he grabs your hand, admiring the heat coming from your body. “this heat. your heart-” his hand falls to your chest, feeling the beat steady. “blood. and warmth. is what i admire. what i miss.” every bit of you is warm, minho could melt to this heat every time he touched you.

“there is one thing you’ll want more than me when you become one.”

your head quirks, looking down to him on your chest until his golden gaze meets yours. “blood.”

you came to an agreement over the following weeks - you’d decided long ago your love for minho, and remained firm in your request. the change would be a few feverish days until your heart would stop and you’d eventually turn, he prepared the castle in that time, and stood by your side from the very moment his fangs sank into your neck.

the fever was unbearable, a few hours of writhing between sleep which you could barely catch. minho would come in with soft words and glasses of blood to soothe the ache in your bones.

everything stopped when your heart did, and the fever melted away in a few hours. you stood from the bed in your night dress, hair falling over your neck where your bite seemed to stop throbbing. upon trudging to a mirror - you see the shine of gold in your eyes, the stretch of fangs in your mouth, and the beauty in your frozen complexion.

“m-minho-” you call weakly on wobbly legs, moving to the door where you nearly collapse into it’s frame.

he’s there in the blink of an eye, catching you before you can fall. “did you-” when you look up at him, he freezes in the gaze of your eyes, his chest aching in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

“my god,” his hands find your cheeks, he brings you in, firmly kissing you. “you’re so beautiful, so so beautiful,” he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you before you both melt to the floor.

he told you endlessly of your beauty when you were human, but every time he said it you still felt the flutter of butterflies in your chest. maybe it was the phenomenon of vampiric attraction, but you felt like the bond between you was getting stronger by the second - almost leaving you light headed as he cradled you on the red carpet.

“that was… really hard. glad it’s over.” he sees the lethargic energy of your limbs, the slow blink of your eyes, and he smooths his hands over your hair, leaning in to kiss you once more.

“i know, my love. but all is well, you thirsty?”

“like you could never believe.”

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓫𝓲𝓷.↴

changbin had left earlier in the day for a family meeting, and you’d decided to surprise him for your date tonight. your few friends you had in the business had let you know that they were busy, so you were taking off alone with enough savings that a little surge of excitement shot up in your stomach at the thought of your plan. you grabbed a coffee before walking in, pushing your sunglasses up into your hairline, greeting the associate that welcomed you and asked for your card to hold on the back counter.

“dressing area four is open, an associate will help you with your fitting shortly.” the man had nodded his head in quick thanks as he walked your card to the check out counter. a glass of champagne was offered to you as you sat, waiting for the assistant to bring out a few selections.

your marriage was changbin was ever impressive in your mind. of course, neglecting the analytical side of you, the one you perfected for your line of work - it was nothing short of a miracle. but he changed. did you ever think it possible? maybe. in some hopeful section of your heart, you longed for the best in him. months and months had gone by since your accident, your wounds turned to scars, your sourness blossomed into something much more beautiful - it was a testament of your own growth. you loved him. truly and terribly. and you wanted nothing more than to continue this journey of life, to see where it would take you. the thought of him made giddiness arise in you, and you weren’t like that. not with anyone. besides him.

“i’m looking for a nice dress to wear to a date tonight with my husband, i really want to surprise him.” you explained, tucking your hands into your thighs. they asked a few more questions about color, fabric, style, and length of your preferred vision before walking off to bring other suggestions.

“this is tom ford, spring collection of twenty-nineteen.” the assistant explains, handling the dress with gloves as he holds it by the hanger, giving it a wide birth to feast your gaze upon. your eyes dance over the stretch of fabric, an off-the-shoulder and black velvet masterpiece.

“i’ll try that.” you nod, feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket - quick to pull it out to see your husband’s name across the front.

“hey!” you say cheerfully, changbin chuckles. “hey, babe. what’re you doing?”

the assistant hangs the dress in the fitting room, you disappear behind it’s curtain after thanking him, putting your phone between your shoulder and cheek to shimmy it off the hanger. “oh nothing, what about you?”

“hmm, i don’t know, sounds like you’re up to something.” he hums, behind the sound of his voice it sounds like he might be in a car - wind rustling and a faint honk in the distance.

“nothing for you to worry about until our date, now tell me what you’re up to.” he can hear the smile in your voice, completely contagious he catches himself smiling as well, gripping the steering wheel as he weaves through city traffic.

“ah, i see. i’m on my way to the second meeting, just wanted to call and see what you were up to.”

you start pulling on the dress past your legs, feeding an arm through with your phone still expertly wedged with your cheek. “ah, how was the first one?” you wonder.

he tells you the first meeting was terribly boring, as the both of you expected. a few updated trials for members who’d been caught, he’d even seen your parents. quite a few operations were changing, and the second meeting was for more exclusive members of the family. you’d finished putting on the dress, even zipping yourself up before walking out of the fitting room, saying your goodbyes and wishing him a well afternoon.

the assistant has nothing but amazing things to say about the fit of the dress and the way the mid-section compliments the waist accentuation - with that you were sold. all you had to do was go home and prepare for the rest of the date, high on the feeling of your short phone call, anticipating the look on his face when you stepped out in the dress.

you wore his favorite perfume, the one he always complimented when you wore it, and styled your hair in a loose kind of fashion. “i’m home!” he calls from the entryway, the sound of the closing door behind him alerts you as you finish up on your hair, adding finishing touches to your makeup. “i’m getting ready!” you call back. “the restaurant called, making sure we were good for our reservation.”

you separately got ready for the date for a moment, music playing quietly from the speaker near your vanity, when changbin stepped out of the shower to dress, you’d slipped into the closet to find your dress, shimmying it on, and stepping out a moment later.

since the neckline cut pretty low, you wore a simple necklace and other dainty type jewelry, your heel was low - changbin was standing in front of the full length mirror in the corner of your bedroom, fixing the collar of his button down before he catches glimpse of you behind him and he turns around, hands still fixated on his collar.

“baby, you look so beautiful.” he’s all smiles, coming up to you to grasp both of your hands. he’s dumbstruck, completely in awe - and holds your hands out to get a good look at you. “prettiest girl in the whole world.” he beams. there’s never been a moment he’s felt quite like this - at nearly every opportunity he looks at you he can’t help but smile. even when it’s five am and he wakes you up accidentally for a job. even when you’re standing in the kitchen with glasses on and your pjs are still on and it’s three pm. he’s never been so sure of something, so sure of you. how lucky he was, and how he’d never stop fighting to remind you you were loved.

your heart swells with the sweetness in his words and eyes, you let him twirl you when he raises your conjoined hands, and you chuckle at his antics. “i was actually trying this on when you called,” your arms come to circle his shoulders, his own resting at your waist, eyes still dancing over the sight of you. “i knew you were up to something.” he says so positively.

“finish getting ready, love.” you pat his shoulder, but not before he leans in - his lips pressed to your own for a brief moment before he continues getting ready. your heart beats wildly in your chest at the familiar fiery feeling of his lips, only smiling wider as he parts and walks back to the mirror.

“how’d i get so lucky?” he turns around, fixing a thin bracelet to his wrist. in his eyes in a kind of mischievous glint, you can only guess what he’d say next with a look like that in his eyes.

“with what?” you ask, legs crossed on the bed, ever awaiting what would come out of his mouth.

“with you.”

he’d surely be the death of you.

𝓱𝔂𝓾𝓷𝓳𝓲𝓷.↴

“i wish to paint you.” his voice left his throat, with it came the soft muffle as not to be heard from others. he was sat on his throne next to your own - his father and mother before him, draped in precarious colors and wraps of fabric, a scepter beside his father’s left hand, his mother’s hands folded curiously in her lap.

your gaze bats to the sight of his face, how did he look when he said this? you wondered. so you looked. he was focused forward still, as if the sound never left his lips. “you wish to paint me?” you asked, cheeks terribly pink and hands beginning to fidget in your lap.

“would you let me?” he angles his mouth only a fraction in your direction - the words were in fact spoken to you. you think for a moment, in the quiet of the chamber of the king, in the stillness of your own brain. he watches you blink, once, then twice, before you fully turn to him.

“if it pleases you, of course.”

you received what you’d been longing for - a loving husband. there was no one else in the world that you could share the kinds of conversation you could with hyunjin. he was always listening, always there, a promise he’d yet to break. it stole the breath from your lungs, the day and night change he was able to achieve. he’d proven himself time and time again that he did in fact love you - and you only hoped your love could show just as strong.

in the mornings now, as you awoke from the maids, they’d learn to part after they had ensured the both of you were awake - as now you would dress for the day together. you’d slide his shirts over his shoulders, dressing him only after he had dressed you - that he made a point to do every morning. you button him with a tenderness only you could, drape his shoulder pieces - a half cape only meant to cover his left arm, and tentatively bring his long hair back into a half-up half-down style. this was all after he would slide your stocking’s up your legs, kissing just above your knee as he always did, loosely tying your corset to ensure your comfort, and slide his hands down your shoulders when he was finished, asking if you felt comfortable.

routine with hyunjin wasn’t just routine or existence, it felt like living. like any moment was one where the excitement of what was to come next was ever waiting. he began contributing more to the communities in the kingdom that needed attention, you both taking time from your schedules to volunteer for those in need, working in the government of the kingdom to ensure everyone had equal opportunity to thrive. he’d also began opening up to you about his love for art - how it was something he’d done since he was young.

frequently you’d find him on the stair steps of the art school, with children peering over the shoulders of their prince as he’d paint and sketch, teaching the young ones of art.

“a-ah, hyunjin. is this appropriate?” you asked, your hands quickly darting to push up a loose strap-like sleeve of your corset, pulling down your frilled shorts in fear of them riding up your legs.

he’s discarded his proper attire, instead wearing a relaxed white button down and brown trousers rolled at the ankle. his fingers carefully set a primed canvas on a stand just before his low sitting stool, his brow is gently lifted at the sound of your worried voice, and he walks to you, sitting down just before you to adjust the straps so that they laid off your shoulders, exposing your decolletage beautifully.

“you look beautiful.” he promises gently, moving to grasp your hands in his chilly ones. slowly he presses forward to plant a kiss between your brow, and your face warms at the feeling, some of your anxieties soothed. “but are you uncomfortable? do you wish to change?” his thumb strokes over the back side of your hands.

“no, it’s okay. you wanted this outfit, and no one will see it?” the suppleness of your skin is only amplified by the gentle press of your corset, and though he is indeed your husband, and seen much if not all of your skin, the roundness of your legs extended from the shorts makes his heart swell with the sweetness.

“you’re mine, i am yours,” he promises, his fingers tapping the underside of your chin. “you have only my gaze, no one else's.”

he asks for you to lay on the bed, the palms of your hands holding up your upper half as to accentuate the natural curve of your chest, the bone and muscle that lays beneath it - the softness of your legs, and the intimate draw of your clothing.

“beautiful,” he says passively, fixing the sheets on the bed to ripple before he sits down to begin painting.

“i’ll get the outline at least, to not have you sitting there so long. then i can do detail later.”

“mm.” you nod, looking away as he begins to paint.

ten or so minutes into painting, the soft draw of the paintbrush on the canvas the only sound in the room, he speaks. “would you look at me, love?” he asks. and how were you to deny his request when he asked so sweetly.

“since you asked so nicely.” you smile, turning to face him.

he smiles, chuckling shortly as he continues. now every time his gaze darts to your form on the bed, your eyes meet. a certain kind of adoration fills you - a love that causes your heart to swell fervently. to be painted by the hands of the man you loved so dearly, the idea itself melts you further to the mattress.

“wait-” he calls, sitting into his spine, looking over his work, then back to you only to get lost in thought.

“what is it, darling?” you ask.

“i have an idea.”

he nears you then, the palette of his paints on his hand - smeared, dried, clumped together from previous projects. only the finest of splatters of blue have tainted his shirt, he sits before you, drawing out his brush.

“can i paint on you? just a bit.”

you nod, “of course.”

he steadies his first stroke, pinky resting on the skin of your thigh before he paints a long white stripe down the side of your thigh, smooth and straight. the paint is cold, his hands have warmed, he closely focuses, incorporating a swirl of green, and a tiny design of flowers around the white stripe and now what is a vine. you smile as he works, remaining still as ever as he does so.

next, he leans forward, creating a similar design on the stretch of your neck where muscle runs up your shoulder to the column of your throat - there he paints a similar design. if you were still before, you were ice now, truly frozen as he worked strokes to his idea.

when he finishes, he leans back and smiles, moving to kiss the side of your head before he moves back to the canvas. “there we go.”

you smile as he sits. “hey,”

his head lifts, looking at you expectedly.

“i love you.”

shout out to bon iver for this one.

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breadboybin · 10 months

Text

the moment txt members realize there’s romantic potential

members x reader, supposed to be fluffy idk if that gets across ;; wc: ~1.4k a/n: basically txt members suddenly feeling a shift in how they feel towards you. you know, that moment where you suddenly see someone in a different light that had always otherwise been platonic. idk what/how to translate that into a proper title lol gender also isn't really specified but longish hair is implied in taehyun's

yeonjun

when a stranger makes you uncomfortable

yeonjun doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to what’s happening with the buzz of the city being his background music as taehyun and soobin try to figure out the directions on the map for your next stop. meanwhile, beomgyu and kai are busy examining the display stand of the antique store you guys have stopped in front of. and it’s only a minute of silence that yeonjun realizes you’ve stopped telling him the rest of your story about that one time you saw a police officer stopping traffic for a momma duck and her ducklings.

when he turns around to look for you, you’re a few feet away talking to a complete stranger. it seems like you’re exchanging a few words with them and yeonjun is about to pull out his phone to do his own thing when he notices the obvious look of discomfort cross your face. it’s not often that he sees you looking like that, much less in a situation where any of the guys are just a shout away.

his reaction is immediate and he’s by your side in a split second, asking you what’s going on. when you fail to give him a direct answer, however, he’s quick to put an arm around your shoulder and automatically guide you back towards the others. he doesn’t forget to turn back to get a good look at the person, tossing them a dirty look before he’s turning back to check on you.

it’s in that moment where you seem a little smaller than you usually do around his arms with a new sense of relief spreading through your shoulders that yeonjun feels a shift in how he sees you. the protective side of him that came out for you so instantaneously is a newfound feeling.

soobin

when you share your jacket with him

you guys have taken a big group trip to mountainside camping for a weekend getaway. everyone’s agreed on taking a hike up to the nearby waterfall and spread out into smaller groups and pairs on the trail there. the sound of chatter and laughter echoes throughout the forest as everyone falls into a natural pace traveling together with a few people drifting between the small groups to socialize.

the front of the group is led by yeonjun while soobin finds himself lingering towards the back, keeping an eye and count on all the heads. beomgyu and taehyun have proceeded to engage in a small argument about what the best part of camping is while you laugh at their individual claims because there’s no way beomgyu actually thinks fishing (with bare hands) is the best part.

and then there’s a sudden yelp that comes from further up the trail catching all of your attention before the silent question of what happened is answered as a sudden downpour of rain comes pelting down on you guys. the reaction is quick as everyone starts running ahead where a large foliage of trees sits offering cover. by the time that you guys get there though, there’s little space left underneath the tree and the rain is drenching those on the edge of the tree.

soobin is squating on the side when he hears your bright voice and turns around to find you only to see you bounding to him with a big smile and your light jacket above your head as you hold it to cover the both of you from the rain. your smile in that moment is immediately imprinted in his memories as he watches you do your best to shield the rain.

beomgyu

when you watch out for him

typically, beomgyu is the one being rowdy on the sidewalks when you guys go out and about exploring the streets of seoul. however, this time it seems the fun bug has gotten it’s hold on kai and yeonjun as they hoot in unison and hop around excited to get to the new arcade that just opened up. and after a long month of begging, everyone finally agreed on a date to check it out together.

beomgyu was definitely excited as well, but he also became invested in a new mobile game that had just been released. during the entire time that you guys had been walking from the place you had dinner to the arcade, beomgyu’s eyes have been glued to his phone, blindly following everyone else’s lead.

you’re lost in conversation with taehyun and soobin about your favorite part of dinner you just had and the next restaurant you want to try out when you notice that beomgyu has walked past you guys. he’s absolutely laser-focused on beating the boss, thumbs rapidly tapping back and forth no longer paying attention to his surroundings. which means, he also doesn’t see the large pole that he’s walking directly into and-

suddenly beomgyu feels a tug on his the sleeve of his sweater, pulling him towards the side. his eyes remain glued to his screen though right before he deals the final blow. it’s only after the boss is officially dead that beomgyu lifts his head just in time to see you let go of his sleeve, chatting away with taehyun and soobin. in slight confusion, he only realizes that you had been guiding him when he turns to see the large pole where he had been headed in seconds ago before feeling his heart skip a beat.

taehyun

when you help him clean up

the basketball team had recently adopted a new policy of making those who were late to practice staying behind to sweep the gymnasium as punishment. the coach had said something about it shaping them up and hopefully teaching them to learn better time management and responsibility considering that habit many of the members seemed to have picked up lately.

this time, taehyun had been the one and only member who had been late after a meeting with his advisor went overtime. so in all technicality, it wasn’t because taehyun had bad time management or that he was irresponsible, it was actually something out of his hand. but alas, he was late and coach takes no excuse. so after practice is done and everyone has already packed up and left, taehyun is left alone to sweep up the entire gym by himself.

or so he thought. because he hears the sound of a bag hitting the bleachers before seeing you stepping onto the ground floor as you start tying your hair back to keep it out of your face. he’s surprised that you’ve stayed behind, thinking that as the coach’s assistant, you would have left with the others. instead, you chirp something about how cleaning up together will be a lot faster than cleaning up alone.

taehyun doesn’t realize why he hadn’t noticed this side of you before this moment. because it’s awfully kind of you to have stayed to help and it’s another to have done so with the energy and optimism you have despite having no obligation to.

hueningkai

when you explain things to him gently

kai doesn’t peg himself as the type of person to shy away from help when he needs it. but he also doesn’t avoid challenging himself to try and understand something by himself first before seeking help if he can. especially because it’s no pressing matter and he has plenty of time to read through his notes and textbook to understand dissecting the poetic prose that’s sitting in front of him.

but after an hour goes by and kai still doesn’t seem to be getting a grasp on what the prose is actually talking about and what he’s supposed to interpret, he starts feeling like he’s at a loss. because the examples from his notes and the textbook turned out to have worked in completely different ways than he expected, and all the searches he’s done online don’t exactly touch on what he’s looking to understand either.

it takes him by surprise when you suddenly ask if he needs help from where you’re seated across the table, peering at what he’s looking at before you move to take a seat next to him. he didn’t realize you had noticed how long he’d been stuck on this assignment. a part of him almost feels embarrassed about it, ready to make a remark but it immediately melts away when you start gently explaining exactly what he was confused about.

when you lean towards him and start highlighting a few things on his papers though, kai finds that his little worries immediately melt away. except for the new one that hangs onto the front of his mind as he gets a whiff of your body mist and realizes he actually really likes the way you smell.

#yeonjun scenarios #soobin scenarios #beomgyu scenarios #taehyun scenarios #hueningkai scenarios #txt scenarios #huening kai scenarios #txt #yeonjun #soobin #taehyun #beomgyu #hueningkai #writing for txt bbs has my heart rn fok im soft

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disabilityreminders · 10 months

Text

Here’s a post I wrote on some tips to help with hygiene care.

Remember that not being able to take care of your hygiene does not affect your worth! You are still worthy, even when you aren’t able to do the things you need/want to do.

If you don’t want to open an external link, I’ve pasted this post below the read more!

If the acts of having a shower, brushing your teeth or washing your face seem extra daunting, draining or just outright impossible sometimes, you are not alone.

There are no magic fixes, but here are some tips that might be useful to you.

Brushing Your Teeth

Brushing your teeth may seem like it will take far more energy than you can even imagine having in the moment! And that’s so valid. The thing to remember is that it is usually better to ditch the regular “rules” and do what is manageable than to just do nothing. Some things that help me:

Keeping a toothbrush and toothpaste in the shower. I find it so much easier to brush my teeth while I’m already in the shower with the water running.

Brushing for 30 seconds is better than for no time at all! You don’t have to do the entire two minutes. When I’m not able to brush for two minutes, I just start by brushing at all and seeing how long I can manage.

If you can afford it, an electric toothbrush can help.

You can brush your teeth with water! No, really. It does more for your teeth than not brushing at all. Dampen your toothbrush with a bit of water and brush your teeth if you think you can do that!

For those who don’t like flossing, the disposable floss sticks might help! You don’t need to measure out the floss and twist it like you do the regular floss.

If you have someone at home willing to help you, you can get their assistance! For some people, the act of getting the toothbrush ready is the exhausting part, maybe there's someone that will do all the before steps for you and then just put the toothbrush into your hand so you can just focus on brushing.

Having a Shower

I don’t know about you, but having a shower is the most daunting task there is for me. It is so exhausting to even think about. Here are some ideas to make it easier.

Prepare for the After

For me, it’s what happens after the shower that is draining. It makes it a bit easier for me to get my clothes ready, have my towel laid out, and anything else I need.

Have Products you Love

There are so many different scented soaps, body washes, shampoos and other products for the bath and shower these days. I have found that my favourite smelling body wash is so nice, and there’s a part of me that wants to shower just to use it.

Don’t Focus on Washing Yourself.

This sounds weird, but hear me out a bit. Focusing on it as a task we have to do may make it more exhausting. It might sound silly, but for me, I imagine the shower is a waterfall or rain that is “washing away” some of my bad thoughts, feelings and helping me lighten the load. I focus on turning it into a calm experience.

You can also just focus on standing in the water, and not actually washing yourself. It will clean you more than not showering at all, and is likely to help you feel more clean!

If Showering is Made More Difficult By Physical Issues

Some of us find chronic pain, issues with flexibility or other physical limitations can make showering difficult. This might be because it is hard to stay standing long enough for a full shower or because you have a hard time reaching certain parts of your body, just to name two of the many possible issues you might have.

If this is the case, there are a lot of potential aids and tools that might help you. For instance, shower stools are a really great tool. Sitting may seem less painful and less draining than standing. Long-handled shower brushes also exist and can help if you struggle with flexibility. A detachable shower head may be more accessible for you to use if you don’t have one already.

Washing your Face

Some of us have a detailed facial care routine. These sorts of routines may include several products specifically made for cleaning the face or a whole process for moisturising. We may believe these routines are absolutely necessary to keep our faces healthy. These can seem even more necessary and become even more intense if we regularly wear makeup.

While these routines may be very good for our skin, they also may seem draining and daunting, especially on mornings when we feel like we barely have the energy to get out of bed or nights when we aren’t sure how we’re still awake.

If you don’t have the energy for your full facial care routine, that’s okay. If you can figure out a few steps that are the most important and seem more doable for you, try limiting yourself to those on your low-energy days. If even that seems like too much, it’s okay to drop the process completely and just wash your face with a cleanser and a cloth, or even just water. There are also pre-done facial wipes that you can quickly use to cleanse your face.

Doing something is better than doing nothing, and you might be surprised by how it helps you feel cleaner and better to just splash water on your face, even without doing anything more.

(Also, it's completely valid to just take a damp cloth to wipe your face. You'd be amazed at how much that can help!)

Tips for All of the Above

Seek Support

For me, sometimes I call a friend and stay on the phone with them until I actually get in the shower. This can help in the “pre shower” ritual and make it seem less intimidating. I have also kept a friend on the phone while I brushed my teeth and washed my face.

An alternative is that sometimes I find a friend who also finds the act of showering or brushing their teeth super draining, and we make a pact to do it at the same time and then we text each other when it’s time and both go do what we need to do. We then come back and text each other and tell each other “good job!” This works like an accountability buddy and it makes me feel more motivated and less lonely.

Play Some Music

I find that playing music helps, especially if it’s music that makes me feel a bit pumped up. Something with a good beat might work well to time with brushing of your teeth or wiping of your face. There are bluetooth speakers and headphones that are shower friendly as well!

Focus on One Step at a Time

I find the whole idea of showering and/or brushing my teeth exhausting. There are so many steps to showering, such as getting undressed, getting the water on, washing my hair, and so on... I find that sometimes it can help to just focus on one step at a time and not the whole picture. What do I need to do first? For me, I need to turn the water on because it takes a few minutes to heat up. So I’ll focus on one thing at that moment, just turning the water on. That’s all I have to do. And then I go from there and see if I can work my way through the steps without looking at the “big” picture.

Alternatives to Help Feel Clean

Some days, we just can’t do it. And that’s okay! Here are some alternatives to help you feel clean:

Wash your face

Brush your hair

Use dry shampoo

Use body lotion

Change your clothes

Get some baby wipes or other wipes to use

Have a bath! (You can use a bath bomb, bubble bath, or something similar to make it feel pampering instead of like a task. When taking a bath it is much easier to put on an audio book, or even a show to keep you occupied).

Use some mouth wash

Remember that not being able to take care of your hygiene does not affect your worth! You are still worthy, even when you aren’t able to do the things you need/want to do.

If you have any tips, please feel free to share!

#tips

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cosmic-kaden · 2 months

Text

{All I See Is You.}

Ship: Paterson x Kaden

Words: 1,956 (I'M SORRY ;-;)

cw: disgustingly cute?? lkdfjsldf (no cw!)

Summary: Maybe routine wasn't so boring?

Notes: LYRIC FIC!? LYRIC FIC! \O/ kinda? It's going to be Paterson and Kaden's song~! (obv blue text = Paterson and Purple =Kaden)

Hey if you don't self-ship please DNI. Nothing against ya, I got anxiety lol // ok2rb

.: I wish we had more time and less space between. Reality would be much better than a dream :.

Mundane and normal, going to and from every day, doing the exact same things day in and day out, who you meet and who you speak to is often different, even sometimes the regular cast of characters are the same but their conversations are different.

There seemed to be one more thing that interrupted that everyday flow. It happened about a month ago. It was concerning at first, were they okay? Was it safe for them to be up that high? Wait, were they even allowed over there? What the heck was the fence for if people could get over there? After a while though, he realized that the person who sat with their legs thrown over the edge of the cliff was just enjoying their surroundings.

This person wore a headset, it was black with orange decals plastered all over it. their hair was a mix of blue and black that changed depending on where they were, he was a little taken back at first by it. He could have sworn this individual had black hair until they stepped into the sunlight revealing their hair was actually a form of dark blue. Even despite the distance it stood out.

He thought it was going to be a one-time thing. Something new in his life for a brief moment then vanished but he was wrong…

.: I woke up in a different place than I left when I closed my eyes and this feeling, I can't explain, that this day would make me alive~ :.

Today marks the first day of two months since he sees them. It's the same time every single day, rain or shine. He was usually there before they were. When he started to realize that they were showing up more frequently he started checking his watch and sure enough, 12:00pm right on the nose they would come into view, walking over to the cliff side to take a seat.

To say he was curious about the person who sat so close yet so far, he wondered what their life was like? Was it like his own or was it something completely different? He stole many glances at this mystery person so you can imagine the sinking feeling he felt today when he glanced up at them to see they were already looking over in his direction. Perhaps they were looking somewhere else?

He felt like they made eye contact, his suspicions were confirmed when they tilted their head a little and Paterson couldn't help but mimic the action from where he was sitting then he felt a new wave of electricity shoot through his body when he noticed the person on the cliff smile widely which only made him smile.

.: All I see is you ~ :.

The person lifted their arm a little, it came up into a small wave and Paterson waved back. The person grinned, swinging their legs a little faster, one after the other as they leaned forward a little to which Paterson looked concerned but sighed in relief when they straightened. They watched as the person looked around and then back to him. A quizzical look on his face when the person looked like they waved over their face their hand making a relaxed five, rounding it around their face and he shrugged his shoulders.

The person repeated the action and then gestured around them. Oh!? Was that sign language? Something about the landscape? The person shook their head and shrugged. They could yell across to him but their voice probably wouldn't be able to carry over the waterfall too well.

Paterson grabbed his notebook and scribbled something down into it. "Sign Language - Hand over face" he spoke to himself then looked at his watch he had to go and for the first time in his life, he sort of didn't want to.

Paterson looked up at the person pointing to his watch and thumbed towards the busy street. The person smiled and nodded their head, bringing their dominant hand up to eye level, palm facing their body as their fingers made a 'v' with their index and middle finger, the rest of their fingers were folded towards themselves. They moved it away from their head, holding the position before they placed their left thumb to their right palm, their left hand making an L shape as they tilted it down and Paterson figured yes, it was definitely sign language.

The person cliff side wasn't fully deaf but one ear was so they used signs if they were too far away from people or couldn't hear people over music. They wanted it as a backup in case they did go fully deaf in the future.

For the rest of the day, Paterson wore a soft smile on his face, he went to the library grabbing some ASL books and tried to find what the person signed and that's when he came across it and smiled, shaking his head.

"Pretty" He sighed "They were saying the area was pretty." He flipped through the book and couldn't find the last thing they signed so he took to the internet to try and figure it out and sure enough there it was.

"See… you …later-" For some reason, Paterson felt excitement source throughout him and his stomach took flight with a million butterflies. He was very excited and hopeful for tomorrow…

.: There are so many things that I have left unsaid. I'd rather be with you, be with you instead:.

Paterson over the week did a little studying of his own and learned a few signs himself, he was happy that every day this week, that person was there and they subtly interacted with each other. It brought a spark to his day.

He looked at his watch and got up, Paterson trailed to his favourite bar, same time every evening for his one glass of beer before he headed home. He opened the door and took a step inside, his eyes glanced around the room, all the familiar faces. 'Oh! I know that sweater…'

The person from the cliffs, there they were, looking through the jukebox for a song for some reason Paterson felt nervous. They were right there! No water, no fence, no barrier between them. All he had to do was walk over and say hi.

"Hey, Paterson." Doc, the bartender hummed softly, he always had Paterson's glass set out for him, knowing the exact time he would walk in.

"Uh…y-yeah..hi" He stuttered and Doc raised a brow. Paterson was usually a quiet guy but he never really stuttered that much.

"Are you okay?" Doc asked and Paterson stared down at his glass before his eyes flicked up and over to the mystery person who was now sitting on the barstool mere inches away from him, swaying to the soft music that came out from the jukebox.

Doc noticed Paterson's glances and a small smile etched onto his face. "Oh, I see…Hey" Doc turned his attention toward the mystery person and Paterson felt a rush of nervousness go through him. "you're new here right?" Doc asked the person and they nodded their head.

"Mmhm~" They hummed.

"Where are you from?" Doc asked.

"Canada." They spoke and Paterson swallowed hard, his eyes flicking up to them and his heart sank.

Their voice wasn't overly feminine their pitch carried a gentle, melodic quality without the exaggerated femininity, it was rich and warm, and it sounded so soothing and pleasant to Paterson. He could feel heat rising in his neck and he had to look back at his glass.

"That's a long way away." Doc chuckled and they laughed softly too.

Once again Paterson felt those fluttering feelings inside of himself. He couldn't explain it. his eyes glanced back up and over to them and he noticed their eyes and his mind took off without him realizing; thinking how vibrant they were like emeralds catching sunlight, the subtle striking detail of their outer rim, a darker green, as if nature itself painted shadows around the edges of a lush forest. He could get lost in their beauty.

The person looked over towards Paterson and noticed that the was staring at them and they mimicked their earlier action, they tilted their head and smiled to which Paterson blinked and finally glanced away a shy chuckle leaving him. Doc's work there was done, he smirked and walked away to talk to another patron of the bar.

"You're the one who sits at the park bench right?" They smiled sweetly.

"Yeah. I..I do." Paterson cleared his throat, gods why was he so nervous?

"Hi!" They smiled, they too were getting a better look at him, messy dark hair, and equally dark eyes, his face was scattered with beauty marks and freckles, he was an absolute cutie!

"I'm Paterson." He smiled softly, he had also just caught them staring at his features, he followed their eyes and when their eyes met they both chuckled softly.

"Kaden" They smiled back. "Pleasure to finally meet you~"

"Pretty and see you later" Paterson said randomly.

"Hey, you figured it out!" Kaden grinned. "I sometimes forget people don't know sign…but I also didn't want to rip out my throat hollering over the water"

Paterson chuckled softly at their words. "No, no it's okay, It was a learning experience for me. I went on a hunt to figure out what you said learned a few too. So, you're not completely at a loss with hearing? Sorry if that's too personal."

"Not at all. I have Meniere's disease, basically, a fancy word for tinnitus mixed with an awful dose of vertigo attacks that hit suddenly and give me massive head pain. It affects my left ear so badly that I'm completely deaf in my left ear. Doctors said it's extremely rare that it will travel to my right ear but juuuuust in case, I'm learning signs so if that day comes I'm prepared~"

"That sounds awful, sorry you experienced it" Paterson frowned to which Kaden smiled.

"Nah, it's okay~ So Paterson, what do you do?"

Paterson enjoyed his time spent talking with Kaden, he finished his beer and looked at his watch. He wanted to stay but he didn't want to risk messing up his schedule for tomorrow. He stood up and smiled.

"Well. I have to head out now." Paterson gave them a smile and Kaden could have sworn his eyes looked a little sad and Kaden grinned.

"See you cliffside ~" Kaden giggles softly.

"Absolutely" Paterson smiled. "Oh yeah, want to see what I've been working on? Don't laugh at me if I don't get it a hundred percent right okay? I'm still learning"

Kaden raised a brow, their expression holding amusement and curiosity as they nodded their head, they had no idea what he was going to do. Kaden took note of the rising blush on his cheeks but they figured it was just his nerves from signing something.

Paterson pointed to Kaden and took his index and middle finger and brushed them downward against his chin and Kaden was left in complete shock, their eyes wide as heat hit their cheeks and they blushed darkly. The blush on their face was mirrored by Paterson's as he smiled.

"See you tomorrow" Paterson hummed before turning on his heel and walking out.

"What was that about?" Doc laughed, "You look like you were hit with Cupid's arrow!"

"He…He signed that I was cute.." Kaden mumbled.

.: this feeling, I can't explain. That this day would make me alive. I just know, I just know, all I see is you :.

Tag list: @ama-ships || @heatobrienswife || @lysandreslittlechatot || @kylars-princess || @retrojem || @dragonsmooch

#[SCREAMS INTO MY HANDS] OKAY THIS WAS CUTER THAN I THOGHT IT WAS GONNA BE #Chaos in the mundane #paterson 💞#my writing;#Spotify

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totkdaily · 2 months

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Day 71: Shark Combat, Zora's Domain Healed, Link Sleepy

We unlock the fourth and final water pump for the Water Temple mid-morning.

It's been great weather the last few days, absolutely gorgeous skies. The last time I spent this long in Zora's Domain, it was perpetually raining. It's nice to see their beautiful architecture in the light.

We head back up to the central panel. Time to see what's under all that sludge.

It's just… a little guy?? But - oh. It has a shark.

We engage.

After a hard battle, the creature explodes into Gloom.

The last of the sludge dissolves. The waterfall runs clear. We did it.

Now, for Sidon to receive his birthright.

We approach the secret stone suspended at the altar of the temple.

A vision. Sidon's ancestor in that dream space, the Sage of Water.

She shows us her perspective of the Imprisoning War. And she shows us her conversation with Zelda afterwards. My Zelda. Warm, determined, golden hair glowing in the sunlight. This is my Princess.

Sidon accepts his birthright, and I welcome his avatar by my side with honour.

We head back to the domain - Yona will be worried.

King Dorephan is healed, the sludge disappearing from his wounds as it vanishes from the waterfalls of the domain. All is well once again in Zora's Domain.

And yet, things still change. Dorephan grants the crown to Sidon. He has proved many times worthy of it. He announces the domain's support against the Demon King and his marriage to Yona in the same breath - he never did do anything slowly!

After the announcement, we discuss what we know. He agrees that it was not truly Zelda who attacked Dorephan, and he agrees that we need to know more.

I wonder if Tulin or Yunobo have found out anything? It's been over a month since I left Goron City. And almost two since I left Rito Village. I should do some base-touching once I've said my goodbyes in the domain.

Muzu is headed to Lookout Landing - I'm sure I'll see him there. Khira and Chroma are now Queen's Attendants, and have been tasked with finding my Zora's helm - which is in a sky fish? Could it be the same sky fish which held the puzzle of the droplet before? I should find it, if only to stop Khira from bullying Chroma about it.

Tottika mentions a cave with a glowing rock - a shrine? It's southwest of here, in Ralis Pond Cave. I'll make a note.

Impa is here! She wants to know if I've seen the geoglyph in the Gerudo Highlands that looks like a person - I have not. I should go there next, anyway. Gerudo Town and Lurelin are on Purah's list of places in trouble, and I haven't been to either yet.

Yona is working with Jiahto to also find the Zora greaves - they think they might be at the waterworks. I suppose I can visit again.

Cleff ate a bright-eyed crab whole, and is obsessed with them now. He wants ten, but I only have three. Maybe one day.

Fronk's wife Mei went to a floating place for fish, somewhere across the East Bridge. Is this the same wife who once jaunted all the way to the Rutala River? I'm sure she'll be fine, but I'll keep an eye out.

Now, to get to that sky fish island, I should go… actually, no. I'm exhausted, and the sun has set.

I need to sleep. I head to the inn, but Kodah wants to tell me a story he and Finley found in an ancient manuscript. It sounds like there's a shrine at Tarm Point, southwest of here. That's nice. Finney and Sasan are already checking it out, so I'll leave it to them for now. Now… sleep.

#totkdaily #day 71 #totk #loz #zelda #legend of zelda

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blastburned · 2 months

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monsoon season.

art by @ cuteskitty

vs @earth-master

The rainy season this year combined with a weather system that caused Hoenn to drown.

At some point in recent history, there was a group that wanted to do the same, but the weather wasn’t the will of some primeval pokémon this time.

It rained in his second year in Hoenn and flooded almost every route between towns that existed. Leaf and him had agreed to stick near Fortree City for the time being out of curiosity and necessity. Red’s twenty, and he’s pretty sure love is when your best friend (and sometimes fling) leaves you instructions on how not to kill her plant while she’s canopy racing through the trees without you to catch something. He doesn’t remember what it is. She isn’t going to be back for a month or so.

The plant was the only plant they had in their rickety spot in Fortree. He’d gotten the Secret Base Guild to lend them a place to stay during the flood for some work done. And he hated to think about it, but he thinks she killed it before she left. He’s about to take the blame for it.

Unless he gets another plant for her before she comes back.

That’s what pushed him into the downpour on the stupid quest for Leaf’s plant, and make no mistake, it’s completely stupid. It’s stupid because Hoenn shows no mercy when it comes to her weather. Why should she?

To call it pouring was a massive understatement. Fortree’s bridges hung five feet in the air above rivers of water that were steaming with heat. Fish were swimming in the former streets. The Pokemon Center on the ground was completely flooded.

Red traded food and water with a fishing family for a raft and an oar. He pulled a rain poncho and a wide conical hat on his head, and shoved his shoes in his bag to keep them dry. The only other thing besides his bag he brings is a ceramic pot and shovel for Leaf’s dear plant. Pikachu sat happily on the hat while thunder rumbled overhead. The air’s so thick with humidity that breathing it wasn’t any relief from the heat.

Route 120 was transformed into a maze of rapids and waterfalls, all hazy with mist and the constant rain.

On a whim, he took a picture at the border of it with his old PokeGear. He sent it to Green, who is probably sleeping to rest for some class in the morning. There’s no caption. ‘Wish you were here’ is… too much.

He put the gear away and shoved off though, the oar cutting through once-road now riverbed.

—

The treetop city that frolics with nature.

That was how Fortree presented itself, and now actually having visited the city, there was no question about the veracity of the claim. The city was built into the forest canopy, with living trees, only a handful of buildings were on ground level (and thus, only a few buildings were flooded).

Many talked of centennial floods come earlier than expected, some recall the meddling of some team or another, but all that could really be gleaned was what was happening. Route 120 had flooded.

It’s a good opportunity for research, drawing out the usually rare Mudkips from their slumber in the river beds, or allowing Giovanni to see just how extreme weather effects altered how pokemon battled, and more importantly- keeping most people out of his business.

It’s the one good thing about the extreme weather. He’s not fond of people sticking noses where they don’t belong, and in recent years, he’s gotten used to (and frankly) preferred solitude as a default, only reaching out to others on his own terms.

No one seemed to recognize him here. It’s been a small blessing and a reprieve from having to run. A little disappointing, however, was discovering the one associate he’d looked forward to running into had established himself in Galar of all places, but that could be an adventure for another day.

He also supposed that no one recognizes him here because without his signature suit and Rocket insignia that had been circulating in papers for years... he didn’t look much different from most others.

Dress for the weather.

And the weather was humid and miserable.

An athletic undershirt sat under an unbuttoned Alolan fern printed shirt, with sweatbands on his wrists, shorts with several pockets, wool socks, and hiking shoes was his ensemble today, kneeling down in the mud to observe the habits of the Mudkip swimming up to the surface.

He flipped over a laminated page in a multi-ringed notebook, holding marker to the surface:

‘Their most sensitive extrasensory organ is on the top of their head. It is not yet at the stage it develops its secondary typing.’

Though the groundwork (hah) was there. It would develop its secondary typing through evolution. Mudkip to Marshtomp- something in its evolutionary past necessitated that this line develop the skills needed to live amphibiously... that must be the reason why two seemingly contradictory typings co-inhabited the creatures-

A flash distracted him from his thoughts and then-

BOOM.

A peal of thunder close by, too close by, shook him from his research.

Damn.

Heavy rains pulled in from out of nowhere, drenching Giovanni and his work almost immediately. He’s glad he had the foresight to bring something laminated for his field research, but irritated by the suddenness of the rain. If he had a little bit more forewarning, he would have left beforehand.

The Mudkip disappeared from the surface of the water, burrowing back into the banks to seek their own shelter.

I should do the same.

The options are few... he’d rather not go higher up to get electrocuted, but staying as low as he was on a floodplain would be foolish. He’s strong, sure, and knows how to swim, but flash floods and rapids were nothing to mess around with. You would be lucky to be dashed on a rock. It’s quicker than drowning.

Sighing with the lack of options, he quickly retreated uphill, in spite of the hair on his arms standing up... was it fear, or atmospheric static? He couldn’t tell.

He walked a fair distance through the forest, seeing the trunks of trees and the tops of street signs peeking above the water. Then, there’s someone in a raft, paddling downstream with a Pikachu on their head.

He doesn’t like asking for help but he puts his hands to his face, and cups them around his lips.

“...Hey! Have room for another, stranger?”

The electricity in the air has Pikachu bouncing in excitement. Red counted the beats between the strikes, and the ozone pops and pressure differences are telling him that Pikachu’s been struck dozens of times since the swell began.

It’s a good thing too, because otherwise he’d be flat on his back with blisters and a prayer not to get struck by lightning again. Pikachu is so staticky that he’s sticking to the hat, cheering every time a bolt of lightning smacked into him and got absorbed.

The water below them was racing with a vengeance that his oar’s not entirely keeping up with. Their saving grace is the overgrown grass on 210 gave him an anchor to push off from. This rain’s going to end up killing someone at this rate if it hadn’t already.

They had gotten a good way down the route, signs with flood markers half buried under the rapids, when someone called out to him over the booming thunder. Red drove the oar into the grass and Pikachu and him turned to look at the same time. It’s a guy standing on a hill that’s not going to last. He’s not from around here at all by the look of it. That’s the person that’s gonna end up getting killed if he’s not careful.

Red dug his teeth into his bottom lip and whistled to Pikachu, and the mouse swung his tail in an arc, sending absurdly powerful bolts into the rushing water. It swelled, and pushed his next paddle stroke with a Surf back upstream, against the current. Red digs the corner of the raft into the embankment, and anchored the oar, reaching out towards the stranger and offering a hand. The rain slammed into the hat and forced him to look down.

Come on.

There’s always room for another person.

It’s tough holding it though, his arms were straining against the force of the rain.

No way…

It didn’t stop him from offering his hand, but the look he gave this man isn’t cursory. It’s slow and… tired.

And his trip got suddenly more complicated than getting Leaf a new plant, but he collects his passenger anyways, and shoves off with a quick whistle to Pikachu to steer the current in a way that wouldn’t shred his raft. The rapids were getting more intense.

Red settles into a rhythm of rowing among the din of rain.

“Pika, pika?”

Where are you headed?

Regardless of where, he was coming down the road first.

Art by @cuteskitty

Giovanni didn’t hesitate to grab on to the young man and hop in.

“Thanks-” Giovanni replied, balancing enough to sit down.

The pouring rain, peals of thunder and intense rapids, made him grab onto the side of the raft with a sense of urgency for stability. He knew he was entirely out of his element.

He was thankful for circumstances being good for a change. If not for this passerby, he’d have been forced to continue to higher ground and bring out Rhyperior for his own Lightning Rod ability, and they’d both be miserable out in this weather.

No telling how long this storm would last either, but he could tell already he’d been out in the rain long enough to start getting ill from it.

Great.

Taking off his sunglasses, he folded them up and placed them in his front facing pocket. He had no use for them right now, and they’re worse than useless with fog from heat and moisture clouding the already tinted vision. Giovanni’s forced to look down to keep water from getting in his eyes, and continued to do so while the ferryman and his Pikachu navigated the waters-

Surf... This Pikachu knows Surf? But…

Giovanni blinked with surprise, glancing up. It’s hard to tell in the rain, but that was definitely the same Pikachu he remembered from ages ago, and its trainer, the same dark, messy hair poking out, same downward turned lips…

No... Really?!

Possibilities erupted in Giovanni’s mind, searching for the odds of this meeting, searching for any chance of being able to skirt recognition…

But looking at Red- and he was certain this was Red- it seemed like he knew already.

No sense in pretending or hiding then.

“Thanks,” he repeated, “Heh... I didn’t expect to see you here. Truce?”

He signed the word for emphasis, painfully aware of the situation they’re in.

It’s like the old adage about the Skorupi and the Froakie…

On second thought, he’d rather not think about that. That story had seventeen different versions of endings depending on whatever moral someone was trying to impose on someone else, and right now, he was preferring the ending where both pokemon made it to the other side of the river.

Take no chances, don’t present yourself as a threat.

Truce.

Red nodded, slowly.

It had taken a long time to let go of the anger caused by this man, and it’s good that when he did recognize him, it didn’t come swelling back. It could have, but it didn’t. There’s some pride in that, and... sadness too. By ferrying this man he was doing a disservice to Marowak’s memory and throwing salt in those wounds. Giovanni wasn’t going to care about a single pokémon killed like that, though. He’d keep it to himself. That slippery slope of thinking about retaliation was the thing he stepped back from five years ago.

If he had been anybody else, things might not have panned out the way they did.

As it was, things were like this, Giovanni wasn’t dead, and Red was still Red, perpetually quiet, and not talking to him.

Red ferried them down the flooded route, the rain growing in ferocity and him just clicking his tongue twice to Pikachu to curb their path. The waters were moving with them. All he really had to do was turn them away. Rapids carried them for the most part down a choppy path, and he kept excellent balance, standing over Giovanni and looking pointedly ahead.

There were schools of fish breaching to eat at bugs that got pinned in the downpour, and Red brushed one off the raft back into the water with a kick of his heel.

It’d been... Five years. Five really long years.

He’d heard he was missing, but supposedly dead, when he was dragged back to the ground two years ago. Giovanni didn’t look more shocked than usual, though.

Probably didn’t think it was true that I lived.

Red dragged the oar into a tree, turning them on a dime and had Pikachu carve a path down south for them. Pikachu, much like Red, kept his thoughts to himself in the heat of a moment that needed focus.

Red sank the side of the raft into the next clay bank he found, leaping off of it with a splash and tying its docking rope around the thick trunk of a tree. Pikachu hopped off the hat and onto the raft, bouncing it with the vicious current. It dragged the raft line taut and was trying to put his feet out from under him. Red set the oar down in Giovanni’s hands.

He held up, ‘1′, and collected the box and shovel he’d come with to forage a nearly identical plant out from the roots of this tree.

Red sank the spade into absolutely drenched earth, and took less than a minute to collect the tiny berry plant in its box.

He didn’t give warning either when he loosened the rope from the tree and ran beside it, leaping onto the raft with his prize and kicking up a splash.

He laughed about it while Pikachu cackled and scurried back onto his hat. Red snatched the oar back, and shoved off the bank, turning them on a curb.

Red agreed to the truce, nodding silently, using his hands to steer instead of sign, and Giovanni had to admit he’s starting to get more curious than cautious.

Giovanni heard that Red had disappeared, and was rumored to go to Mt. Silver for training, and had possibly died in the process.

He found it hard to believe, personally. Not that it mattered to him what Red was doing. He’d still upheld his promise to Red that he’d end Rocket, stop smuggling pokemon, and dedicate his life to study.

In a way.

Giovanni was still a criminal. Circumstances in Johto two years ago made it impossible for a civil return and he was still bitter about it.

So he wouldn’t be surprised if Red didn’t believe that he had kept his promise. He wouldn’t be surprised if Red didn’t believe he was truly done with Rocket, or that he had no interest in the smuggling business. Or that he had been studying, even if some of his research material had been ‘repatriated’ from other villainous teams and corporations. He wouldn’t be surprised if the boy didn’t trust him on that end.

And thus... no point to bring it up.

Red hands him the oar, and Giovanni takes it without question, at least initially.

Why...?

He furrowed his brow and tilted his head, watching Red scurry on shore, signing ‘1′. One minute.

Red dug up a berry bush, put it in a box, untied the rope, and then leapt back on to the raft to push it off the shore, grabbing the oar back from Giovanni.

The leap startled him, mostly because he’s not expecting... or quite understanding what Red was even doing out here. Transplanting something?

Giovanni’s still curious. Red had proven to be quite capable, and interesting. He couldn’t help but wonder what he was up to.

He settled down, clearing his throat.

“... What have you been doing? Trying your hand at gardening?”

Red had signed less than one hundred words to Giovanni in their entire conflict. Conversation was absolutely minimal from his end to the point, he found out later, that Giovanni thought he was deaf. It wasn’t the case. He just despised him.

Time doesn’t exactly heal every wound. Not really. He still doesn't feel comfortable.

He’s just one of a handful of disappointing adults in the world, and disappointments came a lot easier with time. Gold kicked Rocket out and once again, adults left the kids to clean up the failures of their forefathers. He didn’t think Giovanni was involved in any breath of that operation other than the inspiration behind it all.

Red gave a look at the little berry plant under his poncho and shook his head ‘no’. He could say a lot about actual gardening, but this is just Leaf’s ditto replacement while she rode Tropius in the trees. He’s pretty sure Rocket ruined her life. He’s pretty sure this man ruined her life inadvertently.

Still, if the mountain taught him anything, it’s that there weren’t any invaluable lives. So, this one could stay on the boat despite the absolutely looming consequences of his actions that were still being felt. He’d done his part in whatever was to come. He’ll probably do more before his candle’s snuffed out.

Red blew wet bangs off his cheek and pulled them down the river, Pikachu chirruping with excitement. He’s having a great time, despite anything else.

He lifted the oar at a calm spot to point at the drowned Lillycove sign in question, then strained back into the water, whistling with more volume to Pikachu to pick up their current.

Pikachu flicked his tail with a grin, and Red turned his foot under the notch on the raft to keep balance while their speed picked up and he tried to compensate for the extra passenger.

‘Carvanha all over the place,’ he signed, impersonal and formal, ‘Leave it faster than I came. Eat through rafts.’

The coldness of the formal signing does not escape Giovanni. It seems that nothing has changed between them then, even with the time passing.

In a way, it is comforting.

It takes out all of the guesswork in interacting with Red.

He simply nodded, and tried to center himself on the raft, to keep from slowing down the raft even more. If he had an oar, he would help... but he also feels like if he had anything vaguely resembling a weapon in his hands, he’d be thrown off, and he’s not eager for testing strengths against a Red that was much bigger and stronger now- and floating over rapids.

He just had to sit here.

Frustrating.

Giovanni sighs, and follows Red’s gesture to a sign just barely above water.

Lillycove.

“...Yes, I’m going to Lillycove.”

Pikachu just about danced with glee at the rain and static in the air. Surf propelled them forward. He’s in his element. It’d be cute in different circumstances.

“I’m... hm,” he debated sharing his goals here, but decided that there’d be no harm in it.

“I’m studying the weather. Weather effects on different types. It’s been extreme enough here that the effects are more observable.”

It’s also terrifying, the sheer unpredictability of the changes in weather and the sheer force of it. It’s been a while since the attack on Hoenn from people that wanted to drown or burn the world, but the effects were still there.

“It’s... hah, it’s been an interesting adventure. That’s for certain.”

He takes out his laminate flip book in this small reprieve to take a few more notes on the patterns.

Red was going to Lillycove too. They’re going the same way. There’s an End of the World party in Lillycove thrown by an absolute madman and his coterie of contest entrants turned afterhours cove fighters. He’s wanted in the cove for a few matches he’s not missing for anything. Half the fun is diving. The other half was boxing and mailing the plant to himself via Wingull.

Giovanni says he’s here for the weather and Red nods.

‘Old Gods,’ he signed, coasting with expertise over water that could kill. He doesn’t know how anyone else felt, but he could feel them in the treacherous waters and the blistering heat. He felt them in the very air of this place, and absolutely pouring over Mt. Pyre, dripping in ghosts and ancient memories.

He felt the same in Mt. Silver.

‘Old Gods sleeping. Woke them a few years ago. So they say, anyway. Can’t feel it?’

He dipped the oar into the rapid again, Pikachu’s tail flicking to help him turn into the long strait towards Lillycove. Half the city’s smartly on the bluff, and the other half is waterproof for this very reason. The cove stretches for miles into shallows, other boats in use and the city itself looking fine despite the rain. Her buildings have lights on, her centers are seeing traffic. He’s not the only ferryman combing their way through the flooded causeways.

‘God party tonight,’ he signed, skidding them to a stop at the bottom of a stair leading up to the main avenues into Lillycove proper. People are running to get out of the rain, and other people are lounging in it.

‘You should come. Rain teams.’

He’s been invited. And he’s taking the plant until the next dawn, and the rock they’re toting as top prize.

It looks like a Megastone. Or like it could be.

‘Caldera.’

He pointed beyond the visual of the edge of the city, and the hot fog steaming from the water.

‘If you want to fight.’

So we are both going the same way, Giovanni thinks.

Red talks about the Old Gods awakened, primal spirits of earth and sea. Giovanni nodded along with the information. He was aware of the machinations of the two teams: Aqua and Magma. Giovanni was more than aware of what they tried to do- their misguided ambitions. Personal glory and reshaping the world…

He didn’t laugh at it, because he never treated the Old Gods as fairy tales.

They were pokemon, plain and simple. Powerful, magical beasts that were ruled over by instinct.

‘Old Gods sleeping. Woke them a few years ago. So they say, anyway. Can’t feel it?’

“...It may come as a surprise to you, but I actually can. I have no trouble sensing them.”

I wish I could stop sensing them so much.

Truly, Giovanni could. He’d always been blessed (or cursed) with a keen sense for the supernatural, even if he dulled his surface reactions to them, he could still feel their presences. In some places the prickling sensation was more overt than others, but the Old Gods’ presence in Hoenn was palpable.

It’s likely one of the reasons Giovanni can hardly stand being out right now. It’s overwhelming.

To feel the presence of something like Kyogre in every rain drop when there were thousands upon thousands of drops in a torrential downpour was actually enough to start to make him feel nauseous from the sensory overload.

They docked at a stairway, and Red invited him to a party in a Caldera with rain teams.

Giovanni tilted his head in interest, and considered the offer.

“Hah. Maybe. I’d assemble a team just in case, but I’d be content to just watch as well.”

He rose to disembark, but before he could, he fished in his bag and pulled out a cluster of broad leaves around a short root: A Revival Herb. He turned to hand it to Red, “... Here. As thanks for the passage. I found this while I was out and was intending to keep it. But I think you should have it.”

It does and does not surprise Red. Giovanni always struck him as in tune with the ground he was standing on, and his team, much the same, but what did surprise him was his willingness to do what he did, and tear the earth from other people. Maybe that’s why he didn’t believe it, because Giovanni’s only act that proved he could feel it was yielding to him. Everything else was ghosts and corpses.

He did yield the Earth to you.

And yet Rocket existed. And yet Mt. Silver was still full of bones.

You have a lot of work left to do.

Red scooped the herb up and nodded in thanks. Funny. That’s funny. He set it neatly beside the baby berry plant.

‘Thank you. Don’t be late.’

He whistled for Pikachu to start them off after their passenger hopped off safely past the first few steps, and the mouse whipped his tail with a sharp crack of electricity. Red balanced the raft evenly under his feet.

They’re off, racing defiant through the floodwaters, him turning them out of sight and Pikachu victoriously slapping a streetlight with his tail in passing, flickering it with a mischievous squeal.

He met up with people later while he’s needlessly wringing his hair out in a bathroom with six other people asking him what the berry plant and herb were for. He wrote for them not to touch it and they named it “Bent Benny”. He was invited to this thing because someone he battled last week was a said insane Pokémon contest entrée. It’s traditional, they say, to get painted up, so he let somebody else do his arms for him, and ran both hands over his face.

Waterproof, reflective, glowing paint in the rain. He put two sets of extra eyes on Pikachu for fun, poking both of his cheeks until he devolved into cackling.

His companions were nothing to sneeze at, either; one of them was a man ready with a wetsuit and a devil may care attitude, Brendan, the former? current? Hoenn champion. He’d painted and slicked his hair back in streaks. Looked like an otherworldly thing in the dark. His buddy Tristan, a water type fanatic with an absolutely precious Magikarp, painted himself up with an array too that looks like scales.

People come and go and, honestly, he had no idea how many people were going with him, but he hops on Lapras when it’s decided they’ve done ALL they could do to prepare to drown tonight.

The city sinks. The street light he’d passed earlier was not even a meter from the water level.

“Hey! Race you!”

Oh you’re on.

After the sun had set, the participants of the “Rain Dance” at Lilycove all individually rode the surf to the singular entrance of the ancient caldera basin, half filled with water.

Sponsored by the Contest Board, there was no shortage of expenses. Floating and suspension locked platform panels linked one edge to the other of the absolutely enormous volcano base. There were guard barriers for battles in smaller stadiums, and a huge larger stadium. It was well over three sizes what a tournament standard stadium was, and you could run the length of it.

Hey come dance~! Someone says. There’s thumping music too, and drinks (unadvisable). Pikachu made two fists at the huge stadium, and he had to agree, he had to nod at it.

It absolutely pours.

His paint ran down his face, and he grinned.

Giovanni stood at the top of the stairs, hands in pockets, watching Red and his Pikachu speed off to do whatever it was they were going to do.

A party tonight... I suppose I ought to get ready and do my research.

He hummed to himself in the rain. He could afford to go, he thinks. Remy wasn't due for another week, and this was his personal time to snoop around and enjoy himself before it was time to work again. It'd be good for picking up rumors and flexing his social sensibilities, certainly.

He entered into the hotel he's been staying in, squeezing in with others who also try to seek shelter from the rain. He gave a wave, a smile, and a nod to the secretary at the front desk, Carmen, but didn't do much else to distract her from work. But she does return each gesture- and explains to the inquisitive patrons she was dealing with that he was a "foreign researcher" that she'd made acquaintance with.

It paid to be kind to those in service work.

If anyone comes looking for you, those that you aid are more likely to come to yours. Reciprocity is how the world works for most.

To his credit, he was sympathetic to her struggles. Sitting at a hotel front desk was far from Carmen's idea of a career, but she still went out of her way to help him secure a fully furnished room with its own transporter for his "research."

He owed her a Mudkip. With a bit of money on the side.

Riding the elevator to the fifth floor, he took a plastic bag with his room key and Poryphone out of his chest pocket... the bag was steamy and drenched, but the contents were dry.

He removed the "Do Not Disturb" sign from the door handle, and swiped the card through the slot, waiting for the flash of green before he opened the door.

Persian was laid out on the hotel bed, glossy fur illuminated by the dim light of the lamp, flashing signs of the transporter, and a personal computer set up on the far wall where a window should be.

"Held down the fort while I was gone, did you?"

Her ear twitched, and she arched her back, reaching out paws and claws with strained tremors at the sound of Giovanni's voice, blinking lazily at him, and propping herself upwards.

"Oh, what a stretch! You don't have to get up on my behalf- I'm still soaked."

He took time to head into the shower. Now that the adrenaline's worn off, he could feel the steam of the shower soothe an ache in his chest he was unaware that he had. He took deep, strained breaths as he cleaned himself up. Headache setting in, and lightheadedness…

He could feel that he's getting ill. He'll be sick soon, he knew that much, having spent that long out in the rain. It always happens.

Giovanni dried off, donned a robe and slippers, and took a few preventative pills to stay off the symptoms as long as he could. He headed back to pet Persian to the sounds of overly excited children running down the hall.

He shook his head and huffed. Kids…

"You'll never believe who I ran into today."

Persian looked up at him, perplexed.

"Red," he responded, "He's grown quite a bit."

She folded her ears back and "mrowl-ed" in concern. Giovanni simply patted her head to give assurance. He would have been worse off without.

Settling at the PC with Persian hopping into his lap, he clicked over to browse local events, and top of the list was a party sponsored by the Contest Board. He browsed through pictures of cosplayers, glowsticks, blacklights, and waterborne battle arenas.

...Did I get invited to a rave?

He burst out laughing so suddenly, he choked into a coughing fit and startled Persian.

It's been some time, but he knew the dress code.

He plugged in his Poryphone into the transporter, allowing Porygon to stealthily connect him to his boxes of old Gear and queued the transporter to return him his old kit from when he'd done his international championship run about fifteen years earlier.

It's a long, black coat made of synthetic leathers designed to mimic a Rhydon's hide. Fire resistant panels and insulated lining to remove hazards from electricity. Spikes made of his Cloyster's shed tip spikes dotted the shoulders, and several belts with Gear loops and holsters swaddled the outer layers, and a removable zippered hood.

Back then, he didn't typically fight with the hood up. It limited his vision, and his hair used to be almost as long as the coat. He didn't like getting it caught.

The hood goes on now, though.

And then there was his pants... same Rhydon-pleather, but this time with Kakuna shed reinforcing the padding on his knees.

Finally, the boots. Black and sleek knee-highs with adjustable buckles along his calf and chunky platforms that absorbed shock and carried a mechanically activated cleat system. A stomp of the heel, and the cleats would latch on to the terrain.

It's all certainly a "retro" style of punk, but it's fitting to repurpose into an homage to an old, primal god.

He quickly ordered materials for the alterations, and got to work assembling the patterns of Groudon in neon white and red cording to pop under blacklight, and printed out a mask to filter his cough that also looked like rows of teeth.

Giovanni put on a red athletic shirt, and started assembling pieces of his outfit and Gear together. He's taller now, but his build hadn't changed much besides the shoulders that he already let out.

Persian flicked her tail, hanging her head as he dressed. Her ears drooped.

It must still smell like the others.

Giovanni paused in his work, and reached over to pet her.

"I know. But you'll be coming with me tonight. Look out for me, eh?"

She perked up and nodded resolutely. Giovanni wasn't going to battle her. He already had his team for the rain. But Persian was always his partner.

"Good," he replied, allowing her to climb up his arms and nestle on top of the spikes.

"Now let's grab an umbrella and go."

He's looking forward to this, now. It wasn't often he had an opportunity to train outside his beloved Ground-types. It was time to remind everyone there what it really meant to be a "master."

Five wins, one loss, five dances. Red loses track of time that passed and re-paints Pikachu up like a little imp. The caldera was an impressive lightshow, the sweltering rain illuminated every six seconds by another explosion of lightning across the rim. There had to be at least a thousand people here, and from that thousand, only about fifty or so battlers in a bracket. Saint and Sorcha, two of his drifters, pulled him into signing up immediately.

He made a heart at Sorcha with both hands, ‘I’ll impress you’, putting both hands out to the sides in a ‘Come what may’ gesture. It made them laugh like a loon while Tristan firmly explained that his Magikarp is splashing away with some kind of prize tonight. He believed him, and Sorcha smacked his cheek with their runny black lipstick for, ‘a little luck he doesn’t need’.

He always took it, though.

The minute he is thrown in a ring, music’s ripping the bones from his body and he’s glad for the white, absolutely shining gloves. Blacklights cut through sheets of rain, and the Banette disc jockey providing the entertainment, provided a backbeat cackling straight out of hell. It’s absolutely wonderful. He loved it.

And his Pokémon rain team blew through competitors with so much ferocity that Cory, one of the more bubbly friends he’d come with, said he needed to enter the finals bracket with a handicap.

And that’s when he lost a fight. It’s utterly spectacular. A trainer named May, and he heard she’s a champion too, meets him three on three and wins. The last hit was a brutal pummeling to his Milotic's side by her painted up Metagross in the rain. It’s a battle that pulled everyone’s attention. His heart’s in his throat with excitement by the end of it.

In the end, he ran the enormous length of the stadium to meet her in a high five and a laughing hug. What a fucking fight.

He’s not upset at all that he loses that one.

It rained like the world is ending, and while the final’s brackets were being drawn, he realized he had a pecha berry drink, and had no idea where it came from, and no clue how much he actually drank, but it tasted good.

Coral took it from him, ‘Are you crazy?!’.

Pikachu, a glowstick in his mouth, had just been waving it to the droning song of some house beat and singing along. Banette cackled again and everyone cheered. Red doesn’t know this song, but everyone else certainly does. Including Pikachu, somehow.

How the heck do you know this and I don’t?

He waited by a holo projection screen under an awning, for his seeding and final opponent. He’s the leader for the stone despite the one loss. The finals were in the enormous central arena. He couldn’t stop pacing.

This was the first gathering Giovanni’s been to in a while where he hadn’t been a host. But this was also a gathering where he was well above the median age of most participants. There were still others here in their forties like him, but they weren’t competitors for the most part. They were part of the crowd.

It’s a spectacle of a crowd in this weather, with over a thousand people in the collection of caldera floating stadiums. People cheered and whooped with the light show, forming waves of their own volition in the crowds, playing with one another and creating a show of their own for those on the field.

Registration opened for the competitors, and Giovanni waited patiently to register his pokemon and himself. He registered Omastar, Kabutops, and Cloyster as his rain team, then gave the false name “Terran” for himself.

Then it’s waiting for his turns, mingling, listening for rumors, and avoiding the drinks that would be interacting with his medication- which, sadly, was most of them.

But the trainers competing were spectacular! The company was wonderful, and the rumors were interesting (someone got fired from Mossdeep Space Center?). From both of these things, Giovanni met a man named Saint, who made his interest in Giovanni’s outfit (and things beneath it) known.

If he wasn’t already feeling under the weather, he would have taken him up on that- but he settled for the conversation and a phone number written underneath the cuff of his sleeve. It’s a boost of ego for sure.

Not that he needed another boost to his ego.

Persian was also attracting a lot of attention that she ate up like the spoiled queen she was, and Giovanni found himself spending time instructing the curious youngsters on approach.

“Yes, you can pet her, but let her smell you first, and only pet her by the whiskers. She doesn’t like anyone but me touching her anywhere else.”

But as if to prove her fickleness specifically to spite him, there was a young trainer that Persian bodily pressed her head into the palm of her hands and purred like the motor of a boat under that girl’s touch.

Betrayed once again.

He laughed in good humor at it, even though there’s a wet rasping sound to it.

‘You sound like you may be catching pneumonia,’ Saint advises, ‘you may want to see a doc about that.’

He simply nodded it off. Seeing a doctor... wasn’t really an option right now.

Six brackets.

The Banette jockeyed the music, and the stadium swelled with the crescendos. Giovanni could feel the energy in the air and- under the mask of anonymity- could actually take the time to appreciate it without any expectations or reputation to uphold.

His team cut through the competition, and this is the first time in a while that a match had actually felt like a competition, which was impressive enough on its own. The kids really were on something else these days.

But the kids also had no clue what two out of his three pokemon even were, and thus, were woefully under-equipped to deal with them. Kabutops’ swift Giga Drains and Aerial Aces eliminate a fair amount of the contestants in and of itself. He always switched out his lead to equally give his pokemon much needed exercise.

One victory, two, three... with each victory the battles get harder and harder, and his breathing becomes shallower and shallower... He felt like his lungs were filling with water, struggling to keep his head up even with both of his feet on land. But he was not giving up. He didn’t back down from a challenge once given.

Terran vs Red.

He’s not surprised to see Red facing him in the final round. It’s all routine by now.

Persian stood at his side, flicking her tail and eyeing Red across the field. She tapped at Giovanni’s foot with a paw to signal:

Be careful.

And he would be.

The announcer went through accolades, introducing each of them with highlights of their matches thus far, amping up the crowd, and rumbling the water enough that circular disturbances give a visual to the actual volume in the stadiums. There’s no way for either of them to hear each other on their sides, over the music, or the din of the crowd- so Giovanni signed to Red.

‘I showed up. Now show me what you can do.’

Challenge thrown.

“THREE...! TWO...! ONE...! MATCH BEGIN!”

Terran. Nice cover. Nice outfit.

I can’t believe you showed up.

Red thought it when the final straws were pulled, between pacing, overheating despite the onslaught of rain, and Pikachu having to tap his head to let him know it’s time to get your ass on the field.

It all came rushing back the minute ‘Terran’ stood across from him, a similar looking monster to the one his fifteen year old self fought against for his life. The smile he’d been wearing faded, and it’s like the volume in the earth shaking speakers throughout the water stadium was turned down. Time froze, for him, just for a moment. Pikachu was yelling at him and sparking like the Power Plant’s cables back home. The sky above was responding to him too, beginning to twist, and turn.

‘I showed up. Now show me what you can do.’

THREE.

Pikachu leapt off his shoulder in front of him, already building up momentum to sprint to the other side. The light’s slow for some reason.

Red raised a palm toward him, and made a solid fist, shattering it into five individual fingers. The paint on his body was smearing, and dripping. There were spirals all over his clothes smeared in the blacklight. Some old god. He doesn’t know what old god.

TWO.

Pikachu was leading, and lightning was breaching the rods set up to catch it all around the rim of the caldera. It’s hitting him because he’s calling it. People howled and cheered as much in shock as they did in excitement. They started a chorus with the countdown.

ONE.

It’s been five years. He’s only gotten stronger, and stronger. The rain fell and Pikachu looked like some kind of sprinting dragon on the reflective water, a trail of lightning behind him.

Oh shit what was in that drink…

MATCH BEGIN!

He signs a punch and Pikachu, in perfect synchrony, throws it. Thunderpunch. He’s going to beat him down no matter what. Without fail. Without restriction. Without quarter. Every single time until he’s dead. He has to win this fight.

Pikachu was struck by lightning, the music swelled, Red focused so hard he lost himself.

And so here they are, standing once again on opposing sides of a battlefield.

Everyone in this audience must have heard about the almost mythic struggle between Red and Giovanni. The infamy of that event lived on and repeated itself in echoes around the world ever since.

Giovanni almost pitied the audience. They’re about to witness something far more brutal than they’re equipped to deal with.

Almost.

He grinned beneath his mask as time all but stopped for them. The crowd disappeared from his vision. All that exists right now is him and his team. And Red and his team.

Can’t feel it?

It may come as a surprise to you, but I can.

There’s a presence here and now that sent shivers down his spine in a primal way- the ancient instinct of something greater than himself watching. It’s something greater than the presence of the audience, or the collective willpower of everyone here. He felt something behind Red’s eyes. It��s not a presence he’s ever felt before now, and something tells him it’s not even from here.

It may not be from Hoenn at all.

Well, he at least hopes whatever has his eyes on him is entertained.

Pikachu, struck by lightning, powering itself up, and Giovanni summoned Cloyster to the field.

This ancient bivalve was one of the few remaining original members of his championship team. Like the other two pokemon, it was also a “fossil,” but not in the strictest sense. Cloyster simply was old, and from another era of Giovanni’s life that was newly resurrected for this night.

“Poison Jab!”

He called it out, despite the hoarseness of his throat and the strain of use.

Cloyster dutifully obeyed his command, clamping itself shut and rolling forward to slam into Pikachu with the spikes that adorned its shell. Toxic venom oozed forth from the points, but it would be up to chance for the toxins to effect Pikachu.

That Pikachu had been honed into a perfect counter for many things Giovanni could throw at it, and it had been trained thoroughly in Saffron City... but what else could it do now?

Red shifted and paced quickly to the side, anticipating backlash. There has been no battle of theirs that hadn’t resulted in massive damages to people and property. He has to move to anticipate anything else that comes next. He’d just as likely get struck by lightning (which his Gear could handle) as he was likely to get sucked underwater and drown (which his Gear could not handle).

Red had to be prepared, he had to survive this, if not win this. He’d fight for every inch of this victory he could get.

This strange slice of the world that Hoenn was, seemed to be the only place on the planet he thinks was ready for the absolute ferocity of that Poison Jab. Cloyster built up a speed it shouldn’t have been able to and drove spikes into Pikachu at that top speed. The hit’s monstrous and Pikachu’s ready for it. He twists his supercharged body off the spines with a burst of electricity and blood. Usually hits were dulled enough by limiters to draw minimal amounts.

He didn’t anticipate those limiters working. It didn’t work on May. It’s not going to work now, on them. Pikachu lets out a shrieking ‘KYAAA!’, and Red runs beside him, moving with him into the motion of a second Thunderpunch into Cloyster’s tougher than steel shell. The noise it makes is absolutely deafening. Pikachu’s more focused. He punches again into the divot of the shell, trying to find softer insides to make into mincemeat.

The drink was spiked. It was absolutely spiked, because Red can’t stay still and he can’t find the focus to do much else but fight. And dance. He bounces on his heels to Banette’s haunting, booming bass drops. He can feel Pikachu’s movements through him, and he can feel something else too.

Something old was weighing on him so hard that he felt like he had to move.

Thunderpunch wasn’t going to cut it by itself. He makes a cutting motion with his hand and Pikachu moves the same way into a vertical chop with the force of all that muscle behind it. Brick Break.

Another lightning strike hits him. Banette howls. So does the crowd, growing and growing. They chant their names and the names of their Pokemon. Red watches one of the stadium tiles crack under Pikachu’s feet. It shouldn’t do that.

And... something is leaning on his shoulder. It hurts enough to make him flinch mid hop, but not pull him out of it.

There you are.

That’s the Red he knows. Not content to sit still or wait behind the guidelines in the ground marked for safety. No, he moved with his pokemon, and today was no different.

What was different, however, was the twitch in the face and glassiness of Red’s eyes…

Oh. I see.

Giovanni laughs to himself quietly. No use agitating his lungs further, but he can’t help himself. The kid must have gotten hold of a party drink that was spiked.

There’s no telling whether or not that’d give him a disadvantage or not. Best to assume not, since he’s done much the same without batting an eye.

Pikachu demonstrates great martial skill, Punching once with thunderous fists, and punching again with with enough force to smash cinder blocks.

Brick Break is skilled enough to shatter one of Cloyster’s spikes, in spite of the limiters- and out of the corner of his eye, Giovanni can see the machines in the wings pulsing light and flashing warnings as they fail to keep up with the demands of all the power in the stadium.

There’s a dip in power, ever so slight... Who knows how long it’s going to hold?

Don’t rely on it.

Giovanni rushes up to his Cloyster, that rolls backwards to disengage from Pikachu. Giovanni stomps his heel into the ground, and activates the cleats to stick into the terrain. He signs over to Red as a courtesy:

‘Dodge.’

“Cloyster, Avalanche!”

Cloyster screeches and hops in the air, spinning around itself. It draws water up from around the floating field and turns the rain into snow. The water wall rising around Cloyster becomes a wave of ice that cracks and falls around Cloyster. Cloyster turns the ice into snow and hurls it at Pikachu with an intense force.

Cracking and whirling snowfall competes with the music and the thunder for volume, drowning out all other sounds in the vicinity.

Giovanni ducks, and allows the snow to fall around him, safely planted in the ground. The same can’t truly be said for Pikachu.

Pikachu did a lot of damage to Cloyster. Cloyster’s fought well, but this may be the last big thing it can do before that Pikachu finishes him off…

Another thought crosses his mind- what would he do if he won? He hadn’t considered the publicity aspect of winning. Giovanni was battling for battling’s sake. He didn’t want to lose- but winning had a lot more consequences than rewards if he wasn’t careful.

He’s not giving up. Red will have to snatch this victory like he’d done for so many that came before.

Show me what you can do. How will you win this time?

Dodge.

Red doesn’t know how he catches or reads the warning from the league away. The power limiter pulse machines are sparking and he has just enough time to break right and run out of the path of a maelstrom of high speed ice. The power flickers with threatening vengeance, and Pikachu stands direct center in it. He’s absolutely blasted with the force of the ice, Cloyster’s spinning amplifying the speed of the attack.

The water on the ground was being sucked into the ever-increasing blast that Cloyster was spewing.

Pikachu lets out a vicious shriek in the middle of it, drowning out Banette's hooting and howling.

Red’s focused despite the fact he can’t stop moving. And Pikachu wants to hit as hard as possible through the blast. The ice keeps spewing out of Cloyster’s spin, and Red draws himself in a readied crouch, springing forward like a runner and running as Pikachu bursts from the jetstream, his entire body flying like a bullet forward.

Beat him down.

Volt tackle.

The minute Pikachu erupts from the stream, the entire stadium’s power flickers, and swells, and every single machine around the caldera’s edge bursts into a thousand pieces when the power returns with the music. There was a commentator screaming over the din for each move executed.

“What is going on?! That level can’t be right…!”

There were screens and sensors to try and determine the capacity of a pokémon, showing the status of the battle and estimations of their capacity to keep fighting. Limiters set everyone to an equal standard of level 50. The display glitched, trembled, and Pikachu was at 100. A failsafe measure wraps the stadium in a quickly generated barrier despite the massive length of the field.

And the ref should call it immediately for safety reasons. They would have if not for the failsafes in place. They don’t.

This place has been wrecked before.

Red’s not sure he’d listen if it was called either.

Pikachu hits with everything he’s got, and it breaks through the Avalanche and through Cloyster’s solid defenses. Spines break, the field shatters with the impact, pieces of the stadium suddenly floating among the water. The destruction is contained to this massive space, but he has to run and leap across a crack in the floor threatening to send him a few feet down to touch the caldera’s muddy bed.

“PIKA! PIKA!”

Pikachu, defiant until the end, raises up both arms and shrieks, still standing, bloodied and continually struck by lightning.

THAT ALL YOU GOT?! THAT ALL YOU GOT?!

Red sprints across a separating platform, keeping his balance, his heart pounding. He whistles over the screaming, sharp and shrill.

People are starting to realize he’s the real Red. The fever pitch it’s whipping everyone into is absolute madness. He has to bounce from platform plate to platform plate. The artificial gravity balances are somewhat still in effect, but it’s like walking on moving water. It would feel great if it didn’t mean the ground was splitting open.

Volt Switch, now!

What do you do when confronted by a force of nature?

What can you do when confronted by a force of nature?

For the mere viewers in the audience, it meant that the security hired by the event organizers were quickly trying to evacuate the first five rows of the arena, dubbed “the Splash Zone”. It was apparent with the limiters going out of order, those rows were going to be “the Flood Zone” or “the Electrocution Hazard Zone” or a myriad of other dangers that Giovanni and Red could command.

Persian yowls at the force of Cloyster crashing down- his tough shell clamping closed to protect the soft innards inside. Spikes clattered off of the exterior, venomous ooze murks up the water and ice nearby.

“He’s survived,” Giovanni assures Persian.

Cloyster had a tough shell. The exterior was an unknown, and so far, unreplicatable material that could withstand a missile strike.

Giovanni should know, he’s witnessed that first hand.

But a man-made ballistic and explosive device was incomparable to the sheer power of a fully trained monster like Pikachu.

The power levels flash, despite the limiters being broken.

One Hundred.

“That level can’t be right...!”

Oh, but it is. Giovanni had no doubt in his mind that that was the power level that Red had raised his Pikachu to. His own Ground Team was close, and Cloyster, resting at ninety-two was close- but this was after a decade and a half of steady practice and skills learned.

Red had done this in five.

The impact of Cloyster’s fall left tremors that Giovanni recognized as the ground splitting. Pikachu had made its own little Earthquake using Cloyster’s bulk and near-indestructibility against him, and now the terrain was splitting off, floating freely in the water.

Giovanni winces at Cloyster’s fall. In spite of everything, he was still in tune with his monsters’ pain. He’d hardened his heart, but not removed it completely. Red is still the only opponent he’d faced in a long time that made him feel this way.

And, despite everything, he likes it. He loves the chaos that they sew whenever they clash. They weren’t people that fled from the forces of nature. They embraced it- one side or another.

“Cloyster, return! Persian climb on to me!”

He holds out his hand with Cloyster’s pokeball, and stomps his heel once more to disengage the claw gripping the earth beneath. Persian climbs up onto his shoulders, balancing on top of him, already running even with the recall incomplete.

Some things you want to ground yourself for, others, you need to move.

And he’d have to surf over the split chunks of earth and feel out his next moves. Pikachu was done for- recalled through use of Volt Tackle. Giovanni can’t wait and see for the next enemy.

They have to finish this. Bubbling in his lungs and burning in his chest be damned.

“Kabutops!”

He leaps over a piece of terrain to get closer to Red’s position on the miniature sea, and tosses Kabutops, one of his fossil pokemon, up in the air, not on the terrain.

She materializes, chittering with an insect-like cry, searching for her landing.

Another pokemon begins to materialize on Red’s side of the field.

No hesitation.

“Aerial Ace!”

She pulls her bladed arms to her chest and lowers her head, turning the aerial awakening into a dive, heading straight for Red’s newly summoned monster. At the last moment, she unfurls her bladed arms and spins, pirouetting like a ballet dancer, to bring them down on her opponent.

We are the forces of nature here.

When the light floods in, it’s with a CLANK of metal on solid scaled flesh. The incredible dive was met with such a loud and rapturous cheer. It was incredible. Kabutops made a shadow against the strobes and flashing lights. The water spray creature dotted its shell like stars in the blacklight. It looks like someone dunked it in glowing paint. And it looks like it’s dancing when it hits.

The bladed arm sinks into Blastoise’s solid forearm as he guards against it, a huge, manic grin on his face.

‘HEH.’

Blastoise slams a foot down and his Blackglasses slip off his face down his beak. He clicks his tongue like Red, and winks at the assailant trying their best to stab down and succeeding. A huge flickering screen splays the new contender’s statistics.

Level 100. It shouldn’t be right. Banette howls in vicious excitement into the mic and starts a new setlist. It loves them. It says so, echoing through the entire caldera.

No, it shouldn’t. But it is. So it is.

Commentators and audience noise blends together. The Banette keeps beat for Red and Red keeps focused.

Red mimics the movement. He grins too, pulling a fist back and throwing it forward as Blastoise plants a kick into Kabutops’s center to shove them off. Kabutops is going to outspeed him in every way. Blastoise yanks the shades off his face with a huff and tosses them to the side, to Red.

Red catches them and pops the oversized shades over his eyes, breaking into a full sprint over the broken terrain and signing:

‘Dark Pulse.’

The central lightning in the stadium, series of square, high power battle lighters, dim and black out on beat. It’s like watching a heart swell and beat. Blastoise rears back and throws his head forward, a ring of pitch black energy spilling from his mouth and slamming into Kabutops, shredding scaling off its shell. Kabutops’s shell pulses fluorescent colors. People start singing along to the song something popular about breaking bones, music, dancing until you die.

His gloves glow bright white under this light, leaving ghost trails behind them.

Or maybe that’s the drink playing tricks on him.

Blastoise takes the initiative, cannons racking back and fully drawing into its shell. Red braces both arms to himself. It seems his team came today to sprint, not pull endurance matches. So be it. He wanted a beatdown, not a dance.

Blood shines under blacklight. Blastoise draws into his shell completely and it starts sliding on the sinking terrain. And then it spins, and bursts. There’s a spray that runs into the water and beats bright blue. Blastoise flexes in it, glowing and streaked with smeared viscera and pieces of bone. His front is a gaping wound that heals almost immediately under the rain.

Shell smash.

He’s fast without it, metal canons articulating like a second pair of arms. His scales litter the field. He stomps forward with intent and aims.

Dodge this.

And fires. Ice beam. Frost spews from both canons, freezing the water under him and around him and securing passage between the broken pieces of the field.

Red loves fighting like this, because it’s at his best. He feels like a monster taking swipes with its claws and collapsing buildings. He feels like the thing under the mountain reminding the world why people were afraid of gods.

Giovanni skids over the ice to a stop- midpoint in the terrain. The ice slides him further to keep up with the shots.

Blastoise enters the field, and is immediately in his element. Not only in the water of the arena, but in the adoration of the crowds, the cheers amp up with all the destruction and the spectacle of power.

How could one not be in awe?

Kabutops gets cheers of her own, the unusual fossil absolutely radiant under the glow of the blacklight.

Interesting.

It’s something to note for research later- he’d suspected the relation with other bug-types…

She spins with grace, slicing into the Blastoise, who with a flash of shades, grins and bears her claws.

The power level flashes across the top of the screen: One Hundred for Blastoise, and Eighty-Eight for Kabutops.

There’s a steep difference in power- but it’s far beyond what most are able to achieve. Most people can achieve up to the sixties after years of dedication and study, and most people fall off training before the maximum theorized level could be achieved.

The lights dim with Dark Pulse, and the fluorescent markings on the shell of Kabutops makes her stand out like an ancient spirit of the deep. Neon green and purple swirls undulate under a cyan hull.

She doesn’t flinch, this creature of the deep brought to the surface, brought to life... but the energy still buffets her, sapping life force from her body and bursting blood vessels.

Blastoise smashes his shell, fragments clattering over terrain and spilling into water, and in a jolt of speed begins to expel ice over the field and at Kabutops.

She’s resilient- she’s not weak to ice at all, but it still hurts with the difference in levels between them.

Giovanni rushes forward, in tandem with this monster of his creation, who was waiting on him to direct her motions. He huffs in exertion. The ice in the air feeling like it was making crystals in his bubbling lungs, and turning his breath into fog. Giovanni raises his arms and clamps his cleats into the ice to steady himself.

If there was any chance of surviving this for her- she’d have to strike at his weaknesses, but she had to raise herself to match him…

“Ancient Power!” He cries, huffing as bubbles from the fluid in his lungs crackle at the back of his throat.

Kabutops warbles, splaying her bladed arms to the side, then raising them above her head as the terrain splits even further, and from the deep, several ancient stones are summoned to the surface. Pieces of calcite and other minerals glow brightly in the stones, and her body glows brightly as well, her eyes change from white to pink.

Prehistoric fragments powered up this prehistoric creature.

With an ungodly roar, Kabutops hurls the stones into Blastoise’s damaged shell, and the energy ripples between her and her enemy. She’d grown stronger and advanced in just that short frame of time.

Now is the opportunity to strike.

“Ach-ch!” he coughs, “Kabutops, now! Use Giga Drain!”

Kabutops nods her flat and broad head, spinning on a clawed toe on top of the ice. Green energy swirls under her exoskeleton- and in the blacklight, everyone can see her inner workings channeling this energy.

“KREEEE-YA!“

Kabutops screeches at the top of her lungs, an orb of bright light spilling out from her mouth, and bursting forth at Blastoise, hitting him square in the chest.

The energy ripples like electricity throughout the entire giant turtle, and wringlets of energy swim back to Kabutops, repairing her injuries and bringing her back up to a healthy level. She screeches in relief.

“Good girl!” Giovanni praises. Persian yowls in the same manner.

This was going to be close.

The Giga Drain hurts. It hurts to the point of Blastoise taking a knee. She splits his ice and his blood gravitates towards her with unquenchable ferocity. Blastoise keeps grinning. He’s grinning more and more the more she keeps wailing into him. Red’s at a type disadvantage. He knows that. He also knows Blastoise is a methodical type of fellow. Thoroughly cunning.

Blastoise straightens up and smashes a primal stone with his heel, rocks sliding off his bloodied hide. He’s having more than a good time taking the hits from a pretty lady. The rain’s healing him too fast for her. The level difference is ten, but it might as well be an entire league.

Red has to hand it to Giovanni. He knows damn well how to raise and train Pokémon. Kabutops is incredible.

She’s gorgeous.

Nobody in this region could even identify her properly. She looked like some ethereal creature meant to cut the water in front of her and cut Blastoise until he stained the caldera permanently.

Which seemed fine for him. Blastoise, new deep gashes in him from her violent energy, stomps towards her with more speed, grabbing around her whirling blades and all and picking her up. She’s a lot lighter than him. Red wants to cross the boundary into Giovanni’s border. He’s losing territory. His tiles are sinking. There’s no penalty for going under, but there’s a lot of danger in it.

Alright. Submission!

Blastoise brings Kabutops down into the ice with a CRACK. His clenched fist glows, a pinprick of concentrated energy in the palm. He clicks at her.

He winks again.

Red snorts and whistles at him. Stop flirting. Keep your focus.

Hard for him to say when he’s losing focus himself.

Blastoise pushes an Aura Sphere into her while she’s down, flinging her back into jagged ice shards. He bellows and croons under the whoops and chants of the crowd. He loves the attention being thrown on him. He’s fucking hurt.

Damn!

In a massive display of force, Blastoise grabs Kabutops out of the air and slams her into the ice, cracking scales off of her hide and helmet. She shudders and chitters and completely freezes in place in the Submission.

Blastoise winks at her, and Giovanni sighs in exasperation.

He hates sometimes that his pokemon are so much like him, and that they all enjoy being powerful- but also enjoy that power being shown to them as well.

Blastoise is flirting with her, and she's receptive to it.

Giovanni prepares to issue a command to escape it, but the air he takes in chokes him, dizzies him, greys out his peripheral vision, and forces him to adjust his stance. By the time he rights himself, Blastoise already has an orb of energy crackling in his fist, ready to send Kabutops through the ice below her.

Aura Sphere.

This is bad-! he panics. Without the limiters, Aura Sphere can hit him and Persian where they are.

Neither of them can afford to go under. With the energy in the air, the shifting terrain, and the undertow developing wouldn't release them if they get caught.

He clamps down, turning his body to the side to minimize exposure, and raises his arms in an 'X'.

Giovanni doesn't care if any referees call foul or not, this is life or death-

-and this is where he excels.

"Persian, Protect!"

Persian digs her claws into the armor, and yelps. From her gem, a wave of barely-visible energy blooms in front of the both of them just in time for the rippling crashes of Aura Sphere to slam into the hastily conjured shield.

They aren't blown off of their small refuge on the floating terrain, but the entire piece is propelled backwards, and the waves surrounding them chop up against the outcrop. The force tips the terrain backwards.

Time to move.

Giovanni leans forward and grabs onto the far edge of the busted terrain as it keels up. They're hanging on, verticle above water and sinking quickly.

Persian yowls in distress. He knows what she means:

'We need to go!'

"Let's go!"

He hoists himself and her up, poising on the ledge to quickly assess where their next haven would be. No choice where to go except closer.

He and Persian leap off together and land on a nearby piece of the field with a little less grace than preferred, slipping on the rime that formed and wobbling down onto a knee. He coughs at the pain, tastes iron in his sputum. He wheezes, and takes a moment to regain his balance. Persian leaps off of his back and crawls under his arm to give him support, clamping her own claws down to keep from sliding.

That hurt- but he and Persian were still above water, which was all that mattered.

Now back to the task at hand, Kabutops.

She's badly hurt, but still kicking. Blastoise and Red figured out one of her weaknesses: Fighting-type moves.

She and the icy blood glow a bright cyan under the blacklight, and with each passing moment, the cold rain heals the shell-less Blastoise, and she observes in awe.

"Kabutops!" he yells with audible exasperation, "We didn't come here to make eggs! Get out of there, and use Giga Drain!"

Courtship over.

"Kre-yah..."she croons. Nothing personal.

She kicks a clawed foot over Blastoise's jaw to flip herself backwards and away, skirting on the ice and digging her bladed arms down to bring herself to a comfortable pause.

She summons the energy from her core to ream Blastoise and ricochet back to her, healing her wounds and sparking changes in the neon patterns on her carapace. She's capable of taking hits, so this is now about endurance.

And under his mask, where no one could see- Giovanni's grinning.

Let the chaos unfold.

Blastoise is being a flaunting cock of a turtle. Jackass. He’s showboating and flexing, and the second Giga Drain doesn’t hit him as hard as the first one but he acts like it does for the sheer hell of it. Blood runs down his chest and back in patterns that follow his older scars and tough as hell scales. He’s thrown down into a karst of ice that was split with the force of his body, and he makes a show of slowly getting back up and smearing the blood she’s sucking right out of him over his face in huge, clotty streaks. He’s healing and bleeding rapidly in the rain.

Impish nature, and extremely cunning. He looks like exactly what he is, a cuthroat monster. Blastoise opens his ridged beak and calls once, a bellowing.

Nothing personal. He’s going down for it, absolutely, but he’s going to take her out with him. The ref doesn’t call the foul in the same way that they didn’t call the stop to the battle. And…

Neither of them care. They don’t. The platforms are done for and are so blown apart by the battle that despite having perfect balance on one, he hops down into the knee-deep water to resume command of the situation without sliding around like a dizzy Spinda. His vision is blurry and blotted with color. His gloves look incredible. Blastoise looks like a fucking nightmare and it makes Red grin like a Hex Maniac.

That drink is... really hitting me.

And so is the battle. His heart’s pounding in his ears when he draws back his fist with Blastoise, calling on all the ancient things watching them both stepping into the skins of mythological stories. There’s always a fight at the end of the world that has to be won, fought by people who usually didn’t want it to be this way.

That last part? That’s incorrect.

Red’s so in his element that he wouldn’t wish for anything differently. Blastoise gathers energy to him, silver light building behind him. Red pushes his fist forward as Blastoise does, a collapsed orb of pure force flying from his palm and hitting Kabutops, the other side of the field, the water, the barrier behind them which fizzles with the force and threatens to collapse.

Red’s head’s a mess. The water’s glowing so brightly under all the lights and pokémon displays. It looks like a huge, multicolored eye, opening under their feet, watching them. He trudges through the water and the rain, taking out Blastoise’s ball and recalling him. He’s done, and he’s not continuing a kaiju’s courting dance.

Red shoves the shades back into his pocket, and pops the last pokémon from his belt. He tosses it skyward, and the light that spills out of it melts into glowing, flashing scales and brilliant shimmers. The long, serpentine body of Milotic spills into being under the rain, landing behind him with a heavy splash.

He raises both arms to the rain, both palms to the sky. The glowing paint streaked down his arms in lines. The water’s filled with Blastoise’s blood. He thinks they probably can’t call it off, because they can’t reach them through the barrier. He can hear the commentary, fast and electric, but muted through the barrier. The audience chants something.

He claps both hands together and pushes them forward, palms out.

Milotic’s shimmering, shifting tail collapses, and expands, water rising and spiraling around his shimmering scales.

Aqua Ring. Aqua Ring.

He makes the water dance around them in levitating spirals, and Milotic springs forward, diving into the flooded stadium and corkscrewing under it.

CRACK.

Kabutops is finished. The Aura Sphere does her in, pulsating energy that she cannot avoid, and that Giovanni and Persian are poised thankfully away from. Giovanni rises back up to a fighting stance, with Persian balancing at his side. The piece of terrain bobs up and down, whim to the ripples that ebb and flow from the force of Blastoise’s attack.

Red recalls the beast, but the water is already stained with with the mingled blood of Kabutops and Blastoise, small specks of green glow and float among the red whorls spiraling down.

It’s two down for each of them now, it’s all down to their last pokemon.

“Kabutops, return!”

Giovanni pulls out her ball to recall her, letting her rest safely inside.

She did well, and put up a fight that many others wouldn’t be able to withstand, in spite of the level difference. Kabutops isn’t a part of his main team, she still has a long way to go. He’s proud of her performance, regardless. She was truly exceptional.

He’s still grinning at this display of primal violence. The rain downpours, the sharp smell of iron and copper linger in the air, along with ozone from electricity- the terrain of the field is destroyed, bobbing up and down with glaciers that have formed among everything.

They’ve all come so far. He’s just as impressed by Red now as he was five years ago, and he can’t help but to nod his respect across the way, as Red slinks into the water to swim with the Milotic that slithers forth with grace.

Milotic is a true testament to Red’s skill as a trainer, and he understands why he saves the serpent for his last. He’s a testament to Red’s care as a trainer.

The Milotic is a truly beautiful specimen, and the blacklight reveals another layer to the beauty of the luminescence of deep sea creatures. The writhing patterns are almost hypnotic, a fresh breath of air, a reprieve, from the intensity of the battle. Even if it is only for a moment.

It’s too bad that Giovanni appreciates a show of skill even more than visual aesthetic, and in this apocalyptic domain, he was itching to bring this fight to a certain victory, whether it be his or Red’s.

He pulls out his last pokeball, and throws it out to the center of the pool. A flash of light disrupts the violet darkness, and a bulking nautiloid shell with spikes slithers out into the deep, tentacles feeling out around herself, and her four pronged beak flashing with a gurgling squawk.

“Omastar! Muddy Water!”

Omastar dives below the surface, and sinks into the silt and disturbed terrain, shaking itself and unearthing the softer sand and debris. Dirt clouds the water, and is suspended in it as Omastar also secretes a mucousy material around itself.

Milotic swims closer, carrying a ring of energy around itself, patterns of light flashing on his hide.

Omastar waits for the crucial moment- and strikes, using her beak to siphon the muddied water back up, and spew the mixture at Milotic.

Success.

Even though this isn’t a type-effective move, Omastar strikes against the eyes of her opponent, effectively compromising the creature’s vision... It’s a move that would buy a little more time, and luck was on his side for this one.

It’s a close match already, and he’s already considering his Omastar’s moves: Muddy Water, Stone Edge, Dive, and Whirlpool-

Whirlpool.

It would counter the Aqua Ring’s healing, but…

He looks over to Red in the water. Even though the young man is his opponent (enemy?) he’s still reluctant to have him seriously hurt. Perhaps it’s a shred of decency, or perhaps it’s selfish, because he truly does enjoy their battles, as close a call as they were for his life.

It’d be a shame to not be able to do this again.

Giovanni leans lower, vision graying out at his peripherals again. He’s almost beyond words with the struggle just to breathe, so he signs to Red.

‘You may want to get out of the water.’

He doesn’t see it immediately. There’s a thick haze over his head that layers on that It’s Over. It’s Over. This is over. There’s something about the ripple of the water when Milotic dives, taking that hit to the eyes and crooning ear-bursting whalesong in response.

Red doesn’t see it, and he signs without looking up, ‘OVER’. It’s done. He wades behind Milotic, slashing at the water in front of him in repeated sign.

DANCE.

His clothes cling to him, and he’s numb. He doesn’t notice he’s gasping to breathe because his heart’s beating too hard, and he doesn’t notice how hard he’s cinching his jaw. Milotic shimmers, and spectral lights erupt out of her scales despite the muck and grime, dancing over Milotic’s body in dreamlike wyrm shapes. Dragon Dance.

And this is it. He can feel Milotic’s muscles constricting together and moving under the skin, and he turns as he turns, lunging forward as he does.

Draco Meteor.

Milotic slams his tail into the waves and they suspend around him, glowing with blood under blacklight, and his pulsing scales. There is no finer ode to the great old gods than taking a creature that remembers the blood it came from, and through it, burning a hole in the air above them.

He wished Lance was watching him.

He wished the Blackthorn clan was watching.

He wished…

Milotic opens its jaw, rearing back and the entire stadium leans towards it with the drawing gravity. A burning, glowing sphere starts building in Milotic’s throat with that deep, horrific, abyssal call it makes, before it throws the energy and its entire body forward, crest splayed out, tail fan spread, scales all raised.

In that beam of energy, there’s starlight. In that beam, there was primal, eldritch dust that confirmed that this world, this monstrous, horrific, incredible world beat in tune with the bones of dragons.

The meteor hurls itself towards Omastar, cutting the sound out with a sonic boom. It peters back in, in degrees, Red shaking with the effort of his body disobeying him.

It needs to be over. I’m sick.

Milotic lets out a wail that carries into the sky.

'OVER.'

Red completely ignores Giovanni's warning, refusing to look up at or acknowledge him.

Fury and fear boil up to the surface and almost seizes his lungs into choking. He wants to shout at him: Are you stupid? You're in danger!

Even though nothing's happened-

Yet.

That 'yet' beats in the recesses of his thoughts as Milotic bellows in whalesong, echoing off the far recesses of the caldera.

You lost…

Everything falls quiet for Giovanni. He can't tell if the audience is stunned speechless, or if he's consumed by focus, and an uncanny awareness overtakes both his rational and emotional thought.

...now live through this.

Giovanni just 'is' in this moment, and he's already moving in preparation. He is only action.

The first second.

Brilliant starlight shines in hues of gold and mageroyal, Earth beckons beneath them. Dragon song calls to space and something listens. Giovanni stands up, and Persian begins to climb up his arm intuitively-

Two seconds.

- All he can hear now is a heartbeat and persistent ringing. Giovanni doesn't know whose beat it is, but he steps into rhythm. He takes Persian, and begins to run towards where Red is in the water, leaping and skidding across the icy terrain-

Three.

-The three pinpricks of light loom closer and breach the stratosphere with a splash of glorious firelight. Streams of color burst and spin around each other, creating pure white light with an iridescent trail. Omastar cannot avoid this attack, it's too zeroed in. Giovanni knows the difference in power. Even with the distortion in accuracy, Milotic will land this attack critically. The limiters are not in place. If this hits her, she'll die. He leaps over the remnants of his field, crossing into Red's territory. He reaches for her pokeball at his side…

Four.

Giovanni takes the pokeball in hand, steadying himself to take aim. The light of the meteor is bright and close. He can feel the heat on his arms, and see ice melting, turning into steam with the approach -

Five.

"Persian, Protect! Omastar, return!"

Protect is not going to be as effective, Persian had already used it before, but anything he could do to limit the damage…

Persian focuses on the energy around her as Giovanni presses down on the activator. Omastar obeys and allows herself to get pulled back out of harm's way. Giovanni flashes the sign for 'yield' up to the commentators.

Match over. Danger, on the other hand…

The barrier shimmers around them all, and Giovanni sprints the final yards toward Red-

Six.

Red's in the water. At this range, it's easier to see blown out eyes and the shivers of sparse attention. He has no focus- drug induced. Giovanni leans down to grab onto Red's shoulder, arm, anything he can get ahold of-

Persian yowls in urgency.

We're out of time!

Draco Meteor arrives, the heat from its descent turns ice clear, and decreases the glacier's size by half, and creates a perfect concave bowl of evaporated water around itself before the energy evens out and the water boils.

The meteor doesn't stop. It punches a hole through the exposed crust of earth, and sends a massive wall of water up to the sky. The force of it pushes them all back, and shatters Persian's protective barrier.

But they're still heads above water.

The resulting waves toss and chop, and it takes all of Giovanni's focus to hold on and clamp down. The sting of Persian's claws keeps him firmly present.

They start drifting back after the waves start settling, but Giovanni freezes when he hears a rasping, gurgling noise similar to how his lungs popped through fluid trying to take in air.

The earth that was cracked was taking on water, forming a tiny drain spout.

Whirlpool.

The scariest thing about water is that it doesn't look scary. The water can hold you down, drown you, crush you- if you get caught up in it, it doesn't matter how well you swim, your only hope is to pray.

Giovanni wonders briefly. Was his earlier thought of Whirlpool him just examining his moves? Or a forewarning from…

"Red- ach," he sputters, "Get out-"

"THE WINNER, RED.”

Rapture and applause drowns everything out. He barely registers that he’s being pulled quite violently and suddenly as he recalls Milotic mid-dance. The barrier is still up, now the staff rushes in on emergency vehicles, but both of them are far too far away for anybody to reach them immediately.

Giovanni rushes towards him, and he can’t quite catch what he’s saying from far away. The man croaks from under the hood and starts hacking in a way that makes Red’s face pull a frown.

And then he’s pulled sharply back and it becomes clear how much danger he’s in, very fast. Red scrambles in the water, nearly tripping to grab onto the edge or the man trying to snare at his shoulders and pull him up. He’s fighting against the sudden, and terrifying rush of a tide pulling him back.

Despite the cloud in his head, he clamps his hands up Giovanni’s arm, straining and slipping to the point of hanging onto him by his hand. Red grabs it with both and hangs on for dear life, gritting his teeth with the effort of fighting against being sucked under.

Red almost goes under, something that no one notices because the nature of water was to be destruction unseen.

It’s both of them at the peak of their adrenaline that rip him out of the water, rolling onto the platform and bracing on his palms while he wheezes for air. It’s a moment of terror that passes, and he stands with shaky legs to an unaware audience, grabbing Giovanni to stand with him too.

Red listens to the water in his lungs. Giovanni’s hacking his air out.

‘Sick.’

He signs it, nodding, quaking on his feet and absolutely soaked. It’s unclear who it’s for, him or Giovanni. Emergency personnel flood in and the barrier fizzles out, damage done. Red grabs his forearm and nods, shaking it once in conclusion of the absolute chaos they just caused, and pulling on Giovanni’s sleeve to draw his attention, hardly managing focus to form words.

‘Come on. Sick. Come on. Take care of- heal.’

People cross the field to meet them. He starts hobbling over the remaining platform pieces, dizzy and grimacing. People tap his back in congratulations, the water level behind them levels out, people congratulate Giovanni.

He signs, ‘Follow me. Take care of you.’

Red grabs on to his arms and slips, grasping for something, and catches Giovanni by the hand. The force of the undertow is dragging on both of them, enough to make the clamps in Giovanni's boots scrape out of place-

-but he's not letting go.

He crosses his free arm over to grab at both of Red's hands, keeping him steady, and pulling him back up on the platform, Persian assisting with her teeth on the coat and claws dug firmly into the ground.

With slow, consistent exertion, Red is finally freed, launching onto the platform. They both cough and wheeze with the exertion. Giovanni is the only one that keeps coughing as Red shakily stands and pulls Giovanni up with him.

'Sick.'

Who? Me?

He doesn't even have air or energy to be sarcastic- which is really the most concerning thing to him.

He's hardly conscious or comprehending when emergency personnel come to assist them. The cheers for Red, for him, only registers as a dull, soothing thump.

His vision grays out again, this time threatening to overtake his entire focus.

Down... Down is very tempting…

His leg throbs and wobbles, adrenaline fading, and allowing pain back up to the surface.

Down... You're safe now.

He quakes and stumbles into Red as his pace suddenly drops.

A whoop and a firm congratulatory smack on his back from a complete stranger jolts Giovanni out of his stupor-

No! You're not safe until you're out of here!

Giovanni rears up with a spike of adrenaline as his mood drops dangerously, and violently low at the intrusion. It takes all of his self-control and discipline not to swing out at the touch, muscles locking up to immobilize the response.

Rage still burns at his throat, even though he knows this is a disproportionate reaction. Maybe it would have been different if he didn't feel exposed and vulnerable.

"Please-" he chokes out, "N-no touching. Sore."

It's good enough.

Red signs to him to follow him, pulling Giovanni away. It's probably for the best. The pants and huffing from exertion and pneumonia are starting to sound like growls.

They may as well be.

Reluctantly, he lets go of his focus on those around him, and solely follows Red. For better or worse.

Stick with the enemy you know.

Giovanni’s worse than him. It’s abundantly clear when they’re rushed out of the stadium and tended to by what feels like a horde of people running through basic injury medical in a tented space. They give a few bandages, some revitalizing pills (if they wanted), and they’re shunted to a separate space in the back. There are people that talk to them, congratulate them (and Red stands between them and Giovanni, politely interrupting any moves to touch him).

Red gets the prize, an incredibly rare set of mega stones- blanks, in a beautiful silk lined box. He gets the contact information of someone who runs a ring called “Ossuary” in Kalos.

Even the DJ comes to see them.

It’s by the grace of Red’s ability to disappear entirely into any crowd, that he pulls Giovanni and himself away, desperately texting (a nearly impossible task in his state), Sorcha to help. He’s bringing Torren with him. He’s really sick.

Sorcha is a blessing. She does manage to find the lousy state of them lingering behind a propped screen with an awning while the party continues into the night. Tristan, Saint, and Sorcha gawk at them, and then immediately start orchestrating serious assistance.

Red can hardly walk at that point in a straight line and “Torren’s” lungs sound like they’re failing. Sorcha tosses her Lapras out for them to crawl onto (it’s faster than walking the sandbars), and collapse.

It rains while Lapras bobs over the sea, back to Lillycove’s beaches and raised lines of warm, dry houses. Red is spitting out blood and pieces of his teeth into the ocean, and somebody puts a charm in his mouth so he stops chewing out his fillings. There’s a lot of ‘are you okays’ and sweet sentiments. There’s softer congratulations. He mimes everyone off of touching Giovanni.

Red has no idea who put an umbrella over them, and when that happened. Eventually, they’re also pulled off the Pokémon by someone (he doesn’t know which person), and someone else fumbles with keys and lets them in. There are a few from the rescue party staying with them, but most are leaving to return to the madness in the monsoon.

Sorcha gives them dry clothes and an invitation to stay, shower, get close to their little slugma heater and collection of odds and ends furniture, and dry off.

This is a winner-take-all competition.

So Red takes all the grand prizes, all the questions, all the attention.

Which is fine by him anyway. It takes off the pressure of being on guard when Red interposes himself as a living shield. It allows him to calm the wounded animal instinct, and keep him from biting at the hands of the people attending him.

Revitalizing pills help keep the cough at bay, and offer a surge of reparative energy. Giovanni gets bandages for scrapes and cuts he didn't notice, and for some that he did. He gets a compress wrap for his knee and sprained ankle.

There's nothing they can give him for soreness other than a warm blanket for the duration of his stay, which is only as long as it takes Red to answer questions, receive accolades, and meet the curious Banette, DJ Nightshade.

He refuses to give up his pokemon to be healed, to the shock of others, explaining away the concern with, "I prefer to do it myself."

And he does. He administers herbs and potions to his team to distract himself and prepare for any trouble that may arise later.

Then, it's time to go.

It's still raining, much to his and Persian's dismay.

It sets his lungs to seize in spite of the medicine, and he and Persian cling on to Sorcha's Lapras, riding through the water until they can reach the bungalow.

There's a lot of concern for his health by those that live there. It's so immediate that its almost comical to him.

Look that bad, do I? he muses.

However bad he looks, though, he knows he sounds worse.

Red keeps people from approaching him. Giovanni just mutely, and numbly follows his lead, head pounding hard enough that he doesn't care to think for himself.

Warm showers later, warm clothes later, he feels more human and capable of doing things. His pupils are still blown, which is easy to see, and sensory input is sluggish but far too much to be reasonable. He directs Giovanni to do the same, pulling some finer food for Persian from storage. Sorcha makes him drink freshwater by the bottle, and keep a tab on his nausea, and he at some point regains the dexterity to brew tea for the other man they pulled out of the rain.

They hang their clothes on a rack over a heating vent. He offers to hang Giovanni’s too.

Red mixes honey, bitter powder, and lemon into the pu-erh tea, and pours three aromatic cubs of it. He manages to catch Sorcha’s forehead in a kiss in passing, Thanks. He’s still chewing down on the charm too hard and sweating too much, but at least the chest palpitations have calmed enough that he’s not choking and edging on vomiting.

‘I don’t know what this is,’ he signs at her. She thinks it’s some kind of bad reaction. It probably is.

‘Let me take care of him. I know him.’

She does after setting them up with enough safety precautions that they don’t end up calling an ambulance for either of them... probably, anyways.

Red hands her a cup of tea. The television’s on, showing reruns of Pompe’s Last Contests. The torrential rain muted on the roof is lulling. Red knocks on the door of the guest room they had set up, tea tray in his hand complete with a full array of honey-colored pill bottles (antibiotic packs for pokémon he’d never used). They also work on people who can’t use civil services.

Red waits, and enters, setting the tray down, teapot and cups. He takes a square box off the tray with a chansey label, offering it out and tapping the lid.

Disposable acupuncture needles. Centera Brand. He chews on the charm instead of grinding his teeth.

‘Drink the tea. It has bitter powder in it. Energy powder. Tastes bad. I think you have pneumonia.’

There’s also his prize box sitting on it.

‘Can help. Want me to?’

I’m sick of water. I’m literally sick from the water, Giovanni thinks to himself in the shower.

He’d handed his Gear off to Red when he asked for them after securing and oversized print t-shirt and pajama pants from the people that lived here. He wasn’t expecting to go somewhere other than the hotel, so he had nothing of his on him, save for Gear, Poryphone, pokeballs, and the room key.

Somewhere along the way, one of the crests he attached to the hood came off, along with one of the neon cords around his tail coat. That didn’t matter to him- all the accessories were meant to come off after this competition was over. He’s surprised that most of the more costume-y additions held on for so long.

The steam dislodges some of the sputum in his throat, and he ends up spitting it out down the drain, preferring not to swallow the bloody mess back down.

An errant memory returns, of one of his scientists, Cale, making a joke about how people were pokemon, and Giovanni was definitely a ground-type.

He may have had a point.

Drying off, he dons the borrowed clothes and crawls into the guest bed. It’s not long before he’s dozing off underneath the weight of the blankets, and Persian curling up next to him, satisfied with surviving the flood, the fight, and the new food.

He’s not sure how long he’s dozed off for when a gentle knocking startles him into a sharp inhale, and sitting up.

“... What is it?”

The only reply is the door opening. Red stands with a tray of supplies, and enters, setting them down on the side table. It’s tea and acupuncture needles, and Red’s prize box.

Red instructs him to take the tea, and warns him it’ll taste bad. But most medicine does.

He nods once at the guess of pneumonia, he’d heard the same from Saint earlier. Giovanni nods again when help is offered. He’s too tired to pretend to be proud, and wise enough to know he can’t risk being at the doctor’s.

The healthcare may have been free, but he couldn’t afford jeopardizing his own freedom.

He sits up further and takes the tea in hand. The aroma is already energizing- and he can tell it’s going to be bitter beyond acceptable measure. But he drinks it with only the slightest grimace. Truth be told, he’s had worse.

“Thanks...” he murmurs with a small cough, “...what are the needles for?”

Treatment.

He taps the mattress side and makes the motion of placing a needle, the charm still in his mouth and being ground to little chewed bits. Whoever spiked his drink knew exactly how strong it was, surely. It’s been a few hours with no signs of letting his body go. Red sets the box of needles down, popping the lid off.

He taps the pill bottle and leaving it on his nightstand. He twists a dial on the bedside lamp’s base and dim yellow light starts spilling out from the Skarmory-print lampshade. It clarifies the situation they find themselves in as people. Red’s eyes are tired, but he doesn’t particularly need them. He usually does this on his pokémon. He’s done it on people he’s met plenty of times. It helps.

So he offers it.

He taps the points, non invasive ones and then a more invasive one. Ear, wrists, two in each. Two in the joint of the thumb. Head (for stress and heart imbalances). Ankles, forehead. Between the first and second toe. Giovanni could keep as much modesty as he wanted with as much treatment as Red could reasonably give. It helps everything else work, and that was its purpose.

‘They don’t hurt. It helps the powder work.’

Red pulls up a chair to sit and wait for a yes or a no, opening his prize box and taking one of the two stones from it.

He offers it out to him, to take. It’s an blank megastone.

‘For the herb. You’re drinking it now.’

Red explains the acupuncture in simple gestures, laying out on his own body and pointing to where each one would go. Giovanni’s ambivalent about the acupuncture needles. He knows that they don’t hurt. It’s not like the kind of blood draws that he was subjected to as a kid…

He nods his acquiescence, and rests his hand on Persian. He’s too tired and ill to protest anything, and he realizes how lucky he is to be in this situation to begin with. They didn’t have to take him with them.

He didn’t have to save Red, either.

Or did I? he wonders, thinking back to the fortunate encounter with Red earlier with the flash flood.

No, he gave him the herb already, that should have cleared out where they stood-

He sighs, and rubs his eyes at the adjustment of the light. It’s not wise to think too much about who owed whom what, and where the balance of power was at this moment.

Just accept it.

When he refocuses and opens his eyes, Red’s holding out a stone in his hand. The shifting teal and cerulean hues of a megastone.

It’s unsynched. One of Red’s prizes from tonight.

He must have visibly worn confusion on his face, because Red clarifies:

‘For the herb. You’re drinking it now.’

The herb... the Revival Herb he found and harvested along the trail. The corners of his lips twitch upward with amusement.

It all comes full circle in the end, doesn’t it?

He had a feeling he should part with the herb to Red, earlier. This just... validated something- he’s not sure what.

“...Heh. Alright.”

He clears his throat and holds out his hand for the stone.

“Though, I don’t know why you’d give this to me at all, considering...”

Everything.

“Hm. I’m not going to question it.”

He thinks it’ll mean something later down the road. Why give two stones to one person, while the other person was there?

‘A good fight,’ is all he says, tapping the pillow and starting to take the little capsules for needles between his fingers. Red waits a moment, and holds Giovanni’s pulse point with two fingers, dragging his above it to feel the state of him. It’s like searching for a heartbeat of a different stroke, and a hum of energy under his fingers. Giovanni’s ill, and so that beat is erratic.

Red exhales past the charm, and taps his wrist once, putting one of the disposable capsules onto the point and pressing it just under the skin. There’s no real pinch or pain, just a needle releasing pressure to it. He traces the point back to his thumb, and places another needle. It’s very quick, and he’s quiet and as hands off as he can be. A needle in the top of his head, and a needle between his brows. Stress needles.

Giovanni’s still coughing. He puts two needles, one in the arch of each foot, and one between each first toe.

There’s a warning for that one. It’s a small pinch he taps him for.

It’s not a lot of needles in the end. He sets a few more for him, and doesn’t explain, nor hold an extended conversation. He pulls the blanket back over Giovanni, to face the ceiling for a while.

Red leaves the copper kettle with him.

‘Back to take them out in an hour. Can sleep. Tell Persian to get me if you’re in trouble.’

He shuts the light off before he leaves him to rest to the sound of rain hitting the roof.

The only thing he really feels is a light dab of pressure on his skin and tired.

He’s exhausted beyond all belief. He got caught up in major events twice in one day, participated in ill-advised activity, and battled to near-death…

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thrilled by it all. But the consequence is the ache that sets in, and the acute awareness of pain from injuries that, frankly, should be worse.

Red sets about his work, and Giovanni lets him work, until it gets to a point where he can finally feel the effects of the Revival Herb kick in, and barrel through the metaphoric floodgates in his body.

Giovanni can now take an almost full breath.

He takes advantage of that discovery, and leans his head back to rest and open up his airway more. He feels as if he’s in between states- the hyper aware, and the drifting fatigue. They aren’t quite at war with one another, but rather work together in a strange, contradictory tandem.

Regardless, it does help. A lot.

Red leans him back, and helps adjust the heavy comforters over him, signing he’ll be back in an hour.

‘Tell Persian to get me if you’re in trouble.’

That gives him pause. It’s been... a long time since anyone’s said something like that. Anything like that.

“I will,” he murmurs, resting a hand on the top of her head. He drags his thumb across her jewel.

Her eyes gleam in the dim amber glow of the lamp. She acknowledges looking out for him. She had been for just about forty years now.

Red shuts off the light as he leaves. Persian inches closer to rest her head on Giovanni’s chest, rumbling soft purrs in an attempt to help speed up his recovery. Even in the darkness, there’s enough light ambience for him to see Persian staring at him with concern.

That was a close call, she seems to say.

“... We’ve been in closer calls,” he reassures, “but none quite like that, for sure.”

She nods and buries her head down, resuming her ritual, lulling Giovanni into rest with the tapping of rain and the low hum of purrs.

They’ve been through worse. They’ve always made it out even when others didn’t have that fortune. It makes him feel... He can’t even identify what it is, exactly, just that beneath the thought there’s something there, driving it.

I’ll figure out what it is, he assures himself, likely when it is no longer important.

He finally succumbs to rest.

#earth-master #long post #im not kidding it is long #saved rps

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