#inevitability of war here and like I just get fucking tired sometimes

[transboysokka]

maybe ive been too fucked up by growing up in america during the fucked up hypernationalistic war on terror era but I think it’s FUCKING DISGUSTING to see mainstream people praising the murder of civilians while days ago they were condemning it

it’s also super creepy that so many americans have blind allegiance to a government they don’t live under or actually understand

THATS why I was bothered by people earlier this week posting Israeli flags on their social media

just like. stop killing people on any fucking side, cheering for death is barbaric

[radioisntdead]

inevitable

Vox x Sex repulsed! Ace Reader

Warnings:

This is short, OOC, Valentino is mentioned here unfortunately, I deleted the majority of my projecting but it's there if you squint, not my best work, I don't know what I wrote this was supposed to be something else and then it pinwheeled, reader is very much a "delay it until it bites you in the butt" person.

Song

You're growing tired of me

You loved Vox, you truly did.

You love me so hard and I still can't sleep

You loved his weird TV shaped head, the way he'd try to be all threatening but in all reality was a cowardly dork.

You're growing tired of me

Maybe it was because of the era you lived in, sexuality wasn't talked or discussed much so you didn't know exactly what you were.

You didn't look at people the same way your friends did, sure you found them beautiful, each person was unique in their own way, like how that one lady you passed by had the most beautiful eyes or how that guy's freckles reminded you of the starry night sky?

But you didn't want to undress them.

And all the things I don't talk about

You always avoided the topic of intercourse or anything beyond the more holy acts of affection like snuggling or handholding with Vox, If he brought it up you were quick to change the subject in a semi-awkward way.

Sorry, I don't want your touch

You'd move away from his hand if it traveled below your waist, you'd get up and speed walk away if needed.

It's not that I don't want you

Vox was confused because you returned his feelings, you'd engage in other acts of affection so why wouldn't you sleep with him? Was he that repulsive? Was it the TV head? The weird charger hole nipples?

Sorry, I can't take your touch

You avoided anything with erotica like the plague, Investing in a comically large can of bug spray so Valentino wouldn't come near you.

In the words of Carmilla Carmine it wasn't rocket science to figure out that you weren't into the whole sex thing.

However Vox just didn't clock that for some reason.

It's just that I fell in love with a war

You wanted to talk about it with Vox, that while you enjoyed spending time and doing things almost every other couple does, you didn't want to do certain activities.

Nobody told me it ended

But you just couldn't, everytime you wanted to bring it up you had a feeling of pure dread fill you.

And it left a pearl in my head

What if Vox didn't understand? What if everything crumbled away? What if something worse happened? There were too many liabilities.

And I roll it around every night

You knew that the longer you delayed the conversation, the worse the confrontation would be but that was a problem for future you.

You didn't like to think about it.

Just to watch it glow

For now you'd prolong it for as long as you could.

Every night, baby, that's where I go

You would watch as many trashy movies, eat at however many restaurants, and spend as much time with Vox until the inevitable happened.

Sorry, I don't want your touch

And the inevitable did happen.

It's not that I don't want you

It was after a date night, the two of you went to some new restaurant, drank wine and chatted,

Then you went home, you were ready to change into your coziest pajamas and snuggle with Vox.

However he had much different plans.

Sorry, I can't take your touch

And now you were here with Vox, with him exasperated.

"Why? Is it me? Do you not like the way I look?"

"No! I think you're very aesthetically pleasing!"

"The fuck is that supposed to mean??" He took a deep breath "Fuck, okay I don't understand, I thought that you loved me?"

"I do! Vox I do, I just don't want to do-" you made a certain motion with your hands "That."

"Okay so you don't want to-"

"Have intercourse? No I don't,"

"Why?"

"I don't know, I'm just like this, I can't change it, sometimes I'd like to just be normal for once, but I can't, I'm sorry?"

There's a hole that you fill

The silence was suffocating, the room was freezing cold.

You fill, you fill

you kept your eyes on the ground, not daring to look Vox in the eyes.

But it's just that I fell in love with a war

You heard him shuffle around before finally saying something.

And nobody told me it ended

It was inevitable, the two of you, while in other aspects were great! This was a deal breaker, and that wasn't either of your faults.

The two of you were just incompatible.

And it left a pearl in my head

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

And I roll it around every night

You sighed as you walked out of the Vee's tower, belongings in hand.

Just to watch it glow

Vox watched you leave through one of the many cameras he had around the place.

Every night, baby, that's where I go

It was time for you to move on and hopefully find someone who's on the same or similar page as you.

Just to watch it glow

Maybe a certain deer.

Good evening folks! I posted Wednesday angst on Wednesday for once! This was supposed to be posted an hour ago but a certain someone who shall not be named [Barnaby] kept smacking my face with his paw, knocking my glasses off and leaving me blind. I'm tired.

Anyways thank you for tuning in!

[tavina-writes]

i find it extremely funny that we (mxtx fandoms in general but mdzs especially) will get into huge shouting matches about timelines and research and accuracy and meanwhile she was like "the death of the nie bros' dad, an event extremely important to explaining the buildup to the war that affected literally every single member of the cast, could have happened anywhere in these five whole-ass years" and "yeah they totally had potatoes don't worry about it lol". truly airplane was an autobiographical character.

You know nonny, I DO find this intensely funny at times. My uh, main source of "shaking my head at this" happens when inevitably, meta goes around and we rush back and forth going "X WAS A GOOD PERSON" and "X WAS EVIL! EVIL!" etc, which happens every now and again and always makes me a bit like "ah, yes, it's difficult to convey nuance and also differing points of view that may in whole or in part also be legitimate and valuable to discuss on a place like tumblr/the internet in general because it is difficult to grapple with uncertainties and we often want to nail things down one way or another so we can figure out if we're right or not" <- but this often comes out as me writing a joke post. Or a saltier post than I intended. Sometimes because I'm tired and sometimes because I just happen to be a salty individual on main.

And I do think fandom is a place where like, multiple interpretations of an event or a statement or a character's "morality" and themes and choices are often equally valid. And fandom should be a place for that, that's what makes fandom fun. If there was a One True Interpretation of the text there'd be no need for interpreting text at all, and that's distinctly sad for me. That's no fun. Anyone who tries to use their knowledge to cudgel people into the One True Interpretation is wrong, btw.

Though I think, and here's where I feel that research and accuracy is a nuanced thing and should actually be of consideration for meta/fic/engaging with fandom in general, and why perhaps people strive for it -- the "lol, potatoes" and "poetry from whatever era I want" is fun! MXTX, however, is still writing about a fantasy version of her own culture, which offers along with it a foundational basis of knowledge that makes this...easier? And again, here's where the part of me that does enjoy these anachronisms and inaccuracies (because they're fun and since we have flying swords why not potatoes) wars with the part of me that's also like, "okay but there is a difference between 'not knowing enough to be respectful of the background surrounding the characters and why that might inform their actions' and 'I've decided that peppers, which did not exist in Eurasia prior to the Columbian Exchange are a big thing here now.'" The difference is respect. Different members of fandom will draw this line in different places and it hits different on different days.

And this is one of the struggles of engaging with foreign language media a lot of the time - we try to strike a balance between engaging with it based on our own experiences and backgrounds and not accidentally saying anything offensive or strange or 'that would totally never happen' or 'he would not fucking talk like that' and I've found, with my time in this fandom, most people who are concerned with accuracy and research are largely trying to be respectful and avoid such gaffes.

Over the two or so years I've been here, I've also reacted to people who've insisted their interpretation is the correct one when it was definitely a case of 'the version Chinese culture that I'm familiar with 200% does not work like that', and saltily wandered off to vent about how 'this is inaccurate and also rude' or try to explain why it wouldn't happen like that. Maybe this comes off as preachy at times, or overly concerned with "accuracy," but that is typically where that sort of reaction comes from for me. I expect this is probably true for other people as well!

And by no means like, do we only engage in fandom because we want to be educated or educate others, and by no means is that an obligation of any fic writer or meta writer or casual fandom goer. We engage with media because it engages us, and we engage with fandom because we love community, and sometimes its no more complex than that.

I enjoy research and art history so that's typically why this appears in my fic, and I started out on doing it to better connect with my own heritage, which I've found more important to me as I've gotten older, so that's where it comes from for me.

Apologies nonny, this was probably not the answer you were looking for and I do commiserate, I'm just chronically unable to be funny on main. 😔

TLDR: there's always nuance in everything unfortunately. Even if this is the no nuance webbed site.

[fangirlwriting-stories]

I Choose You

Summary: Virgil supports Roman after the wedding, and is not prepared for Roman to support him too.

…

It wasn’t that Virgil hated Janus and Remus, was the thing.

Well, okay, obviously he wasn’t the biggest fan of them.  Janus was a prick and a liar and Virgil hated that he could never trust a word he said.  Remus was an asshole who enjoyed freaking Virgil out on purpose and never considered how Virgil might not like being jump scared all the time.  They were both a nightmare to live with, because Remus never cleaned up and Janus was always too busy taking a self care day to clean up, so it always fell to Virgil, since a messy environment stressed him out.  Neither of them wanted to hear him out when he tried to argue that the core sides had decent points to make.  Neither of them listened to him when he tried to say that he didn’t want to keep going over there alone, and that dealing with constant hatred from people, even if they weren’t technically his friends, was hard.  Neither of them believed him when Virgil tired to tell them just because Thomas accepted him now didn’t mean he wanted to leave—

Anyway, he had a lot of reasons to be pissed at them.

But that wasn’t even the main problem.  The main problem was that Virgil wasn’t stupid.  Obviously this bullshit with Janus wasn’t going to last forever.  Patton and him were going to talk for a while and then they were going to remember why they hated each other and why the two sides of the mindscape had split up in the first place.  And if Virgil attempted to use this time to do something stupid like fix things with Janus and Remus, when the inevitable arguments and fallout happened, he was just going to be pulled back and forth like the rope in a game of tug-of-war, and Virgil didn’t want to fucking do that again.

No, he was here with the core sides now.  This was the choice he’d made, the choice they’d all forced him to make, he wasn’t going back now.  Besides, he was still pissed at Janus and Remus anyway.

So, instead of waiting around for Patton and Janus’ tentative bullshit to inevitably fall apart, Virgil decided to spent time with someone who A, already shared his completely correct worldview, and B… really needed some support right now.

Roman hadn’t been doing great since the wedding.  Virgil had sort of known that was inevitable.  It was part of the reason he was so proud of him for making the decision he had.  Obviously Janus was spouting a bunch of bullshit when he said going to the wedding was the wrong choice.  But even if he was right, Virgil would still have been proud of Roman.  That had to be so hard for him, and he deserved to be able to feel proud of his decision, instead of having it spat on by a slimy two-faced snake who didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about.

But either way, because things had been hard on Roman for a while, Virgil was making it his personal mission to give him some support and buildup.  He clearly needed it, and he deserved it, and Virgil was going to give this “good friend” thing a shot.  Thomas knows he owed it to Roman, with all the ways he’d treated him in the past.

The two of them had started hanging out more for a while now, really since Thomas had first met Nico.  They watched Disney together (though Virgil still could not get behind Roman’s reasons for loving it), and they listened to music that Roman belted out the lyrics too, and, on days Virgil was feeling particularly brave, they sang duets.

They didn’t tend to bring up the Patton-and-Janus situation, but it had come up before.  Sometimes Roman just wanted to talk about it, sometimes they both wanted to bitch about Janus, sometimes (very occasionally) Roman would ask if Virgil could give him some reassurance.  Virgil didn’t tend to bring it up, though.  He was supposed to be here to support Roman, and besides, his feelings on the matter were very much worked out.

At least, that’s what he’d thought.

Roman was still the one who brought it up first.  They were sitting together on Roman’s bed, watching Mulan on the giant TV Roman had at the end of the bed specifically for this purpose.  Virgil was pretty tired, as he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and he was trying to come up with a way to casually ask Roman if he could lean against him and take a nap without Roman thinking that he didn’t want to be here or that he suddenly didn’t like Mulan anymore.  Before he could actually figure the words out, however, Roman turned to face him.

“Virgil,” he said.  “Do you ever think that maybe Janus actually does want to help Thomas in his own way?”

Virgil tensed and immediately sat up.  “What?  Fuck no.  What are you talking about?”

“I just… I’m thinking about it,” Roman said hesitantly.  “I mean, he’s still a slimy serpentine scammer and I’m still mad at him, obviously.  I want an apology too.  But… I don’t know if I want to write his entire opinion off, just because I don’t like him.�� I… that hasn’t tended to go well for me in the past.”

He looked away from Virgil, who’s throat felt like it was closing up all of a sudden.

“No,” he said.  “That’s different.  That was different.  I’m not like Janus, it’s different.”

Roman turned back to him in surprise.  “I wasn’t saying you were like him, Virgil,” he said.  “I was comparing my own approaches to you both, if anything.  I just… if everyone’s going to treat me like I’m doing something wrong whether I treat the others poorly or not… it kind of feels better to not scream at them and shut them down automatically?  I don’t love it when that happens to me.  I can’t imagine you loved it happening to you.”

Virgil shook his head.  “But— but Janus is a prick,” he said weakly.  “He doesn’t deserve a second chance, Roman.”

Roman bit his lip and turned to look at Virgil.  “Maybe… maybe he does, though?  I’m not—” he held up his hands.  “I’m not trying to make your decision for you.  You still get to be pissed at him for whatever reasons you want.  Like I said, I’m still pissed at him too.  I just…” Roman sighed, and leaned his head on his hand.  “I don’t want this to last forever,” he muttered.

Virgil couldn’t breathe.  He shook his head.  “What are you talking about,” he said weakly.  “What are you talking about, it will last forever.  We can’t just fix things.  We’re not going to be able to make things better.”

Roman turned to look at Virgil in surprise.  “Well geez, that’s a bit of a depressing outlook, isn’t it, Count Woe-laf?”

“It’s not depressing, it’s just a fact,” Virgil snapped.  “Do you know how long all of us have been split up?  There’s no fixing things at this point.  There’s too much bad blood.”

Roman narrowed his eyes in what looked like concern.  “Virgil,” he said quietly.  “We fixed things with you.”

Virgil glared away, wrapping his arms around himself.  “That’s different,” he whispered.

Roman was quiet for a minute.  “Do you not want to fix things with Janus and Remus?” he asked finally.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Virgil said firmly.

Roman put a hand on his arm.  “Yes, Virgil,” he said.  “It does.”

Virgil grit his teeth and turned around to glare at Roman.  “No, Roman,” he snapped.  “It never has.  It didn’t matter when I got sent off with the others when we all first split up.  It didn’t matter when I started getting closer with you guys again and Janus and Remus didn’t like that.  It didn’t matter what I said I wanted or what they said they wanted, everyone made me choose anyway.  Someone’s always going to make me choose, and I would rather not get swept up in the stupid hope that it’s somehow going to work this time, okay?  I already picked you guys.  I’m not going to sit around and wait for Janus and Patton to start hating each other again.  And I’m certainly not going to try and make it work in the meantime.  I would recommend you not try either.  It’s just going to make it hurt more later.”

Roman stared at him for a minute, and eventually Virgil just glared away.

“Virgil,” Roman said eventually, and Virgil felt a gentle hand on his shoulder that he jerked away from.

“Virgil,” Roman said again anyway.  “Did— did we all make you feel like you had to choose between us?”

Virgil laughed and looked up at the ceiling.  “No one made me feel like anything,” he said weakly.  “Janus said ‘It’s them or us, and if you choose them you better not show your face around here again.’”

“Virgil,” Roman said, and suddenly Virgil was swept up into Roman’s arms.  Virgil didn’t have the strength to pull away when it was the last thing he wanted, so instead he just buried his head in Roman’s chest.

“Did you want to stay with them?” Roman murmured.

“I mean,” Virgil said weakly.  “Back then, maybe.  But they didn’t believe me.  And now, I— Thomas would never trust me again.  None of you would ever trust me again.”

“I would,” Roman said, tightening his arms.

Virgil scoffed.

“Hey,” Roman said, pushing him back to arms length even as he kept a very firm grip on Virgil’s arms.  “Listen to me, okay?”

His gaze was so intense and obviously serious that Virgil couldn’t do anything but nod.

“I know I messed up in how I treated you before,” Roman said.  He wiped away a tear that Virgil hadn’t even realized was there.  “I wouldn’t do it again.  If you chose to go back and stay with them, that wouldn’t change anything about how I feel about you.”

Virgil shook his head.  “Roman, that’s not—”

“Hey.  They didn’t believe you, and that sucked, right?”  He squeezed Virgil’s shoulders.  “You can believe me.”

Virgil took a shaky breath and wiped at his eyes.  “It doesn’t even matter,” he said.  “Nothing’s ever going to get better.”

“I’m not so sure that’s true,” Roman said quietly.  “You don’t think they miss you?”

“They hate me.”

Roman didn’t say anything to that, but Virgil could see the disbelief on his face.

“Okay,” he said anyway.  “But, say they didn’t.  Say they wanted to fix things.  Would you want to too?”

Virgil didn’t say anything, which was apparently enough of an answer.

“Then please,” Roman said, leaning forward to look Virgil in the eyes.  “Don’t stop yourself from trying for our sake.”

Virgil shook his head.  “I don’t—”

Roman cut Virgil off by pulling him into his chest again.  “I choose you, okay?” he murmured.  “Whether you’re with them or us.”

Virgil took a shaky breath, and rested his head against Roman’s chest.  “Okay,” he whispered.

Roman breathed a sigh of what sounded like relief and just sat there and held Virgil for a while, and Virgil let him.

He wasn’t sure if he fully believed Roman or not.  But Roman was right that it really did suck to have your own care for someone denied to your face.  So, for the sake of that, Virgil decided he’d try.  It still probably wouldn’t fix anything.

But it was a nice thought.

[femmchantress]

HI RACHEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i hope you have had a good day :3 what's a song you've had on repeat lately........you can share as many as you like hehe i just wanna know!

Danny boyyyyyyyyyy c: Thank you thank you! I’m having a really lovely day, I’ve been so busy all week and have been so social that it’s really helped keep me in a decent mood and from spiraling too much tbh! And I met so many fun new people last night and I got invited to a birthday party on Sunday at a bar for this really cool punk rocker I met, and yeah. :3 I’m feeling really great overall! I’m definitely overexerting myself socially to make up for like, a six month long breakdown driven in part by social isolation and loneliness, but I figured better to start strong and then find my happy medium.

I’ve had a couple of songs on my mind as of late!

“Dumai” by Daniel Kahn and the Painted Bird is a big one. It’s both a comfort and a rage song for me - and with the… strangeness of the interaction between my job and my politics as of late, it’s been nice to have art to fall back on made by people in my community who don’t have reprehensible politics or beliefs lmao.

“The Destruction of New Orleans” by Daniel Kahn and the Painted Bird (are you sending a pattern lol). We had a very bad gubernatorial election in Louisiana recently and a horrible, vicious fascist will be sworn in as our governor next year. And he specifically carries a vendetta against my beloved home of New Orleans (as well as all the usual idiotic reactionary culture war shit). And it’s just another reminder that me and my husband’s days here are numbered before we have to move up north for our own well-being and the potential of being able to eventually start a family and get things like top and bottom surgery. And it sucks. It really fucking sucks. New Orleans is the first place I’ve ever truly made a home for myself - I was married here, I’ve mourned loved ones here, I have my own little community here and my own little found family that I love deeply. And that’s to say nothing of my husband, who was born here and barring a year in Europe, they’ve never lived anywhere else in their life. They’re of this land and this city in a way I could never understand, comparatively rootless as I am, and I know it’s going to break their fucking heart to leave. I love my gay little family in NYC with my entire heart and I’m so excited to be closer to them sometime soon, but I’m also just kinda tired of building and leaving communities when things inevitably get scary. I’m also just not used to being outside the south lol. Anyways.

The last one is a little guilty pleasure off of Big Freedia’s Christmas EP. It’s kinda a bounce parody of “Mr. Sandman” and it’s just the greatest thing. I don’t do Christmas, but I do fuck with Freedia something fierce.

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Early Arc 3, Ari has just joined the Resistance

But Can You Teach Her To Think? [ First | Prev | Next ]

Reyan provides pen and paper. Ariadne just brings herself and the contents of her head – and whichever book Reyan lent her last, to hand back in like homework.

She doesn’t understand why she has reading homework.

The latest is a tatty paperback autobiography of a soldier in Russia during a war Ariadne isn’t old enough to remember. She understands enough to know that she’s supposed to have opinions on it. She’s probably supposed to be drawing parallels to something about modern America, but she doesn’t have the faintest idea what.

She’s too tired all the time for fucking… reading comprehension.

But life and obligation have never accepted tiredness as an excuse, and that’s not about to change. She does her homework. She reads what she’s given to read, and when Reyan hands it back to her she knows by now to expect the inevitable question : “So what did you think?”

“Siberia is very cold,” she says, a touch of sarcasm as close as she dares get to disrespect. “I wouldn’t want to go.” She chews the inside of her lip, searching for the right phrasing. “War is hell, I guess. They had a hard time of it.” “Were they in the right?” “The Russians?” 

Ari frowns, trying to decide if the Russians are the warlocks in this metaphor, or the feds. The book barely touched on why they were fighting, only the grim reality of trench foot and starvation rations and forced marches and all the regular atrocities of war. 

“... I don’t know. They were fighting for their homes, I guess. For their country.” “Their government told them it was necessary,” says Reyan, “and they believed.” Ah, so Ariadne’s the Russians. She nods. “They followed a lot of… unpleasant orders,” she agrees. “So did the Germans.”

Ariadne looks at Reyan blankly, unsure what her opinion is supposed to be.

How were the soldiers supposed to know what was right? They only had one side of the story, and it was all a colossal mess anyway.

“I’m not sure,” she says slowly, studying the cover of the book in Reyan’s hand, “they thought much about whether it was right or wrong. They just wanted to shoot the other guys before they got shot themselves.” “Mmh,” he says. 

He never gives her a clear answer on anything she puts forward. She hates not knowing whether she’s passing or failing these little tests.

“What did you think of the General?” “Which one? Leontyev?” Ari clasps her hands behind her back so as not to fidget while she thinks. “Not a good leader,” she decides. “He… had no respect for his people.” “He sacrificed a lot of soldiers.” “Not just that.” Sacrifices are sometimes necessary. A soldier’s job is to die on command, if that’s what the wider strategy demands. Leontyev…

She had something to say, but faced with Reyan’s expectant stare, she can’t remember it. The words fall right out of her head. 

Frustration and irritation make her skin prickle. It’s demeaning, being quizzed like a child. And maybe that’s the point, and she sure as hell doesn’t have any grounds for complaint but – it’s hard sometimes, to swallow her frustration.

No one ever said this would be easy.

The silence drags until it’s painfully obvious that she doesn’t have anything intelligent to say.

“Sit down,” Reyan says. “Let’s get to work.”

So she sits, and they get down to the differently miserable business she’s really here for.

It’s something between debriefing and interrogation. Reyan asks questions, and Ariadne talks in as much detail as she can come up with. He makes notes, or she does, or they both do.

They’ve long since covered all the concrete facts she knew he’d want when she signed up for this. Site plans and personnel lists, names and locations and plans and policies. Her intel is out of date, but it’s still a gold mine for Resistance operations.

They’ve worked through a list of agents and officials of particular interest to the Resistance, and she’s given up everything she knows. Now they’re working through a list of warlocks, and she discusses what the feds know or suspect about each one.

She’s still not sure if she’s doing the right thing.

This is easier than when she was selling out specific people, but it all leaves the same sour taste in her mouth.

People will die because she turned. People will be injured. Maybe some of them will end up broken like she is broken, jumping at shadows for the rest of their lives.

This is how she pays her way here. 

No. That’s not the reason. 

If it was just about survival, she wouldn’t do it. She’s not that selfish. If it was just about survival, she wouldn’t be here, she’d be a hundred miles away living in a small-but-comfortable apartment somewhere, working two jobs to make ends meet but safe.

This is how she pays Alex back.

She said she’d do anything and – this is it. This is what he wants. And if he thinks this is the right thing… Well, Ari sure as hell doesn’t trust herself to know right from wrong.

He says that she is providing information that will help the Resistance help more people in need, people like Alex. He says they do more good than harm. He promised that the people she sells under the bus won’t suffer the way she did.

What happened to her was… not standard operating procedure.

She has to believe him, because who the hell else can she trust?

If only believing was as easy as deciding that she’s going to.

Sometimes as she talks about the work she used to do – the torture – Reyan looks at her with such disgust that she thinks he might shock her, or throw her at the floor with his magic. 

She’ll mention the number of people interrogated about a certain POI – not because she wants to remind him but only because it’s relevant to the question at hand – and Reyan’s lip will twitch and his eyes tighten with a flat loathing that serves of a very sharp reminder of just how unwelcome she is here.

His disapproval sets her pulse racing and she hates that, she hates how frightened and cowardly she has become.

It’s not that she doesn’t deserve disgust. She has never pretended that the work she did wasn’t monstrous.

It’s just… the way he takes the moral high ground rankles, sometimes. As if his hands are clean. As if she’s supposed to forget that he tortured her, too.

She will, if that’s what’s required of her. She’ll forget. It’s a small thing to forgive, compared to everything Alex has forgiven her. 

It’s just difficult, some days. She doesn’t think forgiveness is in her nature.

Her sessions with Reyan typically take an hour and a bit, sometimes two. Most of it’s a simple exercise in recall. He usually asks her to speculate or extrapolate a little, but for the most part she’s simply dredging her memory for information – and then rating her confidence in everything she recalls.

It shouldn’t be particularly taxing. But between the intense focus and the constant, sick knot of dread and self-disgust in the pit of her stomach, the interrogations never fail to leave her feeling wrung out.

When he’s done with her, Reyan puts a new book into her hands – fiction, maybe, this time, from a brief glance at the cover? – and dismisses her. She’s more than glad to get out of his office.

She wants coffee, and to be in her own space, or maybe to run until her head is empty.

These small rituals are about all that’s left of the person she used to think she was. There’s not much else. Not loyalty, not courage, not love of her country. Not the oaths she took, not the will to fight, and certainly not conviction that she’s on the right side of history.

She isn’t sure who she is anymore, and she isn’t sure she cares enough to find out.

But Alex cares. 

Alex who meets her at the door to drive her home because he knows she’ll be tired and sulky after meeting with Reyan. Alex who chose to share an apartment with her rather than with his sister because otherwise Ariadne would be alone and vulnerable.

Alex sees something in her, some potential to be better than she is. 

She puts her faith in him.

Because if he’s right, if she does have the potential to become someone worth knowing… then maybe she wants to see that happen.

[Next]

[thistlecatfics]

I posted 850 times in 2022

121 posts created (14%)

729 posts reblogged (86%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@broomsticks

@thistlecatfics

@billsfangearring

@lqtraintracks

@kissingartemis

I tagged 544 of my posts in 2022

Only 36% of my posts had no tags

#hp - 199 posts

#hp fic rec - 64 posts

#thistlecat fics - 44 posts

#sirius black - 42 posts

#wolfstar - 39 posts

#blackcest - 27 posts

#hp fests - 27 posts

#remus lupin - 26 posts

#pansy parkinson - 25 posts

#drarry - 23 posts

Longest Tag: 113 characters

#have we not all spent our lives studying body language and speaking patterns to better adapt in any situation????

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

There were SO MANY fics for @hprarepairfest this year (56!). Trying to keep up with the fest was like drinking from a rarepair firehose. I’m splitting my rec list into three: Bratty Femmes, Angsty Boys* and Giggles with Gilderoy*  (*and others). This specific rec list is 90% Narcissa and Pansy having great sex and making bad decisions. 

Absolute favorites marked with **

Femslash:

**Looking For A Complication by @the-wig-is-a-metaphor (Ginny/Narcissa, 8k, M)

"Mother, when I said you should get out more," Draco shouts, "I did not mean you should have an illicit affair with a scandalously younger woman!"

I already made a whole rec post for this one. Humor, heart, heat. The fic has it all. One of my new all-time favorites. 

This Regret We've Got Accustomed To by mouldy_voldy (Il_Valentino)(Astoria/Pansy, 1.5k, E) 

“He may be my best friend, but you are the fucking love of my life,” Pansy snarls against her lips and then closes the distance. The kiss is more teeth and want than anything, but her lips are just as Astoria remembers, the taste of her enough to induce euphoria. She can’t remember ever wanting anything as much as she wants this. Pansy won't let her forget.

Little fic packs a (very sexy) punch. Pansy is SO HOT in this. 

Fate & Jupiter by thewakeless (Parvati/Lavender & Padma/Katie, 25k, T)

Padma and Parvati might not agree on everything, but they know one thing for sure, they’re both ready for a change. Padma is worn out from her Ministry job, and Parvati is tired of pining after Lavender 24/7. So, they decide to open up a potion shop in Hogsmeade but of course nothing goes quite as planned because you can’t stop fate, and you certainly can’t stop Jupiter.

Or wholesome double getting together wlw with strong winter vibes

Bit of a stretch to include this in bratty femmes but it was so darling, and Lavender is very much a femme and a bit of a brat in this in a lovely way. Wholesome and very queer, and I now have a crush on butch Katie Bell.

Het:

**Your Cigarette Smell by @lumosatnight​ (Sirius/Narcissa, 10k, E)

It’s easy, she thinks.

Falling into each other while their family falls apart. Lips connecting while other connections fizzle away. Losing themselves to pleasure while the rest of the world grows lost to war.

Bodies sliding together as months slide by.

It's exactly what I love about Sirius/Narcissa - the sense of desire and shame and duty and fury and hate and love! And the tragedy of it all! I loved how the author wove together the nonlinear narrative, which gave the fic a haunted and inevitable quality - very doomed lovers bound by fate vibes.

Table For Two by maeshowers (Sirius/Pansy, 3k, E)

Pansy isn't having a good time at Draco and Hermione's wedding. Neither is Sirius. Maybe copious amounts of alcohol and a good fuck could change that.

It’s fun, and it’s hot, and it’s Pansy/Sirius. I love a messy friend group full of ex’s (because I am a lesbian), and I absolutely adore how much of a brat Pansy is here: “I led your godson on for months because I wanted to fuck his wife." Incredible!

Disparities by @mean-whale-writes (Remus/Narcissa, 2k, E)

As much as he sometimes tried to spin the truth into something more palatable, he enjoyed the immorality of fucking the enemy.

Hot and dangerous and unexpected - perfect for rarepair fest!

Slash recs on their way in the “angsty boys” category :) 

28 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

#4

one of my goals for 2022 is to do more fic recs with pretty banners so here is my first!

Did You Miss Me? by @krethes and Fantismal

Fully written and will be 600k (!!). Wolfstar + Jily + other side pairings.

It’s a text fic for grownups. It’s a text fic and university AU and celebrity AU that I love and am fully invested in, which is utterly shocking to me as someone who generally avoids all of those things. You’ve got a hilarious cast of characters who love to text smutty, gossip-y things AND you have the promise of Big Plot and Big Black Family Trauma on its way.

You’re going to want to follow along with this one!

Check it out, mind the tags (like seriously, mind the tags) and subscribe <3

29 notes - Posted January 15, 2022

#3

Acting Out (Molly Prewett/Narcissa Black, 2k, M)

Narcissa’s to-do list for the evening:

Drink enough champagne she forgets she ever had more than one sister. 

Make someone cry. (Does not count if it’s herself.) 

Be told she is the most beautiful woman at the party. (Preferably by multiple people.)

Have sex that would scandalise her parents. (If they would even pay attention.)

Day 9: @kinkuary’s age gap + @hpshipuary’s Molly/Narcissa + Fluffbruary’s stiletto + Femslash Feb’s vintage. 

cw: underage, dub con due to deception and underage. 

AN: Molly is fat, and Narcissa is into it, but Narcissa’s also 16 and a vain, judgmental bitch, and some of her narration might cross the line into both being fetishizing and stigmatising. This is also slightly canon-divergent as in this universe Molly has not yet married Arthur at age 21.

32 notes - Posted February 9, 2022

#2

breaking my no 500+ kudos rule for this series of fic recs for my all time top drarry

Super Rich Kids by @thusspoketrish​ (81k, E, Drarry)

Draco Malfoy has become disillusioned by the glitz and glamour of the scandalous lives of the Post-Second Wizarding War Pureblood Elite. Enter: one existential crisis, one group of thieving cynical friends, and several terrible, terrible decisions.

Post-war Drarry with major (deliberate) Bright Lights Big City + Gossip Girl + Cruel Intentions + Bling Ring vibes. Of course I’m obsessed. The author manages to excel at the mood, plot, characterization, angst, world-building, sex, AND humor??? Is there anything the author can't do?? I cannot emphasize enough how this fic has EVERYTHING. Do mind the tags, as always.

It’s hot and dark and hilarious and moving. Draco with a coke habit and a heart is everything. Good guy Harry (through Draco’s biased eyes) is also everything. And a stunning, classic fanon!Pansy, my beloved. Plus, there’s Sprinkles the dog, who is the star of the show. (The dog lives, if you were worried.) 

This line has haunted me since I’ve read it:

"Draco knows he’s not a good person, and will never be good enough for Harry.

He’s right where he should be."

Read it on Ao3 so you can be equally haunted <3 

47 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

my date cancelled last minute so now I’m just hot and dressed up and drinking pinot grigio and writing harry potter fanfiction on a saturday night <3 

72 notes - Posted February 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[fozmeadows]

race & culture in fandom

For the past decade, English language fanwriting culture post the days of LiveJournal and Strikethrough has been hugely shaped by a handful of megafandoms that exploded across AO3 and tumblr – I’m talking Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Dr Who, the MCU, Harry Potter, Star Wars, BBC Sherlock – which have all been overwhelmingly white. I don’t mean in terms of the fans themselves, although whiteness also figures prominently in said fandoms: I mean that the source materials themselves feature very few POC, and the ones who are there tended to be done dirty by the creators.

Periodically, this has led POC in fandom to point out, extremely reasonably, that even where non-white characters do get central roles in various media properties, they’re often overlooked by fandom at large, such that the popular focus stays primarily on the white characters. Sometimes this happened (it was argued) because the POC characters were secondary to begin with and as such attracted less fan devotion (although this has never stopped fandoms from picking a random white gremlin from the background cast and elevating them to the status of Fave); at other times, however, there has been a clear trend of sidelining POC leads in favour of white alternatives (as per Finn, Poe and Rose Tico being edged out in Star Wars shipping by Hux, Kylo and Rey). I mention this, not to demonize individuals whose preferred ships happen to involve white characters, but to point out the collective impact these trends can have on POC in fandom spaces: it’s not bad to ship what you ship, but that doesn’t mean there’s no utility in analysing what’s popular and why through a racial lens.

All this being so, it feels increasingly salient that fanwriting culture as exists right now developed under the influence and in the shadow of these white-dominated fandoms – specifically, the taboo against criticizing or critiquing fics for any reason. Certainly, there’s a hell of a lot of value to Don’t Like, Don’t Read as a general policy, especially when it comes to the darker, kinkier side of ficwriting, and whether the context is professional or recreational, offering someone direct, unsolicited feedback on their writing style is a dick move. But on the flipside, the anti-criticism culture in fanwriting has consistently worked against fans of colour who speak out about racist tropes, fan ignorance and hurtful portrayals of living cultures. Voicing anything negative about works created for free is seen as violating a core rule of ficwriting culture – but as that culture has been foundationally shaped by white fandoms, white characters and, overwhelmingly, white ideas about what’s allowed and what isn’t, we ought to consider that all critical contexts are not created equal.

Right now, the rise of C-drama (and K-drama, and J-drama) fandoms is seeing a surge of white creators – myself included – writing fics for fandoms in which no white people exist, and where the cultural context which informs the canon is different to western norms. Which isn’t to say that no popular fandoms focused on POC have existed before now – K-pop RPF and anime fandoms, for example, have been big for a while. But with the success of The Untamed, more western fans are investing in stories whose plots, references, characterization and settings are so fundamentally rooted in real Chinese history and living Chinese culture that it’s not really possible to write around it. And yet, inevitably, too many in fandom are trying to do just that, treating respect for Chinese culture or an attempt to understand it as optional extras – because surely, fandom shouldn’t feel like work. If you’re writing something for free, on your own time, for your own pleasure, why should anyone else get to demand that you research the subject matter first?

Because it matters, is the short answer. Because race and culture are not made-up things like lightsabers and werewolves that you can alter, mock or misunderstand without the risk of hurting or marginalizing actual real people – and because, quite frankly, we already know that fandom is capable of drawing lines in the sand where it chooses. When Brony culture first reared its head (hah), the online fandom for My Little Pony – which, like the other fandoms we’re discussing here, is overwhelmingly female – was initially welcoming. It felt like progress, that so many straight men could identify with such a feminine show; a potential sign that maybe, we were finally leaving the era of mainstream hypermasculine fandom bullshit behind, at least in this one arena. And then, in pretty much the blink of an eye, things got overwhelmingly bad. Artists drawing hardcorn porn didn’t tag their works as adult, leading to those images flooding the public search results for a children’s show. Women were edged out of their own spaces. Bronies got aggressive, posting harsh, ugly criticism of artists whose gijinka interpretations of the Mane Six as humans were deemed insufficiently fuckable.

The resulting fandom conflict was deeply unpleasant, but in the end, the verdict was laid down loud and clear: if you cannot comport yourself like a decent fucking person – if your base mode of engagement within a fandom is to coopt it from the original audience and declare it newly cool only because you’re into it now; if you do not, at the very least, attempt to understand and respect the original context so as to engage appropriately (in this case, by acknowledging that the media you’re consuming was foundational to many women who were there before you and is still consumed by minors, and tagging your goddamn porn) – then the rest of fandom will treat you like a social biohazard, and rightly so.

Here’s the thing, fellow white people: when it comes to C-drama fandoms and other non-white, non-western properties? We are the Bronies.

Not, I hasten to add, in terms of toxic fuckery – though if we don’t get our collective shit together, I’m not taking that darkest timeline off the table. What I mean is that, by virtue of the whiteminding which, both consciously and unconsciously, has shaped current fan culture, particularly in terms of ficwriting conventions, we’re collectively acting as though we’re the primary audience for narratives that weren’t actually made with us in mind, being hostile dicks to Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans when they take the time to point out what we’re getting wrong. We’re bristling because we’ve conceived of ficwriting as a place wherein No Criticism Occurs without questioning how this culture, while valuable in some respects, also serves to uphold, excuse and perpetuate microaggresions and other forms of racism, lashing out or falling back on passive aggression when POC, quite understandably, talk about how they’re sick and tired of our bullshit.

An analogy: one of the most helpful and important tags on AO3 is the one for homophobia, not just because it allows readers to brace for or opt out of reading content they might find distressing, but because it lets the reader know that the writer knows what homophobia is, and is employing it deliberately. When this concept is tagged, I – like many others – often feel more able to read about it than I do when it crops up in untagged works of commercial fiction, film or TV, because I don’t have to worry that the author thinks what they’re depicting is okay. I can say definitively, “yes, the author knows this is messed up, but has elected to tell a messed up story, a fact that will be obvious to anyone who reads this,” instead of worrying that someone will see a fucked up story blind and think “oh, I guess that’s fine.” The contextual framing matters, is the point – which is why it’s so jarring and unpleasant on those rare occasions when I do stumble on a fic whose author has legitimately mistaken homophobic microaggressions for cute banter. This is why, in a ficwriting culture that otherwise aggressively dislikes criticism, the request to tag for a certain thing – while still sometimes fraught – is generally permitted: it helps everyone to have a good time and to curate their fan experience appropriately.

But when white and/or western fans fail to educate ourselves about race, culture and the history of other countries and proceed to deploy that ignorance in our writing, we’re not tagging for racism as a thing we’ve explored deliberately; we’re just being ignorant at best and hateful at worst, which means fans of colour don’t know to avoid or brace for the content of those works until they get hit in the face with microaggresions and/or outright racism. Instead, the burden is placed on them to navigate a minefield not of their creation: which fans can be trusted to write respectfully? Who, if they make an error, will listen and apologise if the error is explained? Who, if lived experience, personal translations or cultural insights are shared, can be counted on to acknowledge those contributions rather than taking sole credit? Too often, fans of colour are being made to feel like guests in their own house, while white fans act like a tone-policing HOA.

Point being: fandom and ficwriting cultures as they currently exist badly need to confront the implicit acceptance of racism and cultural bias that underlies a lot of community rules about engagement and criticism, and that needs to start with white and western fans. We don’t want to be the new Bronies, guys. We need to do better.  

[cupofangst]

Ok so here’s this little fic idea that’s been swimming around in my head the last few days now. Whether or not it becomes a fanfic remains to be seen, and I don’t know that people would even want to read it, but i’m just putting it out there to get it off my chest because it’s bugging me lol

So this idea does focus a lot on Dar’s character, but Jason and Salim are also heavily involved. In this particular story, Dar survives, buuut everyone else besides the main five are dead. And this is toootally not payback for all the ‘everyone lives’ fics where Dar is left out. Nooo, not at all. What are you talking about? *whistles innocently*

So an idea struck me that as Salim and Dar are leaving after the big showdown during the eclipse, the two sort of have a heart to heart. The subject of Dar’s wife comes up again and he reveals to Salim that she is 2 months pregnant. Imagine Salim’s shock, as he hadn’t even known until just a few hours ago that his captain was even married. This sort of prompts Salim to chew him out, as he can’t believe this man would be running off to keep fighting a war that was already done when his wife was sitting at home with a child on the way.

Dar confides in Salim that he feels like he’s not cut out to be a father, that he’s already too old. And to make matters worse, his wife tragically dies shortly after giving birth due to complications, so now he’s left alone to raise this child, unable to properly grieve for his wife because now he has this tiny little being who depends on him twenty-four-seven and he just doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He inevitably reaches out to Salim, desperate for help. By this point, Jason has come to live with Salim, so when both men show up at his home, Dar doesn’t know whether to be shocked or surprised that this foul-mouthed jarhead is now shacking up with his former lieutenant. And under normal circumstances, he would have promptly slammed the door in Jason’s face and told him to go fuck himself, but he’s tired, depressed and can’t summon the strength to give a fuck right now. He’s certainly not happy about him being there. Oh, no. These two butt heads quite often, with Salim having to always be the adult in the room during their squabbles.

So Jason and Salim take it upon themselves to help Dar raise this child, as he is suffering greatly with depression and can barely take care of himself at this point. They both end up growing quite attached to her, Jason especially. Dar sees this and starts wondering if it’s in his daughter’s best interest to just give custody to Salim and to let him and Jason raise her, since they’re pretty much doing that already.

Things get so bad for Dar that it gets to the point where he doesn’t have the money to care for himself and his daughter. He can’t get a job and his savings are dwindling fast. On the verge of having to live in his car, Salim insists that he come to live with him and Jason.

Does Dar develop feelings for Salim? Yes. Does it worsen his depression because Salim is clearly head over heels in love with Jason? Also yes. And while there’s still that distrust and hatred simmering for the American under the surface, it becomes a lot harder as time goes on for Dar to keep hating him. A foundation of respect was laid down when Dar saw Jason go back into that hell to save his lieutenant. And this allows them to both warm up to each other and grow closer as time goes on...even if they still may bicker like children from time to time.

But yeah...that’s the jist of it. Haven’t started actually writing it and i don’t know if I will. It’s just one of those ideas that hits me hard...though it may not go anywhere. I get a lot of those ideas sometimes.

Working title: Three Idiots and a Baby (lol)

Bonus:

Dar: *holding his daughter* Say ‘baba’! Ba-ba! You can do it!

Baby: Fff...Fff...

Dar: No, baba! Say ‘baba’!”

Baby: Ffu...Fuck.

Dar: *slowly turns to glare at Jason*

Jason: Wweelllp, guess I better be hittin’ the ol’ dusty trail!

[jjkyaoi]

it’s once again found family hours, and i’m once again handing you these cutely 🥰;

• to the surprise of most people, eret & tommy used to be pretty close when l’manberg first started. they’re both complete opposites but they got on pretty well (note; there is a lack of eret & tommy friendship content in canon so i’m Making it happen), and tommy really, really thought eret was the coolest person he’d ever met. he always used to idolize them because of how mysterious they were; always used to be staring at her in awe or fumbling over his feet to impress her. he’d always gush to wilbur about how cool eret was, but he didn’t ever let anyone else know that.

TOMMY; you’re telling me you have a cape?

ERET; no, i’m making myself a cape

TOMMY, stars in his eyes; that’s so cool...

ERET; tommy, it’s made out of red cloth. it isn’t cool.

• he’d always get into fights w/ wilbur back then about l’manberg, or just petty fights in general. him & wilbur would always argue about the impulsive decisions he’d make against dream, and tommy would always stomp off over to eret to whine and complain about how much of an “idiot” wilbur was being. eret didn’t necessarily agree w/ what tommy thought but they’d always listen to him complain, and sometimes even offer a little advice for the inevitable reconcile tommy had w/ his brother.

• tommy was the first person eret told that they wanted to be king one day, or wanted a kingdom to rule. it was one of the late nights in l’manberg, where they were just looking up at the stars & talking about mindless things; tommy was half asleep so they don’t know if tommy remembers saying this, but in the response to their confession of wanting to be a king one day he said; “you’re already a king to me, eret. what’s a fuckin’ kingdom to do w/ it?” and they haven’t forgotten.

• eret used to call tommy “little prince”, and they promised him if they ever actually got a kingdom tommy would rule at their side—or, he’d at least he allowed to visit.

TOMMY; you promise me you won’t forget me when you become cool as a king ‘n’—‘n’ shit?

ERET; what’s brought this on, tommy?

TOMMY: i don’t know... i mean, people have a habit of forgettin’ me once they’ve moved on to—to new things, ‘n’ i-

ERET; ‘course i won’t forget you.

TOMMY: promise?

ERET: who could ever forget you, tommy.

• tommy always used to make little paper crowns for eret, whatever color they’d like, and whenever they were having a particularly bad day he’d always take out the crowns and then put ‘em on eret’s head silently. he didn’t ever push them for what was wrong, he just silently gave them a crown for a day. they appreciated it.

TOMMY, nudging them; hey, eret.

ERET; hmm?

TOMMY; do you think we’ll win?

ERET; win what, tommy?

TOMMY; the war, dipshit. do you think we’ll win the—.. do you think we’ll win the war?

ERET; ..

ERET; of course we’ll win, tommy. we’ve got your brother leading us, after all.

• after eret betrayed l’manberg, and once they’d got their kingdom, they didn’t forget about tommy. they’d always send him little letters about how their kingdom was doing, knowing full well he wouldn’t respond. sometimes they’d even litter in little apologies and notes of their regrets—how much they missed him and how they wish they could come back to l’manberg. they didn’t think tommy had ever seen them, considering the fact that they didn’t ever get a response, but tommy would always read them. he’d always read them, and wonder if eret really meant the words. he didn’t want anything to do with them anymore, but he couldn’t help but hold on to the letters, even after they stopped being sent.

WILBUR: i’m sorry about eret, tommy. i know you were close with them-

TOMMY: i wasn’t—

TOMMY; they weren’t my friend. they weren’t. they’re a traitor and they- they’ve betrayed this nation, so they don’t matter.

WILBUR; tommy..

TOMMY; i don’t want to think about them anymore. they’re long gone, now.

• after tommy imprisons dream, he and eret reconcile. it’s a short thing, because there isn’t much either of them can say, but it just ends in tommy taking out another paper crown he’d crafted—the paper he’d stolen from tubbo in snowchester, but he didn’t have to know that—and then putting it on their head. it didn’t fit, because they were already wearing a crown, and it sort of fell off, but it was a gesture of silent forgiveness- there isn’t much else that could be said.

• eret doesn’t talk to tommy much, since they’re both busy w/ their respective things—tommy with his hotel, eret with their kingship—but occasionally they’ll make time to follow tommy around whenever he’s gathering things for sam nook. the most of the time the two of them just chat and banter, and it’s.. nice.

TOMMY; do you think i should get a flower for sam?

ERET; that’s awfully nice of you, tommy.

TOMMY: pfft- i’m not nice- shut the fuck up, eret!

ERET: mhm. :]

• tommy gets into the habit of head butting eret whenever they’re talking. he’ll just be randomly speaking and then he’ll turn around and gently knock their foreheads together. eret doesn’t know why he does it, and most of the time it causes their glasses to fall, but it’s an adorable gesture nonetheless.

• they’re pen pals!! they get into the habit of writing letters to each other whenever they’re busy and can’t interact face to face, just like eret did to him back to in the day. sometimes tommy will even let sam write in a little note or two—but it’s mostly just him checking in to see if he hasn’t written anything too vulgar—but any other time he’s extremely possessive of the letters, because he doesn’t want anyone else seeing what he & eret having been saying but them two- it reminds him of the friendship they had in the day.

• tommy still thinks eret’s the coolest person he’s ever met, and he often finds himself bragging about them to other people, or just gushing about them in general. the first time he’d seen eret’s kingdom he hadn’t shut up about it to sam, and most of the time he’s just bragging about the fact that eret’s an actual king- his friend (brother) is an actual king.

TOMMY: and did i tell you they have an actual throne?! like it’s a throne, they have a throne-

TUBBO; yes, tommy, i know. you’ve told me how cool eret is a thousand times.

TOMMY; ok..

TOMMY; but they’re so COOL—

SAM; eret, finally you’re here. it was getting tiring just hearing tommy talk about you instead of seeing you-

TOMMY: WHAT

SAM, covering tommys mouth: you know he always talks about you, right? he’s always telling me how cool you are-?

TOMMY, muffled; that’s not TRUE-

ERET: is that so?

• eret has a habit of giving tommy their cloak. it’s something that they haven’t noticed their doing, but whenever they see tommys cold, or he’s tired, or he’s annoyed or sad, they’re just taking off their cloak and draping it on his shoulders. it’s way too big for him and it drags on the ground as he walks, but he looks way too adorable in it that whenever tommy tries to give it back they’re just always like “no no, you can keep it”

PUFFY: who’s cloak in that? did you—did you steal technos cloak?

TOMMY: NO!

TOMMY: this is the cooler technos cloak 😌

• this isn’t often, but sometimes tommy looks at eret & he sees techno. most of the times it’s the days where he’s having a Bad Time, & his mind plays tricks on him whenever he sees the familiarity of eret’s cloak & technos cloak- it always sends him spiraling into a panic, scrambling to get away from eret because it looks like techno whos about to unleash withers on him, or techno with tnt, and eret always has to take off their cloak & prove to him that it’s just them- that they won’t hurt him.

• tommys gotten into the habit of calling eret nicknames. he frequently calls them “erry”

[imaginesntingz]

Imagine Gaara comforting you when the depression and anxiety hit

Trigger Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Swearing(?)

A/N: Hey y’all! This is my first post on this blog. I hope you all enjoy it <3 Please don’t copy any of my works. It’s all originally written and I put a lot of time and effort into my pieces. Please ask me before reposting.

————————-

You were curled up in bed staring into nothingness. The past week or two you’ve tried to keep it at bay, but you felt the ever lingering depression creeping its way in. Nothing in particular happened. It was just always there. There wasn’t a time you could remember it not being there. Sometimes it was muffled like background noise and other times the volume was turned up so loud it was the only thing you could hear. It was your constant companion following you like a shadow. And to top it all off, anxiety was right behind it. You thought about overthinking and overthought about thinking. Racing thoughts kept you up sometimes until the sun shone through the blinds.

Everyone wondered why you were so quiet at times, but they couldn’t hear the ass beating you were getting from your own mind that made it almost impossible to be in the present moment. Nor could you find the energy, the language, nor a fuck to give to even begin to explain the war going on inside you. Temari invited you out to what you thought would be a small kickback yesterday that ended up being a full blown party. Gaara, who was supposed to go with you, was inevitably called in for village business. You ended up socially tapped after just a few hours in. Although Temari was with you and you met up with some chill friends . . Although you were surrounded by people, you still felt completely alone. Although you heard the words coming out of their mouths, you couldn’t keep up with what they were saying. Although you were physically there, you weren’t there. You wanted so badly to just enjoy yourself like everyone else, but it was what it was. After pleading with your sister in law, you finally went home only to find that Gaara was still in the office. One final push that sent you

Spiraling

down

And there you were exhausted but painfully awake in the darkness of your shared room. You didn’t know how long you were lying there. There was no time, only the bottomless ocean that swallowed anything and everything you tried to drop into it. No amount of journaling, affirmations, meditation, prayer, movement, walking, entertainment, pet cuddling, food, water, medication, vitamins, herbs, epsom salt baths, incense, face masks or any of the methods you’ve tried felt tangible to you in that moment. What was the point when you didn’t even have the will to move? How could you think of going on a mission next week when you couldn’t guarantee you’d attempt to leave your room tomorrow? How were you going to take care of your hair if you couldn’t even braid, twist or put it up for the night? How could you call yourself a caring friend when you’re thinking about canceling the dinner you’ve already rescheduled twice?

“My love? Why are you still awake?”

Your husband’s soothing voice jolted you out of your inner dialogue. You hadn’t even heard him come in, too lost in the wall in front of you.

“ . . . Can’t sleep.”

You heard the sound of the door closing and hushed shuffling as he moved around the room. A few moments later, you felt his weight dip the mattress beside you. A warm arm wrapped around your middle, gently pulling you to his chest. His hand moved to intertwine with yours as he spooned you from behind.

“How did it go with Temari? Again I’m sorry I wasn’t able to go with you. I hope you had a good time.”

“It’s fine. It was fine.” you replied flatly.

Gaara caressed the back of your thumb with his own as silence filled the space between you. His lips met the skin of your shoulder and you felt your body gradually relax into his embrace. He was never one to push you when you weren’t ready to talk and always made you feel grounded back to earth with his very presence. Even amidst his many responsibilities as Kazekage, he always made sure to check in on you and provide whatever you may want or need. He would do anything for you if it meant you would feel loved, safe, balanced and happy. Gaara, sweet Gaara, was the love of your lifetimes and you, his. He knew you better than he knew himself and picked up on every detail. Your likes and dislikes. How you took your tea in the morning. Your sensitivities. Every expression. Your body language. The tone in your voice. The slightest change in your eyes. So it was no surprise that he picked up on the shift in your mood right away.

“(y/n) . . . Sweetheart, It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it right now, but please know that I am here. I love you more than words can express. I am here to listen and support you in any way that I can. I always will be. You know that, right?”

And with that, you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Your body trembled as he maneuvered you to face him. He wrapped his arms firmly around you, cocooning you into the safety of his hold. You buried your face into his chest and the calming scent of earth and cinnamon enveloped your senses. Your tears and running nose wetted the shirt he wore, but he didn’t care. Soft kisses were pressed to the crown of your head as his fingers trailed up and down the length of your spine, occasionally drawing soothing circles. You turned your head to listen to the steady rhythm of his heart pressed against you before finally catching your breath to speak.

“I-I’m just so tired of fighting just to be okay all the time. I’ve been taking steps to take care of my mental health, but it still feels like it isn’t enough. It’s like one day I’m fine and a couple days later it feels like I’m back at square one. I just want to exist sometimes. No expectations. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to be anything. I just want to be.”

He squeezed you gently at your words, pausing thoughtfully before responding.

“You once told me that your dream is to become the peace within and despite the chaos inside of you. The chaos all around us. You said that you wish to heal yourself and pass on healing to others. I know it is easy to lose sight of it when you’re in the midst of what feels like a never ending battle, but I wanted to remind you of it because I never want you to lose hope.”

Your eyes widened in shock and turned glassy as he continued on.

“You have brought me out of the depths of the greatest despair and have played a huge role in supporting me in healing from my past. Your love is medicine to my heart. There were times when I was lost that you reminded me to never lose sight of my dream. To never lose sight of what truly matters. Even in the most difficult times, you have always found hope where others have felt hopeless. That is one of the many reasons I love you. I am your husband, so let me be your strength when you are tired and feel you can’t go on because you are my strength, dear wife. We can get through this together. Remember that healing is a lifelong journey, not a destination. So take it one day at a time. Hour by hour or minute by minute if that’s what it takes. You’re so hard on yourself sometimes, but look how far you’ve come to be here. Right now. How much you’ve grown. I want you to know that I am so proud of you, sweetheart. I hope that you can come to be proud of your accomplishments too.”

A fresh wave of tears came over you, but for a completely different reason this time. You practically tackled your poor mans onto his back and your lips met in an intense yet equally loving kiss. His hands worshipped the expanse of your hips and time fell away. Vibrations hummed throughout your body as you pulled back to look into those seafoam green eyes. His red hair and pale complexion highlighted by the light of the moon peeking through the window. He was ethereal.

“I love you, Gaara. So much. I am so happy that you exist. Honestly when you speak so openly and directly like that I feel like my heart is gonna burst through my chest . . . fuckkkk. In a good way though! But seriously, thank you for being you. I never thought I’d be able to say this to someone without fear, but . . when I am with you, I know that I am home. You are my home, love. ”

His eyes softened before a huge grin spread across his now blushing features. Gaara didn’t smile often, but when he did it was a sight to behold. It was like feeling the warmth of a sunrise for the first time. An all encompassing glow.

He sat up and cupped both of your cheeks in his hands, tears now mirroring your own. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Do you know how beautiful you are? Truly? Your beauty radiates from the inside out. Honestly, what have I done to deserve you?”

“Sir, have you taken a good look at yourself lately? That’s my line. Fight me. Right now.” you deadpanned playfully.

A look of genuine concern crossed over his face. His hands settled on your waist and his posture noticeably drooped.

“(y/n), I would never fight you.”

“ . . . Gaara, I was just joking. I know you wouldn’t.”

“Sarcasm?”

“Mhm.”

“ . . . Right. I should have known. I’ll do better next time.” he sighed dejectedly.

Your body shook with laughter at your man’s adorably serious face. He’s always trying his best. Only Gaara could go from holding space through your tears of sadness, to making you cry from happiness, to having you doubled over with laughter within a matter of moments just by being authentically himself.

“I love you so fucking much, my sweet Gaara.”

“And I, you. My beautiful (y/n).”

You both slept soundly that night in a tangle of limbs, not knowing where one ended or the other began. Two, who together, are one.

[blookmallow]

hi i binged through all of salad fingers for the first time in like 8 years and im fixating again here are. My Theories. pls talk to me if anyone else has Thoughts or wants to discuss things. this is really long i am sorry :’ ) 

also shout out to the salad fingers wiki for helping me keep track of details and also for this 

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thought: salad fingers is not violent on purpose he did not mean to kill that kid 

this is less a theory and more “if you slander my boy with accusations i will Get you” but listen. i see people going “but he mURDERED A CHILD!!” because of the oven incident but listen. listen to me. he didnt mean to and cannot be held to the same standard of morality and understanding consequences as a. person who isn’t..... in whatever situation and mental state he has going on

- yes, the kid getting trapped in the oven was his fault. but it was not intentional or malicious and i sincerely doubt he understands what happened or why. 

he was asking for help reaching the fish (there’s no reason to believe he wasn’t just genuinely asking for help. he tears up in gratitude. theres no evidence of him Tricking People Maliciously in any other context i do not believe he would do that) and was distracted by the rusty nail, causing him to let go of the door. it wasn’t “he cares more about rust than about a child’s life” or something, i dont think he can actually hold “hey look at that i gotta check that out” and “i need to hold the door open so the child doesn’t get hurt” in his head at the same time, rust is his favorite stim/an impulse thing that takes over everything else and his perception of reality and the things going on around him changes very quickly and easily. more on that later. but the important point here is it wasn’t a malicious plot, or a neglectful careless action, he literally did not realize letting go of the door would cause harm 

he stabbed himself accidentally with the nail and passed out for a while (the fact that he immediately bled that much is concerning too, he probably has hemophilia which is. a medical condition outside of his control, as well) and after all that he had completely forgotten about the child altogether (and says “i must have dozed off” so he doesn’t even understand he passed out. and might not remember the nail thing in the first place) 

we don’t see what happened after this, we don’t know how he responds when he investigates the fish and inevitably finds an unexpected charred corpse in there, but i guarantee he won’t remember why its in there or understand that its a corpse. we dont see it again so its. entirely possible he didnt recognize it as a person and either just disposed of it or, uh, ate it. but if he did, it wasn’t with the knowledge and comprehension of it being A Corpse or the memory of how it got there 

theory: on salad fingers and memory / comprehension of death and consequences 

more on that subject

- we see him frequently doing things and then immediately forgetting he did it or forgetting what was happening. he accidentally squishes the bug (which also was not malicious or intentional, he intended to pet it but just. went too hard) and has no understanding either that its dead, or that he killed it. she has gone flat and gooey for some unknown reason. that’s strange. she needs to go have a wash, that’s no way to be. 

he eats the jeremy fisher puppet at one point and then immediately goes “where have you gotten to??” 

he even briefly forgets hubert cumberdale’s name and immediately comes up with another one without realizing it, and then later goes back to hubert cumberdale again with no mention of barbara logan-price 

he refers to the same little yellow guy as “young child” and also Auntie Bainbridge later on. he keeps up the fantasy of... whatever the fuck yvonne was being his child for a pretty long time but then when he arrives at “auntie bainbridge” ‘s house he suddenly forgets why he’s there, and even apparently forgets what yvonne is and uses  ‘her’ as a window rag instead and never mentions it again (I also don’t think she was in the sandwich at the end either. it’s hard to see but the sandwich contents are vaguely brown and theres a visible lump in the black goo behind him. i like the idea that the lil yellow guy made the sandwich for him) 

salad fingers is constantly subconsciously adjusting his reality to fit Whatever Makes The Most Sense At The Time and does not consistently remember things (sometimes even major things. he remembers his puppets the most consistently and still even forgets hubert’s name) or have a concept of cause and effect 

i think he possibly has some sense of recognition, “I’ve seen this person before,” but doesn’t always remember Why he knows them, and his mind just automatically fills in the blank with whatever makes sense to him. he doesn’t remember who the yellow guy is, but knows he knows them Somehow, so, ah, of course, it must be auntie bainbridge out for her sunday stroll :) and he knows he’s there for a reason, but not what that reason was, so he decides it must be time to clean the windows 

- milford cubicle was already dead when salad fingers opens the door, but he has no idea that hes dead. this isn’t even a cause for concern. my, he must be tired, that’s all. he kept milford there until he rotted away, too, so there was never a point where he realized anything was wrong (until he became skeleton. more on That later too) 

- he finds a corpse buried in the yard and rather than confronting the confusing and alarming reality of that situation, why it must be kenneth, back from the great war! at no point does he understand kenneth is definitely dead

theory: kenneth vs glass brother

i think he really did have a brother named kenneth who probably died in the war. could be some subconscious connection between “recognizing” a corpse as his brother, but i dont think he realizes any of that. i think the glass family is probably a trauma based hallucination, but a... well, reflection. pun not exactly intended lmao. on how his real family was and how they treated him

i dont think glass brother is the same brother as kenneth, since salad fingers interacts with them completely differently 

kenneth is a corpse that salad fingers projects a personality on and speaks for, while glass brother seems independent and malicious toward him. i think he had a good relationship with kenneth (so, when salad fingers imagines that he’s here, it’s cause for celebration and he’s projecting onto something inert and “safe”) and also had another brother (who was probably his twin) who bullied him and acted violently, so when that trauma resurfaces, he hallucinates a vicious Other that he cannot control or speak for.

it also tracks that the abusive brother was his twin - he sees himself reflected in the mirror, and something in his own face reminds him of that lost brother until it “becomes” him

he refers to kenneth as his younger brother, and sees him as a being that does not look like him, while glass brother is literally his reflection, so it would make sense if he had one identical twin and one younger brother 

ive seen theories that he had a real sister named bordois too, but i think him calling the bug “little sister” was just. a term of endearment or one of his little odd language quirks, he seemed to be talking to it more like a pet than like a sibling 

theory: regarding mable

- ok people are saying salad fingers killed mable at the picnic but i Really Don’t Think He Did

we never see him acting out violently when he gets scared. he tends to try to escape situations that stress him out, he shrinks, he cries, he goes into his cupboard (which is. incredibly upsetting given the fact he was almost definitely abused by his family) 

he takes on a kind of Authoritative Tone often, he gets sort of ruffled up and disdainful toward things, but that’s not what he does when he’s scared

when he’s actually distressed (rather than irritated) he tends to break down and retreat. this includes when other independent beings act in ways that unsettle and upset him 

so i dont know where the “he freaked out and killed her” idea is coming from. he suddenly goes from outside at the picnic to having a breakdown in his house so. he most likely just ran 

i think the Only time we see him act out violently is when he decides he has to punish marjory for not getting a haircut like he asked - he tears her hair out, but for me that scene was particularly concerning because it was so unlike him. that was an anger response, not a fear response, though, and he tends to be harsher toward things that he’s actually controlling (I don’t think we ever see him decide to Discipline something that was independent from him other than the horses, and he didnt hurt them) 

ordinarily when something irritates him he just goes “hmph! so distasteful. how rude. i shan’t have this behavior, you know” but doesn’t really actually do anything about it, and moves on

anyway we never see mable again so i think either he freaked out and ran away and she just didn’t come back, or he scared her and she ran away, or both 

there’s a dress visible briefly when salad fingers is making his Flesh Boy which could be mable’s (he did comment he liked it) but it’s not 100% clear, and that doesn’t necessarily mean he KILLED her for it. she could have changed into something else and left it somewhere and he found it. she could have died under unrelated circumstances, and salad fingers found her - he doesn’t comprehend death, so. probably he decided they’ve made amends now and she’s given him her dress as a token of friendship, or something 

i dont think it really looks that significantly like hers but the fact that it stands out so distinctly from the rest of the Pile could mean something 

but i just feel like if he had killed her we would’ve seen her corpse again, he doesn’t have a concept of murder, or death at all, or consequences, and his memory doesn’t hold out that consistently, so if he killed her, he probably would have calmed down later and then forgotten what he did and came up with a new way to explain the corpse in front of him - oh, how rude of me, mable’s here dozing right off and i havent even offered her a blanket. let’s get you to bed

like, he probably would have dragged her home with him, with the intention of being a good friend/host to his guest, not understanding what happened. he kept milford cubicle around a really long time  

it wouldn’t be like him to have any concept of hiding the evidence

speaking of milford 

theory: regarding milford cubicle 

salad fingers keeps milford’s corpse around until it starts rotting, and then after a very confusing series of events, the corpse is suddenly a skeleton, which surprisingly alarms salad fingers considerably, and then he goes out to find a whole bunch of himselves eating various bits of gore. they give him a present, which is a hat very clearly made of milford’s skin 

my conclusion: salad fingers, in some kind of dissociative fugue state, skinned and ate the remains of milford cubicle himself and turned the remaining skin into a hat. he also saves some of it to make hubert cumberdale (the real boy) later as well, probably forgetting where it came from. he does not realize he’s done this or remember doing it, so his scrambled mind tries to make sense of it with other selves eating unknown flesh, and a lovely hat appearing (which he doesn’t seem to notice is made of flesh) 

you can also see milford’s original name tag in the drawer later on when he’s building the flesh boy, so. he kept that after the mysterious disappearance of milford’s flesh, apparently. more evidence that that skin is probably also his

some other scattered thoughts regarding the most recent string of episodes and salad fingers’ mental state: 

ive been trying to figure out what the fuckhell happened with the yvonne incident and everything that happened in the birthday episode

im really concerned for salad fingers’ health and mental state, as it seems to be deteriorating 

some yvonne theories ive seen:

1. he ate the burned corpse of the kid who died in the oven, and it made him very sick, which ultimately resulted in a charred mass he couldn’t digest - he steadily gets worse, until his body finally ejects it (yvonne’s “birth”) and after that his health starts to recover again. since the oven incident happens really early on, all the times he mentions his stomach being upset after that until he becomes deathly ill would make sense, so i think this is plausible 

2. the hair he found in the cupboard was actually a parasitic worm that grew in his stomach after he ate it and became yvonne. i think this is Possible, it is a really strangely wormy looking hair, but it doesn’t move and he mentions stomach pains before this, so it seems less likely to me 

3. i also saw the concept that salad fingers is a trans man who suffered a miscarriage at some point in his past and yvonne represents that, and i can definitely see where the idea is coming from but i do think something really physically happened to him in the present time, i dont think it was all a trauma-based hallucination, since the yellow guy reacts to the black ooze and something was definitely making him severely ill 

so. i Don’t Know what the fuck that was about but i think the burnt corpse theory makes the most sense 

on that note: there’s a lot of cannibalism imagery in salad fingers 

we have no IDEA where he’s getting food from. im pretty sure its been confirmed that he is Not a zombie, we see him bleed, pass out, sleep, etc so it seems like he must be a living person who has ordinary needs. but we see him eat... his own puppets. hairs. sand. the soup glass mother instructed him to make, which made him very sick. he has a working oven but doesn’t seem to have consistent access to water. he had a fish somehow but who knows where it came from. it’s very likely he doesn’t get food often and some of his hallucinations and mood swings could be caused by starvation (and when he does eat, it’s things that are outright inedible or probably not good for him) 

the burned corpse disappears and is never mentioned again (though salad fingers is very sick afterward). milford’s flesh disappears and salad fingers violently hallucinates multiple selves gorging themselves on unknown flesh

and what concerns me the most about that is that he loses a lot of time in that episode 

he passes out in the woods and when he wakes up, it looks like a shit ton of time has passed

we don’t know how much is reality and how much is his warped perception, but it looks like a tree has grown and his physical condition has deteriorated 

he looks really, really unhealthy and haggard for the rest of the episode 

i think he had a huge dissociative episode and lost possibly weeks of time, probably due to starvation, and he ate milford cubicle and very possibly other people as well 

so my question is. how often does this happen to him

and what happens to him during that state? does he become violent and dangerous without being aware of it when he returns to himself again? or has he just been ravenously scavenging corpses when he gets desperate enough? 

its possible dr papanak is another personality he has, one that’s “buried out in the woods” that he becomes when he’s in a really, really bad mental and physical state 

he looks much better in the next episode (though that’s also when he has his outburst with marjory. could be that he’s still staving off the violent urges/hasn’t fully come back to himself after the last incident) and I’m really hoping the fact that he was able to finally stand up to his family (at least in some sense) and smash the mirrors could mean he’s making steps toward recovery after whatever the hell all that was 

there’s not really much space to do anything with his life or get much help given the circumstances but watching him slowly losing himself even more is Awful :( 

i hope we get more episodes im so desperate for more information now 

lastly, some random observations 

i tried to read this newspaper and it looks like it’s actually written in french, which is interesting given that salad fingers seems to be british (but fond of france, and seems to speak french or at least knows one phrase) 

i wonder where he got this, or whether it ever meant something significant to him

theres a lot of evidence that he can’t read (takes no notice of the “harry” nametag and immediately names him something else, “reads” a letter that is actually a newspaper clipping in another language he’s holding upside down, “writes” a letter that is just scribbles) so i dont think he learned his one french phrase from this or anything but, still. vaguely interesting. maybe he has been to france before and brought this back with him for some reason. maybe he’s actually in post apocalyptic france and was just originally from england. We Don’t Know 

theres a weird little face in the. heater? whatever that is in the background for a second and i dont like it  

salad fingers leaves horace in charge, but then sees him (as a live horse) in the woods, but then comes back to find him both still on the shelf (as a toy) and in the room (as a live horse, now with his, uh, surgery scars) but doesn’t seem to notice this and doesn’t comment on it 

i dont know what the hell that means other than possibly his reality is even less consistent and logical than usual/a reflection on his mental state deteriorating 

[vanserraseris]

END OF PART V - This part sort of just gives a little insight into the Vanserra family dynamics, and they’re kind of a mess. The brothers probably aren’t as shit as they are supposed to be, though, but they’re still pretty bad. There are a few mentions of child abuse, Beron is literally the worst. It got a little longer than I’d first planned, but I hope you enjoy it (and big thanks to everyone who is reading)!!!

ahhhh i love it sm. love the brothers. fuck beron

Prince of Ashes. Part V.

masterlist.

Eris’s eyes snapped open, the incessant banging coming from the front of his cottage startling him out of a dreamless sleep. Despite having just woken up, Eris’s movements as he reached for the dagger he always kept on his nightstand were quick, controlled. Even in the dark of the room, Eris could see that there were no intruders. Not many people knew of his personal cottage, but that didn’t mean Eris never worried about being killed in his sleep while there.

“What is that?” Eris had nearly forgotten about Lucien. His youngest brother seemed to have fallen asleep curled up on the large cushioned chair by the stone fireplace again instead of going to the smaller room he’d claimed as his own. Eris didn’t know why, but when he took Lucien to his cottage, Lucien often preferred sleeping on one of the chairs in Eris’s bedroom. Lucien’s red hair was a mess and his shirt was wrinkled as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Eris grabbed the pair of old brown boots he had by the foot of his bed, wondering who in the hells was capable of getting past the wards he’d had Lagos put around his personal home. “Don’t worry, it’s just the door,” Eris answered, irritation lacing each word in the hopes that Lucien wouldn’t think anything was amiss. 

Lucien didn’t seem worried in the slightest as he yawned before he asked, “Is Micah back? He left a bunch of scrolls on the table.”

“Micah has a key.” All three of his friends had a key, and the only other person he could think of that would be coming to see him so late at night was Rufus, but Rufus could easily winnow through the wards. 

Eris snarled softly when he saw the wrinkles on his own shirt, briefly considering whether or not he should just put another one on, but decided not to when the banging started once more.

It was probably Beron. Eris figured he had absolutely nothing to worry about, his father was most likely just angry with him, and that was nothing new. Or perhaps Beron had come for Lucien. Eris ran a hand through his hair, his other hand still clutching his dagger as he tried to decide if it was Lucien his father wanted, what he might do. With a few large steps, Eris made his way across the room. He crouched down in front of Lucien’s chair, holding the dagger out to him, “Take this.”

Lucien straightened, suddenly looking a lot more troubled, but he didn’t reach out to take the dagger. “What’s happening?” 

“Nothing,” Eris desperately hoped it was nothing. “Rufus probably just got drunk and forgot how to winnow again.” 

“Eris,” russett eyes wide, Lucien grabbed onto the loose sleeve of Eris’s shirt, “Where are you going?”

“To open the door,” Eris flashed his brother a small smile, hoping that it would be enough to convince him that everything was alright. “Take this and stay here.” Lucien knew how to use a blade, most Autumn court children did. 

Lucien was just a little older than half a decade, but despite his age, he knew all too well how dangerous the Autumn Court was, how cutthroat. Lucien took a deep breath, eyes now on the dagger in Eris’s outstretched hand.

The hilt of the dagger was ornate, golden, and fashioned to look like the head of a snake, green jewels that acted as the snake’s eyes glittered brightly as Lucien curled his small fingers around the weapon. Eris brought his now empty hand up to ruffle Lucien’s hair, “I’ll be back,” he promised. 

Lucien nodded once, pulling his knees up to his chest, a look of pure determination on his young features as he watched Eris stand to his full height.

Eris regretted that he’d left all of his hounds at the kennel in the Forest House I’m his rush to leave. He’d have preferred at least Enya, his oldest hound and the alpha of the pack, to have watched over Lucien. Eris no longer had a weapon, but his magic would most likely be enough, so with one final glance at Lucien, Eris tore out of the room. As Eris walked with fast steps down the hall, the bronze sconces that lined the walls flared to life behind him.

The banging on the door hadn’t gotten any louder or any more frantic, and as Eris approached it, he lifted his nose in the air, taking a deep breath. The familiar scent of red apples lingered in the small foyer - not father - but it did nothing to ease Eris’s worries. His features schooled into a practiced look of irritation, Eris pulled the latch on the door, unlocking it before he yanked it open, “Cato.”

His brother smiled. To anyone else, it might have looked sincere, “Eris.” When Eris didn’t move to the side, Cato made a face that looked genuinely confused, his brows raising in a look of mock puzzlement, “Not going to invite me in?” 

Eris didn’t move, he was taller than Cato, and while they were both lean, Eris’s shoulders were broader. He effectively blocked the entrance to his home as he asked, “Why are you here, Cato?”

His younger brother frowned, “Can’t I come say hello to my older brother?” He tilted his head a fraction, russett eyes widening slightly. “I only have one, you know.” Perhaps that was why Cato and Eris never really got along. Eris was the only obstacle to Cato’s place as High Lord, and they had never spent much time together while Cato was growing up - Eris had been sent to a war camp right after he’d been born.

They had almost no relationship, and yet, they still managed to fight over the smallest of things. Eris supposed that their non-existent brotherly bond meant that there would be no regret for Cato when he would inevitably end Eris’s life. Sending Eris away had been smart on Beron’s part, he’d practically ensured that his two eldest sons were always at each other’s throats. 

Eris growled, “No. No, you cannot come say hello, especially not at the crack of dawn.”

“Did I wake little Lucien?” Cato’s voice dripped with such a convincing act of concern. Even Eris could admit that Cato was the best fucking courtier in all of Prythian, a snake in the grass in every sense. 

“You woke me,” Eris spat. 

Cato was no longer acting the part of the concerned younger brother as he practically shoved past Eris, “Don’t worry, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Eris bit the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood. Slowly, Eris shut the door, mumbling a frustrated, “I doubt it,” under his breath. 

When Eris finally turned to face Cato, he looked closely at his greatest rival. Not a single one of Cato’s deadly throwing knives was in sight, but that didn’t mean none were there. Cato’s eyes looked tired - troubled - and if Eris didn’t know any better, he'd have guessed that he looked a bit nervous.

He was holding himself up a little too straight, the sleeve of his shirt sloppily peaked out of his jacket, and a muscle in his jaw was working. Wonderful, Eris thought, Cato had finally decided to kill him. Eris took a breath, controlling his flames, getting ready for a fight. 

“I know you favour the runt, Eris.” 

Eris blinked. His brows furrowing slightly as he shook his head, “Cato—”

Cato raised a hand, “I don’t know why, but father’s given us orders to make his life as miserable as possible - probably to piss you off as much as because he’s just a horrible old bastard - and I’m not going to go against a direct order from the High Lord.” 

Eris froze, “And you’ve come to tell me this because?” 

Cato flashed him an adder’s grin, “I’m in a benevolent mood.”

Eris eyed him. Eris didn’t know if Cato had ever done him any favours, at least not in the last century. He sometimes wondered if Cato and him could have been close, knowing very well that it was much too late now. The resentment Cato had for his only older brother had been ingrained in his very young and impressionable mind by their father. Eris would be lying if he said he didn’t resent Cato as well.

Cato’s grin, faltered, turned into a frown, a seemingly real and true emotion Eris didn’t think he’d ever seen on his younger brother’s face. “It is an act I’ve done in good faith,” Cato wasn’t meeting Eris’s gaze, “Owain, Maddox, and Priam got the lecture, too.” Cato tugged on the cuff of his jacket sleeve, “I’m sure Rufus would have gotten the lecture if he’d been at the house, waste of father’s breath if you ask me - he only ever listens to you.”

Cato had gone out of his way to warn Eris, and while Eris was grateful, he couldn’t very well let almost all of his brothers turn on Lucien just because Beron had ordered it. “I’m going to say it once, Cato, don’t you dare lay a hand on him.” 

Cato huffed a laugh, flames in his eyes, “I don’t follow your orders, brother, and if you're asking me, I’d say the little runt would benefit from having the rest of us beat on him as well.”

Eris wasn’t usually one for any sort of physical violence, but he was blinded by rage as he lunged at Cato, grabbing him roughly by the collar and shoving him back up against the wall. Eris snarled, teeth bared, “Don’t touch him.” 

“I wasn’t being entirely serious,” Cato rolled his eyes, “But it’s fucking nice to know your weakness, Eris.”

Of course Cato would use their youngest brother against him. “I think all of us would benefit if I cut out that silver tongue.” Eris didn’t mean it, but it worked in Eris’s favour if Cato feared him just a bit. 

Cato grinned again. “I’d be very careful, Eris, I’m not in the mood to gut you tonight, ” Eris hadn’t felt the point of the knife pressed up against his side until Cato applied just a little more pressure, “I’d hate to get blood all over my good jacket, but I’ll do it if I have to.”

Eris snarled, pressing Cato harder up against the wall, “You always manage to make my blood fucking boil, you know.” 

“The feeling is mutual.” Eris thought he felt Cato’s knife cut through his shirt.

With one final growl, Eris loosened his hold on Cato’s jacket. He took a few small steps back, running a hand through his long hair.

Cato adjusted his jacket with one hand, in the other, he twirled the knife between his fingers, the simple silver blade flashing. “Be honest with me, Eris, just this once.” Eris would have asked him what the hell he was talking about, but Cato didn’t wait for a response before he asked, “What’s so very special about Lucien?” 

Eris couldn’t actually tell him about the oath he’d taken, wouldn’t risk Cato using that against him, so he simply sneered, “Absolutely nothing.”

Cato scoffed, “I know you dislike it when precious little Lucien gets a beating, but I think you’re overreacting. Father’s hands aren’t as painful as the whips he was using on us at Lucien’s age.” 

Eris set his jaw, opting to give his brother some of the honesty he’d asked for. “I want to protect him from that - maybe then he won’t end up like the rest of us.” Eris made a vague gesture with his hand.

There seemed to be a sort of understanding between the both of them when Cato met his eyes once more, a strange sort of openness that Eris couldn’t really read. Cato sounded a bit defeated as he spoke, “You cannot protect him forever.” 

Eris knew he couldn’t, the vow he’d taken haunted him some nights, but that didn’t mean he wanted Cato to point it out. “I can try,” Eris snapped.

“I appreciate the honesty, truly, but let me tell you something, brother. Your efforts will have been for nothing if the outcome is no good.” Cato shook his head, “I reckon no one - not mother, not Rufus, definitely not Lucien - no one will remember that you tried.” His lip curled over his teeth at the last word like he was disgusted by it. “Father’s got it out for little Lucien, I don’t know why, so try and protect him if you must, but when it all goes to shit, just remember I warned you.”

Eris couldn’t even begin to guess why their father was acting this way so suddenly, but he dipped his chin at his brother. “Thank you, Cato,” Eris said with as much sincerity as he was able. Eris wasn’t very used to thanking anyone, and he didn’t think that Cato was very used to hearing any thanks, either. Eris could practically hear his father’s voice, see the sneer on Beron’s face, as he’d hissed at a young Eris that sons of Autumn never gave thanks.

Cauldron boil me, Eris thought, he was going fucking soft. 

Cato’s russett eyes widened at the words before his genuine look of surprise was replaced by a scowl, the masks were back, it seemed. “You won’t be thanking me when I steal your crown, brother.” 

“If you are feeling benevolent when you decide to kill me,” Cato flinched, but Eris continued, choosing to ignore it, “Do me a favour and make it quick.” The silence that dragged between them as they stared at each other was uncomfortable.

They looked so alike, very much like their mother. Long red hair, sharp cheekbones, elegant brows, the only difference was the russet colour of Cato’s eyes and the much softer lines of his face. 

With a shake of his head, Cato moved past Eris, ensuring that their shoulders hit. He threw open the door, the heat of the room leaving as he stood in the doorway for a moment, as though he wanted to say something.

Cato stepped over the threshold of the door, the first few rays of the sun peaking over the horizon. “And not like you asked for my advice,” Cato picked at a thread on the sleeve of his shirt, turning to face Eris once more, “But you should stop spoiling the little runt, you’ll make him as useless as Rufus. And father is growing impatient with you and I’d rather not be dragged out of my duties to watch your flogging.”

Eris nodded once absently, his mind reeling, but nothing except irritation showed on his face. Perhaps Beron had learned in truth that Lucien was not his son. Perhaps Beron was no longer questioning the blood that ran through Lucien’s veins. Perhaps Eris would not be able to protect him, and Eris would rather tear out his own throat than let Beron harm his youngest brother. He’d made a vow, after all - he found he had to remind himself that was the only reason why.

Before he winnowed away, Cato called back to his older brother, “Be careful, Eris.” It could have been a warning or a threat, but Eris was choosing to believe that Cato might have actually been a bit worried for his well being. 

Eris shut the door, turning and leaning against it with his eyes closed. He slowly slid to the floor, breathing in through his nose, wrapping his hands around his knees. He hadn’t felt this helpless since he was a child.

Eris felt dizzy as he thought about how he would have to find a way to get his father to pay even less attention to Lucien, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it. He was also trying not to think too much about Cato. Cato had fucking warned him. The brother who he competed against, constantly fought with, never trusted - had warned him. Cato was young and ruthless and cruel, just as Eris was, and Eris knew they were more alike than they were different.

They were two-sides of the same tarnished coin. Eris took another breath, he didn’t like thinking about his brothers too much, it made his chest ache. Eris thumped his head a couple times on the door behind him. Perhaps if he hit it a little harder he’d knock some sense into himself. Eris could feel flames dancing on the tips of his fingers. He’d gotten much too emotional, all his actions driven by that stupid oath, and he’d lost his edge. 

“Eris?”

Eris opened his eyes at the sound of Lucien’s worried voice. He was sure he hadn’t managed to control his magic, and he knew that there were wild flames flaring in his eyes. Eris was almost certain Lucien would flinch away from him, away from that all-too familiar and dangerous fire, a fire that reminded most people of his father. “I thought I told you to stay put.” 

Lucien was no longer holding the dagger Eris had given him, but he took a small step towards where Eris sat. “Are you alright?”

In the light, Eris could clearly see just how terrible Lucien looked after Beron’s beating. It had taken all of Eris’s strength not to go after his father, and just like a coward, he’d done nothing but winnow Lucien away from that cauldron-damned house. Eris hadn’t been there to see Lucien’s punishment - he didn’t even know what Lucien might have been punished for - but Beron’s marks were all over his little brother.

Eris could barely look at the black eye, at the split skin near Lucien’s eyebrow, at the dark bruise on his cheekbone. Eris knew there were more bruises he couldn’t see. 

“I’m fine.” Eris lied, willing the flames in his eyes to vanish. 

Lucien took a few more small, slow steps towards Eris, like he was approaching a wounded animal. It must have been a shock for Lucien to see Eris in this way, but Eris was tired, and he didn’t think he had it in him to act alright even for Lucien’s sake.

Lucien sat right next to Eris, leaning up against the door, mirroring the way Eris was sitting. Eris knew he should perhaps be offering Lucien words of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say. 

Lucien was the first to break the silence. “It’s light.” 

“What?” Eris turned his head to face Lucien, confused. 

Lucien looked up at him with a small smile, “What can fill a room, but takes up no space. Your riddle.” 

Eris raised an auburn brow, “I’m going to have to start giving you harder ones.”

“I’ll solve those ones, too.” 

Eris felt the corner of his mouth tilt up just a fraction, “I bet you will.” 

Lucien turned away from Eris, moving so that he was leaning up against Eris’s side. “Don’t worry too much about whatever’s bothering you,” Lucien muttered, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” 

Eris took comfort in knowing that at least Lucien believed in him, and he figured that Lucien was probably right 

Eris would figure something out, he always did.

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (next part)

(word count: 3,098)

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

Part Two: Sapnap

Sapnap has never thought of himself as an outwardly sentimental person, but nights like tonight make him consider changing his mind on that front.

Things have been weird, lately. Weird in a different kind of way from the usual weirdness. Personally, he blames Wilbur Soot and his dumb drug van that has somehow evolved into a dumb country and a dumb revolution, because apparently he thinks it’s fine to be invited onto someone else’s server and promptly declare independence. But whatever, it’s fine, and so what if it’s getting a little more intense than the games they usually play? So what if Dream’s starting to get strangely obsessive about the whole thing? Sapnap thinks he might too, in his position, and there’s no need to get too worried about it anyway. There’s no way this war—if it can be called a war at all—will last much longer.

But it’s been weird.

Nights like this, though, remind him that it’ll all be okay in the end. Because tonight started out as a war meeting, all of them hunched around a table in Dream’s base, talking over plans and hypothetical ways to kick the L’Manbergians straight into next week the next time they fight. But over time, conversation shifted to other things, lighter things, and Dream flicked water at George’s face for some reason, and George retaliated by throwing small objects at Dream’s mask, and somehow that’s resulted in them all piling onto each other in front of the TV, watching really terrible horror movies. Dream tosses popcorn at the screen whenever someone makes a horrendous decision, and they’re all cracking stupid jokes and making silly commentary, and Sapnap feels warm and tired and safe. It feels like old times, when it was just the three of them on this server, or maybe even like just a few months ago, before Wilbur got it into his head to create a drug empire and they were all still friends, and the stealing and the griefing was all in good fun and the disc thing was a joke and not something that Dream is still weirdly preoccupied with.

It’s a nice reminder. Things were good before, and they’ll be good again. Everything will go back to normal soon, and right now, with Dream draped across his lap and George half sprawled over both of them, he can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.

And then, Tommy stumbles into the room.

He blinks a few times, because what? But no, Tommy’s still there, even though this is about the last thing he expected to happen. Scratch that, it’s like, the negative third thing he expected to happen tonight, because what is Tommy doing here?

There is a split second in which his instinct is to go for a weapon. But even disregarding how fucked up that is, because this is still Tommy, still the kid he joked around with and hung out with in the early days, and he doesn’t want him hurt or dead no matter how annoying he’s been lately—even disregarding all of that, the urge fades quickly.

Because Tommy looks like shit.

He’s unarmed and unarmored, nothing on his back but his usual t-shirt, and that appears rumpled, like he slept in it and didn’t bother to change before coming here. His hair is mussed, even more than normal, and his eyes are red-rimmed. Sapnap would chalk it up to sleep deprivation if there weren’t obvious tear tracks drying on his cheeks.

Which, holy shit. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tommy cry before. So what the hell could have happened that he would show up in Dream’s base of all places, alone and looking like this?

“Uh,” he says, very eloquently. “We’re having a war meeting? What are you doing?”

Tommy’s gaze drifts from them to the TV and back to them again.

“Oh, good,” Tommy says, and he sounds… off. Like he’s trying too hard to sound casual. Sapnap’s not quite sure how he knows that, except that there’s an odd strain in his voice, and the words don’t seem to come easily, like he has to search for them, and that’s wrong. Tommy delivers insults as easily as breathing, even when they’re not particularly clever ones. “Here I was worried you were having a sleepover. Like middle school girls.”

“We can have a sleepover if we want,” George mutters, sounding slightly offended and also like he’s too tired for this. Which, honestly, Sapnap completely agrees with.

“If this is supposed to be a sneak attack or something, it’s a really bad one,” Dream says, and finally puts in the effort of rolling to his feet in one smooth motion and taking a few steps in Tommy’s direction. “Why are you here, Tommy, and how soon can you leave? Or do we need to make you?”

It’s definitely too late at night to sound threatening. Even Dream can’t manage it very well, too much sleep creeping into his voice.

Except it seems to work. Tommy flinches, and takes a step back. Alarm bells start clamoring in Sapnap’s head, because the one thing Tommy has never been is scared of Dream.

Dream catches it too. His head tilts, and he stops his advance. Sapnap exchanges glances with George, and they both get to their feet as well, the earlier warmth and comfort almost forgotten. The movie continues to play in the background, disregarded.

“I’m not here for a fight,” Tommy says, and Sapnap can’t stop his snort.

“You’re always here for a fight,” he says, and Tommy—

Tommy looks at him. Just looks at him, and it’s only for a second, but he could swear that there is something dark in Tommy’s eyes, something dangerous, something that Sapnap has seen before but never in the face of someone so young, something that speaks of loss and bloodshed and an unshakable determination to do whatever it takes. To accomplish what, he doesn’t know, and he can’t find out, because Tommy blinks, looks away, and the moment is gone.

“Not tonight,” Tommy says, and turns his gaze on Dream. And keeps it there. “I want to propose a deal.”

“You want to propose a deal,” Dream repeats. “You want—you came here at three in the morning to try to make a deal with us? I—okay, why? What do you want, and why do you think we’ll give it to you?” Dream’s voice is increasing in both volume and snappiness, and Sapnap can’t blame him; deals, when coming from Tommy, inevitably end in some sort of scam, in his experience, and if Tommy’s really trekked all the way over to their base to try to pull one over them, he’s got another thing coming to him.

But at the same time, Tommy has actually trekked all the way over to their base, looking like he’s halfway to death via exhaustion. His voice is flat, and he’s watching Dream like he’s some sort of predator, like he’s going to attack at the slightest provocation. Which might just be the case, but the point is that Tommy has never seemed this aware of it. Never been careful, never given Dream the respect and caution that his skills deserve, despite Dream besting him in combat time and time again. So somehow, Sapnap doesn’t think that a simple scam is the end goal here.

“You’re going to give it to me because I know you, Dream,” Tommy says, lifting his chin defiantly, and there, there is some of his usual spark, his usual confidence. Odd, though, that it seems to be just that: confidence, not false bravado, not a child playing in shoes several sizes too big, not Tommy trailing after Wilbur like a puppy trying to learn to be a wolf. Just surety. “I know what you want.”

“Oh?” Dream crosses his arms. “And what do I want?”

“The discs,” Tommy says, and Sapnap feels his jaw hit the floor. “And I’ll give them to you. No scams.”

Dream has gone still. Shocked, Sapnap thinks. “You’ll give me the discs?” he says. “Just like that, you’ll give them to me?” He’s disbelieving—but he’s interested. That much is plain as day. And Sapnap still doesn’t understand why Dream cares about those things so much, because sure, Tommy was being really annoying about them, but at the end of the day, discs are all they are. Music discs like any other music discs.

“I mean, no, not—not just like that,” Tommy says. “This is a deal, man, I want something from you. But that’s what I’m offering. The discs. Both of them.”

Sapnap scans his face, his posture, searching for any sign of a lie. There is none. Tommy’s lips are drawn in a thin line, his expression more serious than any Sapnap has ever seen from him.

“Okay, what is it?” he asks.

“L’Manberg’s independence,” Tommy says. “Independence for the discs.”

And that’s—that’s laughable. This revolution of theirs has barely been going on for a month, and it’s already painfully obvious that they’re going to lose, and badly, that they don’t have the resources or the manpower to defeat Dream. They’re going to crush them; they’re not about to let them form their own country right in the middle of the Greater SMP just because of a couple of music discs. That would be stupid.

Except Dream’s still interested.

“You’d be willing to give up the discs?” he asks, an odd note in his voice, and—he’s considering it. He’s actually considering it.

“Oh, come on, Dream,” George says, apparently thinking along the exact same lines. “You can’t just—”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, and shifts his weight between his feet. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off Dream. His whole body is tense as a bowstring. “I mean, you know. Sometimes you’ve got to think about what’s important.”

“Did Wilbur ask you to do this?” Dream says.

Tommy stays silent. For a moment, Sapnap takes that as a yes, as agreement, and a burst of anger flares, surprising him. But the core of it is this: sure, Tommy’s irritating, but the discs are important to him. That much has been made extremely clear. So for Wilbur to force the kid to give them up for the sake of his grand country would be messed up.

But Dream laughs, soft and low. “He doesn’t even know you’re here, does he?” he says, and Sapnap starts, looking back to Tommy for his reaction.

Tommy winces.

Did the child really waltz into enemy territory without telling anyone where he was going? That’s stupid, even for him.

“What Wilbur doesn’t know can’t hurt him,” Tommy snaps, and then scowls. “Well, usually. I take that back, actually. But I’m not here because he told me to. I’m here because this—this is the best choice. It’s the best outcome. So how about you just take the fucking things, and then you go away and leave us alone forever, eh? How about that?”

Dream hums. “And how do you know I won’t take the discs and then raze your little country to the ground anyway?” he asks. “What would stop me?”

Tommy levels a flat stare, and for a second, it’s like there’s someone else peering out of his face.

“I’d fucking stop you, you bitch,” he says. “I’m not—I’ve got news for you, buddy. You think you’re some kind of god. Well, you’re not. You’re just some guy, just like the rest of us, and so what if you’re all strong and shit? There’s always someone stronger.” He pauses for a moment. “There are worse monsters out there than you, Dream. More powerful things. And if you start trying to play your games with me, I’ll take you the fuck out. Don’t even try me. I don’t—I don’t have time for this.” His voice cracks suddenly, and Sapnap looks on in horrified fascination, trying to make sense of anything he’s saying. “Look, you still want the discs, yeah? You can have them. Just give L’Manberg its independence. I won’t try anything. They’re yours to keep, forever. I won’t fight you. So c’mon, you green bastard, do we have a deal?”

Throughout this speech, Dream has gone very, very still.

“More powerful things than me?” he asks. “Tommy, this is literally my server. I think you’re underestimating me here.”

“No,” Tommy says. “No, I’m really not.”

Dream stays silent for a moment. Sapnap would bet anything that underneath his mask, he’s frowning.

“Alright,” he finally says. “Show me that you have them here, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Sapnap would protest. He feels like he should. A couple of discs aren’t worth allowing a whole new country to form in their server. But Dream’s tone brooks no argument, and more than that, there’s definitely something wrong with Tommy, something that grabs his attention and keeps it, even though he can’t put a finger on what it is. So he just watches as Tommy brings his enderchest out of his inventory, and pulls out two music discs, staring at them both for a long second.

And then, he holds them out toward Dream.

“The discs for L’Manberg,” he repeats, and his voice is colorless.

“The discs for L’Manberg,” Dream replies, and takes the discs from Tommy’s hand. Tommy jerks his arm back quickly, face going pale as a sheet as he stumbles a bit.

“Don’t,” he says, and he’s shaking, shaking hard, “don’t you fucking, don’t fucking touch—”

Sapnap’s not sure what the issue is. Dream’s fingers might have brushed Tommy’s when he accepted the discs, maybe, but he doesn’t know why that would cause such a reaction. Dream freezes in place, startled, and it’s impossible to tell where he’s looking, so Sapnap exchanges another glance with George and steps forward, intending to calm Tommy down, perhaps, to guide him out of the base so he can get back home. Maybe he’ll walk him himself; he’s not sure he trusts the kid not to get eaten by a zombie on the way, in the state he’s in.

But Tommy wheels on him, stabbing a shaking finger at him, and he stops in his tracks.

“Don’t,” he says, and he’s near tears, barely getting the words out, and Sapnap feels so lost. “Don’t get near me, just, just fuck off, why don’t you?”

“You’re in our base!” he says incredulously. “Tommy, what is up with you?”

Tommy just shakes his head. His eyes drift back over to Dream, and the discs in his hand. His face contorts, and Sapnap can’t even begin to interpret the expression he’s making, something sad and angry and desperate all at once, but with something else, something… weird. Everything about this is weird, though, and he doesn’t particularly want to admit that he’s slightly worried about TommyInnit, but frankly, he’s not sure he has a choice.

Because he’s slightly worried about TommyInnit.

“It’s for the best,” Tommy says, quietly, as if to himself, but his voice sounds so wrecked that Sapnap’s first instinct is actually to give him a hug. It’s easy enough to refrain, but still. “It’s for the, it’s for the best. For L’Manberg. It’s, um—” He glances up, right at Dream’s mask, and flinches again. “Right. I’d say it was a pleasure doing business with you, but it never is. Bye, Dream.”

And then he’s backing out the entrance, and he’s gone.

“Bye, Tommy,” Dream says, somewhat belatedly, and then they all stand there in silence for a good two minutes. Dream turns the discs over and over in his hands, a repetitive motion. Sapnap recognizes it for what it is—a self-soothing mechanism, something to calm himself with. He’s rattled.

“So, that was really weird, right?” George says, and Sapnap lets out a long breath.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’d say that was weird, George.” And then he whirls on Dream. “And you! Are you serious right now? You’re just going to, what, let them make their country, just like that? Over a couple of discs? Seriously?”

Dream takes a moment before replying, and when he does, his voice is low, considering.

“I want to see where this goes,” he says. “I didn’t see this coming. I didn’t think that Tommy would be willing to give up these discs for—well, for anything. And the fact that he did this on his own? Without even telling anyone? You’re right, it’s weird. I want to figure it out.” He shrugs, posture untensing. The discs vanish into his inventory. “Besides, I have the discs now, which means I have power over him. And we can always declare war again later if we want. I promised him L’Manberg’s freedom, not that they would get to keep it.”

He frowns. “I guess.”

Power over Tommy. Normally, he’d agree. Holding the discs over his head in the past has worked wonders. But the way Tommy looked, the way he came to them of his own volition, suggested giving up the discs himself—something about him has changed, and Sapnap’s no longer sure that it will be that simple. Because sure, his face when he gave them up was agonized, but then there was everything else, too, everything he said, the way he was acting, like he thought there was some bigger threat on the horizon, and that it wasn’t Dream.

Weird. Just, so weird.

“Alright, I guess we see how this goes, then,” George says.

“Yeah, we’ll see how it goes,” he echoes, and wonders why the words inspire such dread in him.

They go back to their movie. But though they sit together again, pressed into each other’s sides, none of them relax. The tension in the room does not leave, and he knows that none of them are paying attention to the movie at all, that all of them are lost in their own thoughts, and he resents it, a bit. He wants that easy camaraderie back. Wants his friends, his friends and simpler times, before war, before discs, before Tommy-fucking-Innit and all the rest of them. Just him and Dream and George, messing around, doing what they want, making a server into a home.

Simpler times seem like a long way away. Sapnap thinks about it long into the early morning, long after the credits stop rolling, and can’t come to a conclusion that satisfies him. Can’t find peace. He doesn’t think the other two can, either.

But then, he’s not sure what else he expected. Sometimes, he thinks he’s forgotten what peace means.

[internalsealpanic]

Cosmonauts

Summary: You always call Tim space related nicknames. No one knows why.

A/n: This is technically a follow up to Art Gallery Smile but it can be read on its own. This was posted on mobile so Idk how bad it got formatted. Will edit when I get to my laptop.

Warnings: mentions of panic attack and anxiety. No graphic detail but just in case. (Yes, I gave Tim anxiety. Fight me.)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“IT WAS ZOMBIE ADJACENT,” Roz protests, shoving another one of Tim’s fries into her gaping maw in a vain attempt to stop the petulant pout retching its way to her lips. You roll your eyes hard enough that your entire head follows along with their movement, taking a nibble of your own fries. Roz scowls, mouth twitching the way yours does (4 times to the left and 4 and a half times to the right) it was honestly the only way to tell that you two were related in any shape or form. 

“It wasn’t even close, you deep-fried stick of margarine,”

“It shambled, didn’t it?”

 

“So does Space Case over here when you don’t funnel enough caffeine into his system, what’s your point?” You bite out leaning back, slinging your arm over the back of the bench and over Tim’s shoulder making his breath hitch. Tim can feel his skin heat up. For once, he’s thankful for just how much Roz hordes your attention.  He’s starting to run out of excuses for the color of his cheeks. Not that you ever fell for any of it from the way you hummed every time he stammered out his excuse. 

 

Based on the way your hand flexes and not so subtly moves away, you noticed his flush but made no comment. Instead, you grin- all sharp teeth and cocksure and smug bastard- leveling your older cousin a look which roughly translated to ‘Checkmate, motherfucker’. Despite his apprehension, Tim can’t help the smile that twitched on to his lips. Your eyes flickered to him. It might just be his imagination but Tim was pretty sure he saw fondness chip away at your smug grin. Tim kind of wants to lean into your arm but instead, he leans forward pretending to pay attention hiding his smile in his hands. His face is gonna get tired from smiling too much around you. 

"It wasn't even close,"

"It was freaky looking,"

"Damn woman, you're being real judgy there,"

“Back me up here Duckie!” Roz screeches, shoulders hiking up making her look like a frazzled cat about to hiss pulling Tim away from his reverie. You roll your eyes all the way to the back of your head while Steph just snorts. Tim sighs. None of you have stopped calling him ‘Duckie’ or ‘Ducktective’ after that stint of being ‘Drake’.  Admittedly, it wasn’t his best idea but you didn’t have to laugh that hard and slap your knee. When you were done laughing, you vehemently protested the name change by wearing your precious, well-kept, one of a kind Red Robin hoodie for the duration of the ‘Drake’ thing. You had said it was to bring him back to his senses (sense of fashion).  Maybe you just wanted to fluster him. He certainly couldn’t put it past you. It worked. Oh, it definitely worked. Now, all he could think about was how nice you looked in his colors which inevitably lead him to think about how nice you would look in his shirts, in his clothes- Damn it. He’s doing it again. 

Roz clears her throat. It is loud and rough and it makes all of you wince despite the already loud atmosphere of the cafeteria. Really what does Roz expect him to say? One, Tim wasn’t fully paying attention. How could he when you two are smooshed together on a cramped cafeteria bench with you still wearing your Red Robin hoodie? Tim’s surprised he isn’t keeling over. Two- 

 

“See! Even our darling-” Tim’s brain short circuits. “Space Cadet can’t even defend your bullshit,” you laugh reaching over to Roz’s drink leaning a little too close to Tim’s face. He can almost feel the heat radiating off your skin. 

 

If I lean in just a little more, I could probably…

 

“It isn’t bullshit!”

 

“You’re right! Bullshit has more substance-”

 

“Sooooo, what’s with all the space nicknames for Tim? When do I get one?” Steph asks casually, popping another of Tim’s fries into her mouth. 

 

Has he even eaten any of his fries? It’s almost gone and he’s eaten at most one.

 

You choke making a pained noise, likely due to said carbonated drink going into your nostrils (and possibly your lungs), as you turn away. Your neck visibly red from where Tim is sitting. Based on the sparkle in Steph’s eyes, she can see it too. A manic grin spreads on Roz’s face wide enough that Tim legitimately worries that it’ll split her face wide open. A shrill sort of giggle escapes her which has you whipping your head to her direction to scowl at her. It does absolutely nothing to deter the sheer glee on her face as she sneers back to you. Some secret conversation passes between the two of you. Tim and Steph watch in slow motion as mortification creeps on to your face. 

 

Suddenly (not really), Tim’s thankful that his only sister is practically a saint. At least compared to the horror that is Roz. 

 

Actually, now that he thinks about it, you have a plethora of space-themed nicknames for him when you aren’t busy calling him whatever endearingly aggravating name Steph came up with that week. 

 

Cosmo

 

Space Case

 

Space Nuts

 

Rocket Man

Martian Manhunter

 

ET

 

Marvin (the Martian)

 

And your favorite, Cosmonaut.

 

At first, he figures it was because of his obsession love for Star Wars and Star Trek but no, that couldn’t be it since you had started calling him that long before you two ended up marathoning the entirety of Star Trek instead of working on your project. He can still remember just how engrossed you looked while watching as you hugged your knees to your chest leaning forward as you waited for the next episode to start up with bated breath. Your features highlighted by the glow of the laptop screen making it very easy for Tim to memorize the contours and angles of your expression. Yet another moment Tim really wanted to capture with a photo. You even did your mouth twitch thing without noticing.

 

 He really wanted to just keep an entire album of all the different expressions you made. Wait. That sounds weird. Does it sound weird? It probably does.

 

 Then again, maybe you called him those because of just how much of a weirdo he was. He couldn’t blame you if you did. But he found that highly unlikely. Sure, you can be mean at times (a lot of times) but you were too oblique for that. Years in customer service made sure of that. Your jabs were usually of the subtler, more needling variety. The type that makes you pause for too long.  Plus, you said every nickname with a fondness that made his heart skip a beat. It was like when you called Roz or Steph ‘Fucker’. Maybe a little warmer. Or he could just be imagining that. Probably. Hopefully not. It was hard to get the honey-sweet way you said them out of his head.

 

Maybe they were just jabs. Lighthearted one. They could have just had easily been comments on just how much he spaced out. Tim has a tendency to live in his own head and it shows especially when he’s stressed or tired or both. Sometimes he would completely shut down as a result of excess anxiety. He can still remember the number of times he had let his anxieties run rampant letting them drag him away from the moment. His breaths were too quick to back then. He felt like he was gonna faint but then you just smiled at him like you were there for him which as it turned out you were. You gently squeezed each segment of his fingers until his breaths slowed. Even when he did fully calm down, you didn’t relinquish his hand. You held them firmly in your own even as you looked entirely unsure of what to do and what to say. You didn’t whisper the usual ‘you’re ok’ or the classic ‘you’ll be fine’. No, you just sat there with him quietly. Letting his feelings ebb and flow as he needed them to. 

 

Tim really isn’t sure what he did to deserve even knowing someone like you but he would do it again and again if it meant being able to stick close to you. 

 

Roz, ever the agent of chaos, throws a conspiratorial smile around the table like a flail. You look like you’ve been hit by one.

 

“Sorry, Steph. You won’t get one,” she says glancing at you. Steph pouts before she and Tim follow Roz’s gaze expecting you to glower or snarl or get up to deck her. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. You just kind of sit there frozen and mortified with a face that simply says ‘Oh. God. This is happening.’. All you can really do is mouth a ‘fuck you’. This obviously pleases Roz. Say what you will about Roz, but there is abso-fucking-lutely no denying that she is petty as hell when it comes to revenge. Nothing is sacred to this woman. Nothing.

 

“Why’s that?” Steph asks innocently, smiling around her bendy straw also enjoying this rare chance to torment you. 

 

“I’m so glad you asked!” Roz answers her voice twisting into a horrifying facsimile of a daytime talk show host. You peel your arm away from the backrest and place your arms over your head and neck as you do in an earthquake drill bracing for impact. By the way, you were shaking, you’d think there was an actual earthquake. Your reasoning can’t be that stupid. 

 

“My dear Stephanie-” Steph scrunches her nose at the overly sweet tone Roz lathers on her name but makes no move to interrupt. “(y/n) only uses space-related nicknames for people they think are- and I quote- ‘waaaaaay outta their league’,” You let out a pained groan and Steph’s face unfurls as she lets out the loudest snort, loud enough to draw the attention of several tables around them. 

 

Tim’s mind is still reeling, still trying to process what Roz just said. 

 

Him?

 

Out of your league? 

 

Excuse him, isn’t it the other way around? 

 

What the hell? 

 

“Tim, for the love of Alfred, please unhear that,” you plead wetly, parking your head out just enough for Tim to see just how red your face has gotten. “God, please unhear it or I might just die,” Tim kind of didn’t doubt that you would. Steph somehow laughs even louder at this. Roz, not one to miss pouring salt in the wound, laughs along with her. You look like you wanted to implode out of existence.  You could certainly try but Tim seriously doubts the universe is kind enough to let you escape. 

 

Yeah, Tim’s brain has officially left the building. He’ll be back at 9 o’clock sharp tomorrow. Promise. 

 

“You mean to tell me that-” Steph chokes, unable to control her laughing fit. “-You’re telling me that you’ve been watching them pine for each other for over a year now and you just let them?!” Steph wheezes still holding her stomach.  

 

Roz looks offended and makes a whiny little noise. “Weeeell, technically I offered to wingman-”

 

“YOU WERE GONNA CHARGE ME FIFTY BUCKS,” 

 

“Hey, matchmaking is hard,”

 

“It isn’t worth fifty bucks!”

 

“You’re right! It is worth so much more,”

 

“God, I hate you,” you groan into the table. 

 

“God can’t help you now, kid,”

Tim frowns, mind backtracking to dissect the information. Apparently, his brain decided to clock back in. 

 

They knew. Even Roz ‘I don’t give a shit what you do as long as it doesn’t affect me’ Andrada, noticed. Was he that obvious?

A year? Wait. No. Over a year. They knew about this for over a year. 

Lastly, what do you mean each other?! As in mutual? Mutual pining? 

As if reading his thoughts, you ask “Wait… what do you mean each other?”

 

Roz blinks at you not entirely sure if you’re being funny. When you give her a look, she slumps back in her chair. “I’m related to a dumbass,”

 

“That you are. Speaking of dumbasses-” Steph whips her attention to Tim giving him a shit-eating grin.”-You said you were waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask (y/n) out, right?” Steph waves her hands doing jazz hands as she points at your still dumbstruck figure. She’s smiling as if she was the world’s best wingman at the moment.

 

 Tim suppresses a groan. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured it,”

 

Roz reaches into her pocket and produces a lighter. Grabbing the last of Tim’s fries and lighting it. “There. Mood lighting. Do the thing.”

 

“Ah yes, because surely the scent of burning potatoes is gonna sweep (y/n ) off their feet,”  Tim said flatly crossing his arms. He knows he’s definitely focusing on the wrong thing but as with all things it was easier to procrastinate. This is especially true when you’re afraid of the outcome.   

 

Roz huffs, waving the fry to extinguish it and muttering something about beggars and choosers. “Trust me kid that isn’t hard to do. Besides, did you not hear the part where I quoted (y/n) about you being ‘outta their league’,” You open your mouth to protest but slam it shut when Roz gives you a lopsided grin looking like she had a mountain of dirt on you which she likely did. He was definitely thankful that she has never met his family. He’s pretty sure Gotham wouldn’t survive. 

 

“How could I possibly be out of (y/n)’s league. I- I don’t- I mean- I’m not-”

 

Your body twists his way fast enough that he’s sure you either have whiplash or a twisted spine. Your eyes are set on him glowering as if he’d said something wrong. He’s pretty sure he didn’t although he did have a talent for putting his foot in his mouth. Your jaw is set tight, your teeth almost grind. He could see the tight hitch in your shoulders. He is 100% sure you’re going to deck him. 

 

“Do you want it listed alphabetically or what?”

 

“What?”

 

“Structure it like an argumentative essay. Speak nerd.” Roz instructs, earning her the full force of your glare. Your face pinches even more. Maybe this was the part where you implode. 

 

You suck in a calming breath before turning back to Tim. 

 

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are a fucking moron, and here’s why:” Taking another breath, you turn to face him fully your cheeks reddening but you press on either from pure unadulterated spite or determination. 

 

“You quite literally co-run a multibillion-dollar corporation. You’ve been doing that since you were seventeen apparently. You know several languages and you are not only fluent but proficient. You’re well versed in an insane amount of fighting styles. You are the smartest dumbass I know-” 

“Preach!” Steph jokes. 

 

“-You can basically operate any machinery I put in front of you. I have no doubt you can Macgyver one up if you fucking wanted. You could hack into any system you want just as a joke. You could probably throw the entire global economy into the toilet just for shits and giggles. Need I go on?”

 

Tim looks at you wide-eyed and speechless. You shrink a little as he continues to gape at you but you keep looking him in the eyes daring him to refute your claims. Really what was there to say? As much as he wants to come up with something witty to snap back at you, his chest is too crowded with warmth from the absolute sincerity of your voice. He knows you didn’t set out to make him fall deeper in love with you but he feels like he’s in free fall with your gravity pulling him downwards. Tim can feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears. 

 

You shrink again, your mouth twitching. “I-” Another calming breath. “I said too much. But my point stands!” The infinitesimal gap he felt between the two of you practically vanished. Still, he could do nothing but stare. Words fail him in the most inopportune moments even when you look so desperate for any kind of response.  You swallow thickly looking like you think you’ve ruined everything when the fact was you haven’t. Quite the opposite really. Tim feels like he could take on the entirety of Gotham’s rogue gallery right now. Still, his brain was drawing a blank. 

 

“Mood,” His brain has short-circuited and is now beyond repair. His palm is in his face before he even sees your reaction. You give him an entire speech about how great he is and all he can say is ‘mood’. Looking over at Steph and seeing her phone on her hands, he can tell she’s already transcribing the events to the group chat. Well, It can’t get any worse. 

 

You giggle snort eyes slamming shut from the force of your laughter. Joy suffuses throughout your tense body, loosening your tense muscles. “Thank you for proving my point,” you say between gasps.  

 

Tim falls victim to the infectious smile spreading on your face. He feels the warmth crowding his chest grow fuzzy. 

 

Now’s your chance.  

 

Tim takes a steadying breath. He rolls his shoulder back to straighten his posture. He waits for you to calm yourself a bit. When you do, he asks as confidently as he can “Are you free this Saturday?”

 

“No,”

 

Oh crap. He knew he screwed up. He feels cold seep into his feet.  

 

You shake your head at his panic. “I work Saturday, ET,”

 

“Oh, I-”

 

“I have all of Sunday off though,” A hum of excitement spreads through his limbs. “Name your time,”

 

“9 AM?”

 

You give him a look roughly translating to ‘You aren’t going to lose sleep over a date, so help me’.

 

“11:30?” He corrects. You smile and hum seemingly making the oxygen in the atmosphere disappear. He finds that he doesn’t mind, not when he feels like he’s floating on zero gravity. 

 

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

Bonus: 

 

Steph: Tim’s a dumbass😌🙃

Damian: Thank you for stating the obvious, Brown. 

Step: 🙄 Do you wanna hear about it or not?

Dick: 👀We’re listening…

Steph: (Y/n) made this whole speech about Tim and all Tim could say was 'mood' cycgu9c8ychic8td 5d8fcouv9ygpuv

Jason: F

Duke: F

Cass: F

Babs: F

Dick: F

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

Thanks for reading!!!!!

Taglist:

@idkmanicantenglish, @batarella, @batarella-mini, @birdy-bat-writes, @anothertimdrakestan, @founduebitches , @lucy-roo

[laceymorganwrites]

Dämmerlicht - Satoru´s part

Word count: 3,880

Pairing: Satoru x reader 

Warnings: implicit manga spoilers, I don´t spoil what happens directly but like the way Satoru behaves and such, swearing

A/N: I hate the ending, but we all know you´re not here for good writing sksksksk

Masterlist

Taglist: @dixonsbugaboo​ @kenmasgameboy​

Honestly Satoru didn´t even remember how he ended up at the Dämmerlicht. But that was just the magic about this place, it didn´t matter where you came from or where you were going.

It was a constant in his life that he didn´t want to miss.

He was used to taking only the side streets after a mission, especially after a shitty one like this.

Satoru didn´t want to be seen by anyone, he just wanted to be left alone and go home. Usually he didn´t get lost, after all he knew the city better than most people, hell he knew it better than anyone else, he knew all the nooks and crannies you didn´t wanna lay eyes on, knew where you could get the best food without being completely robbed off your money.

But most importantly he knew the city better than he ever wanted to.

He saw things nobody else did and while it made him the strongest, it was also lonely at the top.

And scary.

Being forced to grow up way too fast resulted in him never being able to actively deal with his fears and overcome them.

Instead he learned to kill and obliterate whatever the elders told him to, without even questioning it.

There was a time in his life where he really did believe them, and then an even worse one where he knew something was fishy but he was just a child that couldn´t do anything about it, he was too scared to dig his nose too deep into things.

It was quite funny when those were to become the things he was most infamous for.

But here he was, strolling around the empty alleys of Tokyo, stalling time for no reason and all of them at the same time.

He wanted to go home so badly, he was tired but home meant going back to the school and staying in his shitty dorm room he never left even long after graduating.

Sometimes Satoru hated this life, he didn´t want to be a teacher, dragging children into this mess that they had nothing to do with and watching them die, unable to do anything about it.

No, he just wanted to grab them and send them far away from this world, to a normal high school life without curses.

It wasn´t their duty to clean up after the mess that the elders got themselves into.

He came to think that he never really had a home, just empty duties and shallow promises that didn´t mean anything.

The thought should make him sad but he couldn´t even laugh at how pathetic it was.

Satoru sat down and rested his head on his arms above his knees, trying not to think about anything.

To no avail.

An annoyed groan left his lips as he leaned against the cold stone wall which really shouldn´t move, but here he was, falling into the Dämmerlicht, earning a lot of confused and even amused looks.

“What´s all the ruckus?” you called out, standing up from your chair in the office in the backroom and making your way to the front to inspect the situation.

Satoru was beyond alarmed when he looked around, immediately getting into fighting position.

What were so many curses doing here? Was this some kind of hideout? Did they kidnap you?

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, gritting your teeth. Of course the man in front of you was no stranger, in fact he was all too familiar to you as you defected from being a sorcerer.

How did he find this place? You thought you hid it well enough… it wasn´t supposed to end this way, your mission barely started. It wasn´t fair that he was sent by them, that´s what you thought at least.

“What is this place?” he asked, his disgust being very clear.

“Why the hell would I tell you? You´re not welcome here” you stood your ground, trying your best to defend your customers who also were in quite the panic at this point.

Satoru Gojo was no stranger around here and he wasn´t the hero other sorcerers painted him as either.

“Tell me one good reason why I shouldn´t kill everyone here in this instant” he stated, his voice as cold and devoid of emotion as ever.

Just like you imagined. Luckily you never ran into him before, but honestly… the current situation was anything but ideal.

“Because they´re innocent! I won´t let you lay a hand on my customers” you replied, looking for a way for everyone to escape safely. You wouldn´t stand a chance for even a second in a fight against him.

“Innocent? You gotta be kidding me!” he exclaimed, scoffing in disbelief.

“Oh come on, you´re not telling me you believe the bullshit your elders preach, are you?” you chuckled, though you stayed on guard. You couldn´t be careful enough, even though you couldn´t feel any malicious intent, but that didn´t have to mean anything.

“Why would they lie to me? I´m the strongest” he said, though there wasn´t any conviction in his voice, it would be sad if it wasn´t Satoru Gojo.

“That´s precisely why… you need to learn a few things about your world, it isn´t all what you make it out to be. You´re just a puppet on a string, a convenient weapon to the elders, that´s it. The sooner you realize that the sooner you can do something against it” you told him, watching his stern expression. He sure didn´t expect to hear something like this.

But he needed to.

“You don´t know what you´re talking about, who the hell are you even to say such things?” he called you out, you could already tell that this was going to be a long journey.

Maybe he wasn´t ready to hear those things yet, to accept them, but that didn´t make them any less true.

“It´s not important who I am, what is important is that you start questioning yourself and the world around you. I´ll see you around” you said, a knowing smirk on your face. “How are you so sure I´ll come back? I might as well just tell everyone about your little bar here” Satoru pondered, you were a strange one, but there was no danger he could feel, maybe that was why he was so uneasy, usually he detected danger everywhere.

Maybe he only did because they told him so, but he needed to think about this conversation first before he could make a decision.

“People like you always do” you replied, only confusing him more.

Satoru left the bar and went back to the school, not even greeting anyone and immediately retreating to his dorm.

Luckily everyone left him alone.

He couldn´t stop thinking about your words even a few days after he visited the bar, somehow you could read him like a book and that thought scared him.

All he had to protect himself was his false confidence and honestly, it was lacking these days.

It wasn´t like he never thought about it, about the elders and the way they taught, the way the world was supposed to work in their eyes and the way it really did.

And the worst thing was that they didn´t even make the world a better place, far from it.

Satoru doubted the environment he grew up in a lot, but there was no way to escape from it. If he did, if he even did so much as think about it, they would find him.

The elders would make life even more hell for him and his friends.

Back then he thought that they were stronger than him, it´s what they told him after all, but in reality they just contained him.

The first time he refused a mission happened about a week after your encounter and it felt like freedom.

He was so scared at first, but when he realized that nobody could do anything about it, it was like a revelation.

Satoru could do whatever the hell he wanted, who said he´d teach the way he has been taught? No way in hell would that happen.

No, he´d teach his students about the real world, he wouldn´t let them fight his wars and let them die, he would protect them.

It felt weird not trying to justify everything that went wrong around him but at the same time he felt so much lighter.

In the past few days he kept walking to the Dämmerlicht, it intrigued him, but he never dared to step foot in it again, he was too embarrassed.

And yet it was inevitable.

It felt way too familiar to cross the curtain, the invisible barrier that only few could cross.

“Took you long enough” you chuckled, watching him enter.

Satoru didn´t feel put on the spot this time, he felt oddly calm, like he belonged, truly belonged, not just because of his strength but because of him as a person.

And honestly he didn´t even know who that was anymore.

Maybe you´d help him figure that out.

“Oh come on, you didn´t think I´d give in just like that, did you?” he smirked, immediately feeling at ease.

“Of course you wouldn´t… but you´re here now, that´s all that matters” you smiled at him.

“What is this place anyway? You never told me” he looked around the bar, seeing curses and sorcerers chatting, they didn´t pay him any mind anymore, it all was so peaceful, like a dream.

He smiled, maybe that´s what this was all about, to protect the dream that life once could be like this.

It was a nice thought.

“It´s a safe space for those who don´t conform with the elders as well as a center of liberation and perhaps one day rebellion. But besides all of that it´s something I´ll protect with my life” you told him, sounding so genuine, it softened his heart, a foreign sensation he didn´t know he was even capable of.

“I´ll protect it too” he said without thinking, making you chuckle slightly.

“What gives?” you asked, wasn´t he against this bar just a few days ago? It was quite strange, maybe he did tell the elders and was sent as a spy.

Perhaps you really shouldn´t trust him as easily as you did, but it was too late for that now.

“Cause I´ll go fucking crazy if I have to listen to another word the elders say” he stated coldly and sounded so honest that you doubted he was a spy.

But then again, he was the strongest, depending on the elders´ hold on him he could be well trained in lying and infiltrating.

“You were already thinking about it the first time you were here, weren´t you?” you laughed slightly, the pieces were coming together one after one.

Satoru Gojo truly was an interesting person, though not all rumors you heard about him seemed to be true. And you were glad they weren´t, if they were you and the bar would be in big trouble.

“Maybe, maybe not. What´s it to you?” he sighed, he didn´t like it when people read him, when he was forced to show his vulnerability.

It made him feel weak. And he hated and craved that feeling at the same time.

“I don´t know yet… though you´d be the best ally and worst enemy to have” you pondered, watching him.

He seemed tense and at ease all at once, it was weird, like he couldn´t decide. Perhaps he didn´t want to.

“So you´re trying to sweet talk me into being your ally, I see how it is” he grinned, jesting with you.

“We both know that wouldn´t work on you” you smirked.

It didn´t take long for him to feel comfortable.

You showed him around the bar and introduced him to everyone, not that they needed an introduction.

It was nice that everyone could loosen up now and relax now, the time of uncertainty about where he stood really took a toll on everyone.

People stopped coming to the bar out of fear.

Though now everything changed.

It actually felt as if you were getting somewhere, like you were making progress, with Satoru on your side your dreams seemed more like goals that were actually achievable.

He helped out a lot in the bar, be that with cleaning or running errands. And if it wasn´t for him, you would´ve never actually made it your active mission to defy the elders.

Everything went by so fast with him, time was flying but at the same time it didn´t feel rushed, it was just right.

Satoru had a way with words, he could always brighten the room no matter what but he could destroy it just the same.

Though you didn´t think about that second option, he made you forget all about the possibility of being an enemy. He was too genuine, too kind, too helping.

He seemed like he actually cared and you believed him.

Besides, he was way too lighthearted around you, always joking around and then looking at you for a reaction, not minding if you rolled your eyes and smiling knowingly when you failed to suppress a laugh.

You were so incredible cute. It made him forget all about his duties and failures, about the corruptions and evil in the world.

He could listen to your laugh all day, it was the most beautiful sound he ever heard.

You made him feel at ease, a feeling so foreign to him it almost was alarming if it wasn´t for you.

Falling for you was so easy, he didn´t even notice it until it was too late.

Satoru knew better than to catch feelings for someone, it would just distract him and endanger them. In his mind he told himself it was okay with you since you were from the same world.

He felt so special and warm when you told him about your past and connection to everything, when you told him about all the reasons why this was so important to you and how you knew that there was good in everyone, even curses.

That destiny could screw itself.

You always found the right words to make him smile and being unable to stop.

Sometimes you caught him staring at you but he stopped trying to look away at this point, what was the harm in following his heart for once?

He had a charming smile and knew just what to say to make your knees weak, you should´ve known it was too good to be true.

And yet you found yourself in his embrace every so often, entranced by his words and enchanted by his kiss.

Usually your gut didn´t betray you but Satoru Gojo was a special case, he never gave off malicious intent willingly, he could hide his true intentions better than anyone you knew and that was precisely what made you so intrigued by him.

You made it your mission to get behind his mask, to see what truly moves him.

It was only a matter of precaution at first, never in a million years did you think you´d fall in love with him along the way.

But Satoru made it way too easy.

And who were you to resist him? He was just way too charming for his own good, made you laugh and made you feel safe when you needed to cry.

Being with him was like a dream you never wanted to wake up from and yet all good things had to come to an end.

“Babe there´s a new bakery that opened, we need to go there in your break!” he excitedly announced, making you chuckle.

He was always so aloof, it brought you peace.

Of course it made sense that he was that way, he didn´t need to fear anything or anyone for he was the strongest. But still, you worried about him.

Worried that he had too much weight put on him, worried that he didn´t take enough time for himself.

As soon as you took your break, he practically dragged you with him, not wasting any time.

“You know the bakery won´t run away, we don´t have to rush like this” you chuckled, holding onto his hand.

“You don´t know that!” he gave back with a mischievous grin, making you shake your head slightly, giggling.

The building itself was quite small, but only on the outside. It did give quite the cramped impression since it was located on a busy street, but on the inside it was rather cozy.

Everything had a vintage flair to it and the displayed baked goods made your mouth water.

Satoru and you decided to test everything through the days.

Moments like these were so peaceful, you craved them both more than anything.

It was hard to see each other for more than ten minutes every day, sometimes you didn´t see Satoru for a week or even more.

But as soon as he returned it was like he never left, time was flying. And he always did make time for you, after all the elders´ words didn´t mean anything to him.

Though he did have to obey to a certain extent to stay a teacher.

You two sat down at a table and tasted the most recommended pieces first, they were absolutely delicious, not too sweet, but just the right amount.

It was the kind of sweetness that immediately made you giddy and energetic.

Satoru proceeded to tell you about his day and mission which was successful, you liked listening to him but you also got to know his quiet side. You always thought people who talked too much were arrogant, but Satoru taught you otherwise.

He never spoke about himself and if he did it was far from highly. Instead he talked about your future, the future of the world, his friends and students.

Just now he was talking about his new student Okkotsu and how he was the prime example of the future you both dreamed of, a future where curses and sorcerers could get along.

“He´s getting used to everything, I think his classmates like him too. Even Maki´s not as distant with him. I hope you can meet them some day” he told you, sounding so proud, you just couldn´t help but smile softly and take his hand, caressing it.

He went on to talk a bit more while eating with you and you just listened. It was so peaceful, you wished this moment would never end.

Being in a relationship with Satoru was casual and meaningful at the same time, it was like taking a walk in your favorite part of the city and discovering a new shop.

It was familiar yet exciting and you just got lost in it.

But getting lost was always more fun with someone like him by your side, though you really didn´t want to get lost with anyone else at this point.

“I love you” you quietly said without thinking about it, a dreamy smile on your face.

A few seconds passed in which neither of you said anything, everything was frozen in motion, you didn´t even dare to breathe, stuck between being scared of his reaction and regretting ever uttering those words.

You were such an idiot, you haven´t even been dating for that long. It wasn´t even that serious.

“Ha, you said it first” he smirked, a jesting sound in his voice, but his happiness was just as clear.

Love was more than just a foreign concept to Satoru, it might as well have been nonexistent, a relic long lost.

But hearing those words out of your mouth, sounding so sincere, he couldn´t help but smile.

“Hey! What´s that supposed to mean?!” you complained, pouting a bit.

“Nothing, nothing, it´s just nice to know that you´re just as obsessed with me as I am with you” he reminisced, his head resting on the palm of his hand.

“So you do too?” you hesitantly asked for confirmation, you didn´t want to pressure him since those words didn´t come easy for everyone, but even still, the way he said this made you think he did.

“Do what?” he asked perplexed, absentminded.

“Do you love me too?” you asked, not meeting his eyes.

Satoru thought about that question, he thought you knew he did, but then again, he felt it himself, the impact, this wonderful feeling of joy and ecstasy that he didn´t know before.

“Of course I do. I love you with all my heart, well, what´s left of it anyway… I don´t think I knew what love was before knowing you. But you know, you make me feel like I´m not as fucked up as I think I am, like I´m worthy of something. Even more than that. You somehow think I´m worthy of your time, of you overall. You, who are so kind and beautiful and just way too good for this world. Nothing measures up to you, absolutely nothing. I can never even dream of finding the right words to do you justice, to elaborate on just how much I love you” Satoru has never been this honest in his life. Not because he lied to deceive others, but because not facing his inner and most true feelings protected him from his paranoia and fear of losing loved ones.

Though at this point it was more of a curse really.

You didn´t know what to say after that, his words left you speechless. After all what were you supposed to say after such a magnificent declaration? You were simply in awe of Satoru, taking his hand into yours and caressing it gently.

After a while you finished eating and went back to the bar.

In a matter of seconds the happy atmosphere turned into something dark and gruesome.

Your hold on Satoru´s hand grew stronger as you two rushed to the scene.

It was horrible.

The bar has been replaced with a gaping hole of rubble, your colleagues and friends were trying to save themselves currently, dragging others out underneath the rubble.

“We don´t know who did it… It was like a meteor, we didn´t see anyone though. Everything just collapsed out of nowhere” the bartender told you in shock, tears streaming down their face.

“Is everyone alright? Is anyone still in there?” Satoru gathered his composure quickly, gaining an overview of the situation and taking initiative on what to do next.

And so you left with everyone, went into hiding for a while at the same time as relocating the Dämmerlicht to a safer position.

It was a slow process, but nobody saw you, nobody followed you, so it was worth it.

Satoru went to investigate with a few others, they found out it was an enemy curse and exorcised it.

Because of its high grade it operated alone, sparing you from any further trouble.

Seeing everything destroyed made you feel incredibly lost and hopeless, but those feelings were soon to be replaced with those of excitement and safety as you realized that no matter who attacked, you would always make it out of it.

You all would always fight back, just because the initial building was destroyed didn´t mean your dream was.