#THIS IS THE ONLY FIC FOR THAT PAIRING

[improvapocalyps]

You have 90 minutes to complete. (original poem: r.a.)

In participation of the MCYT Recursive Exchange 2024 hosted by @mcytrecursive!

Inspired by know that all my love will be your breath (i will save you when your lights go out)

[text under cut]

1. Have you ever been in love? (Please circle your answer.) a. It's me and him b. Our hearts beat in sync c. Our lives intertwined

2. Do you understand what you’ve done? (Please circle your answer.) a. I couldn't do anything b. I lost my balance c. I doomed us both

3. It's been god knows how long since you felt phantom hands on your neck and there is no one in sight. If you were soul-bound to him and both of you died at the same time then why are you still waiting in the void? Please answer clearly, in full sentences. (Not a correct answer：I just wanted to see him one more time).

4. Define two (2)： Fate | The feeling of his forehead against yours Curse | The moment you realise he isn't linked to you anymore

5. True or False： i. It was your fault. ii. You wish you had met him under different circumstances. iii. You can’t regret a single moment that you had him. iv. You would do it all over again if you could. v. It ended long before either of you said anything.

thumbnails:

sketch cover thing for imgur link:

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

HOW DEEP IS YOUR DEVOTION? ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

word count; 6.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, royalty au (..but no effort put into making it historically accurate in any way oops), knight!reader x prince!toru!!, childhood friends, mutual pining, fluffy overall, some hurt/comfort too, vague allusions to abuse (reader is punished by one of the castle maids as a child but it’s only really hinted at), knight!reader is horrendously devoted but prince!gojo is arguably worse, he would burn the world down if u asked nicely <3

a/n; big big BIG thank you to @/teddybeartoji for having the biggest brain in the galaxy and infecting me with this concept <33 if u pay attention while reading you can tell the exact moment i started slowly spiraling into insanity

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

five years old, a mere child, and too young to be blinded by such brilliance. too young to be where you are; curled up in a dark alley, back against a grimy brick wall, covered in bruises. like a beaten dog — scrawny and afraid. waiting for a strike that never comes.

the boy in front of you is also five years old, but you don’t know that. something in him looks older, somehow, something in the way he carries himself. like he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. like he’s never even felt fear. he parts his lips and speaks like he has the right to, like he’s comfortable in his own skin, a radiance so blinding you could mistake him for the sun. too much for you to bear.

”does it hurt?”

the words fall on deaf ears. but you flinch, your body reacts, a tremble down your tiny spine. you hear the sound but not the words. too mesmerized, too paralyzed, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes, painted with rich watercolour hues. seeping into the world around you like ink on paper, cobalt and aquamarine and something else, something you’ve never seen before —

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

the boy has an innocent face. almost girlish, plump cheeks and long lashes, clean clothes and smooth skin. a little too pretty to be out here, you think, in this part of town — too pure to be anywhere near someone like you. he’s above you, that much you can tell. a pretty, innocent face, untouched by dirt or ache; the face of royalty. an entirely different species.

there’s something keen in his eyes, a contrast to his childlike features. a sharp gaze, something that sees through you, something that won’t look away. something mildly frightening. enough to have you cowering in fear, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

but then he smiles. and it’s sincere. sweet, vibrant, all honey and milk and a world you cannot reach.

a smile so captivating you take his outstretched hand, and let him drag you away to god-knows-where.

(that's how it begins. the dynamic that’ll follow you into your adult lives; satoru takes the lead, and you follow. no matter where he’s going.)

satoru gojo, as you soon come to learn, is the prince of the nation you reside in. the only child of the royal family, born with talent and prestige, fame and fortune, set to become king. a different species, indeed.

but he brings you home with him, to a castle so grand you feel as if your very presence is an insult to the architects who designed it, and convinces his parents to let you stay. it’s surprising, but you don’t protest; following him like a puppy at his trail. and he’s stubborn, insistent, demanding that he get to keep said puppy. 

the king and queen don’t care one way or another. they glance at you with apathy, and tell satoru to do what he wants — but convincing the scary and displeased castle maids takes some work. 

satoru doesn’t waver, though. he holds your hand in his, and demands that you be treated with respect.

and he wins. he always wins.

that’s how you become the prince’s playmate. raised alongside him, allowed to stay close, eat from the same food. he won’t settle for anything less. defending your honour, always, before you even know what honour means. before you care.

time passes slowly. joyously. every day is a new adventure, as you attempt to get used to the miracle that is your new life — sweet and silky, apricot blossoms and fresh peaches, duvet pillows and a bubbly laughter you didn’t know you still had. he coaxes it out of you, with every secret midnight outing, every bout of mischief he drags you both into. 

satoru has nice hands, uncalloused palms, fingers that grasp yours and don’t let go. he takes you outside, to see the stars, to catch fireflies in the dark of night on top of the hill that oversees the castle. to take a dip in the river just below it, gleaming a silver hue under the blue shade of the moon. you worry about getting in trouble, but he reassures you — the prince can do what he wants.

that might be true, but you are no prince. not even close. satoru may safeguard you, but all you’ll ever be in the eyes of the world is a stray he got to keep.

and one time, only one time, you do face the repercussions of your midnight outings. you, and you alone. a bad influence — seething words, buzzing in your ears. an angry castle maid, and a stinging pain in your cheek. blurry tears. 

but that’s an incident no one in the castle dares to speak of.

(you’ll never forget that look in his eyes.)

satoru is an odd boy. he keeps you close, always, clinging to you like he needs you to breathe. you don’t understand why, but you’ve learned not to question him. the castle guards all know you as the prince’s best friend, and some part of you knows that’s all you’ll ever amount to. but you don’t mind.

because you love him. at five years old, six years old, seven and beyond, you love him. satoru gojo, the kindest boy in the stratosphere. 

a boy who keeps finding you, no matter where you are, who tugs you along as naturally as the rise of the sun. who raids kitchen cabinets with you and always makes you laugh, little giggles and chuckles that have him beaming proudly. a boy who cleans your wounds with a serious expression, and tells you that he’ll protect you forever. 

(you tell yourself the same. that you’ll protect him forever and ever, until you run out of air to breathe. a boy so sweet you’d die for him.)

a pledge is made. you make it before you know what a pledge is. pledging to protect him, to become his sword, because even as a child you understand that his life will be difficult. you see it in the dullness that sometimes comes over his eyes, the apathy of his so-called parents, the hours he spends locked up with nothing but a pile of dusty books to keep him company. 

so you decide to become his knight. his, and his alone. 

it’s challenging. but you push through; training with another aspiring knight, miles better than you, black hair tousled by the breeze as he knocks you off your feet for the thirtieth consecutive time. wincing as the girl who sometimes watches your sparring patches you up, soft hands cleaning your wounds so tenderly that you almost choke up.

and eventually, as the apricot blossoms of the castle orchard wilt and bloom over and over in a flurry of pure white, your dream comes true. 

there’s something playful in satoru’s eyes, when he places his blade on the curve of your shoulder. something sweet and fond, and just a little bit ironic — as if you’re still seven years old, and playing house. 

you want to tell him that it isn’t a joke. that you’re serious, about this, that you’d tear your stomach open to keep him safe. but you know he’d just laugh. so you let the words clog up your throat, honey-sweet devotion sticking to the walls of your esophagus. breathing in through your nose, as he speaks. as the words you’ve waited to hear flow from his glossy lips.

when all is said and done, satoru smiles. he calls you his little knight, and you can tell that he’s teasing you. indulging you, as if he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. but you’ll take what you can get.

you call him my prince, expecting him to laugh it off, but his smile begins to fall. and a pang of ache rushes through your soul, instantaneous, guilty, although you don’t understand why.

so you keep calling him satoru. even though it’s more than a little unprofessional, and you become painfully accustomed to receiving a few judgemental looks here and there. a knight and a prince shouldn’t be so very close, they think, and you don’t disagree. but there’s nothing they can do about it, anyhow.

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

not much changes. you’re his knight, but he treats you the same as before. he’s playful, a little goofy, and you indulge him. as always. attached at the hip, bickering and bantering, bouncing off each other effortlessly. and satoru never bothers to hide your history, the soft spot he has for you; it’s in every fleeting glance, soft tilt of his head, teasing call of ah, there’s my favorite knight. 

(you’re no stranger to jealous looks. sometimes a pout on the lips of a pretty girl, a crease between the brows of one of your fellow knights. and sometimes a glare, from his fiancée — a woman he was engaged to before he was old enough to speak.

but you don’t mind. you’ve never cared what anyone but satoru thinks of you.)

satoru never loses his smile, that effortless air of confidence. the charm that makes people want to follow him, a charisma you know well. one you fell victim to at five years of age. he’s still just a prince, far from being a king, but he receives the same respect.

and that keen, sharp glimmer in his eyes never quite goes away; the hardened shell around his heart unbroken. you see it in fleeting glances, during meetings, ones he allows you to attend despite your status. when he speaks to a room of people with more power than you can imagine, his voice unwavering. back straight. elegant, serious, the presence of royalty — enough to receive respect without even trying. 

but he still shoots you a smile, easygoing, when your eyes meet. one only you can see.

as for you, the step into knighthood is a clumsy one. but you take your duties seriously, and adjust properly. a deep devotion runs through your veins, from your beating heart down to the tips of your fingers, where a sword lies clutched. you keep it close, always, ready to serve. to obey. to protect. 

all of it for one person.

all you do is for him. duels in his honour, beasts slain for his peace of mind, and he’s always there to welcome you back. wiping the blood from your cheek, tenderly, smearing his untainted skin with red; all while he looks at you softly, a coo or word of praise waltzing on the tip of his tongue. 

that’s only for when you remain unscathed, though, when the blood on your cheek isn’t your own. when you get hurt, it’s different — something begins to brew inside his eyes, and you can’t tell what it is. but he insists on bandaging you himself, paying no mind to your meek protests.

sometimes, you’re more reckless than usual. your injuries worse. sometimes he looks upset, angry with you, and doesn’t speak. you don’t, either.

a strange look comes over his eyes, every now and then. when you get down on one knee, to kiss his hand, the metal of the ring on his finger — and if you look up, you’ll see it. simmering inside those blue depths, something just as fond as it is sad. troubled, you think.

(something tells you he’d kneel, too, if only you’d let him.)

the bond between you remains intact. even as you begin to shoulder more responsibilities, more duties, even though you don’t have as much freedom as you used to. even though you seem to get less time to spend with each other every single day. but you stay together, even so; just like when you were children, running around and causing trouble, more than you could get away with now. 

despite everything, satoru has grown up into a fine man. and you couldn't be prouder.

“do you think i look good in black? be honest.”

you throw him a glance. curious, somewhat perplexed, eyeing him up and down.

satoru is wearing a white blouse, puffy sleeves and a low neckline, showing off the skin of his bare chest. no black colours to be seen. you think back to that banquet he attended last month, forced into an expensively tailored black coat. a corset around his waist. and then you hum.

“sure you do.”

”suguru said it makes me look like a try-hard,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. tilting his head in your direction. ”do you think he’s jealous?”

”definitely.”

a moment passes. 

satoru narrow his eyes, and gives you a dubious look. clicking his tongue. ”… something tells me you aren’t taking this seriously.”

”i am,” you assure him, a lazy smile at your lips. meeting his gaze, that displeased little pout. still smoothing a brush down the mane of your horse, the smell of hay soothing your muddled senses. ”just tired. you look good in anything. you know that.”

he hums. silent, the sound of a spring breeze filling in the gaps.

it’s late. outside the stables, the world is engulfed by a dark sky, almost too murky to see anything. hazy stars glimmer in the distance, and a sense of fatigue gnaws at your bones. it’s been a long day, and yet you’re here — doing even more work. just a little more.

and satoru’s right there with you. even though he’s just sitting there, on the floor, not lifting a finger to help. not that he has to. insistent on spending some quality time with you, keeping you company. just talking and munching on the food he snuck in, bread and cheese and an expensive bottle of wine, that he leaves completely untouched. he tries to leave some of everything else for you, though. keyword being tries.

a sense of peace simmers in the air. palpable, almost enough to taste, as midnight air streams in from the opened doors, chilly and pleasant on your skin. ruffling the thin fabric of your clothing.

and it’s nice, you think, just to have satoru there — talking about this and that, complaining about all the annoying people he had to meet yesterday, yawning every now and then. nostalgic. like this, it almost feels like you're still kids. back when you spent every single hour of the day by each other’s side.

it’s been a long time since you got the chance to speak like this. satoru’s been busy, and so have you. more so than usual.

”are they running you ragged?” he suddenly asks, and you don’t realize you’ve spent the last minute staring into space. resuming your brushing, with steady hands, but turning your head to meet his gaze.

”need me to…” he makes a slicing motion with his hand, right over his throat. a glint of mischief in his eyes. ”handle it?”

and you scoff. amused, but answering him seriously; unsure if his question is all-together humorous, if it doesn’t carry a hint of something genuine too. ”of course not.”

there’s a weariness in the way you blink. the way you pet the animal in front of you, having finished getting the dirt and blood clots out of her mane. she lays down in her stall, and you smile. turning around to rest your back against the wooden border between you, a respite for your aching bones.

it gets just a little bit tiring, sometimes. fighting, patrolling, helping townsfolk. protecting the castle, making sure everything is in order. killing whatever needs to be killed. cleaning the stained silver of your sword.

but…

”it’s my duty,” you answer, seriously, and it comes out sounding like a vow. because it is. 

you avoid his gaze, but you can feel it, as you pick up the wine bottle by your feet and pop the cork. soft moonlight flits in from the windows, illuminating the green glass. a chartreuse glow that reminds you of fireflies, shimmering in your grasp, and for some reason it soothes your heart.

satoru only hums, far from approving. popping a piece of cheese into his mouth. 

after a brief pause, he continues. ”you don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know.” his voice comes out a little raspy. it’s got a certain tilt to it, one that means he wants you to take him seriously. ”not around me.”

you take a sip of the wine. expensive, blood red. it’s too sweet for your taste, heavy on your tongue.

”… i’m less serious with you than i am with others.”

satoru sits up a little straighter.

”yeah?” he grins, a kind of satisfaction blooming in his eyes. cerulean and sweet. almost smug, you think, like the cat that got the cream. ”that’s good. you really should loosen up, though.”

a glance. fleeting, just to see him — but he isn’t looking at you. he’s looking outside, through the opened window, at the sway of the apricot trees. white petals flitting in, landing by his feet. in his hair.

when his eyes meet yours, they’re smoothed over by that something you can never put your finger on. a blend between longing and fondness. crinkled at the edges.

”you’ve got a pretty smile,” he exhales. ”be a shame not to show it off.”

when you look at him, really look at him, you see it. that fatigue. it slips out when he talks to you, a sincere way of speaking that never quite allows him to hide his emotions. you hear the hint of a yawn, can practically feel the weight on his shoulders. the weight of an entire nation. a weight he was always bound to carry.

(you could never bring yourself to be even remotely alright with it.)

“have you been doing okay?” you ask, and satoru blinks. there’s a soft look in your eyes, as they trail over the contours of his face, his lashes catching the light of the stars. an innocent, pretty face. but he looks tired. frail. like he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

”they’re running you ragged, too,” you say, hand settling on your hip. where your sword usually is. unconsciously, on instinct — or maybe just to make him laugh. ”need me to step in?”

satoru chuckles. husky, mellow. dripping with soft amusement.

”settle down, little knight.”

a moment passes. silent. his eyes flutter shut, for a second, and a breath slips from his lips. almost a sigh. in the distance, you hear the quiet coo of an owl. 

”of course,” he eventually answers, opening his eyes. and you think he looks a little resigned. but smiling. self-deprecating, you think, although he’d like you to assume otherwise. ”all of it is just preparation, anyhow.” 

a flimsy smile, as he looks into your knowing eyes. ”it’s what i was born for, wasn’t it?”

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time. 

“yeah,” he cranes his neck, emitting a low groan. “me neither.” something sweet blossoms in his eyes, sweet like the crunch of the apple he bites into, juice dribbling down his chin. ”but it is what it is.”

a beat. you part your lips, trying to find the right words. ”tell me if there's anything i can do,” you settle on. the same words you always choose. ”anything at all.”

satoru smiles. “right.” his voice carries a teasing tilt; almost a purr. ”there’s nothing you wouldn't do for me, hm?” 

“— there isn’t.” you smile. “nothing at all.”

he blinks. a little dazed, for a second, and you watch as his ears redden. slight, enough for you to notice, but gone before you can bring it up. a contemplation smooths over his features. and a pleasant breeze flits in, ruffling his hair, apricot petals kissing up his skin. he looks at the apple in his hands.

then he sighs. placing his palms on his knees, and rising to his feet. his arms twitch, muscular beneath the flimsy blouse, and you gulp. although you aren’t sure why.

“alright, then.” his eyes flicker in the dim light, sharp and decisive. he crosses over to you with long strides. “there is something you can do.”

when he’s close enough, satoru reaches out his hand; opening his palm. a silent beckoning. you look at him, not saying a word. his expression is unreadable. 

then you intertwine your fingers with his. unquestioningly, even in the midst of your confusion.

(it reminds you of that day. when he pulled you up to your feet, held your hand in his and refused to let go. leading you to the promise of something better.)

no matter where he goes, you follow.

and satoru grins. it’s sweet, just like back then, a smile so vibrant you wish you could tuck it into your sleeve and keep it there forever. he curls his fingers around yours, gentle, fondness bubbling up inside his eyes. for a second, you think you see the sun.

“come with me.”

at first, you truly aren’t sure where he’s going to take you. hand in hand, you begin to walk, feeling the midnight breeze nip at your skin. beyond the castle walls, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby town. satoru holds your hand and smiles, tousled tufts of white hair swaying with the wind, leading you to a place you know well. a place where the air tastes like freedom.

it’s the river you used to play by as children.

gleaming a solemn silver under the evanescent moon, framed by bushes of lilacs, blooming indigo and violet and pure white. butterflies flutter about, almost glittering, blue wings settling down on the leaves. the scent of nectar hangs heavy in the air. on top of the hill just above you, you think you can spot tiny little glowing dots; green and yellow, buzzing around. dancing merrily, now that there aren’t any troublemaker children left to trap them.

satoru lets go of your hand, to roll up his sleeves. the hems of his pants. then he’s taking a step forward, dangerously close to the edge of the river, and you can tell what he’s thinking.

“ah — wait —“ you stumble forward, to grab hold of his arm. a worried crease forms between your brows. “that's dangerous, satoru. you could slip and fall.”

he turns to face you, a teasing mirth in his eyes. smirking lightly. “oh? is that so?” he hums, a slight tilt of his head. then he’s stepping closer, so close you feel his warm breath on your skin, but you will yourself not to step back. “wanna know what i think?”

he leans forward, just a little further, warm air brushing against the shell of your ear. flushing beneath it. his voice comes out low, a sleepy lilt, dangerously raspy. hand ghosting over your waist.

”i think you’re too scared to get in.”

you blink.

”… really?” you deadpan, stepping back a tad. satoru looks pleased with himself.

“really,” he purrs. “you were always like that. could barely dip your toes in without shivering.” he reaches out to pinch your cheek, a coo on the tip of his tongue. ”scaredy-cat.”

you raise an unimpressed brow. satoru steps back, inching closer to the river, until a quiet splash tells you that he’s standing in the water. lapping up his bare legs, not enough to even reach his knees — it felt a lot scarier when you were smaller. he’s still holding your hand, very loosely, fingertips ghosting your own. 

“c’mon,” he coaxes. soft, encouraging, a playful glimmer in his eyes. teeth catching the light of the moon. “or is it too much for my brave knight to handle?”

satoru laughs, when that makes you furrow your brows, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks. a warmth spreads through your chest at the term of endearment, and you bite your lip. melting a little. 

his knight. his favourite knight.

“... fine,” you tangle your fingers in his own. sighing deeply, taking a tentative step forward. “just be careful, okay? i don't want to deal with your whining if you hit your head.”

“ah, but you’d kiss it better, no? if i asked?” he flashes you a honeyed grin, eyes rich with amusement. you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red of your ears.

a grumble buzzes in your throat, locked behind your pursed lips. something in your jaw goes tight.

the man in front of you softens. parting his glossy lips. he says your name; slowly, thoughtfully, as if savouring every syllable. dragging them out, speaking with a lilt that tells you he’s being sincere.

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

and it’s odd. how easy it is to get lost in him, the watercolour of his eyes, the brightness of his grin. how pliantly you let him whisk you away. before you know it, you’re playing in the water — because satoru splashed you, laughing at the shock on your face and the shiver of your spine, and you had no choice but to retaliate. 

the sound of his laughter fills the air, sweet and bubbly. deep and giddy. strands of hair stick to his wet skin, droplets running down his neck, but his grin never falters. bright and toothy, boyish. he looks younger than you ever remember him being. like there’s no weight on his shoulders, none at all, only soaked fabric weighing him down. a flimsy, see-through blouse.

you think it’s ridiculous. two grown adults, splashing each other like children. but his melodic giggles are contagious, and before you know it, you’re laughing too — and satoru looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. through dewy eyelashes, with cerulean eyes that melt into the pale blue of the moon and the silver of the river. filled with wonder.

a particularly ruthless splash knocks him off balance, and he has the instinct to reach for your arm; stumbling, slipping, dragging you down with him. you land on his chest, cheek against his neck, his pulse against your skin. erratic, joyous. fluttering happily. his chest is heaving, lifting you up and down, a little, rhythmic and comforting. 

a sudden yelp slips past your lips, as you get snapped back into reality, into the realization that you basically just pushed your own prince into a river and used his unfairly soft chest as a cushion. a mumbled string of apologies escapes you, as you attempt to get up, scrambling to find footing.

but satoru wraps his arms around you. tucking you under his chin, keeping you flush against his chest. nice and still. 

and then he sighs. a blissful little breath, fatigue seeping out of him. into the air. 

“stay like this, for a bit,” he rasps. ”it’s okay.”

his heartbeat resounds in your ear. warm and rapid, like claps of thunder, coaxing you into closing your eyes. satoru has always felt so very safe. the water of the river is cold, seeping through the fabric of your clothing and sticking to your skin, but…

(he’s warm.)

silence. and then, a whisper; frail, slipping past his lips, gently slicing the silence in half. softer than you've ever heard him speak.

“i missed this.”

…

nuzzling into his neck, you breathe him in. he smells like sandalwood and dried roses, buzzing with warmth, heavy arms around your waist. solid. when did he get so big? you used to be taller. 

then again — that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

“… me too.”

“missed you,” he continues, his jaw on top of your head. it’s a sincere confession; childlike in its innocence. “missed hearing you laugh like that. feels like it’s been so long.” 

you stay silent. unsure of what to say. satoru continues, and you let his husky voice carry you away, the tremor of his chest running through your entire body. soothing like a lullaby. 

”we haven't had much time together, lately. i’ve been worried,” he admits, and something about it strikes you as rather sheepish. a little ashamed. ”it bothers me that i can't be there to watch over you. make sure you're treated with respect, you know.”

a sleepy chuckle. muffled into his shoulder, almost a scoff — slightly exasperated. little droplets cling to his skin, sticking to your lips.

”relax, your majesty,” you tease. ”i promise the other knights aren’t bullying me.” 

satoru pouts. you can hear it, when he speaks. ”i’m serious,” he huffs, squeezing you lightly. ”and it’s not them i’m worried about. suguru’s there.”

another scoff threatens to escape your throat. you want to tell him the only knight that should be suspected of bullying you is suguru himself, but before you can even think to part your lips satoru’s beaten you to it.

”they all treat you so carelessly.” there’s something cold to his voice, an irritation tugging at his teeth. oddly seething. ”like you exist to serve them. like you’re disposable.” 

a moment passes, heavy with a silence so thick you don’t dare break it. when he speaks again, it’s an order. a demand. 

”i want you to tell me if they go too far.”

silence. again. you can do nothing but gnaw at the flesh of your bottom lip. 

(he isn’t wrong. but that’s simply what it means to be a knight — half-human, half-weapon. an unattainable ideal, stuffed inside a suit of armor.

when a weapon breaks under the force of a slash, the only choice is to throw it away. that much you know.)

”it’s fine. i’m not that fragile,” you weakly protest, but it’s not enough. satoru huffs.

”you’re a human being,” he reminds you. strangely stern, for once. chastising. ”you deserve to be treated with respect. knight or not. fragile or not.”

a deep inhale. he breathes in, and the rise of his chest carries you with it. his voice buzzes with something, a slumbering kind of fury. one you haven’t heard in years. 

“if anyone gives you trouble — if anyone hurts you… if anyone makes you feel unsafe,” he almost spits the words, like they’re venomous, sacrilegious. ”tell me. i’ll destroy them.”

silence. and then, a chuckle.

that’s all you can manage; that one meek little breath. resisting the urge to cower, at the love that clings to every word he speaks. angered affection. a promise, dangerously genuine, like a growing wildfire. ”i can take care of myself, satoru,” you remind him. hoping it’ll soothe him. ”you know that.”

but his grip around you only tightens. gentle, even still. as if you’re made of glass, a firefly cupped in his palms. he lets the silence linger, for a moment.

and then; 

“i’d do it, you know.”

“… do what?” you ask, though some part of you already knows. 

satoru’s reply is instantaneous. an arrow hitting its target, cold and concise, decisive. frighteningly honest. almost a growl, flattened, a hint of teeth behind his soft lips. ”destroy them. anyone.”

”i’d tear this nation apart if you asked me to.”

…

(ah. that look in his eyes — one you remember well. strung together with blurred memories, the sting of a palm on your cheek, a castle maid you never saw again.)

you search for the words. biting back a gulp, hesitant. “… i wouldn’t.”

“i know.” satoru yawns, breathing you in, voice shifting back into the softness you’re so used to. your shoulders relax. “but i would. if that’s what you wanted.”

and it’s a little scary, the depths of his devotion. but you’re almost certain you’d do the same for him. maybe you're both a little sick in the head, a little too eager to serve your hearts on a silver platter.

“it bothers me, you know.” satoru breaks you out of your thoughts. gentle, a soft lull of his tongue. ”when you get hurt. when you fight for me.”

“i know,” you murmur. you’ve seen it in his eyes, a worry he’s not as good at hiding as he thinks. ”i want to, though.”

“and i want you to be safe.” a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, just a little bit rueful. “you never listen, do you? so stubborn, i swear. always worrying me.”

you bite down on your lip. he sounds… a little sad.

“… sorry.”

a moment’s pause. then he shakes his head; cradling you close. “it’s fine. i’m here. always,” his palm runs down the small of your back. ”in case anything happens.”

he inhales. ”and when i become king —” a beat. he swallows thickly. ”you’ll never have to worry again. no one will be able to touch you.”

”satoru,” you crack a small smile. amused. raising a single eyebrow. ”i’m not worried. i can protect myself.”

”i know. but i’m saying you don’t have to.”

and then he’s pulling back. just a little bit, just enough to see you. cheek smushed against his chest, comfortable and soft, more unguarded than he’s seen you these past few months. it’s enough to get his heart racing. enough to have him reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your hand, tangling your fingers together. bringing it to his glossy lips. a chaste kiss, brimming with unspoken murmurs of love.

”— i’ll protect you forever,” he vows. ”remember?”

there’s devotion in his eyes. heavy, a vow he’ll never quite be able to voice in full. something that makes the blue of his eyes glow even brighter, cerulean, aquamarine, a blue so jarring it makes your heart beat faster than it should.

you blink. starstruck, caught in a daze, lost within that sea of blue. distracted by his warm breath on your cold skin, the soft whisper voiced against your knuckle. something shy blossoms in your chest, enough to have you averting your gaze. 

“... you really don’t care about the dynamic here, do you?” is all you can reply. a meek scoff, a weak attempt at hiding how flustered you are. “i’m the knight. i’m your protector.”

“oh, i know.” a smile sticks to his lips, playful, the back of his hand caressing your cheek. a coo on his tongue. “my little hero. what would i ever do without you?”

a roll of your eyes. satoru chuckles. in the distance, you hear crickets chirping, a breeze rustling the lilac bushes all around you. he’s still cradling your cheek, smoothing over your wet skin, brushing a drop of water away with his thumb. clinging to your bottom eyelash.

“i don't get it, though.”

you blink. when you meet his eyes, satoru looks a little perplexed. muttering under his breath, absently rubbing circles over your cheekbone. you resist the urge to close your eyes again, biting back a blissful sigh.

”a prince shouldn’t care for his knight…” he repeats, like he’s heard the string of words a million times before. ”the idea of that. i don’t understand it. never have.”

the smile that blossoms on his lips is soft, indescribably so, as if he’s looking at the most precious thing in his life. rich and warm, like wine in your veins, nectar on your tongue, a chest pressed against your own. dripping with fondness.

satoru tilts his head, as if in confusion — but he’s smiling. “what’s so strange about wanting to protect the one dearest to my heart?” 

…

his hand slips from your skin, a warmth leaving your cheek. only to search for your hand, again, cradling it in his larger palm. placing it right over his chest, against the soaked material of his blouse. ”feel that?”

you do. a rhythmic rise and fall, a soft flutter from the depths of his ribcage. as if it’s itching to break out, out of the cage that binds it, the hardened shell around it. a heart too big for his body.

”it’s you,” satoru whispers. ”all for you.”

a moment passes.

silently, you lean forward; tucking yourself into his neck. into that comforting warmth, wet skin beginning to dry, the steady thrum of his heart right by your ear. you listen. not saying a word, afraid of what might leave the confines of your strangled throat. it feels as if your heart has begun to crawl upwards, sweet honey blocking your airways, and all you can do it feel it pulse. 

all while satoru gazes at you, fondly. placing a big palm on the back of your head.

fireflies dance in the distance. butterflies flutter about. strings of lilacs bloom under the glow of the moon. and satoru’s heartbeat never changes, never falls out of tune, a sound you would recognize even if the sky were to shatter, if the world were to end. the sound that saved you, the boy who dragged you out of hell. into his light. 

satoru gojo is everything. he’s the beat of your heart, the silver of your sword, the reason you believe in goodness. he’s your prince, your favorite person, and you’ll protect him until your very last breath. until the world runs out of oxygen.

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

(a boy so sweet he wouldn’t want you to.)

a shiver runs down his spine — sudden, a shudder of his bones, and a quiet little sniffle. you feel it, hear it, and don’t attempt to bite back the fond smile that slips into the curve of your lips.

”c’mon,” you beckon, almost a coo, placing your palms on his chest to hoist yourself up. ”let’s go home.”

but satoru shakes his head. and then he traps you again, strong arms around your waist, pressing you against him. you could escape — you’re almost certain you’re stronger — but you don’t quite have the heart to. ”it’s fine,” he huffs. almost a whine. ”stay.”

”you’ll get sick.”

”i never get sick.”

a deep exhale. tumbling from your lips, just a little bit humorous. mostly exasperated. ”that can change,” you mumble, fingertips dancing along his exposed skin. absentmindedly.

a smile. one you can’t see, but you hear it clear as day. he sounds content, like he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. ”some things never change,” he informs you. pleased. ”just look at us.”

and he’s right. so you don’t say anything else. 

but your heartbeat quickens, only for a beat or two, and you’re almost certain he feels it. if he does, he opts not to tease you for once, and you’re grateful. and so the silence lingers. as if time has begun to freeze, into an eternal dusk, a string of silent seconds. broken only by low melodic chirping from faraway fields, his soft breaths in your ear. 

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

“hey,” he hums, shifting a little, the river swaying around you. pulling back to meet your gaze, eyes crinkled and voice raspy. “wanna know a secret?”

you raise your head. a dubious look on your face, one that has him breathing out an amused puff of air, like you’re getting ready to hear a bad joke. “... what is it?”

before the words have fully left your throat, he’s resting his forehead against yours — breath fanning over your lips. a pleasant shiver trails down your spine, at the close proximity, goosebumps spreading across your chilled skin. only exacerbated by the whisper that follows, so quiet you almost don’t know if you heard him correctly. childlike in its sincerity. a sunlaced smile woven in between the vowels.

“i think i was born to meet you.”

(a sentiment so sweet you barely even feel the warmth of his lips meeting yours.)

[lesbian-cowpoke]

So I'm CONSTANTLY bringing up this issue, where it's the first appearance of Stephanie as Robin, so let me just show it to yall.

It is so so real to me. Tim's parents love him and he loves them. Bruce and Steph work together well. Steph wanted to kill her dad because he killed her mom. Bruce respects Steph and saw greatness in her. STEPH CALLING BRUCE DUSKY!!! Steph being respected. It is so so important to me. This is my Batman and Robin.

[stealingyourbones]

Gonna start making another DPXDC writing challenge where I’ll make a bingo card generation that contains super popular tropes in the fandom.

The goal is to not write said tropes. Bingo of tropes to avoid and even more of a bonus if you do a blackout board on the tropes you didn’t do.

Reply with the most common DPxDC tropes ya can think of so I can add them to the Blackout Bingo List :)

[emeraldcity1900]

radiostatic is a ship in the same way that the titanic is a ship: it’s sinking, tilted on one side and it’s underscored by banging music for some reason.

[theratking-heheheheheh]

I read a fanfiction crossover where they were the main ship and it was glorious hasn’t been updated since 2022 I don’t think but it was glorious so in celebration and morning I drew this👹



[rocksama24]

Mr. Popular

The guy was ranked in the top 5 world wide popularity poll—why is there so little fanfic about him???

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Can you talk about your thoughts on hinny? I have no problem with people shipping it but to me personally it just doesn't work. It feels like Rowling tried too hard or maybe just wasn't good at writing romance and messed it up. Maybe it was too rushed? The ship doesn't work for me but I'd love to hear your views.

Okay, sorry it took a while to answer this, I actually have a lot of thoughts and I have posts on some of them that I hope to get out soon-ish. I also wanted to go back to the books to make sure I'm not talking out of my ass. But I don't like Hinny, never did. And my reasons are kinda divided into three categories.

Disclaimer: I don't have anything against anyone who ships hinny, it's just really not my thing and I don't see it working with the way I see their characters.

And that's like the core of it. I just don't see Harry and Ginny as compatible on a character level. That and their relationship never really read as believable to me in the books.

The 3 categories I mentioned are:

Harry's character

Firstly, I think Harry is gay. Not bi, but gay. I think he was never actually attracted to a woman and I have a whole post to prove it. So, because that's how I read his character, I just can't really see him with any girl.

(Now, I don't think JKR intended for Harry to come off as gay, but he did)

Secondly, he never thought about Ginny, like, up until book 6, and even during large portions of book 6, he just isn't thinking about Ginny as a potential romantic interest. And when he does think about Ginny in the final two books it never reads like he really likes her. It reads like they decided they are dating, but I don't think Harry knows why he supposedly likes her. He just decided he does, but doesn't know why. It was kind of the same with Cho, where he said he had a crush on her and was nervous around her, but if you asked Harry what he likes about her, his answer would be: "Ehh...."

Like, Harry doesn't really seem to know why he's dating Ginny, and neither do I. It's just how it's written.

2. Ginny's character

So, this is again my opinion, but I don't like Ginny. I just don't like her character. I wish her off the page whenever she talks.

And, when it comes to shipping, for me, I need to find both the characters involved interesting and fun for me to explore to ship them together and care about the pairing. As I don't like Ginny and don't really care for her, I can't really ship her with anyone, not really. It's not even like I hate her (not the way I hate Dumbledore), I just find a lot of her actions and behavior iffy and she annoys me more often than not.

I'm not going to list everything I don't like about Ginny (some of it appears in the rest of this post). But her treatment of Fluer, for example, really soured her character to me. Like, sure, Ginny's young, but, she's 15, and by that point, I think she should take responsibility for being awful to Fluer who was nothing but nice to all of them. Envy is not a good look for Ginny.

3. How they are portrayed together

Like I mentioned in the Harry section, their romance just never really felt there to me. The descriptions were off and left me feeling annoyed at their scenes together more than anything else.

Again, I'm writing a more comprehensive post about it, but the gist of it is that Harry's thoughts about Ginny in books 6 and 7 are weirdly detached for a supposed crush at best or outright uncomfortable for me to read at worst.

Now, we know Harry can describe characters he finds attractive in greater detail. There is none of that detail with Ginny. He only mentioned her hair color and that her hair is long and smells nice. Like, he doesn't talk about her eye color, her facial structure, eye shape (like he does sometimes with characters he does find attractive) — nothing. He doesn't even call her pretty once! At least he referred to Cho Chang as pretty twice in the series.

In the books there is never a scene (not even one) that convinces me they should be together. Like, they have no chemistry. They kinda remind me of Ron and Lavender tbh. They make out and are present in the same space often, but they never talk. Not really. I don't think Ginny actually knows Harry all that well because he never honestly talks to her about anything real. They don't really have chemistry or a relationship, they're just together. At least, that's how I always saw them.

And yes, Harry has his jealousy moments (that are portrayed so weirdly I always narrow my eyes at them to make sure they were actually there, but that's a whole other post about Harry's chest monster of jealousy), but he still doesn't really explain what he finds in Ginny. He doesn't mention she's attractive or pretty at any point, nor does he mention anything he particularly likes about her personality (except that she doesn't weep like Cho and is good at Quidditch. Neither of which are particularly good basis for a relationship).

Like, Ginny mentions why she likes Harry and that she does multiple times. Harry by contrast, just feels so incredibly uninvolved in his own relationship, to me.

Also, personally, I just find the setup of their relationship iffy. Like Ginny outright says she never gave up on Hary and always knew they'd end up together. It means, that since she was 11 (or earlier), she was crushing on Harry, never gave up on her crush, and considered them ending up together fate. She dated other guys to make Harry jealous and pay attention to her, and that's just really gross. I don't like her long obsessive crush on Harry or her treatment of the other guys she dated on her way to get Harry.

Proof of that, for those wondering:

“I never really gave up on you,” she [Ginny] said. “Not really. I always hoped. . . . Hermione told me to get on with life, maybe go out with some other people, relax a bit around you, because I never used to be able to talk if you were in the room, remember? And she thought you might take a bit more notice if I was a bit more — myself.”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 647)

She literally said she dated other guys so Harry would take notice of her. That just grosses me out.

So, no, I don't like Hinny (or Ginny).

[not-your-bro]

as climbing class has waned in popularity i've seen (justifiable) criticism of certain fic setups & tropes, and to a extent i agree with a lot of them. but honestly i'll go to bat for josh allowing himself to be helped/cared for.

i've seen this disparagingly called "caretaker chris," and i guess if you think chris is such an asshole that he's incapable of being considerate or caring, then we are on different pages. but i feel like people think that these fics weaken or reduce josh's character. and i'm not saying individual fics aren't capable of mischaracterizing him (i don't even like my own josh characterizations, in my old fics), but i don't agree that this setup inherently does that.

it's different than canon josh, but to me it's an intentional progression. in canon, josh keeps his shit locked down. an obvious example is that he clearly loves and dotes on his sisters but does not want them to know what he's going thru, considering how long it is before hannah finds out. he's also harsh asf to sam if she says that his actions are a cry for help - like i know he's Going Thru It and all, but he just fucking mocks her lmao. at best he wants to shield the people he cares about from these parts of him, and at worst he's just going to bite the hand that reaches out.

........which is exactly why i enjoy allowing him to see that vulnerability isn't weakness, and that it's ok to accept help + care when you need it. this can happen in any universe, in any context, bc i think his desire to close off and/or bite the hand are core character traits that are not dependent on canon events. but my point is, this is growth. or it can be, when done well. bc josh's canon attitude isn't healthy lol. i obviously love an unhealthy guy as much as the next person, but sometimes its satisfying and cathartic to see your fucked up fav take a step forward.

[enlitment]

Camille Desmoulins and Maximilien Robespierre – doomed by the Revolution?

a second part of the answer to the ask kindly sent by @iron--and--blood - first part can be found here

Okay, so I tried to follow the sources and I ended up missing what is arguably the key question. I think that there is enough evidence that warrants seeing Camille and Maximilien’s relationship as a ‘friendship torn apart but the revolution’, but could it in fact be something more that the chain of events of the mid-1790s ended up destroying?

(aka the good old “were they gay?” question)

It’s probably not surprising to anyone that there is no conclusive evidence that would suggest that either of them was definitely queer or that they were involved in some kind of a relationship. For context, the French Constitutional Assembly did decriminalise homosexuality, since there was simply no mention of private same-sex relationships it in the penal code of 1791.

Of course, there would still be a stigma surrounding queerness, seeing how France was a Catholic country – well, up to that point. On the other hand, it is also important to remember that anyone who received a higher education at that time would be well versed in classical authors (Greek and Roman that is), so they would have a framework for a positively viewed queer attraction/relationship (I'm mostly thinking of a kind of Alcibiades/Socrates vibes here. I think it sort of fits? Well it does in my headcanon anyway...). Camille especially seemed to be really into classics, making references to classical authors, history or mythology in approximately every other sentence.

CAMILLE – VICES HONTEUX AND A POSSIBILE BICON

If we consider Camille, I think it is clear that he was attracted to women. I think that the historical sources show that he genuinely did love his wife - Lucile - although it may also be true he was bit of a cad. There is a whole deal with him and Lucile’s mother with whom he apparently exchanged some flirty letters? I honestly need to look into it more at some point.

That said, attraction to women of course doesn’t exclude attraction to men. The one thing that would suggest Camille might have pursued a same-sex relationships is the reference to “vices honteux“ (shameful vices), which Saint-Just claims were attributed to Camille by Danton. We also learn from Robespierre’s note that this refered to something that was ‘totally unrelated to the revolution’.

So we know it’s something that would be seen as ‘shameful’ behaviour, but nonetheless a private matter. Could it be interest in same-sex relationships? It’s of course hard to say, but the theory is not completely implausible. For a discussion about this, I recommend this article.

MAXIMILIEN – A CONFIRMED BACHELOR?

With Maximilien Robespierre, it gets a little more complicated. He was essentially a confirmed bachelor, living with a family that adored him but that was not his own (and also a dog. He had a dog.) Talk about a found family trope!

Some sources claim that he was engaged to Éléonore Duplay, but Robespierre’s sister for one vehemently denies this. It’s true that he could probably easily have married her – I can’t imagine her family being opposed to it, far from it probably – but the fact is that for one reason or another, he did not.

He also didn’t really seem to capitalise on his massive popularity among the Parisian women. (Though, to be fair, neither did Rousseau and he was… well I guess he was his own version of heterosexual.)

Sure, one can interpret that as Robespierre being a workaholic or putting the revolution above everything else, but I personally think it is very possible that he would be considered to be on the asexual spectrum by today’s standards.

That said, although France was moving away from institutionalised religion at that point, Catholic guilt could certainly play a role, especially in someone who prided himself in his moral conduct and was told to be rigid about the rules. So the possibility of him being closeted as an explanation for his lack of interest in women would also not be completely off the table.

As to Camille and Maximilien being together in some way? I think there is certainly a precedence for this type of relationship in adolescence. Seeing that they have studied together (and shared enthusiasm for classics probably), it is not impossible, though of course, it is highly speculative.

I think it is also fair to say that Robespierre went above and beyond for Camille until the last few months. That is something he probably would have not done for many other people. He actually said as much himself:

“Learn, Camille, that if you were not Camille, one could not have so much indulgence for you.“

Was it because Camille was universally liked by the revolutionaries for all the good he has done? Possibly, but I think one can also read more into it. It certainly suggests that Camille was special in some way, and the fact that Robespierre uses ‚one‘ instead of ‚I‘ does not necessarily mean he is not speaking about himself here.

CAMILLE AND MAXIMILIEN IN THE MEDIA

When it comes to media portrayal, the relationship often comes across as queer-coded - to an extent.

In La Révolution française, this aspect is more prominent between Robespierre and Saint-Just, but with some well-timed smiles and glances, it almost reads as a tragic love triangle between the three. There are some unfortunate implications however, mainly that the hints of Robespierre's queerness in the movie are implicitly associated with his descent to tyrany. Ugh. (And let's face it, a kind of effeminacy linked to villainy as well. Honestly, who thought that kind of portrayal would be a good idea? Kudos for making a historical movie about the French Revolution come across as homophobic I guess.)

Hilary Mantel straight-up makes Camille Desmoulins bisexual (ish?) in A Place of Greater Safety, though there are <a lot of> issues with that portrayal, as discussed here (watch me linking another mutual's great post! Frevblr is truly the best). Not sure how the relationship with Robespierre is presented here since it’s one of the books I’ve been in the middle of for months.

And then there’s Stanisława Przybyszewska of course. She would honestly warrant a separate post, but long story short: in her works, there is no doubt about the fact that she portrays the relationship between them as queer. She invokes the Erastes/eromenos dynamic between them (quite explicitly, referring to Camille as an ephebe at one point) and makes the attraction between the two seem palpable. There is plenty of queer (under)tones to be found in The Danton Case, but in Last Nights of Ventôse , she straight up interprets the fall of the Dantonists as Camille running into Danton’s arms to spite Robespierre for snubbing him and rejecting his devotion (romantic advances?). And it gets quite physical – not in a way that would warrant an E rating, but it would certainly deserve one for the sheer emotional intensity.

[doodlyreone]

Episode: Ayo, the new guy looks like a sausage

(Also Also check bottom of tagssss)

Untexted images under cut:

[mestos]

Man I don't even know. Deleted the last post because maybe I'm too hasty, seen how insulting it can be to be accused of AI generating shit, but my god! I cannot help but feel so much more for writers—writers who use words to craft their art, already fighting for a place in a world that prioritizes visual language/graphics over their medium, writers who are much quicker to be criticized than artists, writers who have to find a way to hone their crafts just so they keep your attention all the way to the end of their stories, writers who have no other means to present their creation and being told to pick up an entire other skill just to be appreciated in a community space, writers who are so much easily more exploited by AI generation because their medium is TEXT.

I don't fucking know dude. Sometimes it feels like people are fighting against AI art but not AI generated writing, voice acting, music or any other creative medium because visual graphics/language takes more precedence in this world, and everything else is secondary to it even though we are constantly preaching that all mediums are considered art

[jamietwat]

Time loop fic set during season 2 when Jamie’s back around but Roy isn’t coaching yet where it takes Jamie and Roy an embarrassing amount of do-overs before they finally realize they’re both caught in it because for days Jamie goes over to Keeley’s place and antagonizes Roy in basically the exact same way because he thinks making the same stupid old man jokes all the time is funny anyway and any slight changes in conversation he just assumes is because he showed up at a different time or worded his own end of the conversation a little differently but Roy’s still basically saying the same grumpy old man shit anyway

And Roy makes basically the same retorts every time because he stands by it and he assumes Jamie shows up at slightly different times looking for Keeley as a butterfly effect of his morning with Keeley being different but that there’s no escaping him showing up to be a little bitch at some point

And like they both sometimes tell people but not the same people on the same version of the day so Keeley individually thinks that both of them are losing it on different versions of the day before eventually they both mention it

And then on like day 5 of the same day over and over Jamie doesn’t show up and Roy is irrationally angry about it but thinks it must be somehow connected to the fact that he was acting absolutely insane with Keeley trying to explain what’s happening while she thought he was fucking with her and somehow that made her brush off Jamie and him not show up or something?

And it takes Jamie showing up at 100 and just tearing Roy apart and going on about what a dick he is (which isn’t unusual but isn’t how this routine goes) and weirdly fixating on how he was excited to meet Roy but then he ended up just being an old washed up prick that never even gave him a chance because Jamie figures he can just show up, yell at Roy for all the reasons he’s so fixated on being a little asshole with a grudge against Roy in particular to get it out of his system, and then never have to deal with any consequences of Roy finding out about the whole embarrassing having been a big fan and expecting it to be so cool to play on a team with him just to immediately get offended that Roy didn’t give a shit about him and his bullshit and so Jamie ended up hating him thing

But instead Roy just scowls at him and is like “that’s not what you’re supposed to say” and Jamie’s like “…what.” And Roy’s like I’ve done this day like ten times already and either I make Keeley think I’m certifiable first thing in the morning and you don’t show up or else you show up looking for her and then make the same completely uncreative old man jokes at me and Jamie’s like what the fuck I’ve been doing this same day over and over and you’ve been making the same shitty jokes that weren’t funny the first time over and over again

And Keeley’s just sitting there watching this like “Are you two fucking with me? I can’t believe you two got along long enough to plan whatever the fuck this is.” And honestly, the fact that she couldn’t imagine them ever getting along to plan this stupid joke and agree on it is the main reason she actually starts to believe them that time in an okay either I’ve completely lost it or you two are stuck in a time loop kind of way and when she starts going on about how every time loop movie there’s like a moral the person has to learn and maybe they’re both caught in it because they’re supposed to learn how to get along and be friends and Roy’s supposed to take Ted’s offer and that’s how Jamie finds out about the Ted trying to convince Roy to coach thing

But they’re both like fuck no absolutely not, that’s not it and I’d rather be stuck in this stupid fucking loop forever than voluntarily spend time with him let alone get along (as if Jamie hasn’t shown up to annoy him practically every version of the day and Roy hasn’t just been sitting there waiting for him every time) and then they actively avoid each other for like a week’s worth of versions of the same day before they start considering that Keeley might have been on to something but it still takes three more days of pointedly not seeking the other out and waiting for the other to give in first before they run into each other at Ted’s place anyway and finally start actually swapping information they’ve picked up from their loops and what they’ve tried changing to try to get out and discussing ways to try to get out of it while Ted’s just sitting there cracking jokes and making annoyingly similar to what Keeley said comments about how in time loop and body switch things it’s always that you have to learn to see things from another perspective and be nicer to someone you don’t usually see eye to eye with before you can get out (Ted doesn’t actually believe they’re stuck in a time loop though, he’s just going well weird hypothetical but I’ll play along if this almost certainly made up scenario is what it takes for them to have an actual conversation with each other)

[maribat-calendar-events]

Maribat fic recs!

I have decided to start a new event to help us come together as a community where we can anonymously recommend fics we enjoy. I will be posting everyone's recommendations on the last day of every month, so look out for those posts!

I can start:

My favorite fic in this fandom is I Would Like One Family Please by Celestial_Void_the_3rd on Ao3 (@celestial-void-the-3rd).

A bit of a basic rec, but I really do enjoy it! I think that the characters are well-written and interesting. The character interactions always make me smile (for one reason or another...). The recurring gags also make me Very Happy. I recommend it, but PLEASE check the tags/warnings before reading. Thank you to the author for writing it!

Here is a link to a form you can fill out with your own recs!

[cryptocism]

love that Thad interprets inertia to mean continuing at all costs and Three takes it to mean stagnancy, bc theyre both right!! objects in motion saty in motion objects at rest stay at rest just like newton said

exactly yeah! because i knew i wanted Thad to reclaim the name for himself (with the whole "it means what i say it means" mantra) it needed to mean more to him than just a representation of Thawne Legacy Kill The Allens etc.

a reoccurring thing in Frequency that i liked to lean into was this idea of Good Inertia and Bad Impulses (bc Bart and Thad as narrative foils continues to rotate in my brain forever). i think Bart's solo does a cool exploration of both good and bad impulses throughout the run, it's kind of the central conflict of the whole thing, but it's usually in regards to Bart either unwittingly getting himself into trouble or accidentally solving problems by just leaping into everything without thinking twice. but the concept of inertia is pretty exclusively portrayed as negative. which is fair, the phrase "coasting on inertia" is in the lexicon for a reason. but i think it deserved a fair shot - the concept of continuing in spite of everything can actually be a really good instinct when you're in a bad situation. keeping up that momentum, moving forward no matter what, there's definitely something inspirational there that appeals to me.

and an aspect of impulses that didnt get as much spotlight in Bart's solo was the kinds of impulses that recoil at the thought of unpleasantness. the impulse to hide from responsibility, the impulse to distract from pain, to avoid discomfort, etc. (big part of that is because in Bart's solo, most of the worst moments of his life hadn't happened to him yet) so i wanted to explore it a little in Frequency

anyway yeah, Bad Impulses and Good Inertia. which was kinda in conversation with Bart and Thad's dispositions, and how they run counter to typical hero/villain narratives. (Bart doesn't really get people, goes his own way, has pretty emotionally selfish and sometimes violent tendencies when he's pissed off. Thad's much more of a people person, lives for praise and pleasing others, seems to forget to do violence when he's supposed to i.e. that time he put Bart in VR jail even though Bart was completely incapacitated and by Thawne logic Thad should've just killed him. it just... doesn't occur to him as a thing he should do lmao)

[crybaby-bkg]

I’ve been taking crocheting lessons for the past few weeks and I finally made something and I’m legit so proud I can’t stop thinking about it 😭😭😭😭😭😭