#and making my space my own and doing what makes *me* happy (even if that includes blocking other piers shippers i'm so sorry fdjshdf)

[cuubism]

Do It Scared

While he's in the middle of being overstimulated and miserable at a wedding, Dream's meager attempt at finding peace is disturbed by the intrusion of a drunk man from the party across the way. But what first seems like a curse might actually be a blessing, as his new companion is inordinately charmed by Dream, anxiety and all. [Explicit]

--

Dream cradles his glass of wine between his knees, scrunched up as small as possible on the bench outside the venue door. He should have brought his coat. He is freezing. But he can’t go back in. It’s too loud.

He takes another sip of wine. It doesn’t help him feel less fried. It doesn’t help him feel like less of a drag, less of a burden, any less than the worst company in the entire world.

He takes another sip.

It’s very cold. The music at the reception pounds through the doors behind him. He grimaces.

Sometimes, Dream wishes he could be the person who could enjoy it. And not the person he is.

He takes another sip.

The doors across the way crash open. There is another wedding going on this same night, Dream remembers. A man stumbles through the doors, jacket and tie askew, trips, spilling half his glass of wine, but rights himself just before falling.

Dream watches warily. He came out here to avoid interacting with others.

The man shakes himself, straightening his tie. He must be very drunk. Dream wishes he were, too.

Then the man catches sight of Dream moping on his bench. “Shit,” he says. “Sorry. Didn’t realize someone was already sobering up in this courtyard.” He tries to go back inside, but the door’s locked automatically behind him. “Fuck.”

Despite himself, Dream laughs. At least he is not the only one who feels an utter mess.

“Well, was a shit party anyway,” the man says to himself, before slumping down onto the bench across from Dream. “Can I share your courtyard?”

“If you don’t mind me ignoring you,” Dream says.

The man laughs. “Fair enough.”

He sips his wine, what’s left of it. Closer, now, Dream takes in the dishevelment of his hair, and the red tinge to his eyes that suggests he might have been crying. Dream is curious, but doesn’t ask.

“Feels like weddings are supposed to be happy,” the man muses, more to himself than to Dream. He wipes at his eyes. “But.”

“I primarily find them overstimulating,” Dream says. He really should be better company at his own brother’s wedding. But he’s never been very good at it.

“That why you’re outside?”

“When I’m overstimulated, I begin ‘behaving like a cunt’,” Dream says, and the other man laughs, startled. “So, yes.”

Dream can barely manage his social graces at the best of times. And the best of times these are not. The mask has been filed away.

“Alright,” says the other man. “Fair enough. I can’t judge. When I’m sad I start behaving like a narcissistic dickhead. Look, I’m even making someone else’s wedding about myself.”

“Why are you sad?” Dream asks. Weddings make him feel sad, too, but he thinks not for the same reasons.

“Was supposed to get married,” the man says. “Last year. She died. Sorry, don’t think I have the story in me tonight.”

Probably for the best, as Dream would hardly know how to go about responding to it. “I can see why weddings could be traumatic,” he says sagely.

The man smiles, though it’s sad. “Yup.”

He finishes his wine, then says, “It’s Hob, by the way.”

“Oh. Dream.”

“Dream,” Hob muses. “You don’t like weddings either?”

“My complaining will be far less justified than yours,” Dream warns.

“Let’s hear it, I could use any distraction.”

“It is not just weddings,” Dream says. “Social events. They remind me. Of all the ways I am deficient.” Conversation. Interaction. Posture. Occupying a physical space. Coping with stimuli. Relaxing enough to be normal. He cannot do any of it. “I ought to dance, and. Celebrate? Should I not? But. I cannot. I. I cannot do any of it.”

How many times has he been told that he should, and now it is like a one hundred foot wall that he cannot surmount, the years of compounded expectations too great to tackle.

“Do you want to?” Hob asks.

“I don’t know.” Dream can no longer disentangle who he is from who he was told to be. From who he should be. He is trying. But. “I want to… be a person who wants to. Who can. I wish that… I was a person who could dance freely but I. I cannot. I do not know why.”

He waits for Hob to tell him he should just do it. It doesn’t come. Instead he says, “Well, if you don’t dance, at least you can sleep easy knowing your Great Aunt Ethel didn’t watch you shaking it to ‘WAP’.”

Dream bursts out laughing, clutching his wine as the liquid sloshes in his glass.

“I’m just saying,” Hob says, grinning. “I mean, I’m shameless, but I don’t blame you for wanting to keep the twerking away from family eyes.”

“There has not been any TWERKING.”

“Maybe not from you, didn’t see what I was up to.”

“I see,” Dream says, trying to regain his dignity. “You are projecting on me.”

“Would feel better if it wasn’t just me who’s a slut, but oh well.” He takes a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and a lighter. “Fag?”

“Sometimes.”

Hob stares at him. Dream stares back. Hob holds out a cigarette to him.

Dream looks down at it. “Oh.”

Hob snorts. “I like you.” He lights his own cigarette, sticking it between his teeth, then lights Dream’s.

“I’m poor company,” Dream says stiffly, embarrassed.

Hob shrugs. “Good company’s boring as fuck.”

Dream doesn’t smoke, so he just watches Hob. His hands tucking the lighter away, then taking the cigarette from between his teeth, blowing a stream of smoke away into the night.

“Why do you smoke?” he asks.

Hob shrugs again. “Get restless. Settles my hands.”

“You ought to try fidget toys instead to avoid the risk of lung cancer,” Dream says, and Hob laughs so loud that he doubles over coughing after inhaling too much smoke.

Dream takes a tangle toy out of his bag and hands it to him. Hob stares at it incredulously. Then takes it.

He immediately starts fidgeting with it, though, so Dream considers it a win.

“What else you got in there?” Hob asks, gesturing to Dream’s bag.

Altogether too much, according to everyone he has spoken to. “Medication. Headphones. A book, though I’ve felt it might be considered rude to read it.”

Hob laughs. “Maybe. But who cares. Go on and read it if you want, I won’t judge.”

“I—“ Dream realizes abruptly that he had been about to say he was enjoying talking to Hob instead. When did that happen? That is not like him, normally he is so paralyzed by fear and confusion that every social interaction is draining in the extreme.

“I. I like. Talking to you,” he admits, grateful that the darkness hides his blush.

Hob smiles. “Me, too. Hey. Will you be missed if we get the fuck out of here?”

“So you know how long you have to dispose of my corpse?”

“My young life is too promising to be spent in prison,” Hob says, winking. “Got to make sure there’s no witnesses.”

“I doubt my absence would be noted while the bar remains open,” Dream says wearily.

Hob stands, swaying slightly, leaving his empty wine glass aside. He holds out a gallant hand to Dream.

“Come along, darling.”

So often when Dream has been called things like Darling, Sweetheart by others it has felt patronizing. But with Hob it’s… nice. Somehow. Then again, he feels Hob may be quite drunk still and may very well regret his choice of company later.

Still, Dream takes his hand.

“I do hope you don’t simply plan to take us to another bar,” he says as they make their way through the venue, retrieving Dream’s coat. “I do not think my stomach could take it.”

“Nah. Drinking doesn’t help with the sadness,” says Hob with a wan smile, helping Dream into his coat. “No. You said you were overstimulated, so a bar doesn’t really feel like the atmosphere anyway, does it?”

Dream stares at him, speechless. Hob had… actually listened to that. And not simply discounted it as nonsense.

“Am I wrong?” Hob says, when Dream is silent.

Dream clears his throat, feeling overcome. “No,” he says, at length. “Not at all.”

Hob smiles and takes his arm. And they leave the noise and merriment behind them.

-

They end up just walking along the riverside in the dark. Hob lights another cigarette—Dream will have to keep trying with the fidget toys—and Dream watches the embers flare in the dark.

“I didn’t dance much at that wedding either,” Hob says, looping back around to their previous conversation topic. “Eleanor—that’s my fiancee who died—used to love it. Just makes me sad now.”

“Would you have had a big wedding?” Dream asks.

“Small one. She wanted to use the money to go on an extravagant honeymoon instead. Said she wasn’t spending thousands of pounds feeding distant relatives mediocre steak when we could be in the Maldives instead.” He laughs.

Dream dislikes parties, and thinks this is an eminently reasonable position. “I can’t help but agree.”

Hob bumps their shoulders together, but says, “Never did get to go.”

Dream does not ask what happened, though he is curious. He does not think Hob wishes to discuss it.

“Guessing your reasons are different,” Hob says.

Dream thinks it through. “Dancing feels. Emotionally exposing. I don’t wish... to show so much of myself.” He feels tight and uncomfortable thinking about it, and wraps his arms around himself. “I know that may be foolish. And that no one cares as much as I do. I have heard it all before.”

The arguments, the convincing, the pressure, even well-meaning, serves only to make him feel more self-conscious.

He has thought, many times during their conversation, that Hob might do the same.

Hob shrugs. “Don’t have to convince me of your own feelings.”

Dream so often does have to that it has become an automatic impulse.

“I wish that it were easier,” he says, quieter. Every day, the same wish. I wish it was all easier. I wish I could just do it all normally. I wish I could. Exist. Without it being a constant trial. “That it was not all. So uncomfortable.”

“You’re not uncomfortable now, are you?”

“I am always uncomfortable,” Dream says. “But not because of you, specifically.”

“I can pretend you’re not here if it helps,” Hob says. “I don’t even see you.”

“Hob.”

Hob whirls around. “Who said that?”

Dream doubles over laughing. Hob is truly ridiculous. Dream still feels uncomfortable in his skin. But less so than he did at the reception, and that’s a start.

“Tell me honestly,” he says, when he’s straightened up. “Did you bring me out on this walk because you wanted to take me home and have sex with me?”

“Um. Would you be into it if I did?”

Dream thinks about it. It is extremely out of character for him to go home with a veritable stranger. But he likes Hob, and that is equally rare. “Maybe.”

Hob raises his hands in victory. “Not kicked to the curb yet! Thank God, I’m too emotionally fragile to be brutally rejected by you.”

“I do not think you are fragile.” In fact, he is quite charmed by Hob.

“You’d be surprised.” He seems content now, though. “Didn’t actually go to the wedding intending to pick up a cute boy. Just so you know. But I’m happy I have.”

Dream is finding himself happy about it, too, strangely enough. “Where do you live?”

“Oh, not too far. We’re heading that way. There’s a bus stop there, too, if you change your mind.”

Dream huffs a laugh, hands shoved in his coat pockets. He feels nervous at the prospect of going up to Hob’s flat. But excited, too. “You’re very considerate.”

“Just hedging my bets, really.”

Dream decides then that he will go home with Hob. He doesn’t know what will happen, if anything. But he wants to try. To be open to possibility, which he so often fails to be.

“I would like to see it,” he says.

“The bus stop?”

“Your home, Hob.”

“Oh.” Hob grins. “Good. Great. Um. Just around here.”

They eventually do make it to Hob’s building, and up the stairs to his third floor flat. Nerves ping and spin all through Dream’s body as Hob unlocks the door and lets them in. He has never been in this position before. He feels like he might be in a scene from a film, a stereotypical moment, except Dream has never been very good at knowing what comes next in the script. It’s hard to know what he is supposed to do.

He follows Hob into his flat. Lets Hob take his coat and hang it by the door, slips off his shoes. He’s wearing more formal clothes than he normally likes to, in deference to the dress code of the wedding, and feels uncomfortable, but to take anything else off would likely convey something he isn’t certain he’d like to convey. Or. Doesn’t know how to convey?

Hob takes off his own shoes, too, and leads him into the kitchen. Dream takes in everything about his flat, lived in and cozy, soft warm lighting that Dream appreciates. He never feels quite comfortable in other people’s spaces, but he likes it, he thinks.

“Do you want some tea or something?” Hob asks. Now, for the first time, he looks uncertain. He has the fidget toy in his hands again—he must have had it in his coat pocket—and is fiddling with it unconsciously.

“I—” Dream starts. Swallows hard, his throat dry. He takes a hesitant step closer to Hob. Heart pounding.

He doesn’t know why it is always so hard. It is not as though he is afraid of Hob. But he is afraid of… this moment. Of sharing it. Of Hob’s touch reminding him that he is here.

He tries so, so hard, every moment of his life, to forget that he is here, that he is part of things, tries to melt into the shadows, tries not to feel anything lest it all swallow him. People always try to draw him out and it only makes Dream want to cling to the shadows tighter to avoid being seen.

Hob didn’t try to pull him out. He just sat with him there, in the dark courtyard. He hasn’t even turned the lights on in the kitchen yet. There is only the pale yellow one on over the stove. There are still shadows. It feels safer. 

“I. I don’t want. Tea,” Dream manages. He steps in closer to Hob, and Hob lets him come, doesn’t lure him in, but lets him lure himself. Dream gets close enough that he can make out the rich brown of Hob’s eyes, the stubble starting to come in on his cheeks, his hair, messed and fallen from its low bun. He wonders what Hob sees in return, and then tries not to focus on it too much lest he get overwhelmed.

Hob’s hand comes to rest on his cheek, just above his pulse racing in his throat. “Are you afraid?” he asks, brow pinching in concern.

“Always,” Dream says, and rides the wave of it into a kiss.

If he’s going to feel like he’s shaking apart from adrenaline either way, then he might as well do so while kissing Hob. Hob makes a surprised sound against his mouth, but then takes Dream’s face between his hands and starts kissing him back.

His kiss is. Desperate. Hungry. Dream does not know how to be wanted like that. It’s terrifying. But his heart leaps. He wants. It’s so scary how much he wants. He doesn’t know how to be the one who wants.

He grabs hold of Hob’s wrists. Grounds himself, braces himself on Hob. Gasps for breath against Hob’s mouth. Leans into the burning touch of Hob’s hands. It’s all so much. It’s so much.

“I need to—” he gasps, pulling back, lips brushing Hob’s, “I need to. Relax.” A constant refrain for himself. Relax. Relax. You need to relax.

“Why?” says Hob. Dream is utterly overwhelmed and still Hob’s look upon him is all want. “I can handle a live wire.”

Is that what he is? Dream always thinks he is nothing. A ghost. A whisper. A thing consuming itself. But to Hob, he is light and danger and wild unpredictable energy. He doesn’t know how he feels about that. But he likes it better than being a ghost.

Hob’s hands fall to his hips. His thumbs stroke under Dream’s waistband, tug his shirt free, press warm to his skin. Dream shudders, heat rushing through him, starting to grow hard in his trousers, which do very little to conceal his arousal. Hob draws him close, presses their bodies together, and now he can feel Hob’s own erection against his hip.

It’s too much. Hob’s touch. Hob’s body. The air that crackles hot between them. How much he wants. Dream is actually physically shaking. His hands are trembling. The world is spinning. He actually might pass out, and he hates his mind so much.

Normally Dream would stop whatever he’s doing when he gets like this. But now the thought of having to stop is making him angry. And maybe he just needs to have it out with himself. If he needs to have a panic attack, if he needs to have a dizzy spell and faint, so be it, he’s tired of it.

“Easy,” Hob says, pulling back, taking his hands and squeezing. “God, you’re actually shaking.”

“I know.” He tries to calm the surge of anger. He knows better than to try to muscle himself into submission. He knows that fighting that electricity isn’t going to end well.

He tries to breathe. Imagines himself composed of frightened sparks. They aren’t going to go away, not tonight. But Dream knows how to survive them. He’s constructed his whole life into an elaborate grid to keep them from bursting. To keep from blowing the fragile circuit.

Just don’t be anxious. But they are a part of him. They are him. One can’t just switch off a bulb and still have its light. Just don’t be anxious. Just stop it. Just do it.

He thinks of Hob instead. I can handle a live wire.

Dream feels so tense he might start fracturing out of his body. He squeezes Hob’s hands to remind himself that he’s here.

“Can we. Take this somewhere,” he says, words measured, “that doesn’t require standing?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Hob asks. It is, Dream thinks, the first time tonight that Hob has questioned him on his feelings. Normally he gets pushback on everything he says, but from Hob, only this.

“I am just. Very anxious,” Dream admits. Hob looks as though he might say something concerned, so Dream says, “Can you trust when I say that none of this is your doing? This is simply how I am.”

“Okay,” Hob says, and Dream sighs at the easy acceptance. Hob runs his hand through Dream’s hair, down his neck and back to land low again on his waist. Dream’s skin prickles in an entirely different way. “I believe you.”

It is so easy for him. To not try to fix Dream before allowing him to want this. Hob doesn’t try to bring Dream down from his anxious peak, something that wouldn’t work anyway. He lets the current run through him.

It’s so easy Dream almost feels he doesn’t have to fix himself.

Hob brings him over to the couch, sits down and draws Dream into his lap. Dream straddles his thighs, breath shaking. He’s still trembling, but he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to get up. He wants this, this singular, terrifying moment.

Hob unbuttons his shirt with steady hands. Helps him out of it. Dream undoes Hob’s tie, setting it aside, then unbuttons his dress shirt, gradually revealing the shape of his body, strong shoulders, broad chest, coarse hair. He presses his hands to Hob’s skin, mesmerized.

When he gets nervous, he starts to disappear, starts to distance himself from everything around him, but this time he tries very, very hard to stay present. “Touch me?” he asks.

Hob does, hands stroking up and down his sides; kisses the side of Dream’s neck, and his shoulder, and Dream tips his head back, shivering. He is still shaking, god damn him, but Hob seems to trust him, and doesn’t stop.

His hands go to Dream’s trousers, undo the button and zipper, and Dream freezes. It’s so much, to be seen, to be touched, all his senses flying around him in a whirlwind.

He’s hidden his face in Hob’s shoulder. Hob draws him back, kisses him lightly, says, “Try something?” and Dream nods, yes, yes anything, if anyone could direct the chaos of him, he thinks it would be Hob.

Hob takes his tie from where they’d left it aside on the couch, wraps it over Dream’s eyes, tying it at the back of his head. Dream ought to feel more nervous at having his senses blocked but instead everything goes quieter. He lets out a long breath of relief.

“Better?” Hob asks.

“Yes.” Somehow. Someway. It makes him feel less seen. Even though logically, he knows this does nothing to Hob’s ability to see him. Nevertheless. The panic of his body is quieter.

Perhaps when he trusts Hob more, if Hob even wants to see him again after this, he might ask Hob to block his hearing, too, let him forget about all of it and zero in on just the sensation of Hob touching him. For now, he hovers in the middling dark of being temporarily blinded, and listens to Hob’s voice in his ear.

Hob kisses his jaw, up along his neck, biting kisses that will leave marks. Dream clutches to him. He feels he can do little but hang on. Hob’s hands to go his trousers again, and he takes Dream out, holding him carefully. Dream’s breath catches. Hob’s hand is warm and sure as he starts to stroke him, just easy and slow, letting him warm up to the feeling of being touched.

It’s so much easier with his vision gone. It’s like he’s imagining all of this in his own mind, freed of the terrifying, brilliant knowledge of its reality. He can lean into Hob’s touch, gasp against Hob’s cheek as Hob strokes him. He may be starting to dissociate but it doesn’t feel scary, this time. It feels floaty and peaceful.

Hob doesn’t seem to mind taking the lead. He brings Dream’s body higher and higher. Dream hangs on, in the pleasant darkness, overwhelmed. Eventually he hears Hob undoing his own zipper, and his breath catches. Hob takes his hand, brings it down, wraps Dream’s fingers around his length.

Dream holds him gently, cheek pressed against Hob’s, breathing shallowly. Everything is heightened without his sight, every detail of Hob’s body, the precise weight of him in Dream’s hand, the heat of him, the slickness of pre-come at the tip. His heart thunders in his throat as he strokes Hob, as Hob’s hand wraps around his, shows him the rhythm at which he likes to be touched.

“You are so beautiful,” Hob says in his ear.

“I would say the same, but,” Dream says, and Hob laughs, delighted.

“Don’t have to say anything at all.”

He presses Dream closer by the small of his back, arching Dream’s spine, so Dream’s cock is rubbing against him. Wraps his hand around them both at once. Dream moans at the touch, the slide of his body against Hob’s stoking fire within him, so much more vivid than when he touches himself. He’d thought Hob would want… more of him, but this is good, this is comfortable, and safe.

Hob slips his hand under the waistband of Dream’s trousers, palming his ass, bringing him closer, closer. His grip is sure and possessive. Dream falls into his touch, his knowledge, his acceptance.

He’s getting close. He tucks his face into Hob’s shoulder, breathing hard. Hob must sense it, he strokes them harder, faster, crushing their bodies together.

Dream bites down hard on Hob’s shoulder as heat rushes through him, hips jerking into Hob’s hand, utterly overcome as his orgasm races through him. Hob yelps at the press of his teeth, but then laughs. He laughs so easily.

Dream is still floating but feels when Hob’s hips stutter and he comes, spend spilling over their hands. His chest heaves under Dream. Dream takes peace in the rhythm of his body. The strength, sweat, surety of him.

Dream comes back to himself, slowly. And immediate is the rush of embarrassment. How could he—

He kisses Hob’s shoulder where he’d pressed his teeth. “Sorry.”

Hob’s chest rumbles with laughter. He pets Dream’s hair. It feels delightful. Dream wants to lay his head down in his lap and have it never stop. “Don’t worry about it. Just surprised me, is all.” He whispers in Dream’s ear. “I’m more into it than you know.”

“Oh?” Dream is… intrigued.

“Mmhmm.” He nuzzles Dream’s cheek. “You liked the blindfold.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

Dream wonders what’s going through his mind, though he expects, if he sticks around long enough, he will find out.

“Feel better?” Hob asks.

Dream is not so shivery now. Not so utterly keyed up. Electricity spent. “Yes.”

“Good.” He touches Dream’s belly, where his come had landed. “This is going to get uncomfortable quick. Come on.”

He helps Dream up. Unties the tie from around his eyes. Dream almost wishes he wouldn’t, but he doesn’t want to walk into a wall, so he allows it.

When it’s gone he’s met with Hob’s gaze on him, and it’s so indulgent and adoring that he immediately wants to hide away again, take back the blindfold, put on his shirt, before his heart races itself into a early grave. But Hob takes his face between his hands before he can turn away.

Words tumble from Dream’s lips before he can think them through. “Have you... been with anyone since your fiancee passed away?”

Hob’s expression turns sad, and Dream feels bad for asking. “Few one night stands here and there. Nothing that really mattered. But this.” He leans his forehead against Dream’s. “I don’t know, Dream. It feels like it matters.”

The words are like pure restoration washing through him. “I feel the same,” Dream says, with a breath of relief. Of course, he does not have one night stands to compare it to. This is not a thing he has historically done. But still, it feels significant. That he even wanted to feels significant. The way Hob handles him feels significant.

Hob smiles, and kisses him, soft, shallow, but sweet. Far too adoring, Dream thinks, for what he understands a one night stand to be. It utterly terrifies him. He leans into it anyway.

“Come on,” Hob says when they part. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Dream follows him, hand in hand, messy, exposed, ever-nervous, but strangely, at peace.

[lynzishell]

Prev // Next

Transcript below the cut:

Atlas: No.

Asher: Atlas, c’mon, at least think about it. Atlas: There’s nothing to think about. It’s too much.

Asher: Well, we’re running out of options, and you know they’d be happy to help. Atlas: That’s not the point.

Asher: [breathless] If this is about your pride or some shit… Atlas: It’s not. I’ve already agreed to move in with them to save money. I’m not asking them for a loan on top of it.

Asher: It’s an interest free loan. Vendor: Can I help you? Asher: Yes, can I get six of these frozen peaches, please?

Atlas: Interest free or not, it’s a loan that we don’t know how, or when, or even IF, we’d be able to repay. Asher: [sighs, defeated] Fuck. No, you’re right, we can’t do that.

...

Atlas: There’s no way our storage unit is going to hold all this furniture. I can probably sell the couch. And maybe the bed too since you already have one there. Asher: You don’t have to. My parents are clearing out a room upstairs for you.

Atlas: Why? Asher: Because I know it’s not going to be easy for you living with so many people. The house will never be empty, so I wanted to make sure you have your own space in case you need time alone.

Atlas: … Asher: What? Is that okay?

Atlas: I love you.

Asher: [laughs] We’re never gonna finish packing if we keep taking breaks. Atlas: You’re the one always telling me it’s important to take breaks. Asher: Hmm. Good point.

[vintersang]

In the beginning of making my blog for Elsa, my dash felt cozy and pleasant. I was making new friends, slowly combating my shyness. It felt fun to be online, especially since my dash is very much alive and thriving. Things started to get uncomfortable on my dash at some point, but I will not go into details on the overall matter because I want to focus on the joy of the new year. In light of recent events, however, I have chosen to not affiliate my blog with the Disney RPC for the sake of keeping my space as comfortable and curated. My mental health is fragile, so I really do need this place to be pleasant again.

Any Disney mutuals that I am following are still welcome to interact with me because we are still friends no matter what, even if we haven’t properly spoken yet. Nothing will change for my mutuals. Not much will change in general, to be honest. This place will still be a safe place for anyone who wants to write with me, but it will simply be more independent. I want this blog to always be a cozy place for both myself and my mutuals.

Like a friend of mine has already stated on their own blog, this blog will not tolerate any form of harassment or hate. The world has enough hate, so let’s try to make a positive difference in the world by not spreading more harshness. No one, absolutely no one at all, deserves to be harassed. If I catch wind of any form of hate, I will not be afraid to use the block feature. I want all of my mutuals and everyone else to be safe and happy, not struggling from stress or drama. No one should be attacked at all.

My blog will be more independent, but I will still associate myself within the Frozen RPC because the Frozen RPC is small and feels like a very comfortable place for me. Overall, I will be focusing on crossovers and canon interactions. I want to focus on growing my own lore for Elsa by exploring more of my ideas for her. Anyway, I want to grow with this blog in the new year. I want to be more active on here, not stressed or uncomfortable. I want everyone’s dash to be a safe space, including my own dash.

I wish everyone can try to leave behind any unpleasantness they have experienced this year to remain in the past. 2024 is almost over, so let’s focus on leaving any negativity behind— Let’s make 2025 a more pleasant year, shall we? All I want is for everyone to focus on is having fun with writing and bonding with each other, not wrapped up in issues. Everyone that reads this post, let’s focus on having a better new year!

To quote C.S. Lewis, “There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind."

[you-know-cchio]

i feel like yapping and i saw some others doing this so

here are my top 15 sfth longforms:

edit: this was actually so difficult, which is a true testament to the quality of content sfth publish. also my list accidentally turned out to be so long even after some editing, so im putting the entire thing under the cut. feel free to reblog with your own list, i really like seeing which longforms other people enjoy.

15. the meringue haberdashery

people sleep on this one but i really like it. a villain ending played by none other than luke (wo)manning from essex himself??? Immaculate.

14. the angel massacre (patreon livestream)

tom argues with god. poirley goittes. the power of therapy. and none of it is sexual except that brief bit with jigglypuff, onix, and lucario.

13. wild, wet, and worrisome

the play starts with aj asking sam to shut up and ends with sam agreeing to shut up. the plot is simple and the comedy is so effective. big fan of tom's beautiful siren call and no slut-shaming policy. "be happy, find love."

12. keith the delivery guy (patreon - fringe 2024)

luke plays two characters at once while the other three mime ping pong in the background. sam and tom contemplate death. aj is a bad arse fucker with abs.

11. the mystery of the midnight circus

tom plays a slowly deteriorating genius So Well. and the Twist genuinely got me, because i honestly had no idea how they were going to tie together a conclusion. i also have to give sam his flowers for that descent into madness at the end. it was an incredible monologue that gave me the heebie-jeebies the first time i watched it. these guys are all so fucking chaotic but they're also Phenomenal actors.

10. the leftenmost window

honestly for swooping in with a believable explanation for why sam was left on stage while aj and luke talked offstage, tom deserved to do whatever he wanted in that theater. also luke tying the astral projection abilities in with the war story was such a smart decision. like i know these guys have been doing this for over a decade but im always amazed by their ability to pull together a cohesive narrative on the spot. luke's impassioned "darling i love you" monologue was also so so perfect. and i gotta give aj his flowers too. the man was so locked in that he referenced the comment luke made in the beginning about the boer war. an occurrence so surprising that sam even broke character for a brief second to acknowledge it.

9. disco tango at the rugby club (patreon livestream)

aj doesn't know what a hooker is. sam doesn't know what empathy is. luke doesn't know if he'll ever grow to be *this* tall. but all three of them do know how to make math puns. (this is what happens when tom isn't there.)

8. toby's secret pocket

this longform is just a thinly veiled excuse for the four of them to fuck with each other for 35 minutes. and i loved every second of it. luke making sam define comptroller. tom inserting himself in the office scene as a bit only to become the fan favorite character. sam excusing himself from the scene. aj going against his own character's decision to include himself in the investigation so he didn't have to sit on the side for the rest of the show. also gotta give tom his flowers for his Brilliant execution of the final confrontation between don ciciccio and jimmy.

7. strange noises from the hole in the wall

what do you get when you mix a horror/thriller plot with a tom mayo villain? a masterpiece, that's what. also, usually they're confined to a tiny black box with little space between the stage and the audience or, in the case of their specials, they're on a giant stage they can't easily leave. so i loved how the guys used every resource available to them in that venue. stairs on the sides. the tall metal chairs. the circle frog bucket sign. the handheld mics. the space in front of the stage. this longform also centered around a more abstract central concept and they managed to pull off "some amazing special effects". also i learned the british version of "if you see something, say something".

6. the unrelenting aubergine

an Iconic longform, featuring all the classic sfth hallmarks. aj voluntarily introducing a character that slaps him repeatedly. sam being more than happy to oblige. tom taking it upon himself to work in a rather poignant love story. luke tying it all together at the end with the inevitable dick joke. perfect, no notes.

5. drama at till 4 (patreon exclusive longform)

four white men in their mid-thirties portray the awkwardness, turbulence, and angst of navigating teenage girlhood in 20 minutes with surprising accuracy. also, salmon is now reduced.

4. ballet on the battlefield

alexa and janusz my absolute Beloveds who live happily ever after. the two of them escaping through the window at the end was truly an impressive feat. love how tom timed the macarena perfectly so that right as the daydream sequence ends he's facing the kaiser. love aj's extensive range of characters: serious russian, camp german, fast byierd, window foundation. and love luke. end of sentence.

3. snakehips (patreon livestream)

a chaotic spin on the classic western that ends with two men, standing shoulder to shoulder.

2. the milkman

who needs therapy when you can listen to luke manning laugh.

1. the grape depression

perhaps not a surprise given my choice of url. everything from the storyline to the pacing to the acting was absolutely perfect. tom's comedic timing as a loveable, innocent child perfectly balances out the otherwise sobering plot and rather dark climatic twist. aj also absolutely shines in this longform, i really like his serious characters. i know it's not as chaotic as most of their other content, but it is what i show people when they ask about sfth.

[thehypnone]

Symbol on the Surface Chapter 18

WC: 3,8k

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: Transmasc Swiss, Pregnancy, Fluff, Surprise!

He’ll make it up to Mountain; he could suck his brains out through his dick later, for one. Or let him suck on his tits again—that would be quite beneficial for both of them, considering how sore Swiss’ chest is because of the lactation.

Notes: Tysm to @jimothybarnes for being the best beta ever!

Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 18 under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss is woken up—after yet another restless night—by a soft kiss on his forehead. He purrs, leaning into the warmth next to him and getting engulfed in it as Mountain pulls him in closer.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my heart,” he whispers into his ear and Swiss is suddenly very awake. His eyes shoot open and he would swiftly sit up, if not for the current size of his stomach and his mate’s arms tight around him.

“It’s–it’s Valentine’s Day? Fuck, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot. I don’t–I don’t have anything for you…” he mumbles, guilt already eating at him. Mountain’s been taking such good care of him and dealing with all his cravings and mood swings and he forgot to get him a Valentine’s Day gift? How could he!?

“Hey, no worries, it’s okay!” the earth ghoul assures, though—meaning it. “It’s alright, my heart, you’ve been busy growing our babies!”

“I know, but…fuck,” Swiss whines and hides his face against Mountain’s chest in shame. Never before has he forgotten anything like that. “I feel so bad.”

“No need, darling, I promise,” the other repeats, holding his mate close. The multi ghoul stays there, shuts his eyes, and tries not to let the guilt consume him.

He’ll make it up to Mountain; he could suck his brains out through his dick later, for one. Or let him suck on his tits again—that would be quite beneficial for both of them, considering how sore Swiss’ chest is because of the lactation.

Anyways, Mountain has gotten his mate a stockpile of his favorite sweets—a highly appreciated gift. They made out about it for a solid fifteen minutes, before Swiss’ back cramped and he needed to pull away and get up.

“I need to get out of here,” he groans when Mountain pulls him up from the bed, “and walk. I feel like all my muscles and joints are stuck.”

“That’s fair,” Mountain agrees, waiting until his mate is standing steadily before letting go of him—but even then he keeps a gentle hand on the small of his back. “Do you want some space or for me to come with you?”

“Not necessarily space, but yeah, I wanna go alone. Just for a little bit,” Swiss says and regrets it immediately, remembering the date. First he doesn’t get the love of his life a gift and then he’s running away from him? “Unless you want to come with me?”

“Actually, there is one thing I have to take care of in the greenhouse,” the other says, “and it’s freezing outside, so I wouldn’t want to drag you out there. I’ll do my thing when you get your walk and then cuddles?”

He nods. “Sounds good.”

“Are you gonna be alright on your own, though?” Mountain asks as his brows furrow in concern. “Do you want me to borrow a cane from Rain at least?”

“I’ll be fine,” Swiss smiles at him; always charmed by his protectiveness, “I’ll be careful.”

“Alright. You can go through the glass link into the papas’ wing to avoid stairs.”

The multi ghoul salutes. “That’s what I’ll do.”

“And I’ll be in the greenhouse if you need anything.”

“Mhm, love you.”

“I love you, too.” Mountain leans down to kiss him before the multi ghoul turns to the door and slowly waddles out of their room. His mate smiles and watches him walk away for a few moments; then he’s grabbing his stuff and also leaving.

Swiss’ walk is nice—the first couple minutes he felt like he barely had any control over his limbs, but now he’s walking quite surely. As surely as he can, considering he’s been cramping since the morning.

He’s been cramping a lot lately, though; as well as kicked. He paid it no mind at first. Walking helps a little, both his mind, stomach, and the muscles all over his body.

But then it stops helping.

Then it all becomes worse.

Way worse.

“Ugh, what the–what the fuck is going on…?”

Swiss doesn’t really know where he’s going anywhere, clutching his bump with one hand and leaning against the wall with the other. His jaw is clenched against the pain and his vision is getting slightly blurry.

He blinks it away and stops, looking around and breathing heavily. Why is he so sweaty?

And why is he hurting so much?

What’s even stranger is that there aren’t any alarms blaring in his mind. His consciousness provides that all of this is wrong, but his instincts, his subconsciousness…simply doesn’t. It’s all quiet.

Swiss has made it to the papas’ wing, it appears. He sees Copia’s door at the end of the corridor, and it looks both as if it’s right in front of him and miles away.

He now realizes that his mind isn’t quiet, after all. It’s telling him to find shelter, to get to safety, even though it’s not telling him he’s in danger. Why?

The multi ghoul looks around again. He’s right next to some door, he could go in there; or at least try. But he doesn’t know who or what’s behind it and that’s…it’s not safety.

He grunts and wills his legs to move. He looks down and even though he can barely see his feet, he stares into the floor as he puts one foot in front of the other, but his legs are wet and there’s–

There’s a puddle under him.

Is it urine? Blood?

Swiss can feel wetness on his face, too—sweat, tears, or both—as he pushes what feels like all his limits and walks on towards the only door that his instincts accept as safe. When he gets there he slumps against its frame, weakly lifting his arm to knock on the thick wood.

The pain is all but excruciating by now, even with his high tolerance.

“Oh, Swiss, hello, what–what’s wrong?” Frater Imperator greets him with a kind smile—always happy to see his ghouls—but it quickly fades upon noticing the other’s discomfort.

“I was nearby and–and I thought I pissed myself again, but–AH,” Swiss’s grunt turns into a wince, and then a painful moan, “I’m pretty sure my water just broke.”

Copia is only standing in front of him with his mouth agape, processing the ghoul’s words very slowly. Too slowly.

“The kits are coming. They’re coming now, Papa.”

“Oh…OH!” 

(SURPRISE!!! It’s baby time!!! Don’t proceed if birth is a trigger, or you simply don’t want to read about it. It’s not graphically described, but it's better to be safe than sorry. You can scroll down to an “END BIRTH CW” divider and read on.)

Swiss invites himself inside the room and—for some reason—chooses one of the corners over Copia’s bed; maybe it feels safe because of how tight it is in there for a ghoul his size. He slides down the wall, clutching his stomach, and curls up against it.

“What do I–” the man starts, looking quite pale.

“Call Omega,” Swiss pleads, kicking off his soiled sweatpants. The original light gray of the fabric is mostly darkened by colorless moisture, but there’s some deep red of blood there, too. “Mountain’s gonna know.”

“Uh, shit, fuck…” Copia swears under his breath as he’s frantically looking around for his phone. He keeps glancing down at the ghoul in the corner of his bedroom in active labor, his hands shaking as he searches for Omega’s number. When the other picks up, the man struggles to explain the situation, “It’s, uh–Swiss, in my room and he said…something about water? And that–”

“I’M GIVING BIRTH HERE!” the multi ghoul himself shouts; loud enough that Omega hears him through the phone. 

“Yes, it–it appears so,” Copia adds with a nervous chuckle, as if Swiss wasn’t clear enough. Omega tells the him he’s on his way and immediately hangs up, leaving the confused and, frankly, terrified man standing awkwardly over one of his ghouls yet again.

“Sorry for–UGH–yelling,” Swiss says, getting interrupted by contractions. “It’s coming, fuck, fucking–fuck!”

“Do you need me to help somehow?” Copia asks tentatively.

“No? Yes? I don’t know, Papa, I just–I need Mountain. Need my mate,” the multi ghoul hiccups, bearing down when his body tells him to.

He does not know what he’s doing, but then suddenly–

“Oh, shit…” Swiss whispers in disbelief as high-pitched noise sounds out in the room. Copia gasps and then his jaw drops.

The multi ghoul leans over his own stomach as much as possible and he sees–there’s a tiny kit, right there between his legs on the floor; all fuzzy and wet and crying.

Swiss is in a daze as he places his shaking hands on either side of the kit and gently lifts them up. Just as he’s doing so, the door swings open and Mountain’s breathless form appears in it.

“Oh, Lucifer,” his voice cracks when he takes in the situation his mate seems to has found himself in, “I knew I felt something happening, fuck.”

“‘S okay,” Swiss mumbles and then his face twists in pain again as he contracts again. “C’mere, Mounty, h–help me with ‘em.”

Mountain falls to his knees in front of him and extends his hands, waiting for Swiss to decide what he needs from him. Tears are streaming down the multi ghoul’s face as he shakily hands his mate their kit, the cord still attached.

Mountain’s eyes are wide as the baby is placed in his hands—the tiniest creature he’s ever seen. Having his own hands empty for a moment, Swiss shreds his sweat-soaked shirt with his claws and peels it away. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, it’s as if his body is moving on autopilot, but he then pinches the cord and slashes through it with a claw, too.

The earth ghoul tears up when Swiss grabs the kit again with all the gentleness in the world, and brings the small whining thing to his chest. He looks down at it and then back up at Mountain, locking eyes with him.

He grins and laughs weakly and Mountain knows he’s never going to forget this moment. He is also sure that Swiss would love to be done here, but there’s two more babies on the way—the earth ghoul thinks he needs to remind him.

“Two more, darling,” he whispers, “you’ve got this, it’ll be over soon. Two more.”

Swiss’ smile fades at it and a little sob leaves him, but then he takes a deep, determined breath and nods. He looks down at the kit already nursing on him and coos before starting to lick at its fuzzy little head—still going purely on instinct because, consciously, he has no fucking idea what he should be or is doing.

“You’ve got this, my heart,” Mountain repeats and squeezes his thigh reassuringly as another wave of contractions hits him. Just then the door to Copia’s room opens once again and Omega bursts inside, making the earth ghoul let out a loud possessive growl.

“Oh, my–” are Omega’s first words at the sight of Swiss cradling a tiny kit to his chest. He respectfully stays at a distance, but looks over Mountain’s form to assess Swiss and the kit’s state. “How much blood is there?”

“Doesn’t look like too much,” his mate replies, not bothering with apologizing for his defensiveness. It’s more than understandable now that there’s not only Mountain’s vulnerable mate in the room, but also his kit. “I think it’s the normal amount.”

“I agree, that’s good,” the quintessence ghoul hums, “How’s the little one?”

“Came out crying,” Swiss breathes out, “feedin’ now.”

“I see you’ve cut the cord, good job,” Omega praises before turning to Copia, “Do you have any idea how much trust this means Swiss has in you? And Mountain? This is such an honor, Papa.”

“Oh…oh, well, uh–that’s…nice,” he blushes a little, “Yes, very nice. Thank you, Omega.”

“The–the second one’s comin’ out,” Swiss interrupts them with a grunt. The kit on his chest pulls away from his nipple and mewls, as if voicing their impatience to reunite with their siblings.

“Do you think you could get up on your knees and lean forward on Mountain?”

Swiss shakes his head, “No, hurts too much…and the kit.”

“Okay, okay, that’s fair.” Omega sighs. “What about sliding down some more?”

The multi ghoul nods and wiggles down a little, ending up more laying down than sitting up. Omega praises him once again for it.

Swiss moans against more contractions and digs his claws into Mountain’s arm and then–

Another cry rips through the relative silence of the room.

This time it’s the earth ghoul that picks the kit up off of the floor into his big hands. He stares down at them and wonders how could a ghoul like him help create something so tiny, so innocent, so precious.

He’s full on sobbing by now, tears and snot running down his face as he tries not to quite literally drop his second child onto the floor.

“Why cryin’?” Swiss asks weakly as he lifts an arm and reaches out both for the kit and his mate.

“Sorry, I’m just–it’s from happiness, my heart,” Mountain chuckles. “Look at them; they’re absolutely perfect. You–you’re perfect, Swiss. Thank you, my darling.”

The other grins as best as he can in his exhaustion and then points at the kit. “Cut the…the cord. You cut it.”

The earth ghoul stares at his mate as if he has hung the moon and the stars in the sky and does what he was asked to; cautious at first—not knowing exactly how—but Mountain cuts the cord and the second kits joins their sibling on Swiss’ chest.

They also whine and wiggle a little before starting to feed and the multi ghoul delivers a couple of small licks to the top of their tiny head.

“One more to go, Swiss,” Omega rumbles from where he’s standing next to Copia. He’s got an arm on the man’s shoulder in a comforting gesture, because while he seems very proud of his ghouls, he also looks as if he’s about to pass out.

Mountain squeezes Swiss’ thigh again. “You can do it, mama.”

The multi ghoul nods in determination to have all his kits out—and for this awful ordeal to be over. He takes a couple deep breaths and pushes when another wave of contractions hits him. Two more times and the third kit is born; the tiny one.

Yet again the cord is cut and the baby placed on Swiss’ chest. They get in between their siblings and Swiss is about to start crying about only having two boobs again, but then the smallest kit forces the biggest one away from the multi ghoul’s nipple and starts feeding.

“Good job, that’s it,” Omega praises, “You did it, Swiss. You’ve got your kits, you’re nearly done.”

“Nearly?” Mountain turns to look at him with a questioning look.

“Yeah, unfortunately there’s more that needs to come out now, but that’s the easy part,” the other explains, and indeed, it doesn’t take long for it to be all finished. Swiss doesn’t even notice, really; he’s too out of it and focused on his kits by now.

(END BIRTH CW)

“We should get them to your room,” the quintessence ghoul says, placing a cautious hand on Mountain’s shoulder. He flinches and shrugs it off but doesn’t bite it, so Omega considers it a win. Mountain nods. “Can we get a…a blanket or something, Papa?”

Copia does hand them one from his bed and the earth ghoul nods at him with a thankful look. He wraps it around Swiss and tucks the kits under the top of it a little bit, too, before going down on one knee to bring his arms under Swiss’ body.

He is extremely gentle when picking his mate up. Mountain holds him securely against his chest with one of his arms shielding the kits cuddled up together on Swiss’ chest away from the world.

“I’ll, uh–” Omega starts, awkwardly looking at the mess left on the floor, “I’ll get someone to clean it up ASAP, but you might want to spend your afternoon somewhere else, Papa.”

Copia only waves a hand in a disregarding gesture, “Go take care of them.”

The quintessence ghoul nods and turns to follow the pair. Because Swiss didn’t get too far on his walk, it’s only a minute for Mountain to take him and the kits back to their room. Omega follows, needing to take a look at the kits and make sure they’re all okay.

The earth ghoul lays Swiss down in their nest and climbs in behind him to hold him up and stay close. Omega sits on a chair by the bed—avoiding touching the nest so as not to invade their space. It would not be a great idea on any day, but now?

He would rather not trigger the earth ghoul’s instincts into a fight over his mate and kits. He’s buffer, older, and his magic is more powerful than Mountain’s, but Omega seriously doubts the odds would be in his favor, here.

That’s why he’ll quickly do what he needs to and get out of there as soon as possible.

“Swiss? Swiss, I need you to focus on Mountain and the little ones in your arms, okay? I have to check on them one by one and it’s going to suck, but I have to. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

The multi ghoul nods in agreement, even though he doesn’t realize why Omega’s warning him. He’s so exhausted and in so much pain; he’s barely with them at all.

“Mountain,” Omega turns to the other, speaking quietly this time, “I need you to hold him down. His arms, most importantly. I’d rather not lose an eye today.”

Mountain also agrees, but he’s visibly confused. He doesn’t understand why the quintessence ghoul is making such a big deal out of this—even though his instincts are all but boiling inside him and he has to hold himself back very hard, lest he lashes out at Omega.

He probably should’ve explained the works of ghoul birth in advance instead of assuming it would happen right at Swiss’ due date and that there would be time for that.

The thing is, that the bond between the mother and the kits that forms in the womb isn’t purely biological for ghouls. It’s closer to magic, and it never truly fades. Swiss is always going to have a sixth sense for knowing when his kits are sick or in danger.

Right now, though—with the kits freshly out of him—that bond is pulled taut…and on fire. It’s going to hurt Swiss’ soul and mind and body to get them pulled away from him, even if only for a second.

That’s why Omega has to be fast.

Once Mountain is holding Swiss’ arms down securely by his sides, the quintessence ghoul reaches out and grabs the kit furthest away from him. He cradles them in his hands and pulls them away from Swiss and towards himself.

Pure panic immediately fills his eyes.

“N–no, give–give ‘em back,” he slurs; half delirious, “Give ‘em back, Omega, ‘s my baby. My baby…”

“I’m sorry, Swiss,” the other says with a sad voice, “just one second.”

The multi ghoul starts breathing more heavily and wriggling in Mountain’s hold as he whispers some calming and reassuring words into his ear. They don’t work, but then Omega finishes up his checkup of the first kit and carefully places them back on their mama’s chest.

But there’s two more left.

Swiss starts to cry and fully thrash around when Omega grabs the second baby and him taking the third one makes the multi ghoul wail. That and the pain radiating from him through their bond makes Mountain’s start crying again, but instead of tears of joy, these are of despair.

Not for long, though, because, thankfully, it only takes a few seconds for Omega to check all three of the screeching newborns.

“Perfectly healthy, all of them,” he assures as the last—the smallest—kit returns onto Swiss’ chest. They wiggle their tiny tail and latch onto the multi ghoul’s unoccupied nipple right away again. Omega chuckles, “She’s hungry, look. Look at her, so small but so hungry.”

The multi ghoul calms down instantly and does look down, only half conscious and with his vision blurry, but there’s a big dopey grin on his face. He’s so proud of himself; and so are Mountain and Omega.

“Good job, Swiss,” the latter praises before pulling back. “I’ll let you all get some rest and bonding time in, now. I don’t want them to smell me too much, they need to know you two are their dads and the next twenty four hours are crucial.”

Mountain nods at him in acknowledgement and mumbles out a quiet ‘thank you’. Omega leaves with a wide grin on his face, quietly shutting the door behind him. He starts heading out of the ghouls’ wing, but then he stops, turns on his heel and goes for the common room. 

He finds the whole pack there. They all know something has happened, but not what, so they’ve been quite worried. Seeing the older quintessence ghoul’s smile calms their anxieties, though.

“Your pack has grown,” Omega announces, his voice full of pride. “Swiss gave birth to three healthy kits.”

Shrieks of joy sound out, the ghoulettes hugging each other and the ghouls patting each other on the backs—all of them ecstatic. They ask some questions and Omega tells them what he deems appropriate, but leaves the important information for the new parents to share before saying his goodbyes and returning to the infirmary.

In the meantime, Swiss and the babies are resting. He’s barely awake; leaning heavily against Mountain as their kits suckle on his chest.

The earth ghoul sniffles, still so overwhelmed by joy that he can’t stop crying or tear his eyes away from the three tiny—adorable—lumps of fuzz. He keeps crying and staring as he nuzzles his face into the top of Swiss’ head; not intending on sleeping tonight.

Mountain doubts his mate can hear him—or if he can, that he will remember it—but he voices the beautiful thought he’s just gotten anyway.

“This is a better Valentine’s Day gift than I ever could have wished for, my heart.”

Taglist: @arkeusruin @skele-bunny @everybodyshusband @ratsummer @jazz-bazz @mac-and-thefox @karmicbias @wine-irytatus @ghoultrifle (if anyone from here wants to be removed lmk, and also if anyone else wants to be added)

[windcarvedlyre]

Ooooo, ty for this :D

Replying to the last paragraph first because hard agreed. Outside of the implications of DR2.5, imo he absolutely does know what he's saying; he just believes it so sincerely, and is so desensitised to horrible things in general, that he doesn't understand for the most part why that would be upsetting to people. The FTD would make matters even worse, though I feel like his problems would predate that due to his trauma and isolation growing up.

Additionally, Komaeda's ideology is thematically extremely important to the game imo. He genuinely devalues his life to the point of being willing to self-destruct, just as Hinata did pre-despair. They take the original game's theme of questioning the importance of talent for someone's worth and push it further by being walking illustrations of what happens when you take the ideas Kodaka is criticising to their logical conclusion. NWP Hinata manages to move past that with the power of friendship, survives, and saves everyone; Komaeda succumbs to his ideology and dies alone. He spent the entire game acting like dying as a stepping stone would fulfil him but when he got what he 'wanted' it didn't actually make him happy. He died with his face twisted in fear.

While his FTD and extreme trauma likely greatly contributing to his radicalisation complicates the ethics of his situation, I think that when he isn't manic/breaking down he's still intelligent and self-aware enough to have moral agency and the potential for growth, and said moral agency is important to DR's broader themes as well. I feel like that contrast between him and Hinata is part of a broader trend: characters that lose hope for another way out and refuse to cooperate with others, instead viewing things through the lens of the killing game and pursuing their own agenda, end up digging their own grave unless they develop and turn around. DR is big on rehabilitation instead of punishment but the character has to be an active part of that; someone like Syo can live and be accepted by everyone else because she stopped murdering, while on the opposite end of the spectrum Naegi offered Junko an olive branch but she refused it and fully chose her own death.

That aside...

For Momota, I totally see where you're coming from! I think the scene's writing is a bit awkward in a way that could let it be read different ways tbh? On my end I feel like Momota was kinda fair in finding this line off:

because it immediately and entirely fixated on 'bringing hope to the world' instead of referencing anything about space at all, but maybe it would've been better for them to extend that over some back-and-forth that made it clearer that that was all Komaeda was fixated on before Momota said that. And like we said in DMs, since Komaeda's views on talent and hope are his sincere worldview I think he'd be unable to distinguish (or have difficulty with distinguishing) the sort of interest he expresses above and interest in Momota himself. It's unfortunate.

Likewise, for the exchange with Souda, I do agree that it's sad on Komaeda's end; even in that conversation he can't really comprehend Souda's criticism of him and continues to just blame himself for everything. That said, I think Souda still did demonstrate some self-awareness in acknowledging that his criticism of Komaeda was a bit hypocritical, and I feel like people weren't thaaat unfair to him in UTDP/DRS? Souda's having this conversation with him after 3 years, and the way he goes about it makes it feel to me like he's sincerely tried to get him. Beyond Souda, if we look at this scene at the end of his UTDP run:

both Sonia and Mioda actively try to include him in the conversation and group activities and just struggle to deal with his extreme self-loathing. Sonia especially seems to be trying really hard not to react badly to him, and Mioda's reactions make it feel like there's been conversations about this before.

It really sucks for Komaeda, but at the same time... I think it's understandable that 3 years of things like that would wear some people down, because there's only so much you can do when someone in your life is mentally unwell and won't change or even acknowledge they have a problem. It's not a pleasant position to be in; it can lead to people getting more and more frustrated and lashing out instead of handling things well.

Nanami and Usami do better with him, though- but they have gentle therapy skills coursing through their veins.

Hinata also actively pushes to stay in Komaeda's life instead of letting him drift away at the end of UTDP but that one's really badly translated. I swear I've reblogged a better version but I'll have to track it down.

In the post I just reblogged I especially like the wording of

he's genuine when he calls the others his friends, but it's still second to seeing himself as their stepping stool for their hope

because I think that summarises Komaeda pretty well. I've been thinking about that for ages but struggled to fully iron out my thoughts. Here's my latest attempt to.

Komaeda can be (relatively) normal sometimes

It would be incorrect to say Komaeda never sees people as anything but their talents and/or is constantly subservient to them. He at least tries to socialise with other people as, well, people, not always making things about their talents, even if a lack of filter and difficulty empathising with people outside of things that can be logically inferred create problems for him anyway. On top of proactively pushing his views in conversations and trials he can still, say, tease Souda for Sonia's avoidance of him:

And in the prologue he pretty much threatens Hanamura over his predatory behaviour:

and later follows up on this by intervening when Hanamura tries his bullshit on Sonia again anyway. If he stuck to his ideology 100% of the time, acting more like he does as Servant in UDG, one could argue he could have stood back, avoided imposing his will on an Ultimate in any way and left Sonia to 'overcome' that 'hurdle' herself, but it seems like he has some limits.

Additionally, he's aware that he can weird people out, and in at least FTE 5 he links his ideology to that:

but despite his filter issues he still manages to hold back his more extreme views- plus most of the paranoia we see in Island Mode- throughout the prologue and most of chapter 1. Was he trying to make a good first impression? I've talked about his Shot Through The Heart event and its implications before; that fear of pushing people away by being weird could easily extend beyond Hinata. Either way, he has at least some ability to tone himself down and engage with people more normally- at least in the short term and if his mental state is relatively good. He seems more openly self-aware in the prologue and chapter 1 as well.

This is all before we even start to unpack DR2.5; I touch on the ideology aspect of it later, but it also establishes that he subconsciously has a more nuanced understanding of his classmates' relationships with talent and a desire to be friends with them on more equal footing.

However,

His ideology still overrides that a lot

One of the themes Kodaka claims to have written him with is "the fear of someone you can’t empathise with/someone that can’t empathise". While he can be more nuanced during low-stakes socialisation, whenever he's engaging with the killing game himself his complexes go into overdrive and seem to take precedent over any empathy or sympathy he has for others.

Positive outcomes and anyone he sees as having potential to bring them about get abstracted into 'hope'. Death and suffering get abstracted into 'despair'. He tunnel visions on the former 'outweighing' the latter because that's how the world works for him.

Those things aren't really quantifiable in practice, though. How can you weigh a horrifying kidnapping against winning a lottery when you're already rich? Or getting accepted into the institution you revere against developing terminal illnesses that could kill you before you even graduate? But that's how he sees things. Telling yourself that everything you're going through will be worth it might be the only way to live with his luck without crumbling. Relatedly, an ideology under which everyone's potential is predetermined and there's no point in striving for more:

might resonate an awful lot with someone whose life is more of a rollercoaster he feels strapped to than something he's ever steered. He's had a lot of extremely good and bad things happen to him that he's never really done anything to earn; all he can do is roll with the punches and hope he gets a chance to make his existence useful eventually.

DR2.5 indicates that some deep part of him does resent this, resents the concept of talent as he views it, and would rather excise his concept of 'hope' from his mind entirely and effectively advocate for the opposite:

which could track with this exchange from his final FTE in DR2, which doesn't say that would be good but doesn't say it's bad either:

But an emphasis should be placed on deep. The hesitation of the latter makes it sound like it's not something he's allowed himself to think about much. If his ideology is partly a coping mechanism, if he allowed himself to consciously question whether his idea of 'hope' is actually worth the 'despair', whether his lack of a real talent means his life actually has less worth, whether a talented/talentless binary that determines the course of people's lives without them having any agency even exists in the first place, et cetera... he would also have to acknowledge that his life is hell. That the world has been extremely unfair to him, that no amount of lottery money can compensate for a life without love, and that maybe he has potential that might never be fulfilled because of his terminal illnesses. Maybe everyone else that has died in ways he'd attribute to his luck- much likelier than not to be 'talentless' like him- had worth too.

But he doesn't do that, at least most of the time, so processing the killing game through his talent/hope complex it is.

And it's one thing to apply those ideas to his own suffering, but when he finds himself in a situation with other people... where deaths are inevitable and he has some ability to influence this... it gets ugly.

When you crush whether people live or die and the wide range of ways the survivors could be affected by that into two abstract quantities, fixating on one value being larger than the other, the lives of anyone with talent become interchangeable. He speaks about his classmates as a collective here- 'Ultimates' and 'symbols of hope' and 'everyone' and 'them'- even though his actions would require anything from one to all but one of them to die. Because it doesn't matter who specifically dies (he's happy to orchestrate a murder with anyone) or how many (siding with a murderer is on the table for him as long as their 'hope' has potential to outweigh everyone else's).

It's fitting that when he eventually lived up to his promise, dying to make himself a stepping stone for hope, he didn't even know who it was that he spared or took with him. It was chosen at random. This gets visually hammered in the way the Closing Argument gives everyone but him the grey silhouette treatment.

Whether he was trying to increase the hope of the talented or take out a bunch of fellow terrorists with him, his treatment of them when it came to murder cases reduced them to one aspect of themselves in a way that was utterly dehumanising. I feel like there were still cracks in that- signs he, for example, felt bad about what happened to the Ultimate Imposter- but that's something I want to save for another post.

In non-killing game contexts like UTDP and DRS he doesn't toy with anyone's lives in the same way; the above behaviour was technically making the most of a preexisting awful situation (at least from his point of view) and we only see him force people into new ones as Servant. It still seems to be the case, however, that he doesn't really mask his views long-term and they affect how he interacts with Ultimates to the point of making them uncomfortably. The post linked at the start covered a great Komaeda-Souda DRS scene on this; the Komaeda-Momota UTDP scene below is also really relevant.

Momota correctly clocks that Komaeda's admiration of him is... maybe not quite aimed at him as a real person. He drops it because of Komaeda's reaction- presumably he'd misattributed the off vibes to Komaeda being inauthentic- but it still feels like Komaeda's engaging with him as some abstract vessel for talent and hope to some extent.

-

I feel like there's more I should cover here but this took way longer than expected- it's now past 5am- so I'll stop there. Hopefully it still illustrates the main point: Komaeda's a character full of contradictions and that very much applies to his views of the talented. He doesn't completely reduce people to talent-based caricatures but part of him still kind of does, and the degree to which that affects his behaviour varies a lot with the circumstances he's in.

[satellitesunset]

perpetually thinking about suguru geto.

[vaguehotels]

had the most braindead repetitive conversation/argument with my parents. buzz cuts are too masculine but if you dye a design on it it become effeminate which is bad because then you look weak and if youre weak then society falls apart (all societies ever that have fallen apart for any reason are actually because of feminine men) and we start sacrificing babies. and also all mental illness is invented because only 4 people had anxiety in the 90s and covid was made up so that we would all become gay and trans and then the government can control us better and be joe biden's little sex slaves. and also i need to keep my hair long because my father finds it attractive. what

[aria0fgold]

Sorry I'm not your God (神様じゃなくてごめんね) Romaji Lyrics

Nee,

Kimi kara mite boku no kao wa

Nani iro ni mieteru no kana

Hontō wa kimi ga egaku yōna

Sunda iro nanka janainda

Monogatari no shujinkō mitaina

Seigi no hīrō no yōna

Kodo to kotoba o nazotta

Sono kekka ga ima no bokudatta dakenanda

Shinzō ni tenteki o sasu yōna utade

Asa o ikinobite wa

Yoru no omosa ni kubi o shimerare nagara

Iki mo tamerare yashinai

Nigiri tsudzuketeita shinzō mo

Dareka no bunda to shitteshimatta

Sono kuse dareka o sukuitakatta

Sore ga hontō no boku nanda

Aa,

Shōdoteki na aide sukuwaretakunai yo

Nante mie o hatte itteshimatta

Kakkoyokunakute gomen ne

Aa,

Sekai yori kimi o erabutte

Minna ni ichatta

Kono ude wa ni hon shikanai no ni sa

Kamisama janakute gomen ne

Aa,

Furimaita nasake ga

Kiba ni natte osōtekichatta

Kitto subete yuruseru to omotta

Tsuyokunakutte gomen ne

Aa,

Tsunaideta te o hanashite

Kimi o oite ichatta

Kimi o mamoru tame no hazudattanda

Kamisama janakute gomen ne

Kitto boku wa yasashii hito

Demo kimi wa boku yori yasashii hito

Yasashii hito bakari kizutsuiteiku

Kono dōshiyō mo nai sekai de sa

Kitto boku wa orokana hito

Demo kimi mo onnaji orokana hito

Dakara wakattekureru to omotta

Sore o negatteshimattanda

Aa,

Kitto boku wa yasashii hito

Demo kimi ga boku yori yasashii hito

Dōka kimi dake wa boku mitaini sa

Hikari o miushinatte shimawanaide

Kitto boku wa orokana hito

Demo kimi mo onnaji orokana hito

Dakara kimi ga nami o omōka wakaru yo

Konna ketsumatsu jaiyada yo ne

Aa,

Tsuranuita shisō ga

Dareka no kokoro o koroshichatta

Sore dake ga tadashii to omotta

Kirai ni narenakute gomen ne

Aa,

Itsu no hi ka nageta kotoba ga

Zenbu kaettekichatta

Kono ondo wa tashika ni aru no ni sa

Kamisama janakute gomen ne

Aa,

Sayonara o shinai tameni

Kōsuru shika nakattanda

Kimi no me ni tayoritaku natteshimatta

Risō ni narenakute gomen ne

Aa,

Zen jinrui o aisu nante koto wa

Dekinakatta yo

Dakara dōka boku o urandekure

Kamisama janakute gomen ne

[chillenby]

Okay. I'll try to explain it as best as I can without spoiling it and while covering everything you might need to now. (If you want me to explain everything else in detail just ask, I'll be more then happy to do so, but I certainly recomend for you to watch or play the game because it's great and has amazing retro graphics and soundtrack)

Since it's a bit longer post I'll just title the segment so that you can skip if you're not interested in something

Intro

It's a psychological horror with darker themes. Rape, murder, suicide and even canibalism. It's a game you can purchise on steam for like 12 bucks or watch a playthrough on youtube (most of them are about 2 hours).

It's about a crew in space. That's all I can say without spoiling it too much. It has a pot of metaphoric meanings and delves into a lot of different deeper topics (which is great if you're into more phylosophic type things and it can cause you to think about it a lot, from their catchy lines to just it over all) and they have a few characters that are very well written and really human.

Daisuke

For characters, Daisuke is the fan favorite, he's the youngest (18-20 years old) and he's the intern. People gravitate to him because of 2 things, 1) they see him as a silly guy (which compared to other characters he is because he jokes the most and is practically a lighthearted character) and 2) they find him relatable because he doesn't know what he wants from his life or his strengths.

Anya

Then Anya is also the fan favorite, she's a polite nurse that in the game doesn't actually have a lot of personality. Which in a nerative way makes a lot of sense. People gravitate to her because some of them have been in similiar situations and she makes them feel seen, while others feel bad for her and from a lot of different ao3 tags say that they think she deserves a hug

Sweansea

Sweansea is that typical old grumpy character you have in a lot of media and he's the engineer of the crew. He's Daisuke's mentor and a lot of people like to think of him as Daisuke's father figure. He's gruff, a bit blunt and in the end has one of the better monologs and opinions of the whole game.

Jimmy and Curly

Jimmy (co-pilot) and Curly (captain) are my favorites and the plot focuses a lot on them because we play as them, switching between their neratives. They're surtainly complex characters and most of the plot is built around them. Jimmy is that assholish character, mean, rude, greedy and selfish, while Curly is that guy people rely on and concider a nice guy. Polar oposites, but they are close friends.

Polle

And then Polle, the lovable mascot of Pony Express (aka the company they work for). She's also used as a metaphore and an amazing one at that. (Can't say anything else so I don't spoil anything and because I fucking hate that pony. Scared me shitless the first game thtough, literally friend had to be on call with me for the last 20 minutes of the game because that stupid Pony was practically haunting my ass).

For the plot, it's not too complex, but I personally find it impactful and as disturbing it is, I hold it close to my heart. It's dark and heavy and simple and complex at the same time. Though, the way the plot is handled through narative gives it that specific charm.

Fandom

For the fandom I'll just say this. Enjoy at your own risk and always check trigger warnings if you're sensitive to something. If you don't like something, just ignore it or go talk with your friend about it. Mouthwashing fandom has a lot of amazing stuff, like from psycho analysis, fanart and certain fanfics, while some miss the point intierly (which is fine, it's not, but if it makes a person happy who cares, I'm not gonna ruin it for them) and some which I personally consider that they go too far. Also, the fandom is perfectly split between people who want to enjoy the dark parts of the game and those who like the silly stuff (memes, jokes, fluff, and they probably do it to 'cope' with the game).

I'm not gonna go too deep into the shipping because everyone has their personal opinions on it, but it's a bit contreversial. At times diving into the proship vs the other side debate.

Music

Last thing, 'Headlock' by Imogen Heap is convidered the mouthwashing song. It's like about how you wanna persue your hobbies and interests, but you're stuck in place unable to actually do it. Which I personally think perfectly fits the game, atleast a very specific scene in the game that actually is one of my favorites and a bit not comforting, but it makes me feel a bit seen. But I think a lot of people actually just like it cuz it's a catchy song with a very nice and specific beat. Also, receantly JT music released the mouthwashing rap which actually covers a lot of the plot, meaning and other parts of mouthwashing. It's also a bop and in the intro they sampled actual sounds from the game which is very cool if you ask me

..

So yea. Sorry for rambling, I covered a few things, I thought would be important without revealing too much if you actually decide to play/watch the game.

WHAT THE FUCK IS "MOUTHWASHING"????

can someone tell me about what Mouthwashing is

my friend is obsessed with it and i wanna learn more about it for her, and i also saw it was a psych thriller and i love those.

lowkey i thought it was the sally face sequel so if anyone could rb and help me out itd be much appreciated

also whos that gay fuck daisueke or whatev

[spottedmischief]

Shenzi: *tells him the truth about Scar*

Cheezi: Okay, I think we made a mistake.

Shenzi: *asks him to join her clan so they can be safe*

Cheezi: how dare.

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

My parents and I watched the season 3 finale of Star Wars: Rebels tonight and I can't believe my mom was the one who was like "WHY ARE THEY* ALL DYING?!" and I was the one being all, "don't worry I'm sure it will be fine." this is the most role reversal we have ever done.

(*to clarify I mean the rebels in general, the main cast was fine)

[maraeffect]

started watching hopecore right before bed and MAN. what a life it is we live on this earth.

[pierswife]

God once again it feels so freeing to just have my small little corner for selfship aside from my main like... Idk but it's helped my mental so much keeping everything separate

[courfee]

genuinely dont know if i was just never active enough in the les mis fandom (as in. interacting with people and not just posting my very cool cosplay pics and silly little fics and poems) or if the les mis fandom is just so much more chill than the marauders one. Lowkey makes me miss the chill times. Hearing all the drama and being involved in it is awful, hearing it all and not being involved in it but not managing to like. find a solution for it is also awful, and im just very frustrated about it all.

Once again i must ask: why are people.

[girlivealwaysbean]

man