#i rb these all the time so decided to make one myself

[forallmyfriendsinwv]

"Or someone to fall in love with / Rob a bank, shoot a cop with"

The Cops by The Front Bottoms

[our-inspire-verse]

Vent.

Its. Not been a great night. I was healed. I was. And a little while ago, i reversed that, and now again and i am. Trying so hard to feel better now. Its over, right? I stopped. I stopped... past tense. Maybe i started again too. Maybe again the night felt terrible, and worse and bad. And maybe it wont even matter, because does it really? And maybe ill feel better and scars will fade and my old scabs will close, finally. After being away from the bugs. Finally. But the cortisol will still flow. And ill remember tonight. And the other night. And when i was 12 and 17 and 19 and 21 and 23. Maybe it cant get better right now. Maybe i cant get better. Maybe ill keep going back to trauma, and ill do this night again. Ill pick back up the push pin. Again. AgAin.

[satorulovebot]

THE GREAT WAR.

♱ genre. tragedy, WWI au, 18+

♱ summary. in the midst of world war I, satoru gojou drafted and sent off to the western front, leaving behind the love of his life with the promise of marrying her when he returned. he clings to the thoughts of a future with her and the letters she sends him in hopes of reuniting with her.

♱ pairings. satoru gojou, fem!reader

♱ word count. 8k

♱ tags/warnings. violence, suggestive content, major character death, profanity, mentions of drug use, weapon use, + more

♱ notes. this wasn't meant to be long or anything or fully fleshed out but i decided to share it anyways. i lowkey hate this but what can i say. i also made myself upset because of course i did. anyways likes and rb's always appreciated :)

December 1, 1917

My Dearest Love,

I hope my letter reaches you before we move further down the front and getting letters out becomes harder. I hope you’re sound asleep in our bed, enjoying dreamland with Charlie. 

I wanted to let you know that I think of you every day. I keep replaying our last night together in my mind. It was so precious, and I wish I could be there with you now. We talked about our future together. Even now, even here, I still dream of that future. It’s the only thing that keeps me going.

This war has shown me things I can’t forget, things I’ll never forget. I worry for Suguru too as he’s losing himself. Baby I can’t lie to you, it’s hard out here. If something happens to me and I don’t make it back, please remember how much I love you. I love you more than words can say. 

Please stay strong for me, my love. I’ll hold onto the hope that we’ll be together again someday.

With all my love,

Satoru

May 18, 1917

The radio crackles faintly as you twist the dial, trying to find the right station. The sound of distorted voices filled the small living room of your home. You are sitting on the worn couch that you and Satoru had spent countless nights on, talking about everything and nothing. Satoru sits beside you with his arm draped over your shoulders, his hand resting on your upper arm, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles on your skin. It’s a small gesture, one that he’s done a thousand times before, but tonight it feels… different.

You finally find the station you’ve been looking for, and the voice on the radio comes through, clear and steady.

“…the President has announced that the United States will be joining the war in Europe. All eligible men between the ages of 21 and 30 are to be drafted into military service…”

You freeze at the words, like a winter chill had seeped into your bones. You feel a sharp, involuntary intake of breath, your hand tightening around the knob of the radio as if holding on to it will somehow keep the world from spinning out of control.

“They’re really doing it,” he murmurs.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry, and force yourself to speak. “We talked about this, but…” The words feel strange on your tongue as if they belong to someone else. “Hearing it…hearing it makes it real.”

Satoru nods, but he doesn’t say anything.

Finally, he speaks, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What are we going to do?”

The question hangs in the air, unanswered, because you don’t know the answer. How could you? You want to say something, anything, to reassure him, to reassure yourself, but the words would not come. Instead, you reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his, holding on as tightly as you can, as if it might somehow keep the world from falling apart.

Satoru’s grip tightens around yours, and for a moment, you can feel the fear in him, the uncertainty. You’ve always known him as strong and always in control, but now, in this moment, he’s just as lost as you are.

“We’ll figure it out, baby. I promise,” He whispered.

Satoru pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you as you buried your face in his chest. You breathed in the familiar scent of him, trying to memorize every detail as if it was the last time you would ever get to hold him like this. His lips press against the top of your head, a gentle, lingering kiss that speaks of promises made and promises that will be broken.

June 3, 1917

Tomorrow is the day that Satoru is set to leave for the Western front.

The golden light of the late afternoon filtered through the windows, casting long, melancholy shadows across the bedroom. It was a room you had filled with so many memories—laughter, love, late-night conversations that had lasted until the early hours of the morning. But now, the only thing that seemed to be there was a half-packed duffel bag lying open on the bed.

You stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching as Satoru moved about the room gathering the the last couple of items he would need. He was quiet the entire time he packed his bags. You could see the way his shoulders were stiff and the subtle tremor in his hands as he reached for another piece of clothing.

Between the two of you, Satoru had always been the strong one. The one who could face anything with a smile, it was the thing that had drawn you to him in the first place.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He paused at the sound of your voice, his hands hovering over the duffel bag. Slowly, he turned to face you, His eyes met yours, and in them, you saw the fear he was trying so hard to hide.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Satoru finally admitted, his voice rough, like it had been scraped raw from holding back so much. “I don’t know how to leave you.”

His confession broke something inside of you like a dam of emotions had finally been let loose. Before you knew it, you were across the room, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you could, burying your face in his chest. His arms came around you instantly, pulling you close, holding on as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” you whispered. “Not with me.”

“I’m scared,” he admitted, the words muffled against your hair. “I’m so scared, and I hate that I’m leaving you and Charlie like this.”

Your heart ached at his words. It was a side of him he rarely showed anyone, even you.  You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall.

“I’m scared too.”

“Do you remember the first time we talked about the war?” Satoru asked suddenly.

You nodded, remembering the day that the news had broke about the conflict in Europe. It was just another story on the radio, something that had felt so far away. The two of you had been sitting in the same room, listening to the same radio, with your hands entwined talking about the life you wanted to build together.

“It felt like something that could never touch us. Like it was happening in another world, to people we’d never know.”

Satoru sighed, “And now, it’s all too real.”

When you looked up at him, you could see the same look in his eyes that you had seen when the draft letter first arrived.

You felt your tears start to fall as you reached up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the familiar lines of his features, trying to commit them to memory. “So do I,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. “But no matter what happens, I’ll be here when you come back. I’ll be waiting for you.”

​​Satoru closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. I’m going to miss you so much,” he murmured. “Every single day.”

You pulled him down into a kiss, slow and lingering, pouring all of your love, your fear, your hope into that one moment, trying to convey everything you couldn’t put into words. Satoru’s hands came up to cup your face, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that made your heart ache once more.

“I love you,” you could hear him say as he continued to latch his mouth onto yours. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Without breaking the kiss, Satoru guided you towards the bed, his hands moving to your waist as he lifted you, laying you down gently on the mattress. The duffel bag was pushed to the side, forgotten for now, as he climbed on top of you, his body pressing down against yours, relishing the taste of his buttery lips on yours.

June 4, 1917

“Are you ready?” His voice broke the silence.

You turned to face him, your throat tight with the words you wanted to say but couldn’t find. Instead, you nodded, though nothing about you felt ready—least of all your heart.

Satoru approached you slowly as if he wasn’t sure how to comfort you without breaking down. His warm hand reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear you didn’t realize had fallen.

“You know I have to do this,” he said, his voice soft. “It’s my duty. I can’t—”

“Please don’t go,” you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Your voice cracked, you were desperate to make him stay. You knew you were asking the impossible, that no matter how much you begged, he couldn’t stay. But the thought of losing him, of not knowing if he would ever come back, was too much to bear.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if he could shield you from the reality you had both come to face.

“I wish I could stay,” he murmured against your hair. “More than anything, I wish I could stay here with you. But I have to go. I have to.”

You clung to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his uniform as if you could keep him there, with you, if you just held on tight enough. “But what if you don’t come back? What if—”

“I will come back.” He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, the look almost pleading. “I promise you, baby, I will come back. And when I do, I’m going to marry you, and we’ll have that life we always talked about. We’ll have a family, a home...everything.”

“What if something happens?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “What if—”

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice was gentle, and soothing, as he cupped your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that were now streaming down your cheeks. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’ll be careful, I’ll keep my head down, and I’ll come back to you. I promise.”

His words were meant to comfort you, but they only made the pain worse. Because deep down, no matter how much he promised, there was no guarantee that he would come back. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say that. So instead, you nodded, forcing yourself to believe, if only for his sake. “Promise me you’ll write,” you said, your voice trembling. “Every chance you get.”

“I will,” he assured you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Every chance I get, I’ll write to you. And I want you to write to me too, okay? Tell me everything, don’t leave anything out. I want to know everything that’s going on with you, no matter how small it might seem.”

You nodded again, a small, shaky smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I will. I promise.”

Satoru sighed, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I have to go.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. Satoru gave you one last, long look as if trying to memorize every detail of your face before he finally turned and picked up his duffel bag.

You walked the man you love to the door, your steps were slow, each one feeling like a goodbye. When you reached the threshold, Satoru stopped, turning to face you one last time. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was full of everything you couldn’t say—fear, hope, love, and the desperate need to hold on to this moment, to him, for as long as you could. When he finally pulled away, you could see the tears in his eyes, tears he was trying so hard to hold back.

“I’ll see you soon.”

And then he was gone, walking out the door and down the path that led to the street, where a car was waiting to take him to the docks. You stood in the doorway, watching as he walked away. When he reached the car, he turned back one last time, raising his hand in a small wave, a sad smile on his lips.

You raised your hand in return, your vision blurred by tears, your body shaking with the force of the sobs you were holding back. And then he was gone, the car driving away, taking him further and further from you, until he was just a speck on the horizon, and then nothing at all.

Finally, when you couldn’t stand it any longer, you sank to the floor, your body shaking with sobs that you could no longer hold back. You cried for what felt like an eternity with Charlie at your side, your tears soaking into the wood beneath you, your cries echoing in the empty house. 

When you finally had no tears left, when your body was too exhausted to cry anymore, you lay there, curled up on the floor, clutching the memory of Satoru close to your heart, the only thing you had left of him.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” you whispered into the silence, your voice hoarse from crying. “No matter how long it takes, I’ll be here when you come back.”

September 7, 1917

My Dearest Satoru,

I hope this letter finds you safe and well. I wish more than anything that I could be there with you, to hold your hand and tell you that everything will be okay. But since I can’t, I’m sending you all the love I have, wrapped up in these words.

Life here is quiet without you. The days seem longer, and the nights feel emptier, but I’m doing my best to keep busy. I’ve been tending to our plants you always loved, you won’t believe how much they’ve grown! The roses have bloomed beautifully this year, and I think of you every time I see them. I imagine you coming home and us standing together in the kitchen, just like we used to, with Charlie at our feet.

Speaking of Charlie, he’s been such a comfort to me in your absence. He’s still the same playful pup, always chasing his tail and trying to catch the birds that come too close. But I think he misses you just as much as I do. Sometimes, he will sit by the door, staring out as if he is waiting for you to walk through it. I take him on long walks, and every time we pass by the places we used to go together, he pulls at the leash, looking around as if he expects to see you there. I can’t help but smile and cry a little at the same time. He’s such a good dog, Satoru, and I know he’ll be so happy to see you when you come home.

I dream about the day you’ll come home, the day we’ll finally be together again. I dream of the life we’ll have, the family we’ll build, all the things we talked about before you left. And until that day comes, I’ll be here, waiting for you, loving you with everything I have. I’ll keep writing to you, and I hope that these letters bring you some comfort, some reminder of the life waiting for you here.

Please take care of yourself, Satoru. Stay safe, stay strong, and know that I’m counting down the days until you return. I love you more than words can say, and I’m so proud of you. Come back to us soon.

With all my love,

Y/N

October 12, 1917

The train clacked along the tracks, the noise doing little to soothe the nerves of the men inside. Satoru was sat by the window, his thoughts a thousand miles away.

Satoru’s hand slipped into his pocket, fingers closing around the worn edges of a small, creased photograph. He pulled it out, his eyes softening as he looked at the image of the woman who had captured his heart. Your eyes held all the warmth of a summer day, and your smile—oh, that smile—was the beacon that guided him. He could almost hear your voice, talking about the latest gossip or news.

As the train jolted along the tracks, Satoru’s thoughts drifted back to the last time he had seen you, the way you had clung to him, the way your tears soaked his uniform as you begged him not to go.

A soft voice broke through his reverie, pulling him back to the present. “Is that your wife?”

Satoru glanced up to see the soldier sitting next to him, a young man barely out of his teens, with wide, innocent eyes. He was looking at the photograph in Satoru’s hand with curiosity.

Satoru managed a small, bittersweet smile, his thumb brushing over the face of the woman in the photograph. “No,” he replied softly. “We never got the chance to marry.”

The young soldier’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion. “Why not? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Satoru sighed, leaning back against the hard, uncomfortable seat. His gaze drifted back to the photograph. “I was going to,” he began, his voice distant as he spoke, almost as if he were talking more to himself than to the young soldier beside him. “We talked about it, even picked out a date... But then the war came, and everything changed. I didn’t want to leave her, but there wasn’t enough time.”

He paused, his eyes clouding with the memories of that fateful day. The tears in your eyes as you pleaded with him to stay to marry you. But he had refused, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you a widow, of making you wait for a man who might never come back. It had been the hardest decision of his life, and now, as he sat on this train bound for the front lines, he wondered if he had made the right one.

“She must be something special,” he said quietly.

“She is,” Satoru replied, his voice softening as he thought of you. “She’s everything. The strongest, most loving person I’ve ever known. She’s the reason I’m doing this, the reason I’m still standing.”

He fell silent, his mind drifting back to the countless nights the two of you had spent talking about your future. You had dreamed of growing old together, maybe moving out to the countryside and live in a little house.

“What’s her name?” the young soldier asked, his voice pulling Satoru back from his thoughts.

“Y/N,” Satoru said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he spoke your name. “She’s waiting for me to come back.”

“You’ll make it back to her. I know you will.”

Satoru nodded, though deep down, he wasn’t so sure. 

The train jerked to a stop, the shrill whistle signaling their arrival at the next station. The soldiers began to stand, gathering their gear as they prepared to disembark. Satoru carefully folded the photograph and slipped it back into his pocket, close to his heart, where it belonged.

​​As he stepped off the train, the cold air hit him like a slap in the face. The station was a bleak and desolate place filled with soldiers. Satoru pulled his coat tighter around him, his eyes scanning the crowd, searching for something, anything, that would remind him of home.

But there was nothing.

He glanced back at the train, at the young soldier who had spoken to him. Their eyes met for a brief moment, then the young soldier raised his hand and, in a small almost hesitant wave said, “Take care of yourself!”

Satoru nodded, though he couldn’t bring himself to say the words in return. He turned and began walking, the weight of his rifle heavy on his shoulder.

The journey to the front lines was grueling, to put it lightly. It was something that tested the physical and mental limits of every man in the company. The landscape was a reflection of the war: the fields now lay barren, scarred by craters and the remnants of past battles. Trees stood like charred skeletons against the gray sky, their branches reaching out like twisted fingers. It was a place that seemed to exist outside of time, where the seasons had no hold.

Satoru walked near the front of the column, though his thoughts were universes away. He had stopped trying to make sense of the war around him, instead, his mind clung to the thought of his girlfriend and his home. Every so often, his hand would drift to his pocket, where the photograph of his beloved remained safely tucked away. It was his anchor, the one thing that kept him grounded in a world that seemed to have lost all meaning.

Throughout the journey, there were brief breaks from the march. Moments where men could catch their breath and rest their sore legs. During these breaks, the sliders would drop to the ground wherever they could find space. Some lit cigarettes, the tiny glowing embers flickering in the dim light, while others simply stared into the distance.

Satoru usually found a spot a little apart from the others, leaning against the trunk of a withered tree or sitting on a flat rock. Once on a break, the company rested by the narrow road that cut through a ruined village. Satoru found himself staring at the crumbling remains of a church. The steeple had collapsed, the once-proud structure now reduced to a pile of rubble. A few scattered graves dotted the ground nearby, their markers leaning at odd angles as if they, too, had given up the fight against the ravages of war.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of voices approaching from down the road. Another company was making its way toward them, the soldiers’ weary faces reflecting the same one that Satoru saw on his men. 

Satoru glanced around, his gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar faces. Most of the men looked just as worn and weary as his own comrades, their uniforms stained with mud. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure that made him pause, his heart skipping a beat. 

It couldn’t be—but it was.

Suguru Getou stood a little apart from the rest of his company, his back against the remnants of a low stone wall. He was staring off into the distance, seemingly unaware of the world around him, lost in thoughts that Satoru could only guess at. His face was thinner than Satoru remembered, his features more drawn, but there was no mistaking those sharp, dark eyes, or the way his long, black hair fell in loose strands around his face.

For a moment, Satoru was frozen in place. He hadn’t seen Suguru since before the war before they had been sent away from their families and to different parts of the front. Suguru had been sent to the front lines before Satoru did and Satoru had often wondered if he was even still alive, if he had somehow managed to survive on the front lines. 

Now, seeing him here, in the flesh, was both a shock and a relief.

“Suguru,” Satoru called out, his voice breaking the silence between them.

Suguru’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as they focused on Satoru. For a moment, there was no recognition in his gaze, just the cold, hard stare of a soldier who had seen too much. But then something shifted in Suguru’s expression, and his eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Satoru, you bastard,” Suguru replied, pushing himself away from the wall and making his way over to where Satoru stood. There was a moment of hesitation as if they weren’t quite sure how to greet each other after all this time, but then Satoru reached out and clapped a hand on Suguru’s shoulder.

“Still alive, huh?”

“Barely. It’s good to see you, Satoru.”

“And you,” Satoru said.

Suguru’s gaze then drifted to the photograph clutched in Satoru’s hand. “Is that her?” he asked quietly, nodding toward the picture.

Satoru followed his gaze, his expression softening as he looked down at the image of the woman he loved. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s the one keeping me sane out here.”

Suguru nodded, his expression unreadable as he looked at the photograph. “You’re lucky, you know,” he said after a moment. “Not everyone has someone to go home to.”

“And you? How are you holding up?”

Suguru shrugged. “I’m still here,” he said simply. “That’s all that matters, right?”

Satoru wanted to say something, to offer some kind of comfort or reassurance, but the words wouldn’t come. What could he say that would make any of this easier? What could he offer that would ease the burden they both carried?

After a while, the call to move out came, and the soldiers began to gather their gear, preparing to resume their march to the front lines.

“Take care of yourself, Suguru.”

“And you, Satoru,” Suguru replied, his expression softening for just a moment. “We’ll see each other again. We have to.”

As the two companies parted ways, Satoru glanced back one last time, watching as Suguru’s figure grew smaller and smaller in the distance. He slipped the photograph back into his pocket, his fingers lingering on it for just a moment too long.

December 1, 1917

The trenches were a whole other world themselves. They were a labyrinth of mud, blood, and despair that stretched across the landscape like a festering wound. Satoru had been there for weeks now, but time had lost all meaning. Day and night blurred together into an endless cycle of fear and exhaustion. The air was thick with the stench of death and decay, a sickly smell that clung to everything, seeping into the very pores of his skin. 

Satoru had never imagined that war could be like this. He had heard stories, of course—everyone had—but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of life in the trenches. The constant threat of death, the gnawing hunger—it was a living nightmare, a hell on earth from which there was no escape.

He had lost count of how many men had fallen, their bodies left to rot in the no man's land between the trenches. Friends, comrades, men he had shared laughs and meals with—they were all gone now, their lives snuffed out in an instant by a stray bullet or a well-placed shell. And with each death, a piece of Satoru died with them, his heart growing harder, his soul more numb.

At first, he tried to keep up the letters, pouring his thoughts and fears into the carefully penned words he sent back to you. He had written about the camaraderie among the men, the small moments of joy they found amid the horror, and the hope that one day, this war would end and they would be together again. He had clung to that hope, letting it buoy him up when the darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the words had become harder and harder to find. What could he possibly say to her now, after all he had seen, after all he had done? How could he put into words the horrors that haunted his every waking moment, the nightmares that chased him even in the few moments of sleep he managed to get?

He had started a dozen letters, each one more difficult than the last. He would sit in the dim light of the trench, his hands trembling as he tried to hold the pen steady, the paper before him smudged with dirt and blood. But the words wouldn’t come. Every time he tried to write, the memories would flood back—images of shattered bodies, of men screaming in pain, of the deafening roar of the guns that never seemed to stop. And then he would see your face, smiling up at him from the photograph he kept tucked inside his jacket, and the guilt would crash over him like a wave, drowning him in its icy grip.

How could he write to her about any of this? How could he tell her about the nightmares that kept him awake at night, the fear that gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog? How could he explain that he wasn’t the same man who had left her behind all those months ago, that the war had changed him in ways he could never have imagined?

Satoru had never felt so alone.

The men around him were suffering just as he was, but there was a wall between them now, an invisible barrier that kept him apart from the others. They still laughed, still shared stories and jokes to pass the time, but Satoru found himself withdrawing more and more, retreating into the silence of his own mind. He couldn’t bring himself to join in their conversations, couldn’t find the strength to pretend that everything was okay when nothing was okay.

It was during one of these quiet moments, when the guns had fallen that Satoru found himself staring at the photograph again. He traced the outline of your face with his thumb, the edges of the picture worn and frayed from being handled so often. You looked so happy, so full of life—everything that he wasn’t anymore. He wondered if she would even recognize him when this was all over if he ever made it out of this hell alive.

The thought made his chest tighten, a sharp pain stabbing through his heart. What if he didn’t make it back? What if this was where his story ended, in a cold, muddy trench on the other side of the world? Would she remember him as the man he used to be, or would she forget him altogether, moving on with her life as if he had never existed?

He shoved the photograph back into his pocket, the thoughts too painful to bear. He needed to write to her, to tell her how much he loved her, how much he missed her, but the words refused to come. The pen felt heavy in his hand, the paper staring back at him like an accusation.

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see one of the other soldiers, a young man named Thomas, standing over him. Thomas had joined their company a few weeks ago, fresh-faced and full of energy, but the war had already taken its toll on him. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks hollow, and there was a haunted look in his gaze that Satoru recognized all too well.

“Hey,” Thomas said, his voice rough from disuse. “You alright, Satoru?”

Satoru nodded, though he didn’t trust himself to speak. He knew that if he opened his mouth, the words that would spill out would be anything but alright.

Thomas glanced down at the paper in Satoru’s lap, the empty lines stark against the dirty page. “Having trouble writing?”

Satoru sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I don’t know what to say anymore.”

“It’s hard,” he said quietly. “Hard to find the words when everything around you is…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the trench, at the world beyond it. “But maybe it doesn’t have to be about all this,” he continued after a moment. “Maybe just…tell her you miss her. Tell her you’re thinking about her. Sometimes, that’s enough.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Satoru whispered.

Thomas crouched down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You can,” he said firmly. “You have to. For her. For you.”

He knew Thomas was right—he had to find the strength to write to her, to keep that connection alive, no matter how difficult it was. Because if he lost that, if he let the war take that from him too, there would be nothing left.

With a deep breath, Satoru picked up the pen again, his hand still trembling. He stared at the blank page for a long moment, his thoughts a jumble of emotions and memories, before finally, the words began to flow.

They weren’t perfect, and they certainly didn’t capture everything he was feeling, but they were honest. He wrote about how much he missed her, how he thought of her every day, and how the memory of her smile was the only thing keeping him sane. He told her about the men he was serving with, about the small moments of kindness and he told her that no matter how dark things got, he would find his way back to her.

By the time he finished, his hand was aching, and the paper was smudged with dirt and sweat, but the weight on his chest had lifted just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

The war had taken so much from him, had stripped him of his innocence, his peace of mind, and so many of the men he had called friends. But it hadn’t taken her. Not yet.

And as long as he had her, as long as there was still a chance that he could hold her in his arms again, he would keep fighting. He would keep going, one day at a time, one step at a time, until this nightmare was over.

Because he had to believe that there was still a future out there, a future where the two of them could be together, away from the mud and the blood and the death. A future where they could build the life they had dreamed of, where he could make good on all the promises he had whispered to her in the dark.

Satoru clutched the letter to his chest for a moment, closing his eyes and letting himself imagine that future—a small house, a warm fire, your laughter filling the air. It was a dream, maybe a foolish one, but it was all he had left to hold on to.

When he finally opened his eyes, the trench seemed a little less dark, the air a little less suffocating. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Satoru allowed himself to believe that he would make it through this, that he would survive this war and return to the woman he loved.

December 25, 1917

My Dearest Satoru,

Merry Christmas, my love. I wish I could say that it feels like the holiday season here, but without you by my side, it all seems so different. The tree in the living room is smaller this year, just a simple little thing I picked up from the market. I decorated it with the old ornaments we’ve collected over the years, though they don’t shine as brightly without you here to admire them.

Charlie and I spent the day together. He’s grown so much since you last saw him, you wouldn’t believe it! He still waits by the door every evening, his ears perked up like he’s expecting you to walk through any moment. I think he misses you almost as much as I do. We went for a long walk this morning, just the two of us. The air was crisp and cold, and there was a light dusting of snow on the ground. It reminded me of the first Christmas we spent together when you insisted on making snow angels and pulling me into that ridiculous snowball fight. I laughed so hard that day, and I haven’t laughed quite the same way since you left.

I cooked a small dinner tonight—nothing fancy, just some of your favorite dishes. I set a place for you at the table, even though I knew you wouldn’t be there to fill it. I like to think that, wherever you are, you can feel the warmth of home and know that you’re always in my thoughts. The house is quiet now, almost too quiet. I find myself talking to you sometimes, as if you were still here with me, sitting in your favorite chair with that mischievous smile of yours. I can almost hear your voice, teasing me, comforting me, telling me that everything will be alright.

But it’s hard, Satoru. It’s so hard being here without you, especially on days like this when the world seems so full of love and joy, and all I can think about is how much I miss you. I try to be strong, for you, for us, but there are moments when the loneliness is overwhelming. I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering where you are if you’re safe if you’re thinking of me as much as I’m thinking of you.

I know I shouldn’t burden you with my worries, especially when you’re facing so much over there. But I promised you that I would always be honest with you, and the truth is my love, I miss you more than words can say. I miss your laughter, your touch, the way you would pull me close when the world felt too big and frightening. I miss the sound of your voice, the warmth of your arms around me, the simple comfort of knowing that you were near.

I don’t know what this Christmas is like for you, if you’ve had a moment of peace, or if the war continues to rage on, even on this holy day. But I want you to know that I’m here, waiting for you, loving you with all my heart.

Until that day comes, I’ll hold on to the memories we’ve made, and I’ll keep you in my heart, always. I’ll keep sending you my love, in every letter, in every thought, in every prayer. And I’ll be here, waiting for the day when you come home to me.

Merry Christmas, Satoru. I love you more than words could ever express.

Yours always and forever,

Y/N

January 1918

The flickering light of the oil lamp cast shadows on the rough, earthen walls of the trench as Satoru unfolded the letter with trembling hands. The cold bit at his fingers, but the warmth of her words was all he felt. He leaned back against the wooden planks, his breath visible in the frigid air, and began to re

He could almost see her, sitting by the small tree, Charlie at her feet, the house filled with the scent of pine and home-cooked food. The image was so vivid that he could hear the crackle of the fire, feel the softness of your hand in his, and taste the warmth of the cocoa you always made too sweet.

When he finished the letter, he folded it carefully, placing it back into the envelope before tucking it into his jacket, close to his heart. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, trying to hold on to the image of her, of home, for just a little longer.

"Someday," he whispered to himself, "I’ll go back to you."

But that "someday" felt so far away.

Satoru was exhausted. He was so exhausted. And despite the cold and the ever-present danger, Satoru found himself drifting off to sleep. He dreamed of you and Charlie, of a small house and a garden, a real one, and maybe a little one.

But that dream was shattered all too quickly.

The ground shook violently, and Satoru was yanked from his sleep by the deafening roar of artillery fire. The once-peaceful night had erupted into chaos. He scrambled to his feet, the world around him a blur of noise and confusion. Mud and debris rained down as shells exploded nearby, turning the trench into a hellscape of smoke and fire.

"Satoru! Get up!" A voice yelled from somewhere in the darkness, but it was nearly drowned out by the barrage.

His heart raced as he grabbed his rifle, instincts taking over. The letter, the warmth of her words, the image of her waiting for him—all of it was shoved to the back of his mind as survival became his only focus. He could barely see through the smoke, but he knew what was coming.

"Over the top! They’re coming!"

Satoru fought desperately alongside his comrades. The world had become a blur of smoke, fire, and the metallic scent of blood. He barely felt the cold anymore—only the burning need to survive, to push through the horror and get back to the life he had left behind.

But even as he fired his rifle, the enemy pushing ever closer, a gnawing fear settled deep in his chest. It wasn’t the fear of dying, though that was always there, lurking beneath the surface. It was the fear of breaking his promise to her, of never seeing her again, never holding her in his arms, never telling her one last time how much he loved her.

Suddenly, a blinding light flashed to his right—a mortar shell exploding far too close. The force of it threw him to the ground, his head slamming against the hard earth. Everything went dark for a moment, and when he opened his eyes, the world was spinning. He could barely hear over the ringing in his ears, his vision blurry as he struggled to push himself up.

But before he could regain his bearings, he felt a sharp pain in his side, followed by a searing heat that spread across his body. He looked down, his hand coming away sticky with blood. Panic surged through him as he realized the wound was deep, too deep.

"Satoru!" someone shouted, but it felt distant as if it were coming from another world.

He tried to move, tried to fight, but his body wouldn’t respond. His strength was draining away, the edges of his vision darkening as the pain grew overwhelming. He reached for the photo in his pocket, fumbling with weak fingers until he could pull it out. The edges were crumpled, dirtied from being carried with him through every battle, but her face was still there, smiling up at him.

"I’m sorry baby…" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sounds of battle. He wasn’t sure if the words were meant for her or himself, but they were all he could manage.

As he lay there, the sounds of war fading into the background, another soldier—a younger man from his company—dropped to his knees beside Satoru. The man was injured, blood seeping from a wound in his leg, but his focus was entirely on Satoru.

"No… no, no, no," the soldier muttered, his voice choked with panic. He saw the wound, saw the blood, and knew there was nothing he could do. "Satoru, stay with me, please!"

Satoru’s grip on the photo loosened, and the young soldier gently took it from him, his hands shaking. He saw the woman in the picture, the one Satoru had talked about so often, and his heart sank. "Is… is this her?"

Satoru nodded weakly, the effort taking everything he had left. He tried to speak, to say her name, to tell the soldier to take care of her, but the words wouldn’t come. His chest felt tight, every breath a struggle.

"Don’t worry, I’ll… I’ll make sure she knows," the soldier promised, though his voice cracked with the weight of it. He fumbled with Satoru’s jacket, pulling out the dog tags, and pressed them into his own pocket, along with the photo. "I’ll tell her… everything."

Satoru’s vision darkened further, the world slipping away from him. All he could see was her face, all he could think about was the future they had dreamed of. But that future was fading, slipping through his fingers like sand.

"I’m sorry," he whispered one last time before the darkness took him completely.

Weeks passed, though they felt like an eternity. The war continued on, but Satoru’s company was eventually pulled back from the front lines, many of them injured, exhausted, or worse. The young soldier who had taken Satoru’s photo was among those who were discharged, his leg injury severe enough to send him home. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the weight he carried in his heart.

When the company finally reached the docks, it was a scene of bittersweet reunions. Families and loved ones gathered, waiting anxiously for a glimpse of their soldiers. You were among them, your heart pounding in your chest as you scanned the crowd, searching desperately for Satoru’s familiar face.

But you couldn’t find him.

The minutes dragged on, and panic began to set in. Where was he? Had something happened? You tried to reassure yourself, telling yourself that he would appear any moment, that he was just delayed, that everything was fine.

Then you saw a man hobbling toward you on crutches, his face pale and drawn. You recongnized the man as in the letters Satoru had described him as a friend, a comrade. But where was Satoru? Why wasn’t he with him?

Your breath caught in your throat as the soldier stopped in front of you, his eyes filled with a sorrow that made your blood run cold. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled photograph, the one you had given to Satoru before he left. And then, with trembling hands, he held out Satoru’s dog tags.

"I’m so sorry," the soldier said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "He… he didn’t make it."

The world around you seemed to crumble, the ground shifting beneath your feet as the words sank in. You stared at the photo, and the dog tags, unable to comprehend what he was saying. It couldn’t be true. Satoru had promised you. He had promised he would come back.

"No…" The word fell from your lips, your voice breaking as tears welled up in your eyes. "No, he… he promised…"

The soldier reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder, but the gesture did nothing to comfort you. "He loved you so much," he said softly, his own eyes filling with tears. "He… he talked about you all the time. Right up until…"

You didn’t let him finish. The pain in your chest was too much to bear, and the sobs broke free, your body shaking as you clutched the photograph to your chest. The world around you blurred, the sounds of the docks fading away as all you could think about was him—his smile, his laugh, the way he had held you that last night before he left.

He was gone. Satoru was gone.

The soldier stayed with you, his own heart breaking as he watched you fall to your knees, your cries of grief echoing through the crowd. But there was nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do to ease the pain of your loss.

And so the war took one more life, one more love story cut short by the horrors of battle. The future you had dreamed of, the life you had planned, was gone—lost in the mud and blood of a distant country.

All that remained were memories and the cold, hard reality that he would never come home to you.

© satorulovebot 2024 please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[foxdies]

right so i really dont know what else to do here but just ask. i am a very disabled lgbt jewish man (both physically and mentally) who cannot deep clean my apartment to the extent it requires. i am trying to book a one time service to aid in this because it will never happen otherwise. i have done some pre-cleaning myself but i just simply cant do it all, i suffer from severe chronic pain and balance issues that limit my ability to clean our apartment.

my father and i live in a two bedroom one bathroom apartment that desperately needs a deep cleaning. we have been living with a mice infestation since we moved in, in 2010. the constant biohazard of the mice makes us both sick and ruins our food and clothing regularly.

my landlord is finally getting an exterminator to deal with the mice, but we're still going to be left with a dirty apartment that i cant deep clean on my own.

i am playing around with a reliable cleaning service with an online estimator and the price is going to be anywhere from 300 to 500 dollars here depending on if they decide theyre going to charge more for the apartments issues.

i really dont know what else to do but ask for help.

if you can help me, every last cent will go toward being able to afford to pay for this (the date is not set, you just have to select one to get any approximation).

please rb if you can, thank you so so much for your consideration. i can/will add photos of the rooms as proof if asked.

paypal: hghars@aol.com / paypal.me/knifeofdunwall

cashapp: $DannyLuty

[tsukinoakume]

RW&RB MovieAlex vrs BookAlex: A Rant

I'm late to the party on Red, White, and Royal Blue for a dumb reason and now I'm obsessed with it. OMG I WAS SO WRONG.

I love the book. I love the movie. I also love the difference between them that I find myself obsessing over: the lack of June.

I love June. I'm also not mad that they removed her from the movie, because I honestly don't think they had the time to do her justice. The important thing is that when they removed her, they split her personality and scenes between Nora and Alex. And the result is fascinating.

Combining June with Alex gives us a calmer, more emotionally mature, competent version of Alex. He is definitely not the hot mess that BookAlex is. (Don't get me wrong here: BookAlex is my favorite character.) But now it's implied that MovieAlex is better at keeping his temper, handles his shit without being micromanaged, advocates for himself more, and I'm pretty sure the speech he gives is his own. Probably with help, but still. Also not having divorced parents means MovieAlex doesn't have BookAlex's abandonment issues. It's never said that his parents' relationship is perfect, but it's implied that he's had a stable family background. MovieAlex still has flaws and he's not Nora Levels of Competency, but he's definitely a lot more balanced. And this actually changes his relationship with Henry, just a little.

Namely in reference to my two favorite scenes:

1) Storming the Castle.

BookAlex is a ball of rage in this scene, and it's GLORIOUS. Yelling at the windows, aggressively dripping everywhere trying to ruin the rugs, making rude comments about Henry's ancestors. He is defiant. He yells, Henry yells back. It ends in tears, but there's a lot of anger.

MovieAlex by contrast is quieter, more hurt. He hardly yells at all. (I rewatched this scene like 20 times for Repeat to be sure.) He's determined, and he doesn't back down, but you get to see that split second of fear in his eyes that Henry is asking him to leave. There's a lot more emotion and tears in this version. It's ... sweeter isn't the right word. Bittersweet, maybe.

Downside: The lack of transition in the morning from the book. I miss Alex expecting to be dumped, and Henry realizing he doesn't want Phillip's life before deliberately making the choice to be with Alex. Also the comment on Alex's hair, which made me giggle.

2) The Museum Scene

I know a lot of people are disappointed with this scene, and I feel the need to argue about why it's brilliant the way it is.

In the book, they go to the museum because Henry has made his choice, and now he's showing one of his favorite places to Alex. He's the one who brings up the music. He chooses to fulfill his fantasy with Alex there, and he chooses to play a song that embodies the romanticism of their situation, about being in love and not being able to let anyone else know. Your Song.

In the movie, they go to the museum when Henry's still trying to decide if this is something he can have, and he's sharing a part of himself with Alex when he talks about his fantasy. Alex is the one who chooses to fufill it, so of course he chooses a different song. For him, it's a song about how easy it is to love Henry. I Can't Help Falling In Love With You.

I also love that they changed Henry giving the ring to Alex to Alex giving Henry his key in return. I love the symbolism of Alex keeping Henry's ring safe for him, of their two homes side by side. But I also love the idea of exchanging parts of themselves. I love that they have those pieces of each other when they're separated and the emails are exposed.

The book tells the story better overall because it has the time to, and the bickering and friendship between the boys is everything. The movie makes me melt over the flirting and affection between them. I can't pick one over the other because both versions of this story are wonderful.

But emotionally mature MovieAlex and how soft he is with Henry, making sure Henry's taken care of? I am WEAK for that.

[greatestrival]

Yuki Tsunoda: 10 Things I Love for GP RACING MAGAZINE APRIL 2024 ISSUE

scanned by me (please credit if you repost lmao these took so loooong)

text under the cut

10 THINGS I LOVE

RB's Japanese racer on his love of saunas, good coffee and - well, food, of course

Fashion

I like fashion. I like to choose my outfit according to my mood or where I'm going. And I like to show my colours, if you like. In short, it feels good to look good.

Food

There's no particular cuisine I like, but for me a good meal is a kind of tool to reduce stress and feel happier. It doesn't matter what kind of food it is - if it's good, I enjoy it, whether it's tacos or sushi. I really like pasta. When I'm in Italy that's what I usually eat. But it's important for me, wherever we go, to find a good restaurant so I can enjoy the food. Because in a way, as strange as it may sound, it gives me the same feeling as driving a Formula 1 car. When I drive, I just concentrate on that. It's not that I don't think - of course I do, especially during the race - but when it comes to driving, it's more about the senses than thoughts. When I'm driving I don't think about anything else. And it's almost the same with food. You just enjoy the taste and flavour - and I really like that!

Nature

We travel a lot and are surrounded by electronics and computers, Laptops, telemetry, data is our world - and sometimes it's just too much. So I like to get away from it all, to go hiking, for example, or just get out into nature and experience a different environment to Formula 1.

Jason Statham

Definitely my favourite actor, especially after meeting him in Abu Dhabi last year. I've always liked his films and Transporter is my favourite - but sometimes when you meet your hero and get to know the person better, you can be disappointed, can't you? It wasn't like that with Jason. He is such a great guy, really nice, talkative, very respectful and really, really strong! He's got everything you need. He's strong, he looks cool, he's bald. I might go bald in the future to look more like him...

Singing

I'm not the one who sings in the shower, but I do sing in the car. I just feel like it, to feel the rhythm, to have fun. And when I'm singing, I feel like a real singer.

Saunas

It's something I like to use to reset. 20 minutes in the sauna, then a cold shower and lying down - at that moment I feel like I'm in space. And it is an incredible feeling. It feels like your body is resetting itself. It feels like all the stress I have, it just comes out with the sweat, so after the sauna I feel fresh. Like a brand new me. It's funny, I didn't really like it before, but my friends kept telling me how great it was. So one day I just decided to give it another try and finally understood what they were talking about. Now it's one of my favourite things to do: just go to the sauna and relax.

Coffee

I have a good coffee machine at home. I like to grind coffee beans in the morning and make myself a good cup of coffee. Good coffee makes my day.

Wine

I don't drink alcohol very often, to be honest. And I'm not a guy who knows a lot about wine, about different types and varieties of wine. I'm not an expert, if you like. But it's nice to have a glass of wine with good food. It helps you enjoy it even more

Apex Legends

I used to play a lot more when I moved to Europe from Japan - and Apex Legends was my favourite game. I don't play as much now, but during my junior career it was a way to keep in touch with my friends in Japan because we were so far apart. Of course you can call and chat, but doing something together, playing and talking at the same time, is a lot more fun.

Football

I sometimes play football with the mechanics, engineers and other guys from the team in Faenza. And I love it. Because first of all I like the game itself, but then it's also good to hang out with the guys from the team - especially considering that it's usually the guys who don't go to races and stay at the factory, so it's also a good opportunity to bond with them.

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

Okay so you say you're a demigirl and a lesbian so I'm guessing you're theyfab as fuck. Listen bitch, when a trans girl tells you you're probably a terf, then you're probably a terf. Suck my dick. And no, I'm not the pedo accusing anon or whatever you mentioned in the rbs. Nice distraction tho.

what’s they-fab lol

If you have actual evidence of me being a terf then you can show me them, I’ll gladly do anything I can to change my way to make more people happy with what I’m posting. The problem is, you don’t seem to have real reasons to think that about me? It’d be a different thing if I kept buying Harry Potter merch and engaging in the fandom in a way that provides the author with my money, and I’ve already told you I don’t do that. I have almost all books in the series since I was a child, and the ones I’ve gotten this last year I’ve bought second-hand. Nothing new, no merch or anything, nothing that pays jkr.

So I do not engage in anything that helps the author keep on with her sick feminism. And I am a minor, so I’m gonna have to wait until I’m older and famous (lol I won’t be famous but I wanna be a singer) until I can criticise her in the open and have an actual audience that knows what I stand for. There’s not much I can do right now. All I can do is make sure that bitch doesn’t get a single euro from me, and that nobody thinks I support her. I guess I failed in that last part 💀

Okay, here you have it. I do NOT support the author of the HP books. I do not support ANY terfs or transphobes. I am trans myself and have a bunch of trans friends, and if you read @homocidalpotat’s response to your last message you’d know that. Even if I didn’t I’d support trans people anyway. I’ve supported y’all since day 1. And it’s gotten me in trouble in school, and it’s led to arguments between me and my mother. But that isn’t a reason for me to stop fighting for y’all, and I will continue to do this until the day I die.

I recommend you read @homocidalpotat’s paragraph. They said pretty much everything for me. The marauders fandom has made me and so many other trans people (and people in general) find something we have a burning passion for. Heck, some of us find the strength to keep living in this fandom. It’s a beautiful thing, and we all take distance from jkr and her bullshit. Do you even know the amount of fics we’ve all written? We read those more than jkr’s stupid, poorly written books.

I’ll say it again. Since I learned about trans people and jkr’s transphobia, I have not ONCE bought any of her stuff. I have not ONCE praised her. I’ve come across plenty of transphobes on this site and argued with them, and they are sick in the head. They are proud of their transphobia and do not hesitate to let us know what they stand for. If I were a transphobe, I would brag about it. But here I am, and being a bigot is nothing to brag about, and I’ll spend so many more days of my life fighting those bigots, even though they’ll never listen to us.

I get enough anon hate for supporting the trans community, and my friend got send a dick pic while arguing with a bigot about how someone’s genitals doesn’t decide what gender they are. I know how horrible transphobes are, and I hate to know that people think I’m one of them, but there’s nothing I can do to change your mind. I won’t waste too much time on you now, k? 💋

Stop sending hate. I get enough of that for being the very opposite of what you think I am.

P.S I am aware that trans people can be transphobes as well. That’s why I’d love to hear some of your reasons to think I’m one. If you’d just tell me your reasons, I’d do everything in my power to change that. But being in the marauders fandom isn’t enough evidence to me. Have a good day.

P.P.S I don’t wanna suck your dick, so I’m gonna have to say pass.

P.P.P.S Okay. Thanks for letting me know it’s not the same anon!

[kanene-yaaay]

New Announcements

Hello, Hello, dears, today I will try to be as concise as I can ♡ there are two main topics I want to talk about and I thank you for your patience in reading them.

FIRST TOPIC !

As for today and foward, I am closing my blog from minors. I know most of my followers aren't but the ones that are I thank for all of your support and care but I have been thinking about it for some time now and I finally decided.

Lately, in the previous months and into some wips that I am already in the process of making, I've been wanting to explore more suggestive and different scenarios which I've stopped myself from trying since the beginning of the year. My blog will continue to be sfw tickling, and if I try to really write and rb more mature things with tickling I will create a specific tag or another specific blog, but I would never feel comfortable in sharing those anywhere near the minors and I do not want to have yet another blog to take care of.

So I am asking that if you're a minor, please stop following my blog or interacting and stay safe out there, okay? You can have an incredible community between you all and all of my content will still be here when you get older, so don't worry!

I will reblog this post for two more days and then will be blocking all the remaining followers bellow 18 years old and without an age on their bio, thank you for understanding.

SECOND TOPIC (and last) !

The specific episode that made me write this part happened more than an year ago so please don't go thinking this is about a certain person or blog because it's not, it's actually something that happened more than I want or am comfortable of in my own blog.

Do not tag me in your call out post, especially if you and I aren't even mutual, especially if I don't know you and even more especially if there's any explicit images in your post. Please. Please. I will block you immediately and not even look twice at the thing you tagged me.

Here's the thing: I have been in here for a specially long time and I've seen and dealt with plenty of trolls and fake call out posts that are made just to cause chaos and ruckus. That is why, when I see an anon in my askbox talking about someone I've never heard of, of a fandom which I am not even part of even about another content platform that is in no way related to tumblr my first thought is that you're a troll and I have no way in proving or not otherwise, you see? You've given me no base, all the knowledge I have about the subject is what you have said to me and it's never wise in trusting all the knowledge into one person.

With mutual I have at least a little bit about them, the space of the community they are and the blogs I can look at to have a better understanding of what is happening and how I can decide to dealt with it. It's a total different scenario that actually gives me some space and knowledge on it's on.

I didn't want to bring this topic up but honestly I am tired of feeling anxious anytime I get a notification of someone tagging me in anything.

So please, do not tag, send me a dm or drop an anonymous ask in my askbox to call out someone. You will be blocked.

Thank you for your understanding

[~*~]

Twdlr:

Part one: I am changing my blog to Minors Do Not Interact and if you're a minor you have two days to unfollow me, please

Part two: don't tag me in your callout posts or send me a dm or an anonymous ask about if. Specially if I don't know you and have no way of proving your information.

[opal-inna]

Alhaitham is King Deshret megapost

Genshin Impact Lore / Speculation

I’m fairly certain that Alhaitham is either King Deshret reincarnated or is related to him in another way. There’s plenty of visual and lore evidence to back this up, hence I decided to compile it into this post. Note that I didn't include the latest content from 3.4 as I didn't familiarize myself with the new lore. This is a copy of my twitter thread.

This post is by no means 100% complete, since I couldn’t find all of it myself and I will be adding more once other evidence is presented. Feel free to send me more lore and visual hints via DMs and replies and I will add them to the thread. And if you have your own theories, please discuss them in the replies or rb with your own thoughts.

Part 1: Visual Evidence

A bit of storytime.

I’ve been familiar with the King Deshret theory a while back, but I wasn’t 100% convinced back then. However, during my time exploring the Mausoleum of King Deshret I encountered this. Notice the symbol on the ceiling, looking like the symbol on Alhaitham’s chest.

That’s when I stopped having doubts.

After looking closer, I’ve noticed many other design choices from Alhaitham’s appearance to motives of King Deshret’s civilization. I will list them below, note however, that this isn’t all of them, because I’ve only selected the most important ones, despite there being dozens of smaller ones, for the sake of making this post as concise as possible.

Motive of a blue eye

Symbol on Alhaitham's chest, motive of feathers

Motive on his boots

Motive oh a hawk

There were many statues of hawk like creatures, possibly being the statues of Deshret himself. It's also notable that Alhaitham means "young hawk" or "young eagle" in arabic. There's also a lot of other bird motives which I might list later, if you'd like.

Okay, but all of the above is just clothing and coincidences, isn’t it? These things could be attributed to him being a Haravatat member, and his interest in ancient scripts (so history and culture too) of King Deshret, no?

Ignoring the fact that Haravatat mainly focuses on linguistics, whereas it’s Vahumana that focuses on history and culture, there are other visual clues to suggest that Alhaitham isn’t who he seems.

This gem, however weird it might be, doesn’t seem to be a part of his clothing, given that it’s detached from it. Instead, it looks like it’s a part of his body. Despite the color change (more on that later) it’s suspiciously similar to these symbols.

This likeness of King Deshret also conspicuously has a gem in the chest area. The gem also is highlighted, meaning it’s probably important.

This isn’t even subtle.

While weird pupils are not uncommon for Sumeru’s playable characters, Alhaitham’s eyes are a direct copy of King Deshret’s likeness from the cutscene. The choice of blue/green iris combined with an orange pupil is peculiar, because nowhere in the game do we see such different colors just clash with each other. This choice was deliberate and I believe it’s hyv giving us a hint.

Part 2: Lore evidence

There is also some evidence in the lore of both characters.

But first, a little bit of Honkai lore.

This won’t be long, because I’m not as familiar with Honkai lore. Most of my research here is based on what I found from the internet and wiki and not the original source material. However, it’s important to mention it, because Alhaitham is a Su expy and some more concrete evidence is found in Su’s lore.

Su, in Honkai universe, is a leader of Project Valuka. This name doesn’t sound familiar at first, until you remember the Aranara questline. 

“Valuka” is Aranara speech for the desert, and the ruler of Valuka is none other than King Deshret.

If Alhaitham is a Su expy and Su has a lot in common with King Deshret, then the parallel between these characters seem more than just neat design choices.

However, it gets even more interesting. Because Su from Honkai prior to the game’s events “had imprisoned himself in the Seed of Sumeru as an act of redemption” - (direct quote from the wiki).

Which smoothly brings me to my next point, which is:

Part 3: The why - how is it even relevant?

Okay, so they are similar in their design. But does that mean they’re actually the same person? And how is it relevant?

Well, it brings the personality of both in another perspective.

If you’re unfamiliar with King Deshret’s lore, here’s a quick recap of the most relevant points.

King Deshret was one of the three rulers of Sumeru with Greater Lord Rukkhadevata and Goddess of Flowers. He was also deeply in love with the Goddess of Flowers and she was aware of his affections. He was proud and foolish. After the archon war ended was offered a gnosis by the Celestia, but he declined.

One day, he told her what his greatest dream was. Though unspecified, his dream involved rebelling against the divine. Despite her warning, he insisted she showed him “all there is to know about the skies and the abyss”. As a result of this ritual she perished, though King Deshret was unaware she did it intentionally.

After her passing, King Deshret was unable to move on and his sorrow drove him to madness. He created an utopia, which was supposed to be “free of worry, schemes and slavery”. He either created it to eradicate forbidden knowledge, but failed, or he tried to create an utopia and caused the forbidden knowledge to spread (more likely according to “The Lay of Al-Ahmar. Note that the validity of this book isn’t determined). Whatever the case might be, the result was that countless of his people died that very night.

After the leakage of forbidden knowledge, King Deshret and Rukkhadevata joined efforts to get rid of it. In order to do that King Deshret sacrificed himself and Greater Lord Rukkhadevata used most of her powers.

You might have noticed that these two characters, despite few similarities, are completely different from one another. One is cautious and reserved, and another is foolish, ignorant and sentimental. So, here’s my theory.

I believe that Alhaitham is King Deshret’s reincarnation, but without his memories. Not only that, but in my opinion the difference in their personalities seems intentional. Whether it was King Deshret’s reflection upon himself or Alhaitham’s own choices, it looks like Alhaitham purposely avoids acting like Deshret.

Deshret doesn’t think before he acts - Alhaitham’s demo trailer is literally called “Think before you act”. Deshret becomes a king and destroys his own kingdom - Alhaitham avoids situations in which he’d be placed as a leader, saying he’s not good in this role.

It could be King Deshret’s or Rukkhadevata’s design (more on that later) or Alhaitham’s conclusion based on his research in King Deshret’s legacy. It’s possible he’s even aware or suspects his own relation to him, as he’s very intelligent. 

Part 4: The how- Is it even possible?

In short, yes. There are many hints towards the possibilities of reincarnation in the story. This might be simply another samsara or a more direct intervention, for example of Greater Lord Rukkhadevata.

Nahida, being Rukkhadevata in the next samsara is just the beginning. In the Aranara questline, the Aranara say that death is just a loss of memories. Next we have Flower of Paradise Lost artifact set, in which it is said "Those who bloom like flowers, die like flowers, and rise again with the seasons like flowers can never be troubled by the likes of 'death.’” (these are the words of the Goddess of Flowers, perhaps about herself, but I can’t say that for sure).

Staff of the Scarlet Sands polearm description says: “Fear and grief must be torn down, and so the barrier between life and death must be removed”. (This is about him building his own utopia, mentioned previously).

Even if those interpreted individually mean different things, having so many mentions of rebirth is certainly worth taking into account. But how did King Deshret in particular get reincarnated?

Notice, how in this cutscene, King Deshret is removed to a single crystal, before disappearing. It appears as purple at first, but then changes color to a greenish blue.

Very similar in fact, to another gem.

In my opinion, this is Deshret’s soul - an empty husk without his memories. Why does it appear green in Alhaitham’s chest? Well, I think it was the Greater Lord who rescued him. Using her power of life she gave him another chance. It could have happend in another way, but I find it the most plausible.

Either way, regardless of the means, we can’t rule out reincarnation as a possibility.

Part 5: Conclusion

Keep in mind that this evidence isn’t directly stating that Alhaitham is King Deshret. Other than his eyes being the exact copy of King Deshret’s image (which usually would imply the same soul/identity), all this evidence is pointing out to them having a relation, not necessarily being the same person.

With that said, I am fairly convinced on that being the case. I encourage you to discuss it in the reblogs and share any interesting evidence you’ve found.

[akc-g]

anyways i think im officially not gonna get myself to do this so ill reveal info on that vkjc au i was gonna make a longfic abt the one for these vkjcs

i posted a few times abt how i loved the idea of leagueverse n arcaneverse being consecutive timelines in the way each reboot of devilman is The Next Universe ryo n akira are destinated to ruin. so the idea was there were 3 main verses n then mentions n occassional chapters abt others so it was infinity of timelines stacked on top each other of viktor n jayce meeting n viktor fucking it up beyond repair and being doomed to only realize when it was too late or she was abt to die.

the main verse it followed was gonna be the au i frequently draw above: vague 2010s modern day where a meteor was coming to take the world out and viktor n jayce were trying to rebuild blitzcrank after abandoning the project in college yrs prior. viktors deal was in college they had the usual situationship w jayce n then got into a horrible car accident that caused them to have a near-death vision of other viktors trying to warn them to not fuck this up. n it freaked them out so bad they completely ghosted jayce for a few yrs so he ended up thinking they just. died.

idm spoiling beats even if i somehow come back to it but the arc was gonna be that viktor was using both the meteor n blitzcrank to reconnect bc they felt guilty abt everything. n then jayce n vik slowly falling back in love jn the process n the ultimate test of if viktor could actually change as a person was that the meteor managed to be subverted n they had to still be willing to be vulnerable with jayce even if death wasnt looming over them. the end was gonna be v open bc itd imply the timelines didnt stop but that they had the chance to no longer be out of viktors hands.

the other beat was that this was happening at all bc viktor in one leagueverse was the sole survivor of this final battle between zaun n piltover n a Great God found it amusing how they were STILL sulking over jayce n pretending they werent they decided to have fun n make them self aware of timelines n in this doomed situation.

i qrote a few chapters idk if theyre too long for screenshots but ill rb w tyem lol

[vigilvntes]

A Little Company – Adrian Chase x Reader

A/N: this is a prequel to I got so fucking romantic, I apologise (which you can find on my masterlist!!) like this is quite literally just a fic of how vigilante and shadow from that fic met. you don't have to read the other fic, like at all! it's totally optional! but vigilante!reader x adrian is my favourite thing, and i have SO many ideas for this concept, including a direct follow on from this fic so if you want it?! let me know?!

feel free to send me fic/headcanon requests !!!

likes and rbs are appreciated <3

W/C: 4k+

Warnings: language, violence (use of knives, guns etc), mentions of kidnapping, vigilante being a Weird Little Guy™️

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“Hey, what're you doing?”

You don't panic. Instead, you drop your sniper from your shoulder quickly, cringing slightly when it hits the concrete of the rooftop. You stand up and twist your body, stepping away from the edge of the rooftop to press a gun up to the masked forehead of your interruptor. It seems he had the same idea, as his gun is firmly pressed against the black leather of your mask before you can even blink.

“Who the fuck are you?” You hiss.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“I asked first, motherfucker! I swear you better tell me who you are and why the fuck you're here or I won't hesitate to pull the trigger.” You threaten, gripping your gun tighter. Your finger brushes over the trigger. A warning.

“Maybe I won't hesitate either.” He retorts.

“Then. Don't.”

The two of you stare at each other for a few moments. Well, you assume he's staring right back at you, the red visor covering his eyes makes it hard to tell. Eventually, he lets out a quiet sigh, “Fuck. Fine.” He raises his gun-free hand, showing you that he's somewhat surrendered. “You're fuckin’ hardcore.”

“Tell me who you are.” You demand. He may have relented pretty quickly, but he has one last chance to explain who he is before you decide it's not worth the trouble and blow his brains out.

“Vigilante.”

“Vigilante?” You scoff. It has to be the most stupid, on the nose name you've ever heard.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “My friends call me Vig. But we're not friends, so you can't call me that.”

Yeah, no shit, you think.

“And let me guess, you're a vigilante?” You mock, fighting back the urge to laugh with all of your strength. You feel slightly bad when you notice his shoulders sink. But then you remember that he interrupted your mission, and then you feel slightly less bad about it.

‘Vigilante’ drops the gun from your forehead. “Yeah, and what about it? I bet your name isn't any better!” He sounds genuinely offended.

You return the favour and drop your arm. “Really? Because I don't think it can get any worse than ‘Vigilante’. I mean, that's so uncreative, man. And it's a shame, because I'm actually really digging the suit.”

He visibly tenses, “Oh. You like my suit?” His hands pat at the utility belt sitting on his waist and the coloured stripes on his chest. “I made it myself.” He tells you, sounding almost shy about it. You can hear the smile in his voice, though.

“Yeah. It's really cool, actually. I like the visor. Does it… do anything?”

Vigilante tucks his gun back into his belt, swaying on his heels slightly. “Nah. I mean, I wear glasses so… it's a prescription visor. That's all it does. Helps me see.”

You can't fight off the giggle that escapes from your throat, so you allow it. Just this once. “Your visor is prescription?! Dude, you have to be shitting me.”

He breathes out a laugh, “Yeah. It was a pain in the ass to get a hold of. I almost exposed my secret identity, like, three times.”

You nod, somewhat sympathetic to his situation. “Yeah, I can imagine.” You know all about almost exposing your secret identity. Having multiple black leather masks delivered to your house every month is probably a cause for concern. You're sure your delivery service, and even your neighbours, either think you're a murderer (which isn't exactly untrue) or a dominatrix.

“Uh, your suit is cool, too. It's… fitting. Not in that way, though. I just mean that… It suits you! Not that I would really know since I haven't seen your face and we've only just met. It's also fitting in the other way, just in case you were wondering. It hugs your body just right.” He nods once, an affirmation of his words before he awkwardly folds his arms across his chest. You just stare at him for a few moments.

You're not sure why you're talking to him, or why you're allowing him to overstay his welcome like this (not that you'd given him a warm welcome anyway). Anyone else would have been dead at your feet within minutes if they pulled a gun on you like he did. But Vigilante is… surprisingly charming. There's an awkwardness about him, but the charm is definitely there. Not to mention he's made you laugh. Sure, you were laughing at him more than with him, but it's still a point in his favour.

You shake your head, stopping your own thoughts before they wander any further. You still have a mission to complete. “Well, it's been nice talking to you. I have to, uh… Get back to it.” You tell him, using your thumb to gesture over your shoulder.

“Yeah. Yeah. Cool.” Vigilante nods at you, giving you a thumbs up before nervously scratching at the back of his neck.

“Cool…” You say under your breath. You turn your attention away from him and pick up your sniper, hoisting it back over your shoulder again. You hear no footsteps, but you assume he's gone. Maybe he's just light on his feet.

So, you kneel down at the edge of the rooftop and look through the scope. A wave of relief rushes through your body when you see that the men you had been tailing through Evergreen all night, the bastards who currently have a young woman tied up in the trunk of their car, are still standing outside of the abandoned building across the street. They're still waiting for their contact to arrive. They're still an easy target. If you shot one of them right now, and the other ran, you're confident in your ability to take him down before he could even make it halfway down the street. You take a deep breath to steady yourself and set your sights perfectly, just two seconds away from pulling the trigger. And then—

“So what are we doing?”

You drop your rifle for the second time tonight, your shot once again ruined by fucking Vigilante. When you turn your head, you see him knelt down beside you, observing the scene. Shaking your head incredulously, you scoff, “We are not doing anything. I— Why are you still here?” He's well and truly overstayed his welcome, and you're getting pissed off.

“I don't know. Figured I could help.” He mumbles, shrugging his shoulders casually.

“I don't need your help.” You spit back.

“In my defence, I never said you needed my help. Maybe I just wanna help? I can be your backup. Not— Not that you need backup. I'm sure you can handle it on your own. But those guys look tough— Not that you're not tough, either. I just don't really have anything to do tonight. My buddy’s banging a girl he met at a bar last night and—...”

A harsh sigh from you cuts him off. “Those guys have a woman in the trunk of their car. I don't know who she is, but I can only assume they're planning to sell her or kill her. I found out about their plans earlier tonight from a contact of mine but I couldn't stop them from taking her in time. So I’m stopping them now. Satisfied?” You give him a pointed look.

He nods, and your gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before you go back to looking down the scope, lining up your aim.

“Hey, you never told me your name.”

“Vigilante…” Your voice is low. A warning. This is a race against time and you can't allow yourself to be distracted like this for much longer. If the girl was taken inside, your job would get a whole lot harder. You want to avoid that, if possible.

A quiet, “Sorry.”

Sighing for what feels like the hundredth time, you mumble, “Shadow. You can call me Shadow.”

“Shadow?!” He exclaims suddenly, making you jump slightly. You can only hope he didn't catch that.

“Yeah…?”

“You ripped on me for Vigilante and your name is Shadow?!”

You look over at him, your mouth agape, “Are you kidding me?! Shadow is a fucking cool name! It's simple and effective!”

It's Vigilante’s turn to laugh now, and boy is he rubbing it in. He leans back on his heels, his hands clutching at his stomach. “And let me guess, you're called Shadow because you kill in the shadows?” He mocks, throwing his head back as he laughs.

“Oh, I'll be killing you in the shadows if you don't shut the fuck up.” You threaten. If looks could kill, Vigilante would be dead ten times over. Oh, how you wish looks could kill.

“I just don't understand how you could possibly think that ‘Shadow’ is a cooler name than Vigilante.”

You roll your eyes, glancing back down the scope, “I don't understand why you th– Fuck.”

“What is it?”

The men are gone. The car is, to your relief, still parked up outside of the building. You can only assume the woman is in there with them, and their contact has arrived. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking FUCK. The last thing you wanted was for them to move their business inside.

Your job just got a lot harder.

You stand up quickly (your sniper hitting the ground for the third time), sheathing your knife and pointing it at Vigilante. He lets out an ‘oh fuck’ as he scrambles backwards, away from the knife that's currently a mere ten centimetres away from his face.

“I could fucking kill you. Right here, right now.” You hiss, venom laced into your tone. You're seeing red. It's tempting to just plunge the knife right into his skull.

“Me?! Why me?!” He squeaks out, looking up at you from the ground.

“Because you fucking distracted me! If you weren't here then I could've had this whole thing finished by now!” You want to scream in frustration. This is just one of the many reasons why you always work alone. Why you don't see the point or the appeal in having a partner anymore. Alone, you're completely in control. You don't have to look out for anyone else, and there's less opportunity for distraction. “I should've killed you the minute I saw you, because now I'm paying the price for being nice. I should kill you right now…” You pause, your breathing heavy and angry, nostrils flaring as you curse yourself internally for what you're about to say. “But I won't. Because I could use some help.”

He's silent for a moment, then he carefully asks, “You… You want me to help you?”

You roll your eyes and shove your knife back into its holster, “Yes.”

“Y–You need my help?” He stutters over his words, and if you were in any other situation, you might have found it kind of cute. Unfortunately for both of you, you're not.

“I don't need your help. I can handle myself. What I said is that I could use your help. It'd be useful to me.” You pat your body down quickly, accounting for all of your weapons. Gun number one? Check. Gun number two? Check. Knives? Check. Extra ammo? Check. You'll come back for the sniper. “And if you ask me to repeat myself for a third time, I'm gonna change my mind.” And I might just kick you right off the rooftop.

You don't even give him a chance to ask again, because you're already halfway across the rooftop, making your way to the shaky ladders you climbed to get up there earlier in the night. It's only when you turn your body and carefully place your foot on the top step, hands gripping the rusty bars, that you realise he isn't following you. He's just staring at you from where you left him on the hard concrete. “Well? Are you coming?” You demand a final answer.

“Fuck yeah, I am.” He mumbles, picking up his gun before scrambling to his feet and following you.

You both scale down the ladder, quickly descending until your feet hit the ground. That's when you start to panic, just a little bit. You prefer to be on higher ground, to have some kind of territorial advantage over your targets. It's not that you're bad at ground work, you just like to keep your hands as clean as possible. Literally.

Vigilante joins you on the ground, and the two of you get moving. You make your way around the building you'd been perched on only minutes ago, pressing your body against the wall on the corner when you reach the street, hiding yourselves in the shadows.

It's quiet. Buzzing streetlights and Vigilante’s quiet breathing is the only thing you can hear. Your own racing heartbeat, too. But you want to forget about the anxiety that's burrowed itself into the pit of your stomach. You can see the abandoned building. It's directly across the street from you, and the door is closed. You'll have to find your own way in. A window that you can shimmy through or another door around the back with a lock you can quietly pick at. Then you'll have to figure out how to not cause a commotion. You'll have to be stealthy, making a point to not—

“This kinda feels like a date.” Vigilante’s voice throws you off, ruins your concentration. You take your eyes off of the building and glance up at him with narrowed eyes, brows furrowed under your mask. He continues, “The more I think about it, this kinda is a date.”

“How is this a date?” You ask, bewildered because never in your life would you take rescuing a girl from a group of kidnappers to be a date.

“I don't know. I mean, this whole situation is kinda romantic, if you think about it. It could be classed as a date.” He shrugs.

"Romantic? Really?"

"Yeah. When you pulled the knife on me it was, like, the hottest thing I've ever seen. I honestly thought you were gonna kill me, but you didn't. And now I get to think about that moment forever. That's romance."

Vigilante has stunned you into silence. You can only stare up at him, mouth agape as he looks down at you. You're hoping he'll burst into laughter, and tell you that his warped idea of romance is just a joke. That he's just playing around. But he doesn't, so you just tell him, "This is not a date. I don't even know who you are.”

“Uh, yeah. You do. I’m Vigilante.” He tells you, sounding ever so slightly offended that you might have forgotten his name in the twenty minutes you've known him.

“That's not what I meant. I don't know who you really are. And you don't know who I am.”

Vigilante scoffs, “That's so irrelevant. Our alter-egos know each other and they could totally date. Like in those spy movies. The ones where the main characters hate each other but they're forced to work together under their alter-egos and eventually they fall madly in love.” He lets out a sigh that almost sounds… dreamy. As if he believes that this scenario is going to play out exactly that way.

You're hellbent on telling him otherwise. “This isn't a date. There's gonna be no falling madly in love, or whatever. You ruined my plan, and now you're helping me. And when we're finished here, we go our separate ways. That's the end of this story.”

Unfortunately, you and Vigilante make a pretty good team.

You were so hoping he'd be useless. That you had an excuse to never want to see him again after tonight. But you soon found out that he's smart, strategic. Capable. As soon as the two of you entered the building, he was focused and driven. That quirky persona he had before was no more. Vigilante was more than happy to take the lead for you; he snuck up behind the fuckers who kidnapped the woman and drove his knife into their skulls with precision and an alarming amount of stealth, holding his hand over their mouths until he was sure they weren't breathing anymore.

You didn't mind this arrangement, the less literal blood on your hands, the better.

Eventually, the two of you come to a halt outside of a small room right at the back of the building. You press your ear up against the wooden door, cursing when you hear a male voice coming from inside followed by muffled whimpers and cries.

“She's in there. With the contact.” You whisper to Vigilante. The guys you'd been tailing through Evergreen are already dead, lying in a puddle of their own blood near the entrance. You can only assume the fucker they were planning to sell the girl to is the owner of the voice.

“Want me to go in and fuck him up?” He whispers back.

You think about it for a moment. These guys have been pissing you off all night. You've been through a lot of trouble to save this girl. Of course, you don't mind. If it means she's safe, that's all that matters to you. But you would like to get the final blow. So, you reply, “No. I got this.”

Slowly, you take your knife out of your holster, and before you can even think about talking yourself out of it, you kick the door. It swings open violently, hitting the wall with a loud crash and you're sure you broke at least one of the hinges. Who cares? It's not like the building’s going to be used for anything other than criminal activity.

The man inside lets out a loud and confused ‘what the fuc–', but you move too quickly for him. You kick in his knees before he can even think about turning around or creating his own plan of attack. He's on his knees, wide-eyed and panicked, and you have one arm wrapped around his neck to hold him in place while the other holds your knife, pressing against the tender, stubbly skin of his neck.

He's younger than you expected him to be. When you heard the woman was being sold to a contact, you expected him to be some sick freak in his mid 50s. But no, he's probably younger than you; and given the way he's thrashing around in your hold, he's probably more inexperienced than you.

He's working for someone, and you'll find a way to get it out of him.

The woman is in the corner, watching the scene with wide eyes and muffled screams coming from her duct taped mouth. You give her a slow nod, trying to reassure her that you're not here to kill her. That you're on her side and you will get her out of here. She seems to calm down ever so slightly.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. P–Please don't kill me. I–I’ll do anything. Anything you want. You can have the girl. You can have whatever you want. Money? Do you want money? I–I can pay you! Please I— I have kids.” The man begs, his voice shaking.

“Ew. Why would we want your kids?” Vigilante asks from behind you, and the sudden appearance of a second voice only makes him panic more.

You can't help but roll your eyes at his squirming and pleading. “Why did you take her?” You ask.

“I– I don't know. I don't know anything. I swear!” He tells you.

Of course you don't believe that, so you press your knife against his neck harder, nicking at the skin, making sure you draw some blood. He lets out a sob, and in response Vigilante lets out a quiet laugh. “I don't believe you. Why did you take her?” You ask again.

“I– I don't know. I– I was just told to collect her. I think she– She tried to sell us out. Boss wanted to–”

“Boss?” You ask slowly. So he is working for someone.

“Oh fuck. I'm fucking dead. He's gonna kill me. He's gonna fucking KILL ME.”

Vigilante approaches now, kneeling down in front of the man. He places a hand on his shoulder, a reassuring gesture. “Buddy, no. He's not gonna kill you. You don't have to worry about that.” For a moment you're confused. You didn't take Vigilante to be the sympathetic type. But then he says, “Because we're gonna kill you first.”

Ah. That makes more sense.

“Who are you working for?” You tighten your grip on his neck, your knife pressing into his skin harder. If you have to kill him before you find anything out, you will; you'd just prefer to get at least something from him. He stays quiet, only whimpering and sobbing quietly to himself. “Look, you're as good as dead anyway. You might as well tell me which asshole you're working for.”

A moment more of silence. You're just about to drag your knife across his throat when he shouts, “Scorpion! I'm working for Scorpion! The girl– She– The girl was gonna sell us out! She has information on us– I don't– I don't know how she got it! Fuck, I don't even know who she is!”

“Fuck.” You hiss. Of course it's Scorpion.

“Scorpion? Who the fuck is Scorpion?” Vigilante asks, glancing up at you.

You just shake your head and screw your eyes shut, slashing at the man’s throat quickly. It's a deep cut, and the blood flows from the wound like a waterfall. He lets out a strangled yell, gurgling and choking on his own blood before you push his body to the floor. He stills after a few moments.

“Check the body.” You tell Vigilante, and he obliges, reaching into the pockets of the man you just killed. You make your way over to the woman quickly, shoving your knife back into its holster.

She panics as you approach her, pressing her back against the wall. She whimpers and writhes in her restraints, and you can't blame her. If you were a witness to what she just saw, you'd probably be afraid of yourself too. But you kneel down in front of her, and tell her gently, “You're gonna be okay. You're safe now.” You take out your pocket knife slowly, and her eyes widen. “I'm just gonna use this to cut your restraints, okay? Then we’ll get you out of here.”

She seems to calm down a little, and you take the opportunity to cut the duct tape around her mouth, peeling it carefully until she takes a deep, frantic breath through her mouth.

“Hey, Shadow?” Vigilante calls from behind you, and you glance over your shoulder at him as he stands over the body, inspecting the wallet he found. “This guy’s name was Robert Robertson. How fucking lame is that? You know, I think we did him a favour. Who wants to live with a name like Robert Robertson?”

“Oh, his parents hated him.”

You go back to cutting the rope restraints around the her wrists and ankles as she watches you, breathing shakily everytime the metal brushes against her skin. You offer her quiet apologies. Eventually, she's free, and you stand up, offering her a hand.

She doesn't take it. Instead, she asks you in a small, scared voice, “You're not gonna kill me, right?”

“No. Of course not.” You reassure her.

She's not convinced by your words. She looks at you with pleading eyes, and then her gaze flicks behind you, prompting you to turn around. You see Vigilante standing just a few metres away from you, flipping his knife in the air and catching it. You scoff, “Dude, can you put that thing away? You're freaking her out.”

“Sorry.” He mumbled, tucking his knife back into its holster, kicking his feet like a scolded puppy dog.

“We're not gonna kill you. I promise.” You tell her, offering your hand again. This time, she takes it, allowing you to pull her up to her feet. She stumbles almost instantly in her exhaustion, every muscle in her body aching and sore; you catch her, calling out to Vigilante.

He picks her up, and the three of you make your way out of the building and into the street.

It doesn't take long for your contact, Erica, to arrive. The woman is reluctant to leave you, insisting that you should come with her for protection. It takes around ten minutes for you to convince her that she'll be safe without you; that you trust Erica and she'll be taken somewhere safe.

You wave her off, and not long after you find yourself back on the rooftop with Vigilante.

“So… Scorpion. Who's that?” He asks, sitting down beside you as you pack your rifle and other miscellaneous weapons into your grey duffel bag.

“How long have you been doing… this? Like, how long have you been Vigilante?”

He shrugs, “Maybe five or six years.”

“And you've never had any run-ins with Scorpion or his men?” You ask, and he shakes his head in response. Lucky bastard. “He runs the biggest underground black market for illegal weapons in Washington. He chose Evergreen as his base for operations because it's relatively quiet. I mean, who would expect something like that to be happening here? He's been on my radar for… a while. And I’m on his.”

“You've met him?”

You take a deep breath, a few moments decide your course of action. You could tell the truth, or you could lie. Lying seems like to be the most appealing option. "No. I haven't met him. But I've made sure to be a pain in his ass, for sure. He probably knows about me."

You stand up and sling your bag over your shoulder before he can respond, making it clear that you're not interested in carrying on this conversation. You barely know him, and you don't feel it's necessary to reveal everything to him. “Anyway. Thanks for tonight. For helping me out. Even though it was kinda your fault that I needed help. It was… fun. I guess.” Fun? Did you seriously just say that?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” He apologises, sheepish. "I had fun too. Just in case you were wondering."

A silence falls over the two of you, allowing some time for you to collect your thoughts. You meant it when you said that it'd be fun, and that freaks you out. It's been a while since you've spent time with anyone outside of your workplace. Having friends means having baggage, something that others can use as leverage; that's something you can't really afford to have.

“So… Is there any way that I could, like… contact you?” He asks, kicking his leg back and forth nervously, his shoe scuffing against the concrete.

“You… You want to contact me?”

Vigilante shrugs, “Yeah. I don't know about you, but I think we made a pretty good team. Unless you disagree. Then I think it was awful and we should go our separate ways and never do it again.”

“N-no. I think… Yeah. I agree.” You stutter. You fucking STUTTERED. How dare your voice betray you like this? You want to grab your own shoulders and shake yourself. Scream ‘THIS ISN’T YOU’. You've proven to yourself time and time again that you're ruthless. That you don't need anyone's help, or anyone to look out for you. Yet here you are, agreeing that you and Vigilante did make a pretty awesome team, and that maybe you'd be open to meeting with him again. What the fuck is wrong with you? You're truly fucked.

Still, you pull out your burner phone and hand it over to Vigilante, “You can just… y’know, put your number into there.”

So he does just that, handing your phone back to you. “So, you'll text me? Or.. call me? Whichever you prefer. I know some people prefer to text because it's less pressure–...”

“I'll text you.” You assure him, giving him a quick nod before making your way to the ladders, wondering what the fuck just happened and when you'd decided to start being friendly with random Vigilante’s. Especially Vigilante’s that are literally called Vigilante.

You still think it's a dumb name, but that does nothing to wipe the stupid grin off your lips as you make your way home.

[ratwars]

Housekeeping. Long af, but important if you give a shit about my tagging system or actively use it to filter or regularly search my blog.

When I first started this blog I didn't know wtf I was doing or how to use tumblr. However as someone who loves making things searchable and sortable I quickly fell in love with the tagging system, and started extensively using organizational tags. I quickly settled on a consistent system I have been using ever since.

I used to never talk on here either but eventually decided to do that more but when my follower count was lower (which I miss tbh) it was super obvious when ppl would unfollow me, which tended to happen after personal posting. So I created a -pers tag so ppl could shut me up but still get 24 hr reblogs. Because I did have a queue going for the better part of those 2 years.

My queue ended a couple times in the past 6 months and I haven't had the time or energy to put it back together again. I miss having it. I also have less time and energy to deal with my own tagging system causing me to do most of my reblogs in 2 parts. Drafting things when I see them. Tagging and posting them later sometimes weeks later as my drafts build up. I have been even worse about leaving compliments and comments in tags as well because of this. I am tired and busy but I miss it.

In order to combat my issues and take the burden off of myself that I put on myself, and allow me to hopefully do more of what I enjoy while still sharing lots of rbs with yall, I am doing the following:

I will no longer be consistently tagging individual bsd characters except for a few. Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma, and Dazai (because I regularly search them on my own blog). And possibly characters who it is more of a rare treat to rb fanart of them, like Higuchi and Mori. I will no longer be tagging bsd posts that have other bsd tags in them as bsd separately (so the common "bsd fyodor, bsd fanart, bsd, would become bsd fyodor, bsd fanart.)

I will still tag new chapters on chapter release days and the day after, as well as continue to use the bsd spoilers tag for even longer.

For other series that are not bsd, I will only tag the series and no longer tag characters or use a fanart tag separately, with the exception of the dialovers Carla and Yui Komori tags.

I will no longer tag nature.

I will no longer tag quotes.

I will only use the "art" tag for non fandom related art, I will no longer use the illustration (or illlustration) tags.

I will use weirdcore or dreamcore tags but not both on the same post. It is important to me that ppl can still filter these out.

I will use -pers and -vent still, but with absolutely zero further promises that I will tag my own talking consistently. I will still put long or (things that I think would be) super upsetting under cuts like I have in the past. I will probably still delete things regularly.

I will no longer tag me reblogging my own posts as self rb.

I will keep my -whump on main tag, so ppl can filter that still. I will still tag cw eyestrain and cw flashing for accessibility. I will still tag blood and gore if it is intense and I post it here instead of my sideblog but I do not promise consistency.

I will still use my ask and tunes tags, and if I do special queues (like the friday fyo queue) I will tag those. I do plan on using my old queue tag as well or making a new one.

If I have gotten rid of anything that you actively filter please feel free to unfollow me even if we are mutuals. I also don't find it weird for people to visit my blog and interact with me without following me, so if you do feel you need to unfollow me but still want to search your blorbos on my blog, send me asks, or talk in my tags and replies, please do so and of course reblog and spam reblog from me to your heart's content. If you want to unfollow me and we have ever talked in dms before my dms are still open to you then as well. It doesn't bother me at all. This isn't so much of a new thing either in regards to my feelings about that, just a clarification I thought I should explicitly point out rn given the fact more of you might want to bail if you can't hide my bird posting for instance.

I might change or drop any of this if I feel like it. I enjoy being consistent, but I don't like feeling bound to it. And I realized I was which made me want to abandon my blog and start over without the imagined expectations. Instead I am trying this.

[stormoflina]

Domi interview, part 3

Dominik says the biggest differences from going to playing in the Bundesliga to the PL, are pace and decision making.

D: "You get the ball, then you have 2 seconds to make a decision, in the Bundesliga you had 4. Every match is a life or death situation. Every team can beat the other, and this is what it's so great about it [the PL].

About how beefed up Salah got ever since his shoulder injury in Madrid, if working out like he does, strengthening core muscles are expected of everybody, or it's a plus they can decide to do:

The interviewer basically goes on a monologue about how muscular and strong Mo is. He seems very impressed, retelling how Mo works out, how strong he is and wonders if the special workouts he seems to do is what makes him avoid injuries. He asks Dominik about his opinion, if he too, believes in putting in the extra work, like Salah does.

D: "Nothing is obligatory, we don't have a gun to our heads to work out in the gym. Everyone does it for themselves. He [Salah], yeah, it's true all what you said. I talked a lot about to him about this, asking questions, because I was interested. He said, until he was like 28 years old, he didn"t do this (...), then he decided to cut out pasta, bread, sugar (...). He made his decision, and ever since, like even if we have training at 12, he is at the gym by like 10."

I: " And what about you, what do you think, do you do this or not (...)?"

D: "Everyone is different. I do my own things, this [what Mo does] is I think not what I need. I have tried it, being very strict about food (...), but I didn't feel better. I felt very anxious, that I had to restrict myself, I didn't feel free, didn't feel like I was able to do things freely. Now, if I feel like eating some chocolate, then I will eat it. He [Mo] thinks different."

About how much work he brings to his private life, if he watches matches in his free time, things like that:

D: It's hard still. I'm trying to build this habit up, that when I come in the door, I leave work behind, and when I leave the house and go to training it's all about football (...) But it's hard. (...) I very rarely watch matches, usually only when one of my friends play. I have a friend, who now plays in the NB2 (the Hungarian Second Division), sometimes I watch that on Youtube.

I have a friend group of 5 people, we do a shared call, than watch the friend's match on the TV."

I: "Do they do the same with you?"

D: "Sometimes it doesn't work out, but yeah, they all watch my matches too."

About playing style of RB Leipzig vs Liverpool

The interviewer goes on about how Klopp changed his tactics up a bit, after Liverpool became the champion, back then it was less direct, but now it's so direct, all about gegenpressing, there are so many balls going forward, meaning there are many, which "come back too". [It's all about counter pressing.]

D: "I can't really compare the two teams, it's a different league, different players. The coaching mindset is different too, even if Klopp and [Marco] Rose are quite similar choaches."

I: "And then there is Jesse Marsch, [Klopp and Rose] basically on steroids." (lol)

D: "You get the ball, long ball/long pass, then shuhsu. [makes a sound to go forward]

But, basically, the last season for Liverpool was kinda bad. So, he [Klopp] thought, let's twist it all up. We will go for every ball, we will get every ball, then when we have it, we will go forward. Not in a stupid way, of course, if we can't go forward, then we keep the ball, twist it around (...). There is [tactical] football, it's not get the ball forwards." [basically saying not hoofball]

I: "You are someone, who rather keeps the ball, turns it around in the sides..."

D: "Before the match against Everton, in training there was a situation, when we were playing, running for like 5 minutes, and I kept the ball, passed it back, said that why aren't we going forward? Then, the others told me, we are not going forward, because we have been running for 5 minutes, let the opponent run some, while we keep the ball."

I: "It was reported, that when TAA started inverting to midfield, he would find this information [if he has to do this or not] a day before the match. This seems ??? (sorry, for some reason I cannot understand what he says). Is it the same for you, because sometimes you play as a 6, mostly when you are down to 10 men [Dominik chuckles at that], it seems your position on the field changes a lot. How soon do you find this out?"

D: "Our positions are discussed in the training before the match. But everything can happen, so it does change a lot."

I: What did Klopp tell you yesterday [in the game against Everton] at the 61th minute, when he called you over to you at the side of the pitch? Everton was very deep by then, defending 5-3 basically, leaving no place left in the midfield. Do you remember what he said (...)?"

D: "He told me to go forward, to be closer to Jota. If there is a ball, shoot."

I: "In Leipzig and the NT too, you are right in front of the pitch with the ball [meaning that he had the time and space to attack, move the ball], but now, you are playing as an 8, where you have seconds to find space between the lines, it's all very quick. Which styling play you prefer (...)"

D: " I don't like to play backwards to the net. I feel like I'm someone, who can see things, when facing the net, which others may not. It's an advantage I try to use as much as possible, to give myself a bigger space from the people, then I try 1 vs 1, or either with passes, but if I have to play between the lines, then I will do that."

I: "Do you have any preference where to play? [position vias] You said you like to be in front of the net, but sometimes, as an attacking 8, that's not possible."

D: "It depends on how I position myself. Whatever position I play, I can position myself in a way that it works out for me. I don't mind if I have to play deep, what matters to me is that I can turn, and see everything in front of me. Not when I get the ball, and there are people breathing down in my neck. I don't like that."

I: "But that happens a lot lately. (...). Sometimes you have to play as a double pivout."

D: " Yeah, it happens, when we feel like we can't get through them. Then, Trent goes to the right wing, and then Mac Allister and I can deal with the rest."

The interviewer then mentions the problems Trent faced last season, that Henderson used to help him out. Question that when he has to do the same [cover for Trent, when he inverts into the midfield] how automatic it is, if it comes naturally, or it's something Klopp drilled into him.

D: "No, it comes naturally to everyone, I think. If you see your RB struggling, you will go and help them. I'm not a good defender, but I know what I have to do in that 1,5 min I'm there."

Question about the connection between Klopp and Pep. He said, and it was reported as well, that he [Pep] invented this new position of TAA, and sometimes it's him who is in charge of the training too. Who comes up with the tactics, who tells them (...).

D: "We don't know who comes up with the tactics. Klopp is the one who tells us, and it's only him, who does the training before the match. Other trainings, Pep does it sometimes."

Question about Dominik's feelings and impression of Pep.

D: "He is good. I love him. He listens to everyone, we all listen to him. It's great to work with him."

About Haaland.

Haaland said his superpower is regeneration. Examples how he tapes his mouth, things like that. "He is a machine, a robot, says that about himself as well." Question if Dominik believes in the same stuff as well.

D: "I don't judge (lol), everyone does what they think it's the best for them. Back in Saltzburg, I meditated with him a few times, because we shared a room. First, I thought it was stupid, then I joined him, because why not. He used to wear those blue light glasses, I tried that one out too, he said it would help me sleep better... Well, you can only guess, if it worked out I would be wearing them still. It didn't help me. Maybe it didn't work out for me, because I didn't believe in it. He does a lot of other [regeneration] stuff, that people don't know about. I have been in his place, yeah it's a lot. He is a bit strange. [laughs]"

Short questions:

I: "Do you prefer heavy metal football or a possesion-based, slower stlye?"

D: Both, it depends. Maybe I prefer when I have the ball, and it's the opponent who has to run, not me, even if I can.

I: DC or Marvel?

D: Marvel.

[bestofhouse]

welcome to the house md tournament

wherein we will collectively decide which house episode is the best, the cream of the vicodin crop. my overriding philosophy for this tournament is to provide entertainment, even where that might conflict with collecting the "most accurate" data. this is tumblr, not a peer-reviewed study. we can't always get what we want, but i try sometimes to get you what you need

tournament status:

preliminary polls and bracket are being designed. keep an eye out for polls that will help me design the brackets and polls in a way that makes most people happy

polls:

polls will last 1 week and the winner will move onto the next round. any poll that registers a 50/50 tie will be broken by me at my own discretion, because i deserve a little treat once in a while

live polls and results will be linked in this post while the tournament is ongoing

propaganda:

submit propaganda for any episode, any time, through this form right here. to keep posts succinct, i may trim or omit submissions at my discretion, especially if many people have submitted propaganda for an episode. depending on the amount of work involved, for episodes with a lot of propaganda, i may rotate out what's included with each poll that episode survives, or omit it altogether in certain polls to keep things as neutral as possible. i'm making this shit up as i go

i will not rb propaganda -- personally when i'm following polls, i don't want to see it. this might change towards the end of the tournament, but for now i don't want to clutter dashes too much.

be civil to the other human beings around you in my notes. criticizing an episode you don't like is fine, but keep it classy

tagging system:

i will do my absolute best to keep non-poll nonsense to a minimum. you're welcome to send in comments, questions, etc, but know that i may not answer them all (if anonymous) to avoid clogging dashboards.

polls will be tagged with:

#poll

#round [x]

the episode in the format of "season.episode - episode title"

i don't want to clog the main house tag so i will not tag every poll with #house md, though i may sporadically main tag one or two polls per round, especially toward the end

#housetournament

i don't see myself creating any posts on this blog that are not strictly related to the running of this poll, but if i do i'll use #not tournament related. every post that isn't specifically a tournament poll will be tagged #admin. i will tag non-anon published asks with the sender's url (dashes converted to spaces).

this post will be updated as i continue to get my shit together. please be patient while i do this

[cupcraft]

I think why it's important to support victims too is the reality of being a victim is that not everyone is going to have collected the evidence that ppl always ask for (and even then people always say the evidence is fake/not good enough).

Like I wont get too personal on details bc im not comfortable with that, but I want to use myself as example for my point because I don't want to speak for other people's experiences.

I was a victim of emotional abuse from a friend group for years that i only very recently went no contact with 1 year ago just about (2 ppl in the group specifically the most). And I didn't collect screenshots. I didn't collect video/recording (and even if i planned to thats illegal in my state without their consent). And for a lot of that relationship though I suffered and was in a bad place I never really quite realized it was abuse until I got out and had someone some else give me a wakeup call. And I currently still have no plans to report it or go through legal trouble with it personally (for reasons not important to this post's point.

And why I say this is because when I share my story with people I'm close to all I have is my word. My word of the things they did to me. My word on how the abuse was subtle, how I knew from a tone of voice if I'd get in trouble with them. How they'd belittle me under the guise of jokes and "game lobby culture". Etc.

And so when you think all victims need to come with you with a mountain of evidence you're really saying you won't believe people at their word which is my reality and many other people's realities for any type of abuse and harm. At the end of the day you're going to trust me or not if you're someone I'm comfortable enough telling my story to. At the end of the day you're going to see the post and decide if I'm making shit up or not.

Of course I wish I had scs of things for many reasons, but even then a lot of my experiences were verbally related with no recording (some of which is subtle anyway ill get into that in a second) The angry comments on Instagram I got were quickly changed while I was too panicked to sc them at the time. A lot of my texts were over kik of which never saved the history.

Sometimes people's words are going to have to be enough for people because that's all you're going to have. Because when you say evidence is important you're really saying that I expect every person in a situation to: know they're a victim, and once knowing theyre a victim collect evidence (even if that evidence collection could harm the victim/or isnt possible) and to somehow make sure that evidence is enough for people, plus be able to have evidence for abuse that is publicly subtle.

And on another point this expectation doesn't really cover how abuse can sometimes be so fucking subtle. You know? How can you explain to people how a tone of voice is a part of the abuse? How can you explain something that could be a joke between friends wasnt a joke in that situation and a part of the torment? How canyou explain to someone when they say something normal its the smile that tells you its belittling/anger? Like even if I had a believable recording of the interaction for the smile example, like it may not be noticeable to you because thats the pt in why its so fucking subtle! you're just gonna have to trust ppl when they know something is sinister or not idk how to explain this. How do we collect evidence for the things that are so subtle and innocuous and meant to fly under the radar in public?

So when people tell you to check your victim blaming rhetoric this is part of the reason why.

You may reblog this btw and you free to rb with additions of your own too this is an important and open conversation. And before it's said this is not specifically about any one situation it's something I've wanted to write about for a while based on both fandom experiences, irl experiences, and just witnessing how abuse victims are treated in various situations. So it's not a vague.

[a-hazbin-reader]

Hi okay here. So this is sort of an au?? Where Mimzy is in love with Alastor like how they were originally written but Alastor doesn't reciprocate. This also may not be entirely historically accurate as this is basically a rough draft and I have yet to do all of the research I think is required.

Tw// Mimzy being homophobic. </3 Ik my girl would never actually but it's for the sake of the story.

So his name is Severin De la Court, he's a French dude who moved to Louisiana to escape some shit in his life that was happening back home. He met Alastor and Mimzy at the club Mimzy worked at and Alastor frequented, and became friends with them pretty quickly. He's demiromantic and asexual like I personally hc Alastor to be, and as time passed they started pining for each other and all that jazz. It's canonical that Alastor speaks some French but isn't fluent, so in this the reason he knows what he does is because he was trying to learn it for Severin to make him feel a little more at home. Eventually Mimzy found out about the little thing they had for each other and, the 1930s being the 1930s, she was like "ew gay people" and leaked the information about Severin being gay to the press so he was imprisoned, where he was killed after a few days for being a homo by the other inmates. </3 Alastor was heartbroken but Mimzy was over the moon. A couple of years later is when Mimzy spilled the beans to Alastor about it being her to rat out Severin after Alastor continuously rejected her advances, "I got rid of that queer and you still won't let me have you" type shit. Alastor, who had already killed several people, had no qualms killing Mimzy after learning this information! And that bit in his lore about him dying because a hunter shot him while he was hiding a body? Was Mimzy's body in this story. Alastor rose to power in hell yadda yadda and in episode three at the beginning of the Overlord meeting Carmilla is like "okay first off we've got a newcomer" and lookie here it's Severin! Alastor is baffled and afterwards they catch up and shit before Alastor goes "wait why are you in hell" and Severin just goes "oh yeah I ran away from France because I killed like a lot of people and they were starting to catch on to me lmao" and then they just went on like normal yk as they would. Queue more pining between the two when Severin decides to help Alastor and Charlie with the hotel.

I'll reveal myself in rbs to answer any questions you have or anything but for now I'm doing this on anon because I'm embarrassed to talk about my ocs publicly lmao. I also have little tidbits about their relationship I'd be more than happy to share if you'd like me to. :3

This one was so intense! I felt so bad for him until he was like "oh I'm a killer lol"

He got us with that plot twist