#if i find that its useless ill try something else

[starrysharks]

new adopt, DM to purchase 🐑🍦🩷

[bunny-lily]

Tether Me - Chapter 4

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader

Summary: Sweet, cold, saintly watermelon spread over your tongue and you ascended, tilting your head back as you nursed the popsicle like it was the ambrosia of the gods themselves.

Satoru skewed over and dropped his head on your shoulder, making you lour at him. You very much did not need someone else’s muggy body heat worsening the already unbearably humid air.

“Fan me,” he demanded, and you poked his cheek with your popsicle, leaving a sticky spot behind.

“Fan yourself,” you rejected.

Suguru chuckled to himself. “You’ll get used to it and learn how to manage.”

“Speak for yourself,” the man using your side as a bed snarked. “Been here my whole life and I still feel like I’m dying.” CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here) AN: arachnophobes beware, there is a spider in this one (it’s fairly early into the chap tho) (also v tiny boi, not even really described). Summer has arrived! No other notes for this one, lovelies ♥ except some more second-hand embarrassment. A bit more Suguru focused in this one ♥ Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4 | Ch: 5 - 1 | Ch: 5 - 2 WC: 14k

“Has this house really been abandoned for only 20 years?” You grunted as you forced a scraper under a crumpled section of a newspaper that might as well have been glued to the ground on purpose. Your arms trembled from the strain, knuckles drained of blood, your hands fighting for their lives to finally free the paper of its wooden prison.

With a shallow yelp from you, the scraper came loose, only taking a quarter of the browned paper with it. The section ripped partially through the head of a baseball player, giving him a rather unfortunate face lift.

“That’s what everyone says,” Suguru confirmed as he worked on scrubbing a chunk of the floor like he was trying to avenge someone. His nose wrinkled in disgust when he lifted the rag and observed the dark grime stuck to it. “I asked my gran, she said that she can’t remember the family’s name, something starting on ‘Fu’. Father, mother, and their son. The mother was diagnosed with some sort of illness that the village doctor couldn’t manage, so they had to go to the city.”

“Oh,” you frowned as you sat back on your heels. “Did she survive?”

He shrugged, dipping the rag into the bucket of once clean water beside him. “No idea. They weren’t super close with any of the villagers here, so there weren’t any updates after they left. I assume she didn’t, since they never returned here.”

“That’s sad,” you spoke low as you tossed the piece of ew away in the bag beside you. “I hope they’re okay, one way or another.”

The two of you worked together in the living room, peeling useless bits of goo and gunk to clean the house inch by inch. You'd already finished with the first pass of the kitchen, hallway, and master bedroom. After getting the go-ahead from Uncle Han a bit ago (you felt weird calling him that, but he insisted), you decided to start indoors to spare yourselves from the ever rising sun. With summer approaching, the lawn had been dealt with promptly, the three of you moving through it surprisingly speedily with teamwork.

Satoru, for all his rich boy credit, was actually helping. You were honestly expecting him to maybe work for five minutes, then laze around and whine about being bored, but you were pleasantly surprised by his productivity.

For one, he’d been gathering various architecture and designer house catalogues; stuff that was in, stuff that was out, and everything in between. Whatever might strike your fancy, he was there to offer his input, whether asked or not. You could tell he was having fun showing off expensive house designs, even if it was way too early to be looking at paint colors and matching furniture. He was acting like it was his house that was getting renovated.

He was also helpful with the physical labor portion of fixing this mess up, putting those beefy biceps to good use. He’d done some wondrous work in the kitchen.

That’s not to say he didn’t whine about boredom and hardship and whatnot, but at least he was working while doing so.

Presently, he was in the smaller room opposite to the master bedroom, addressing the tatami issue. Said issue being that the material was practically cemented to the floor below, strangely crunchy for being stiff as a brick, and very much showing its age.

He was experimenting with various methods for prying it off, at his own assertion. It gave him the opportunity to lean into that primal urge to break shit, and who were you to take that away from him?

Every few minutes, you’d hear a muted thud, some strangled noises, and a delightful little swear here and there. You’d learned that he quite hated tatami as a kid, annoyed that he had to be careful with it. He was grumpy that he couldn’t run about and stomp his feet like the spoiled child he was because it’d get damaged, then his folks would get mad. Now, he had the perfect excuse to take all that pent up anger out on some actual tatami.

“You think he’s having fun in there?” You asked as you lifted off another slice of the paper, turning it around in the tight pinch you held it in. Most of the words had faded off or bled from whatever liquid got onto it years prior. You could barely make out a cut-off phrase that made you snort. Left fielder is short!

Suguru sneered at the floor. “I sure hope not.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not having fun, so he doesn’t get to have fun, either.”

You rubbed your cheek against your shoulder, fighting the desire to scratch at the itch with your grubby, dirty hands. “Are boys always at each other’s throats like this?”

“Yes,” he answered bluntly, earning a half-laugh, half-cough from you.

You smiled apologetically at him. “I’m sorry. You really don’t have to do this.”

He shook his head as he got up, stripping off his yellow rubber gloves. “I’m not going to back out now after saying I’d help you. I’m gonna keep my word to you. But, I will go grab a drink and think about my life choices outside for a few minutes.”

You breathed out through your nose and waved lazily at him as he stepped out of the open front door, disappearing behind the wall. It was his idea to bring some options for hydration with him, and you lauded him as a genius for it. Even if a quarter of the options were cheap beer. 

Deciding you earned yourself a break, too, you tossed whatever else you managed to free from the floor away, along with your gloves, and got up, shaking out your numb legs with a wince. Ow.

Sure, you’d done next to nothing compared to Suguru, but, oh, your back and arms felt so sore. Poor you. He could forgive you, couldn’t he?

Figuring you should check on Satoru, you trod down the hallway and stopped in the open doorway of the room he was occupying. He was turned halfway towards you, hunched over as he scratched aggressively at the floor with something you could only tell was made of metal. Sweat stuck to his forehead in a thick layer, droplets beading and running down his temples and the curve of his jaw. White hairs were plastered to his cheeks and brow, pale lashes clumped together, lips pulled into a wide grin.

A shiver dashed up your spine.

He looked positively feral.

You should probably leave him be, you didn’t want to get caught in his crossfire, lest you end up the target of his destructive goal. 

You began to creep away, easing off the doorframe, hoping to avoid–

“Mochi!”

Damnit.

“Heyyy, buddy,” you greeted cautiously, meeting his gaze. His winter blues were alight with an untamed sort of fervor, sunglasses folded into the collar of his button-up. Had the moisture on the small of your back always been there? “How’s it goin’ in here?”

“It’s fuckin’ stubborn, but look!” He waved frantically to a boxy pile of…something. Vaguely tan and clumpy and gross. Listen, you weren’t very peeved out by nasty stuff as a kid, but even child you wouldn’t dare touch it.

Gojo, meanwhile, looked ecstatic, seemingly having figured out a method that worked. More or less.

The corners of your lips twitched upwards into a watery smile. Mainly because you were afraid that he’d pounce on you with that brutish glint in his intense stare if you didn’t show the appropriate amount of enthusiasm for his hard work.

“Wow!” You exclaimed, a smidge stiffly. “You’re doing a great job!”

Satoru ate that shit up. He glowed, preening under your praise, even if it felt like you were talking to a six-year-old kiddo wielding a hammer.

“I know!” He cheered. “This is fun!”

You questioned how long that zeal would last. You also debated whether or not you should tell Suguru that the maniac was having fun. You were curious to see what would happen, but you didn’t want to get dragged into the potential brawl they’d have.

The boy in front of you was panting, the collar of his shirt dampened by the droplets of effort he wiped off with it, and the temperature outside was rapidly rising. As hot as this image was, minus the eugh-factor of your house, you weren’t keen on him dying of exhaustion and leaving you short one extra pair of hands.

How noble of you.

“Wanna come take a break with me and Suguru?” You asked.

He glanced at where he paused his work, back to you, the floor, then you one more time before nodding. “Yeaaah, I did a lot, I deserve a lil’ break.”

He groaned as he pushed on his knees and rose up, absently dusting the front of his pants. You rolled your eyes at his show of theatrics, what with him stretching and whining. Not like you were any better, though.

“C’mon, you big baby,” you stepped out of the doorway, rotating to make your way down the hall. 

That was, until you noticed something on the wall beside you. A black dot, or speck you hadn't seen before. A stain, perhaps; a blotch, something dark stuck to the old paint. You could've gotten it dirty(ier) while you were cleaning at some point. You leaned closer to try and decipher it, squinting–

Legs. 

Not two, four, or six. Eight legs.

With a gagged gasp, you screeched and immediately booked it out of the house, adrenaline pumping through your system at mach speed. You nearly slipped as you banked the corner, your sights set on the open front door.

The blinding white of day was burning into your retinas, but you couldn’t care, you needed to get the hell out! 

Instinctively, you threw yourself into a surprised Suguru’s arms the moment you stepped past the threshold as he peeked into the house, concerned by the commotion. He stumbled back a few steps, eyes wide, then released a humorous chuckle as his arms wrapped protectively around you. Sturdy, strong, safe.

“There, there,” he soothed, stroking a hand up and down your back, fingertips pressing into pressure points along your vertebrae. It was easy enough for him to figure out what got you so panicked. “You’re alright, it’s just a spider. I’ll get rid of it for you.”

“Oh, my god!” You squealed and shook like a leaf, air whistling past your larynx. “Suguru! It’s giant!”

He cooed sweetly at you, obviously entertained by your frazzled state. “It won’t hurt you, you’re fine.”

“I am not fine!”

His laugh rumbled low in his chest, right under your ear as you squeezed the life out of him. “I can’t remove it for you if you don’t let me go, angel.”

You bared your teeth at him. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

Suguru opened his mouth to respond, only to get preemptively cut off by a girlish scream originating from within the house. Seconds later, Satoru was dashing out, colliding directly with you and Suguru. A mix of stifled noises of shock erupted, and all three of you toppled right over onto the hard-packed soil.

Suguru’s arms encased more firmly around your form when Satoru tackled you, one thick arm coming to cradle the back of your head while the other constricted your waist until you were pressed immovably to his front. He pillowed your fall, even though it meant taking the brunt force of the ground’s swift ascent by himself. Satoru collapsed on top of you, leaving you sandwiched between the pair.

This was not how you imagined you’d experience your first yukadon. 

Cheek pillowed by a rigid tit. Spine crushed by a dense body. Lungs utterly squashed. Lavender, cypress, and musk overwhelming your olfactory senses. Super sexy.

“Are you fucking stupid, Satoru?” Suguru hissed out, voice strained with pain, compression, and thinly-veiled anger.

“It’s fuckin’ huge, Suguru!” Satoru shrieked back. “Massive! Like, a meter long!”

Amber eyes glared over your head, still clutched to his pec. “Get the hell off, you’re crushing her. And me. You’re heavy as fuck.”

Gojo lifted himself up enough to peer at you, blinked, then laid right back down on top of you. Your wheeze of suffering did nothing to deter him. “But this is so comfy.”

“I will castrate you,” your personal airbag threatened.

Cyan eyes filled with spite as he finally rolled off of you and to the side, allowing Geto to loosen his hold until you could breathe freely. While Satoru was busy grumbling to himself and looking for his glasses, the pair having been flung off in the clamor, Suguru gazed down at you with worry pooled in his softened hues.

“You okay?” He asked.

You wiggled your toes and fingers, then nodded. “Thanks to you. I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he put away your disquiet with a smile.

You frowned at his attempt at paying no heed to the subject. “That was a pretty bad fall.”

He snorted. “I work on a farm and grew up with Satoru. I’d hardly consider that a fall.”

“Oi!” Speak of the devil. The snow-haired boy had located his glasses, it seemed, as they were resting on the bridge of his nose, free of dirt and dust by some miracle. “Get up already, lovebirds.”

Fire exploded across your cheeks and the tips of your ears as you realized the position you were in – straddling your friend’s waist, chest-to-chest, his strong arms enclosing you to keep you close. 

You yelped and scrambled out of his hold, keenly aware that you were only able to leap off of him and stagger away because he let you do so. He was laughing breathlessly as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, endeared by your embarrassed reaction. He grabbed the hand his best friend offered him, their palms clapping as he got tugged onto his feet.

Meanwhile, you were fanning your face in a hopeless attempt to cool the steam lifting from your head, swearing up and down that it was the budding summer heat and not because you got stacked like pancakes by two unreasonably attractive men.

Yeah, that’s what it was.

The sun.

The literal sun, not the sun incarnated in the form of a man that was currently busy brushing off his pants, aided by Satoru clearing his back of debris.

Thank the gods you had tossed the murderous stepping stones off to one corner of the house just a few days prior. You did not want to think about what would have happened to Suguru’s pretty body if you hadn’t.

“You sure you’re okay?” The above-mentioned man with said pretty body called out to you.

You startled in place and cried out the first thing that came to mind. “You’re hot!” Fuck. “I-I mean, it’s– it’s hot! Outside! Right now! We should, uh, stop here for the day!”

Good save.

Dumbass.

You would have smacked your own head with a brick if it wouldn’t attract their attention and make them think you were crazy. Or worse. Turned on.

Suguru and Satoru shared a glance, exchanging in a silent conversation, then Satoru was walking over to the bag of snacks the former brought along, digging around it for a can of soda. He retrieved a separate can of light booze for the other boy, passing it along as they both shortened the distance between you. 

“You sure you wanna call it for the day?” Geto asked, his drink opening with an acute crack and tss, shortly followed by Gojo’s. Thank God they seemed to worn to tease you for your slip up.

Breathing deeply to settle your nerves, you dipped your head twice. “Yeah, it’s starting to get too hot for me.”

For too many damn reasons.

He hummed, sipping his drink as he peered at the chalk-haired boy, who took a sizable gulp in comparison. “Fine by me,” he ground out past the tingle of carbonation, fingers threading through damp, white tresses. “I don’t wanna die of heatstroke.”

“How about we head to the park, then?” Suguru suggested as he stepped away to shut the front door, like that’d prevent intruders or something. The extra security was unneeded, the house itself was enough of a deterrent. “We can stop at Granny’s on the way.”

“Sure,” you assented rather easily. You liked the park. Sitting in the shade, surrounded by the sweet fragrance of the flora there, sounded like a wonderful idea.

Satoru was not as keen. “In this heat? No way.”

His best friend patted his shoulder, gulping down a swig of his drink before responding. “You gotta touch grass at least once in a while, dude. C’mon, it won’t be so bad.”

“Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

“You’re not gonna die, don’t be a drama queen,” he said pragmatically.

You simpered to yourself as you went to grab Suguru’s backpack, zipping it up to keep everything inside. The last thing you needed was to embarrass yourself more by spilling everything. You grabbed one of the straps, ready to hoist it over your shoulder, just for a big hand to grab it by the top handle and tug it out of your palms.

You didn’t even get a second to prepare to fight for it, the coarse material easily slipping from your grip in a pathetic display of weakness. Your guard wasn’t up. You never stand a chance.

Your head snapped up to find Geto himself, his bag resting against his back as he held it by that same handle, fingers half-closed near his shoulder. He gave you a charming grin, eyes squinted from the squish of his cheeks. 

“Hey!” You gaped, hopping up to your feet. “I can carry it, I’m not helpless!”

The hell you aren’t.

He tipped his head back to finish off his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing and causing more sweat to form on your brow, then tucked the empty can into his pocket to properly toss out later. “You aren’t,” he agreed, ruffling your hair affectionately with his now free hand, “but what kind of gentleman would I be if I let the lovely lady do all the work?”

All the work? You barely did any work. But, you did like being called lovely, so you supposed you could let it go this once.

Satoru scoffed. “Gentleman? You watched Shoko lug a heavy ass box of shit up two flights of stairs just last week. Hardly call that gentlemanly.”

“You think I’m going anywhere near Shoko and her medical supplies?” Honey-toned irises shifted from you to him. “Hell no. She’d have my head on a pike if I even got close to them.”

“You won’t hold the door open for Utahime,” he accused.

“I’ve held the door for her before. The only person I wouldn’t hold the door for is you, Satoru,” Suguru’s hand drifted to rest below the nape of your neck, scorching the exposed skin there.

He pressed lightly, urging you to start walking with them in the direction of town.

The 6’3” child moped, his eyes drooping. “My own best friend hates me. Practically my brother, and he wants me to die.”

Geto rolled his eyes and bent down to stage-whisper to you. “Drama queen.”

“I heard that!” Satoru exclaimed.

“That was the point.”

You sighed with levity, shaking your head. “Could you two at least try to not kill each other until we get to Granny’s?”

“No promises,” they both responded in unison.

They bickered back and forth over your head, one using you as a shield while the other used you as an excuse to ‘behave’. Not that it stopped either of them from hurling immature threats and insults, each one making you think about how a butterfly felt more scary than either of them.

Or, your presence was taming them after all, and they were more vicious when they didn’t have someone standing guard. What would happen if you were on the other side of one of them? Would the result be the same?

Since when were you into psychology?

“Oi,” a finger jabbed into your cheek, bringing you back to the present, where your trio was crossing over the bridge. “Don’t zone out. Pay attention to me.”

You sent the offending boy a sidelong glance, meeting his intensely cobalt, insisting stare, yet he reveled in it all the same. Attention was attention.

“I’m not zoning out,” liar, “I’m just thinking.”

“About what? About us?” He teased, poking your cheek again.

He squawked and jumped back when you bluffed a strike at him, your teeth snapping dangerously close to his finger.

“Not like that!” He hissed, nursing his finger to his chest. He went as far as pressing the digit against the likely lukewarm can of soda he still had, exaggerating his obvious injury. You know, the one that didn’t exist.

Suguru barked out a laugh. “Like I said; drama queen.”

Satoru harrumphed, mumbling incoherent grievances as he pressed the rim of his drink to his lips, presumably to ‘politely’ muffle his quips with sips of carbonation.

You wanted to bully him a little more, ribbing him when you had the high ground was too much fun.

Geto would probably have more material for you to work with.

“Hey, Suguwu, do you–” you abruptly cut yourself off and slapped a hand over your mouth.

So much for high ground.

Satoru snorted his soda out through his nose and yowled, crying out in pain between guffaws as he clutched his hand over his lips in a hopeless attempt to catch any spare liquid.

Suguru raised a brow at you, a bemused smile spreading lazily across his face, turning his eyes into mirthful, mischievous crescents. “Pardon?”

Your entire face glowing a deep shade of vermillion. “I– can we just pretend–”

“Suguwu!” Gojo wheezed, arms coiling around his stomach, free hand grasping the side of his shirt for dear life. “Y’hear that, Suguwu? Think the lady has something to say, Suguwu. Hah!”

“Don't tease her so much, Satoru. I think it's cute,” he said, adjusting his backpack to hang on his back by one strap.

“Can you, please, just let me die now,” you grumbled, hiding your face with your hand placed flat along the side. You felt like you pulled the pin on a flashbang but forgot to throw it.

Gojo wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm, coughing out whatever liquid had gotten caught down the wrong pipe. You could hear him crooning at you, but you were trying desperately to focus on your destination as it came into view, hoping and praying that Granny would save you.

Or someone, anyone, else.

“Hello!”

Prayers answered! For once!

Your head perked up at the sound of a familiar voice as you approached the store, and you were immensely grateful for the divine timing of your arrival. Candied reprieve kissed your skin, easing your humiliation right away.

“Iori-san!” You called back, returning the wave she sent you in greeting. Spotting a head of brunette hair next to her, you shifted your attention to her companion, lighting up further with both relief and joy. “Oh, hey–”

“Aha!” Satoru jogged forward and spun around, throwing his arm around a less-than-amused Shoko’s shoulders. “This is Ieiri Shoko, she’s the doctor I warn– told you about!”

“Ah, we already met,” you grinned at Shoko, who gave you a ‘can you believe this shit?’ look.

“Wait, what?” He blinked at you. “Really?”

You nodded in confirmation. “Yeah. She called you an idiot.”

Suguru snorted into his palm, briskly facing away to poorly conceal his swallowed back laughter. 

Satoru balked, blinking between you and your mutual friend when she shoved his arm off her. “When was this?”

“Uh…” You pressed your curved index against your chin, calculating. “Same day you and I met, actually.”

He looked completely aghast, utterly betrayed. “Wh– that was ages ago! Why didn’t you tell me!?”

You lifted and dropped your shoulders, grinning sheepishly. “Didn’t cross my mind?”

Deflating with a wispy wheeze that imitated a sad balloon, he pouted and turned his back on the entire group. “Can’t trust anyone around here. Keepin’ secrets, callin’ me a drama queen and an idiot.

Shoko rolled her eyes. “You are a drama queen and an idiot, Satoru,” she grunted and shook her head, then shot a relaxed smile your way. “Thanks for the macarons, by the way. They were delicious.”

“Yeah!” Utahime bobbed her head. “You’re an amazing baker.”

You scratched your neck with one hand and patted Satoru’s back with the other to comfort him. “I actually only know how to make macarons.”

Utahime shuffled closer to you, mouth parted with disbelief. “What? No way! I bet you’d make a great baker! Nothing like that idiot over there,” the bridge of her nose wrinkled with distaste as she sent the whining baby a scathing side-eye.

“I told you she bullies me!” He was looking your way in an instant. “It’s her fault I’m like this! How is any of this fair?”

“She’s older than you, so she gets to bully you,” Shoko stated. “Sibling rules.”

“We are not siblings!” Utahime shouted, nose and forehead flushed red with anger. “Shoko! How could you say that!”

Satoru took that statement and ran. “By that logic, I get to bully Suguru!”

“You already do,” Geto responded.

You blinked, and found a face unexpectedly very close to yours. “What about you, huh?” Ocean blues pierced into the depths of your soul. “You bully me a lot, too. Does that mean you’re older than me– agh!”

He clutched the back of his head where Iori had landed an expert hit, delivered with a precision mastered only after years of training. “Jerk! Don’t you know not to ask a woman her age!?” 

“Why is everyone abusing me today? What did I do to any of you, huh?” He sniffled, bottom lip jutting out as he pinned his watery, puppy-dog eyes on you.

Okay, now you were starting to feel bad. Letting go of a shallow, defeated exhale, you opened your arms to him.

His expression changed to glee faster than you could realize, and within seconds, you were being crushed against his chest. You didn’t give consideration to how strong he was, woefully unaware that his forearms alone could exert enough pressure on your limbs to make a few joints pop. 

“Yippee! I knew someone cared about me!” He stuck his tongue out at everyone else, then nuzzled himself deep into the crook of your neck.

Too hot, too hot, too hot!

“Yeah, yeah,” you hacked out, patting his back. “You can let me go, now.”

“No way,” he refused, breath tickling your collarbone. “This is the least I deserve.”

Shoko was in your peripheral, a wicked smirk on her lips as she stuck a cigarette between them. You mouthed help me to her, and gaped when she pretended to get distracted and miss your S.O.S. request. 

Screw Shoko, Utahime was your favorite person now. She was by you in a snap, prying the arms of steel keeping you caged off of you. Her strength was impressive, especially given that Satoru was actively fighting her on it. There was a hand on your shoulder, coaxing you to duck down under their arms, and dash into the safe haven that was Granny’s shop.

Sweet, sweet AC.

You visibly shuddered as a blast of arctic air hit you. Heaven was in all the things easily taken for granted.

The chime of the bell summoned the old lady out of thin air – or it might have been her ‘you’ senses, she had a keen perception for when you’d be coming.

“Oh, hello!” She welcomed you warmly, wholly ignoring the second person with you as she scurried across the floor to reach you.

Granny grasped you by the shoulders and pulled you close, pressing a couple wet, loud kisses on your cheeks, right in front of your ears, making your eardrums pop. Your theory that the sound of kisses grew louder with age was gaining credence.

“How are you feeling, dear? You aren’t working too hard, are you?” She planted the back of her hand against your forehead, steamrolling right along and not giving you a chance to respond. “Oh, my, you’re so warm! Are you feeling feverish? Sick? I’m telling you, you should leave that house to the men who are used to working in those conditions.”

“Granny–”

“Sit, sit, let me get you some water,” she nudged you towards the familiar stool you’d taken respite on many times now, ready to zip away to retrieve that promised glass of water.

“Hey, Granny,” Suguru interrupted that plan by raising a hand in greeting, only to be subsequently pummeled by an angered grandmother. “Ow–”

“Some man you are, letting a lady get ill!” She shamed him.

You immediately hopped up, bolting to his rescue. “Granny! Granny, I’m not sick, it’s okay! It’s just hot outside today.”

She stopped her volley of attacks on the poor, innocent man to take in your appearance. She lifted your arms, eyeing down your figure carefully, then hmphed.

“My apologies, darling,” she reached up to pinch Suguru’s cheek, which somehow looked more painful than the fairly weak smacks she delivered earlier. She was easily able to tug him down to be eye-to-eye with her. “But you have been taking care of her, haven’t you?”

Still, he put on a smile and nodded. “Of course, I have been.”

She smiled broadly at him and released his cheek, patting it gently twice. “My, what a good boy you are. But, if I hear you’ve been mistreating her, I won’t hesitate to beat you with my geta and bury you beside that fish of yours.”

Suguru grimaced as he rubbed the tender spot she had pinched, rising back up to his full height. “Ouch, Granny. Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping an eye on her.”

You planted your hands on your hips, eye twitching with irritation. “I’m right here. And, I can take care of myself, you know?”

“I carry extra bottles of water because you always underestimate how thirsty you get,” he fired back. “You sweat it out faster than you think you do.”

You coughed into your fist. That was fucking embarrassing. Now you were worried you had a sweating problem. “Maybe I’m a little forgetful, but it’s not that bad.”

This time, Granny was on your ass. “You need to take better care of yourself!”

“Granny–”

“What if you didn’t have such a dependable, strong, young man to take care of you?” She tutted in disappointment. “What about when your husband is away at work?” – HUSBAND!? – “Will you forget to drink water then, too?”

You half-inhaled your spit, looking up towards Suguru for help in getting out of your pseudo-grandmother’s scolding–

You almost questioned if you were imagining the flashing dots outlining him – or, rather, where he used to be. A quick twist of your head proved he had already sauntered off somewhere towards the back of the store, if the thump of a fridge door was anything to go by.

“Are you listening to me, young lady?” Holy shit, for being an older woman, her pinches hurt.

“Ai– yes, I’m listening,” you assured her, wincing. Looks like you had no savior to get you out of this one. There was some muffled yelling outside the glass pane behind you, implying that the three that didn’t come in were too busy squabbling to see you getting reprimanded.

Though, knowing Satoru, he’d just use this as ammunition against you.

She jiggled your cheek. “Very good. You’re a beautiful woman, you need to take care of yourself. Lots of water, avoid direct sunlight, make sure you eat well, all that. Understood?”

“Understood,” you assented.

That good-natured smile of hers was back, and you were pulled into yet another hug. “D’aw, I can’t stay mad at you, you’re too sweet. Don’t go letting anyone take advantage of that.”

There was only so much of the embrace you could return when your arms were pinned to your sides by your unnaturally brawny kinda-grandma, leaving you to awkwardly prop your chin on her shoulder. “I know, Granny.”

That was a lesson you learned a long time ago.

You observed Suguru as he walked between the aisles while he grabbed some stuff, his head sticking out high above the shelves. When he emerged back out at the front, you were seated on the stool that basically belonged to you at this point. He carefully set his gathered spoils on the counter next to the cash register, then slipped past you to go behind the counter. 

His hand briefly rubbed your knee, something you noticed he did from time to time. While he wasn’t nearly as touchy as Satoru, who didn’t know the definition of personal space, he did often give you comforting nudges like that.

You noted with curiosity how familiar he seemed with ringing up his products by himself, working swiftly to tally them. Based on Granny’s lack of reaction when she returned with a mug, she trusted him to pay properly.

Smooth ceramic was placed within your palms, and you brought it up to guzzle down the life-saving liquid within. Damn, Suguru was right, you had no idea how thirsty you were. In terms of hydration, anyway. You were painfully aware of your other shortcomings.

“How’s that house of yours coming along?” She asked, resting a weathered hand on your upper thigh.

You hummed past a gulp, then answered. “Good, I think. We’re still washing the floors, but we’ve already cleaned up a lot. Satoru’s been dealing with the tatami in one of the rooms. It’s been stubborn as hell so far.”

“Try soaking it for a while beforehand,” she suggested. “And ventilate well. Goodness knows what’s been in there.”

Comforting. “We have been, don’t worry. Suguru managed to get all the windows open, which has been a huge relief.”

The elder leaned in close to you, ‘whispering’ in what could have only been a singular decibel quieter than normal talking. “See? Reliable, strong man. He’d take good care of you, I’ve known him since he was a child. Very dependable.”

Wha–

Was she trying to set you up with him!?

You glared at him when you heard him laughing under his breath, having heard her suggestion. It’d be more shocking if he didn’t.

Instead of coming to dispel her wild offer, he stuffed his goods away into a bag and walked towards the exit. You got up to follow after hastily finishing your drink and letting her take the empty mug from you, fully intending to give them both a piece of your mind the next chance you got. “Thank you for the water, Granny. We’ll head out, now.”

“I left some extra cash for you, Granny,” Suguru said as he held the door open for you. “From my mom, paying you back.”

She clicked her tongue. “I told her not to worry about it. Be safe, you two. Suguru, tell your mother to sleep with one eye open.”

“Will do,” he agreed too easily for such a casual threat, pushing you out into the humid summer air, and you were tempted to return to the sanctity of her air-conditioned shop. 

“You’re back! Thank God!” Utahime ushered you further away from your salvation, to which you whined and peered back at it forlornly. “Come with me to the shrine! I found more mythological history books recently, and you promised to tell me about Sne– sneguh– snah?”

“Snegurochka,” you corrected.

“Yeah! Her!”

A limb wrapped around your middle, drawing you back into a board chest. “No can do, Utahime!” Satoru shut her down cheerily, pressing his cheek against yours. “She already agreed to go on a date with me to the park.”

Utahime’s appalled expression was mirrored in your own. Her upper lip lifted in a snarl directed at your captor and…date, apparently.

“Like hell! I’m not letting you corrupt my friend!” She growled.

“Corrupt?” He pouted, playing the part of virtuous maiden. “Me? Why, I’d never.”

Suguru crossed his arms over his chest. “With us, Satoru. Don’t forget about me.”

“Hard to when your head is so big,” the other boy snapped in return.

You gawked at Geto, disbelieving. He was supposed to be your savior! “It is not a date! Don’t go making Iori-san and Shoko think the wrong things!”

“Welp, I gotta head back to the clinic,” Shoko said as her name was called, beginning to walk past. She patted your bicep on the way. “Good luck.”

“Shoko!” You cried out after her. “Come back here!”

She merely waved over her shoulder with her cigarette pinched between her fingers, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Utahime cupped your face in her hands, expression taut with seriousness. “Blink twice if they’re holding you prisoner.”

You heard ‘blink’ and went with it, batting your eyes as fast as you could.

“I knew it!” She bayed, tugging at Satoru’s arms – but she couldn’t free you. “Let go of her, you dog!”

He jerked his head towards the hill her shrine sat atop and gasped theatrically. “Oh, no! Is that a fire near your shrine?”

“What!?” She whirled around in horror, opening up the opportunity for him to tow you away, one arm staying around your waist while he led you into an unwilling sprint.

“Ohp, so sorry, guess I was wrong!” He yelled back, giggling at the rage painted all over her twisted expression.

“Satoru!” She shrieked, watching with grit teeth as Suguru jogged to catch up. “Yeah! Get him, Suguru–” Her jaw dropped when he grabbed your hand with his free one, making you run faster. “Oh, Heaven’s sake, not you, too!”

What the fuck! You didn’t agree to extra exercise today! And poor Utahime! You really hoped she wasn’t assuming things about your relationship with the men.

“Hey– guys! Slow down, damnit!” You heaved out. “Ugh! You two are awful!”

They simply laughed, hauling you right along to the park. Their long ass strides made this hell for you, and you were certain that if the park wasn’t so close, you would have eaten shit and died from the amount of times you stumbled. Their tight grips kept you from falling, and you partially wished they’d just let you collapse.

Pavement gave way to grass, the impact of your shoes becoming dulled. After running a few steps further, they finally gave you mercy and let go of you, slowing their gaits to a stop.

You slapped your hands against your knees, greedily sucking in air through the ache in your throat.

“You two–” pant, “really–” pant, “fucking–” pant, “suck.”

Satoru snickered and smoothed a hand over your messy tendrils, ignoring your death stare, finding it humorous in your current state. “Aww, come on! That was fun!”

“You’re gonna give Iori-san and Shoko the wrong idea,” you groaned, wiping wetness off your brow.

He feigned innocence. “What idea?”

Bastard.

“That we– tch,” you took in one more deep breath to catch your breath. “Nevermind. Shut up.”

“Don’t be like that!” He purred, right on your tail as you trudged to a nearby maple tree.

With the impromptu run, plus the season, the heat was finally getting to you. For all of Satoru’s bravado, you took solace in the fact that it also looked like the temperature was affecting him.  

You flopped down under a maple tree you picked out and loafed back on your palms, trying to survive the immense wave of evil weather that chose to sweep across the valley. You felt like you were turning into a prune, or a sponge that got tossed into an oven set on broil, despite all the sweating. You weren’t a stranger to high summer temperatures, but this was asininity.

Somehow, you survived the trip to the park, mourning the glacial morning dew that had long since evaporated, leaving the grass tepid at best. But you’d take anything, whatever it cost to keep you from roasting like a fine crème brûlée.

Satoru dropped down beside you, not doing much better than you, and Suguru slumped against the bark of the hulking plant, taking respite under it.

The shrill songs of cicadas took presence everywhere, chirping and pestering the females in hopes of copulating and passing along their live-underground-for-17-years genes.

You were immensely happy that you managed to clear out most of your lawn before the true harshness of the season kicked into full swing. You would not have lived through that, and doing it at night would have been too dangerous.

Work was very far from what you wanted to think about, though.

“Why the fuck is Japan so hot in summer,” you lamented, lethargically fanning yourself with a slack hand. It did zilch to help. “How do you deal with this?”

You squealed when something chilly touched your forehead and squinted up to see Suguru holding out a popsicle to you. You grabbed it without a second thought and ripped off the plastic covering, stuffing the crumpled ball back in his awaiting hand.

Sweet, cold, saintly watermelon spread over your tongue and you ascended, tilting your head back as you nursed the popsicle like it was the ambrosia of the gods themselves.

Satoru skewed over and dropped his head on your shoulder, making you lour at him. You very much did not need someone else’s muggy body heat worsening the already unbearably humid air.

“Fan me,” he demanded, and you poked his cheek with your popsicle, leaving a sticky spot behind.

“Fan yourself,” you rejected.

Suguru chuckled to himself. “You’ll get used to it and learn how to manage.”

“Speak for yourself,” the man using your side as a bed snarked. “Been here my whole life and I still feel like I’m dying.”

You chomped off a bite of your snack with your molars, flinching at the slight sting, then relaxed as the chunk rested on your tongue. Bless Suguru and his mother hen tendencies. Towards you, anyway. He seemed to find humor in his best friend’s suffering up to a certain point.

The newly purchased, refrigerated, highly-sugary fizz he bought while at the store showed he did care at the end of the day.  

Summer in rural Japan smelled nice. That was about all the praise you were capable of giving this hellish landscape when you were getting steamed like a damn dumpling. Winter you could deal with; in winter, you could just add extra clothes or blankets or whatever for more warmth. You could only get so naked in summer before you were melting into a gross puddle.

“I wanna skin myself,” you slurred around your icy treat.

Suguru snorted. “That’s morbid.”

You bored into him blankly, examining his clothes – light-colored long sleeves and full-length, loose pants versus your tank top and flappy shorts. “How the hell are you dealing with this so well?”

He simply shrugged and gave you that closed-eye smile that always had your insides doing funky things they flat-out were not allowed to do. “I’ve always preferred summer.”

Hm. It added up. You always associated him with the sun – warm, inviting, making you want to lay somewhere soft and bask in his glow. But that feeling was warmth, not sweltering fire making your muscles shed off your very bones. 

“You’re a beast,” you mumbled, unsure if you were admiring or fearing him. “What ‘bout you, Toru?”

“Ehh?”

“Season.”

“What about it?”

You whined and placed your head on his. “Pay attention, idiot.”

“Well, excuse me, princess. I’m busy trying to not die of heatstroke over here,” he pinched your thigh, making you yelp.

You flicked the back of his hand in retaliation. “What’s your favorite season?”

“Oh,” he pried his limpid orbs open and eyed you from over the rim of his sunglasses. Those glistening, forget-me-not hues never failed to whisk your breath away. “Spring.”

“Good choice,” you approved.

Suguru bent down from the tree, angling his head to the side as he pointed a finger at himself. “Oh? Is my choice not good?”

“Ask me again when I don’t feel like I’m evaporating,” you muttered, taking another bite of your ice snack and plainting at the sharp pain radiating in your teeth for a few seconds. He merely laughed in the voice that had you feeling twice as flushed, instantly soothing the pain away.

“Don’t eat it like that if it just hurts you,” the silver-blond grumbled, his eyes already closed again as he fought to fend off the temperature mentally, if he couldn’t spare himself physically.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you huffed pettishly.

You partially closed your eyes and lazed back on your free palm, absentmindedly licking up the melted drips before they landed on your hand and coated it in residue. More than they already had, anyway.

A welcomed breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees surrounding you, a relieving balm against scalding skin that had all three of you sighing in alleviation. It rustled the yellow of the leaves above your head, creating a mesmerizing show of dancing golden fans, their edges dipped in crimson.

The droning chirps of cicadas, the tweets of birds calling to their brooding mates as they brought back food from a successful hunt, the fragrance of blooming flowers being pollinated, having their nectar gathered in preparation for being turned into honey – all of it surrounded you in a deep serenity you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

Your head was optimistically empty, merely taking in the ambiance in fine detail. The lush, fluffy grass underhand tickled your wrist and the back of your hand, and the pleasant silence with your closest friends made you…happy. 

You’d been happy for a while now, but never stopped to notice it until this moment.

You found two idiots and two other kind-of-normal people to call friends, and you always ardently anticipated hanging out with them, rather than dreading it. You were pouty when they were busy, and ecstatic when you could all gather together.

Especially these two dumbasses, Tweedledee and Tweedledum. You spent most of your time with them, doing things that reminded you of the nostalgic highschool and college years you didn’t recall having.

You ruminated on how different your life would have been if you knew them from childhood; if you went to school with them, grew up as neighbors, mourned when Satoru left for his studies, celebrated when he returned. Would you have still ended up like this, a paranoid kite that was running out of thread to cut?

Or would you have been normal – or, at least, normal-adjacent? How would being raised in Japan differ from your home nation?

…

Home nation.

What was your home nation, again?

All that came to mind was here, now, with your best friends on either side of you. You knew where you were born, but that seemed so far away, now. You didn’t remember what the sky looked like over there – if you caught a glimpse of it at all in the first place.

Reflecting back left an odd emotion welling in your chest, like you were forgetting something. You wouldn’t say melancholy, nor yearning. It wasn’t nostalgia, either, seeing as you were semi-nomadic for a good portion of your life. You didn’t stay in one place long enough to form attachments to anyone or anything. 

When you tried to think about your childhood friends, you saw Geto, Gojo, Ieiri, and Iori. The boys were smaller, childlike, with chubbier cheeks and brattier attitudes, but your boys regardless. You remembered how Satoru was the class clown that frequently set off your teachers, while Suguru egged him on from the backlines, purposefully getting on his nerves. 

Shoko was there, too, watching with a shit-eating grin and not doing anything to help. Utahime at least tried.

And then there was you.

You didn’t really know if you were there or not. Just a spectator, possibly, but it didn’t seem like that. Not an empty, silent, emotionless observer, no. You couldn’t put your finger on it. What you were was there, on the tip of your tongue, you just didn’t know the word for it.

These memories weren’t real, you knew that. But it didn’t hurt to imagine they were, especially when they felt like they were.

You could see yourself growing up with them, spending days lazing under the shade just like you were now, losing half the water in your body under the unforgiving summer sun and turning into a sort of sad excuse for a cucumber. You could remember the sharp sting of a wadded up piece of paper hitting your temple from across the table, your head shooting up so you could glare at jubilant Satoru that concluded throwing notes at you from two feet away was a better use of his time than just whispering or, gods forbid, studying.

You were certain he did it specifically because it pissed you off, and because he was unafraid of repercussions from the teacher. Discipline didn’t exist in his dictionary. Suguru would grab the wad from your other side to toss it right back and nail his best friend in the center of his forehead, leading to a paper ball fight that you were, unfortunately, directly in the middle of.

Shoko and Utahime, the lucky bitches, were smart to choose seats a few tables back, safely out of the firing and collateral range. 

You tried to join the two several times, yet the boys somehow always managed to sit you right back between them. You were their ‘mediator’, even though you tended to exhort them rather than soothe. You did calm them down, but only after you, Shoko, and Utahime had a good show. It was payback for all the times they dragged you into their messes.

Other memories filtered in bit by bit, sporadic sections popping up as they pleased; dying on the track field together, sparring against one another, learning vague concepts in a classroom that scarcely had anyone in it. You and Satoru would crack stupid jokes until you were both in stitches, Suguru would be there when your thoughts became too much to handle, Shoko was the one to mend you with a touch that felt both toasty and mellow at the same time.

There weren’t a lot of you, but you had each other, and that was all you needed. You had your friends by your side, and you were complete.

You were pulled from your woolgathering when you felt someone pluck your popsicle from your hand, your eyes flying open to gawp at Suguru in disbelief as he took a sizable bite out of it, then returned it innocently, as if he hadn’t just robbed you blind.

“Hey!” You cried out. “Thief! That was mine! You said you were fine in summer!”

“I said I prefer summer, not that I’m immune to it,” he corrected you, licking off a spot of juice from the corner of his mouth. Such a simple action from him legally wasn’t allowed to be that devastatingly attractive, yet here he was, casually breaking the law and sending you into disarray. “Besides, I paid for it.”

“Unfair,” you pouted, staring down at your now half-gone heatstroke preventer. “You can’t just give me something, then take it back.”

He chuckled and knelt beside you. “Relax, I’ll buy you another one.”

You instantly perked up. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Will you buy one for me, too, Suguwu?” Satoru flapped his long eyelashes and stuck out his lower lip.

“No.”

“What!?” He sprung upright. “Now that’s unfair! It’s favoritism!”

Suguru snorted and dropped the bag between your knee and Satoru’s, which the latter took to like a raccoon to a dumpster. He dug around inside the plastic until he located his drink and held it up like Arthur did with Excalibur.

Only Gojo could down this amount of sugar in a single day and not suffer the consequences, you mused, watching him greedily gulp at the borderline dessert. Maybe there was some merit to his body being godly, after all.

“Hey,” Gojo called out after chugging a solid 2/3rds of the soda. “What are those, uhhhh…maple syrup snow candies called?”

“I think they're just called maple syrup snow candies,” you filled in.

“Maple candy, or maple taffy,” Suguru enlightened you. “Popular treat in winter in Canada.”

Satoru gave a thumbs-up in appreciation. “Yeah, those. I want one of those.”

You lamented. “It’s the middle of summer.”

“But they sound so cold and good. Mm…I can taste it already. I just know they'd save me from this god awful heat. Thanks for the soda, by the way, Suguru.”

Geto hummed in acknowledgement.

An idea flittered into your mind and you sat ramrod straight, clapping your hands together and grabbing their attention. Satoru grunted, slipping partially off you. “Let’s go to the river!”

“Hm,” Suguru considered it. “Not a bad idea, might help us cool down.”

You celebrated at obtaining his approval and passed the rest of your popsicle to Satoru, who devoured it in a single chomp.

A large hand was offered to you in way of assistance and you grabbed it, getting pulled easily with a short ‘hup’ from your aide. He inspected your form for a moment, then plucked a fallen leaf from the top of your head, twisting it between his digits. When a gale lifted, he released it, letting the unseen hands of the sky carry it away.

Satoru was up on his feet, too, the plastic bag in his hand crinkling from the shift in position. “Let’s go!”

He took the lead, speed-walking through the park to reach the shallow slope that allowed easy access to the river. For someone who was about as dead as you minutes ago, he obtained an infectiously energetic zest out of nowhere. Motivation is a hell of a drug.

You caught up to him and skipped forward, unburdened by needing to carry anything like the pair. Already able to feel the refreshing bite of the water as it came into view, you picked up the pace, racing towards the cure to your ails.

You tore off your tank top in the process and threw it somewhere carelessly, stumbling out of your sandals as you neared upon the shoreline of the river. Leaving them behind on a boulder, you skidded down the bank to the icy waters and jumped in, dressed in your shorts and sports bra.

A shrill cry and jubilant hoot echoed in the valley as goosebumps coated your skin, prickling the hair on your arms and nape. Frigid liquid surrounded you, abruptly replacing torrid solstice with frozen tundra. 

“Fuck, cold!”

Satoru was rolling up his pant legs, his own button-up having been disposed of like your top. Just as eager to experience the same liberation you did, he toed off his shoes and ripped off his socks, then he was kicking up water next to you as he joined you. The crystalline liquid came to about mid-thigh for him, but that didn’t stop you being able to see all the hairs on his body stand on end all at once.

“Cold!” He echoed you.

You laughed, running your wet hands through your hair. “That’s what I’m saying!”

Not wasting a second, he threw a handful of water onto you, making you twist your body to avoid the splash. You shrieked from the pellets of frost raining down on you, his icy-toned orbs brimming with mirth at your reaction.

Suguru was still on the shore, more composed and patient than either you or his best friend. He went about methodically locating both your and Satoru’s shirts, setting them down on the ground beside the bag and his backpack, then focused on his own clothes. 

He slipped off his shoes and socks, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and legs of his pants, and stepped into the river.

Just to get grabbed and pulled further in by Satoru before he could get acclimated to the pressure of the running stream.

He took in a shallow breath, bounding forward to keep his balance and not fall splat into the rapid. “Satoru!”

“Come on!” Lanky fingers pushed back ivory hair. “Relax a bit, would ya?”

Chestnut eyes narrowed. “There’s a difference between relaxing and getting waterboarded.” 

Gojo huffed. “Yeah? How would you know what getting waterboarded feels like?”

“How many times have you nearly drowned me in your hot spring?”

“I wasn’t trying to drown you.”

“So, you admit it’s waterboarding, then?”

The two were distracted, arguing about drowning technicalities, which meant they weren’t paying attention to you.

Perfect.

You sank down into the flowing water, shivering from the hibernal wet as it surrounded you. Once you were absolutely certain they had no idea what you were up to, you made your move.

Crawling along the riverbed, you let the flow guide you, using the sound of water breaking to further creep up on your companions.

You could hear the Jaws theme slowly ramping up in your mind, each beat growing louder as you neared. Trembles wracked your body, caused by a mesh of the nippy waters and budding adrenaline.

A little further, you were too far…still too far…almost…

“Rrah!” You jumped out the moment you were within range of your target, unleashing your fiercest battle roar as you threw yourself onto Satoru’s back and wrapped your arms around his neck.

The man choked in surprise, and based on the way he promptly lost balance and dropped like a rock into the waters with a heady splash, you could proudly say you caught him off guard. You both surfaced with deep gasps of breath, and you were on top of him as soon as he sat up.

Using your position of straddling his thighs to your advantage, you skipped past the torture and went straight for the kill.

Your fingers grabbed his sides and started lightly scratching at them. 

Satoru hiccuped and howled, writhing and trying to shove you off him as you attacked him with endless tickles. “Wait! S-Stop, no! That tickles!”

“Give up your throne, Gojo Satoru!” You demanded, doubling down on the siege on his crown. “Name me king, or I will never stop!”

He easily turned into a blubbering mess despite his attempts to stay stoic and strong. “N-No way! Oh, god– stop! Please!”

“Not until you hand me your crown!”

“Never! I’ll–” you pinched his hip and he yowled. “Okay! Fuck, fine, it’s yours, just spare me! Please!”

“Yes!” You released him at long last and threw your arms in the air in victory. “I’m the king of this valley! Haha, suck it!”

You climbed off Satoru as he took deep breaths to calm himself, turning your focus on Suguru, who was losing his shit on the shoreline. Wheezes slipped past his lips, the boy barely getting a chance to inhale before he was cackling all over again.

Standing with your legs shoulder-width apart and one fist on your hip, you pointed at Geto authoritatively. “You! Surrender to me now or face the punishment of one thousand tickles for defying the king! 

“Oh, god,” he heaved, arms clutching his ribs to keep himself together. Bunny lines formed on the bridge of his nose, brows pinched tight, tears springing to the corners of his amber eyes. “I can’t, the threat of tickles is too much. I surrender, I surrender!”

“The king is triumphant! All hail the king!” You thundered, throwing your head back to unleash a demonic chortle that soon turned into real laughter. “Mark my words, on this da–”

Powerful hands pushed against your side, and you went crashing unceremoniously into the river.

Poor Suguru was wiping away more tears at the point of you reemerging, flushed red from head to toe from the exertion.

“This is a coup!” Satoru announced. “I’m taking back the crown!”

“Wh– no fair!” You objected, wiping your face free of water. “I won that fair and square!”

He beamed down at you, summer skies reflected in his spring eyes. “Come and get it, then!”

An all-out war was waged then between you and Satoru, a motley of screams, hollers, and demands getting thrown back and forth at one another. The activity and sweltering sun kept your blood thermal within the oasis of the numbing waterway.

This pearl of time belonged to the three of you and the three of you alone. The seconds slowed infinitely, and though they never came to a true stop, they lasted longer than the birth, life, and death of a distant star. This, to you, was paradise. Your skin was frosty, but your heart was blooming as you skylarked and frisked with people you’d met only a short time ago, but treated like you’d known one another all your lives.

The limits of your joy seemed to shatter with each passing day, expanding more than you ever thought possible. Hell, you never so much as considered that experiencing exultation to this degree was possible in and of itself, but you basked in it all the same.

As long as it lasted, you would savor it.

The sun was beginning its descent when your trio chose to end your excursion, feeling sufficiently chilled.

“Brr,” you quivered as you made your way out, squeezing water out of your hair. “My fingers are like icicles.”

“Come on, ladybug,” Suguru offered you his hand, which you took gratefully, allowing him to guide you out of the river. “That’s enough for today, you’ll catch a cold. Let’s go get you warmed up.”

You moaned in complaint at the thought of having to walk all the way back home. You really should have considered it before deciding to take a dip. Curse your spontaneity. “I forgot, Satoru’s house is on that damn mountain.”

“We’re going to my place,” he corrected nonchalantly, as if it’d been long decided. “It’s closer, and my folks are out for the weekend.”

A hand towel was dropped on your face by Satoru, probably one Suguru brought with him when packing his backpack earlier in the day. 

“Dry off, princess,” Satoru instructed you as he crouched down by Geto’s backpack, popping open a bottle of water to knock back. He tossed a second one towards the noiret, who caught it with ease.

He waited for you to finish rubbing as much water off your head as you could before he twisted the top of the bottle off and handed it to you with a pointed look. A veiled threat to drink before I make you.

Well, jokes on him, you actually did want to drink water. 

You took it from him and gulped down half the fluid inside it without hesitation. By some boon, you had the self control to stop before you got sick, and returned the water with a thank-you. Suguru took it upon himself to finish the rest of it.

Satoru snatched the towel from you, replacing it with your tank top (also placed on your head). You blew him a raspberry and tugged it on, cringing at the feeling of your dry (sorta) clothing getting caught on your damp skin. Maybe you should have considered bringing a towel. You would have, if you’d known beforehand that you’d be making a stop at the river.

You hooked your fingers into the back straps of your sandals when they were handed to you, the other two following suit. The village was kept clean, so none of you were worried about stepping on anything concerning, especially since Suguru’s house was right nearby.

“Ready to go?” He asked you, and you nodded.

His palm had returned to its normal calidity, something you noticed as he helped you up the slope. The boy’s body ran like a damn furnace, even after playing in the stream for a couple hours with you. Granted, he somehow managed to keep himself dry above the knees, but regardless.

All three of you were tired out, and you were looking forward to unwinding for the evening. The two boys didn’t bicker much, some light teasing in quieter tones, and – as promised – the trip to Geto’s home was short. You were standing within the genkan of his house in no time, waiting patiently while he disappeared further in to grab a couple towels.

His house resembled the buildings around the middle of town, sitting on the side of the river your house did. There was a stretch of land behind it, but you didn’t get a chance to see much, having been ushered into the cozy abode. 

Being a bit nosy, you peeked around. There was a staircase leading up that hugged the wall of a turn to your left, leaving only the bottom few steps visible to you. The hallway straight ahead was clean and minimalist, likely leading to a dining room, if you had to guess. 

Each home had its own unique smell, and his smelled of spices and something faintly earthy, like fresh soil.

“Here we go,” Suguru announced his return, rounding the corner with a few towels in tow. He tossed one down at your feet above the genkan, motioning for you to step onto it. Obeying, you moved out of the pit, allowing him to layer a second towel around you before tossing the last one to Satoru.

“You can shower first,” he said to you.

You grabbed at the towel, pressing it into your hips and thighs to absorb the water that remained in your soaked bottoms. “Are you sure I can go first?”

He nodded. “You can take a bath, too, if you want.”

“Just a shower is fine, I think. I don’t want to take too long, since you two need to shower, too.”

Satoru sidled up to you, his smug ass grin coming into view as he hovered his chin over your shoulder. “Or, I could shower with you.”

Frankly, you were too drained to let that statement fluster you.

Suguru placed the tip of his index between Satoru’s brows and pushed his head away. “Leave her be, creep. Dry your legs, dude, you’re getting water everywhere.”

“You’re no fun,” the towhead pouted, but retreated anyway.

“Come on,” Geto settled his hand on your nape, guiding you inside. “Don’t be shy, the walls don’t bite.”

You snorted. “New fear unlocked.”

He snickered, shaking his head in amusement. “Relax, I won’t let any walls bite you.”

He took you around the bend, past the stairs, which opened up directly to the living room. While following a more traditional structural style, the interior was comfortably modern. A plush, gray couch was pushed against the wall, with side tables on either end. You immediately noticed that the place was littered with a bunch of plants. Some hung from the ceiling, a few were situated on floating shelves, and a potted shrub was situated near the flatscreen opposite to the couch.

You gawked around shamelessly with parted lips, intrigued by the domesticity of his home. “Your place is so nice, Suguru.”

He chuffed beside you. “Don't go making fun of me while you're my guest, now, angel.”

“I'm not!” You gasped, affronted. “I swear! I like it. Lots of plants.”

“My mom’s an avid plant parent,” he explained.

You hummed in appreciation. “It’s homely.”

He exhaled through his nose and pressed his thumb and first finger into your trapezius. “Thank you. Go shower; second door to your left down the hall. I'll lay out some clean clothes for you in a little bit.”

He pointed towards an open sliding door on the other side of the shrub, bumping you forward. You needed no further prompting, trotting off in the direction he showed.

Thankfully, you didn’t get lost on the way, his instructions easy to follow. Finding the bathroom, you went into it and closed the door. Your fingers hesitated over the lock on the knob, debating. He said he’d bring clothing, but didn’t mention where he’d put it…

You chose to leave it unlocked and hurriedly got to work shedding your drenched clothes. Placing the towel down on the sink counter, you unabashedly peeped the details of the bathroom while you dropped the pieces of your outfit onto the towel.

Just like the rest of his place, the bathroom was well taken care of, also adorned with a few plants, albeit smaller and out of the way. He wasn’t kidding when he said his mom liked plants.

The ceiling light gave off an inviting glow, subconsciously helping you relax. Naked, you fiddled around with the shower knobs until you got hot water to blast out. You squeaked in surprise, adjusted the temp to be your desired level, and hopped right in.

It felt like years of stress were dissolving right off you. His shower might not have been high-techy and super modern like the one you used back at Satoru’s, but the familiarity in its style brought you a kind of comfort you didn’t know you were missing. You melted into the rising steam, sighing deeply and simply doing nothing for a minute to unwind.

It was a good day, the chaos with Granny, Shoko, and Utahime included. You’d have to reassure those two later that Satoru and Suguru were just teasing. Well, Utahime. For Shoko, you’d probably have to convince her, and you didn’t have faith you’d succeed.

You glanced around, spotting a bottle of body wash that looked like it belonged to Suguru on an inset tile shelf. You grabbed it, hoping he wouldn’t mind you using it.

Reading over the label, you admired his choice in soap: lavender and green tea, both for scent and the benefits they provided. 

You couldn’t help the giddy little burst of vim you got knowing you were about to smell like him, too.

You squeezed some onto your palm and lathered it between your hands, then started rubbing it onto your body. The day’s strain, dirt, grime, and weariness lifted with it, washing off in thin and slow waves of white streaks down your figure. You felt lighter and lighter with each pass over your chest, waist, hips, and thighs. 

Tension thawed from your shoulders as you scrubbed your hands along them, muscles loosening with each bit of cleanliness you gained. It felt nice. Really nice, a calm time away to yourself to let go.

His shampoo also smelled like green tea, and you were occupied with massaging it into your hair when there was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” You called out.

The door cracked open. “Just me,” Suguru responded. “Brought some clothes for you. I’ll leave them on the counter.”

“Oh, thank you!” What’d you do to deserve a friend like him?

There were some rustling noises as he spoke. “It’s no problem, I’m not gonna leave you hanging without something to change into. Do you mind if I take your clothes to toss in the wash?”

“That’s fine,” you permitted. “I’ll be out soon.”

“Don’t worry about it, take your time,” he said, and then the door was closed once more.

Even if he told you to, you still didn’t want to hog the shower to yourself, knowing that Satoru got just as river-bathed as you did, and he was wearing pants to boot.

You rinsed off the shampoo and followed it up with the matching conditioner, using your fingers to delicately comb out any tangles. Though they weren’t your own products, they felt amazing, making your tresses silky smooth. You would have to ask him where he got his products.

You were out as soon as you were done washing your hair. You cocooned yourself in the clean, fluffy towel he also provided, loving the texture. It was soft yet absorbent, coaxing away any droplets that clung to your curves and planes. 

You wanted to steal it.

But, reluctant as you might have been, you refrained. You used it to dry your hair some, and folded it to set aside after you were sufficiently devoid of liquid. Checking the clothes Suguru provided you, you noted he gave you a pair of sweats with a drawstring, allowing you to adjust the waistline as needed. Ever the observant mother hen, you were grateful for his foresight.

You slipped on the t-shirt first, pleased by the material as it came to rest against your freshly washed skin. It was noticeably oversized, but in a sleepy-Sunday sort of way, big enough to be cute and snuggly.

The sweats were huge on you by comparison, what with his absurdly long limbs. You tugged the drawstring to your preferred tightness, then rolled up the legs until they were out of the way and you wouldn’t trip over them.

All dressed, you opened the door with your used towel in hand and walked out to find Suguru waiting for you, leaning against the wall beside the room. He smiled warmly at you and pushed himself off his support, holding out his hand to take the towel from you. 

A quick sweep over your form showed he was appraising your outfit with an approving eye, pride undisguised. “That shirt looks good on you.”

You were probably imagining the hint of possessiveness in his tone.

“Ehehe,” you giggled fiendishly, channeling your inner menace as you lightly tugged at the fabric of the top. “Mine, now.”

His expression softened into a smile that had little cupid wings fluttering on your back, a smile you only ever saw him give you. “All yours, angel. You can go sit down in the living room, I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” you nodded and followed his instructions, making your way back to the flora-infested room.

Settling down on the couch, you exhaled and closed your eyes. You heard the shower start up again before it became muffled by the door, presumably because of Satoru. You weren’t left waiting long, the five or so minutes you were alone flying by. The padding of feet signaled you to Suguru’s return, your eyes prying open halfway to peer languidly at him.

“Here,” he jutted his chin towards you. “Sit on the floor, I’ll do your hair.”

Finding no reason to object, you stood and let him take your place on the cushion before plopping yourself down between his legs. He tilted your head forward, then got to work. His touch was ever so gentle, fingers diligent in their movements as he treated your hair with a knowingness you didn’t expect him to have. 

Amicable silence filled the space around you, just the shifting of clothes and the slick sound of leave-in as he spread it evenly through your tresses. It gave your mind the freedom to drift away undisturbed.

As he was carefully drying and styling your hair, you thought about how Suguru often reminded you of a cat, considering his tendency to groom you. Or a bird, like a crow or a raven, that liked to preen you.

If you were all some sort of animal hybrids, you could easily imagine him being either some sort of corvid, a vulpine, or a big cat. A black leopard, to be specific.

If Satoru was a big cat, he would be a snow leopard. You refused to take any other suggestions. The tall freak was touchy, cuddly, and so proficient in hiding himself within an environment that did not suit him that he could be breathing down your neck and you'd be none the wiser.

The more you thought about it, the more you could picture them as their respective animals. Satoru would undoubtedly sunbathe with his belly up, paws curled, tail flicking side to side happily, unafraid of showing his biggest weakness. 

You compared and contrasted between your options for him. He did like to give you small, shiny things, and you'd never refuse because oooh, shiny! His hair reminded you of crow feathers when it caught the light from the sun. It bore a faint iridescence, a chrome that shifted between emerald and the time just between midnight and dawn, in the earliest hours of the morning where stars still sparkled brilliantly. You could picture him preening his feathers, plucking out the pins and fluffing the downy fuzz. 

Though black leopard might have suited him better. He tended to rub his cheek against yours or the top of your head whenever you embraced. You could easily picture him loafing under the shade, licking his paw to smooth out his fur and ensure it matched the rest of his satiny complexion. He had the personality of a laid back, lazy feline that could turn from a sweet teeny baby kitten into a merciless predator in the blink of an eye. 

You'd seen the way he behaved when he wanted something – the narrowing of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the concentration in his brow. 

It made a tremor flit up your body, especially when he set his sights on you like that. He was capable of being a silent stalker, an expert in scaring the ever living shit out of you any chance he got, just like Satoru.

That soursop boy was surely the type to roll over and let others do things for him. Feed him, rub his belly, comb through his fur. You hadn’t seen him when he was prowling, searching for a meal to hunt down, but sometimes you got a flicker of something similar to it in his eyes. Like a passing rumination, where he considered if it was worth exhausting energy to chase down his prey. 

…Could the reason you’d had yet to witness his hunt be because of his ability to camouflage? Because he didn’t want you to see?

The concept gave you chills.

You suppressed your reaction at the introspection, remembering that Suguru was behind you, gently drying your hair with tepid air and tender touches. You didn't want to embarrass yourself by giving him the impression that he was pleasuring you.

Which he undeniably was, but he didn't need to know about the prickles and tingles traveling all the way from your crown to your tailbone.

You continued your train of thought.

Satoru the Snow Leopard would spend his days grooming you endlessly, licking at your fur until it stuck out in all kinds of wild angles. After that, Suguru would mend the spiky hairs until you were glossy and sleek like him.

What did that make you in comparison to them?

Standing side by side with them, it was clear you were prey – unless you were a black-footed cat. But given your dynamic and how the two of them liked to coddle you, you doubted you'd resemble any kind of predator.

If you had to be prey, then what? A doe, or gazelle? 

No, those were unfortunately too majestic, and you weren't nearly as graceful as those lovely creatures. Your habit of tripping over your own feet proved case enough.

Okay, so if you weren't either of those…you supposed you could still fit into the cervidae family. Pudu deer was a possibility. 

You tried to imagine it, but sadly, you couldn't put yourself into deer hooves.

Were birds prey? Some of them had to be, like doves, right? 

If you were a bird, then Suguru had to be, too. You only trusted him to primp and help you maintain your feathers. Satoru would just chomp on them.

Alright, so no-go on the birds, then. Field mouse?

No, too small. You were short, but not that short. They’d also likely accidentally swallow you whole if they tried to mend a stray whisker.

Fennec fox? 

You contemplated it, then mentally shook your head. You weren't high-pitched and energetic enough to qualify for that. Satoru would beg to differ, and you’d let him, because it’d be funny. Also, they were predators, anyway.

A brief memory flashed in your mind of something Satoru said, back when you first met Suguru.

‘I don't know,’ he hummed in deliberation. ‘I prefer bunny. Or mochi.’

Bunny.

Bunny…

A rabbit with floppy ears and an upturned tail. Fuzzy and velvety, obviously small and squishy, as much as you grimaced at those choice words of his.

Flumped right between either of their front paws, or stuffed in the middle of their bodies when they curled up to nap. Or chilling on one of their backs, your little paws on their head to watch the world from an angle you could never see on your own.

Bunny fit perfectly, a glove with no rips in the stitch.

You three together would consist of a snow leopard, a black leopard, and a small rabbit that they decided to keep as a pet and not dinner. For whatever reason that could be. Fish are friends, not food.

You had no idea why you chose to start daydreaming about being animorphs. Imagining being squished by their hulking forms in the afternoon rays, or being wrapped up in their fluffy tails for warmth on autumn nights. They were fun images to entertain.

“You seem to be quite deep in thought,” Suguru's breath brushed against the shell of your ear, spooking you. You hadn't even noticed he was finished. “Care to let me in?”

“Eep!” You squeaked, rotating partially to give him the stink eye for doing the thing he and Satoru always did. No way were you going to let him in on your weird brain doing weird brain things. “It's nothing important, just fantasizing a bit. Zoned out.”

Ohp. 

And there was that hungry gleam in his eye, the shimmer in his black tea hues. You hit the nail on the head with the black leopard comparison.

“Fantasizing about what?” He purred. Cat. “About me?” 

Your lashes fluttered and you whipped your head back in the other direction, tucking your newly dry and enviously soft hair behind your ears. “N-No?”

Man.

You were such a bad liar.

He, merciful god that he is, elected to only tease you and not try to dive into the unreasonably bizarre pool of thoughts that swirled and whirled in your consciousness like the godsforsaken mess you were. 

Nor ask about why most of them revolved around those two boys. Bless him, your hero. Satoru would have tormented you until you gave in out of desperation, just to make him shut up. Then, he'd tease you about those ideas for the rest of your days. Probably double down on the bunny related nicknames, poke right above your tailbone and make jokes about how he should make you wear a pair of bunny ears and a tail. And then make the tail option extremely not family friendly.

Heaven’s mercy spare you if you give him any more ideas beyond that. Like a skimpy outfit that barely covered your tits and had a crotch narrow enough to give you a wedgie-induced friction burn where friction burns did not belong and would not wish on your worst enemy.

Well, no, maybe you would, but that's besides the point.

You chuffed out your nose and let your head fall back against the cushion between Geto's legs. His fingers found their way back to your scalp, massaging and lightly scratching at it until you were pushing into his hands like a needy kitten.

“Comfortable?” He asked with an amused lilt in his voice, to which you chirped merrily in answer.

You really were. Limbs like jelly, squeaky clean, tired out after playing in the river with them. You felt good, truly and genuinely good.

Aversion to permanent routine or not, you’d welcome every day with open arms if they were like this. Peaceful contentment after a long stretch of sunlit hours, able to let loose and uncoil any strain in your body, it all sounded so…

Happy.

You were okay with being happy like this.

You were okay with forgetting your past and what drove you here in the first place. You didn’t mind having your eyes shift shut, lashes sweeping over the highs of your cheekbones. You were alright with one of your best friends playing idly with your hair, and you were fine with listening to him hum some melody to himself as he did so.

It was okay.

This was okay.

You were okay.

banner by cafekitsune ♥

taglist: @kimi01985

[frodothefair]

Grima Wormtongue had a ward?

When it comes to writing about Rohan, I am quite excited for the opportunity to create more OC's. You've already heard about head healer Walda, Éomer King's yet to be named male secretary who is also his work wife, as well as Hafrith, the lady in waiting with a sweet personality and a tragic subplot. But more recently, in honor of @proletariatramen's years-long obsession with the Black Butler character Alois Trancy, I've come up with a Rohanese OC who will be a genderbent version of him. She will be another lady in waiting, and her name will be Ainsley, per the Rohanese naming convention which requires all names to have Old English roots.

Alright, so who is Ainsley?

Ainsley is a white-blonde wisp of a young woman with eyes like rainwater, and while she is beautiful, Lothíriel's first impression is that she looks like a mushroom that sprung up overnight after a rain. (As you already know, Lothíriel is not a very nice person when she is in distress).

Anyway, Ainsley's origins are relatively humble: she comes from a family of lesser nobles, and her home village was wiped out by raiding Dunlendings. She and her younger brother are the sole survivors, but afterwards, they are forced to wander, and eke out a living working odd jobs and trying to find their way to another part of the country where they believe they have distant relatives. In the course of their travels, Ainsley is forced to resort to sex work, and her brother dies from an illness.

Grima Wormtongue, Theoden King's crooked advisor, meets Ainsley in a house of ill repute where she finally ends up, despairing in finding her family. Grima sees something in her, and begins to sexually groom her, eventually taking her away and passing her off as his ward.

Using his influence at court, Grima secures a post for Ainsley as one of Lady Eowyn's ladies in waiting. Since Grima is trying to sink his claws into Éowyn as well, one of Ainsley's tasks is to spy on her mistress. But Ainsley ends up playing a dangerous game. She sabotages Grima's efforts by feeding him either false or useless information -- not because she particularly cares about Éowyn (more about this later), but because with all her trauma, she is on nobody's side but her own. Later, when Grima is discredited by Gandalf and the Three Hunters, Ainsley comes out about his abuse and manipulation of her, Éowyn vouches for her, and she is taken into the royal family's protection. After Éowyn leaves for Gondor, Ainsley becomes a lady in waiting to Lothíriel.

Personality-wise, Ainsley is about as erratic as Alois -- again, on account of her trauma. She is one of those traumatized people who was forced to watch their family die, emerged from the experience laughing maniacally, and never stopped laughing. As a result of her harsh years on the run, she trusts nothing and nobody, and hates most everyone she comes across, though she masks it all with a sweet and hypersexual flirtatious demeanor, peppered with a hint of playful crassness and casual abuse.

Oftentimes, she is seen dancing around like Ophelia, singing innocent-sounding, seemingly nonsensical songs that are actually quite sinister. She also has a collection of caged birds, like Ms. Flite in Bleak House, and names them things like "Justice" and "Grief." Unlike Ms. Flite, however, she sometimes releases the birds, and sometimes kills them for fun, all in an effort to channel the erratic nature of fate.

Hafrith, the head lady in waiting, has a way with Ainsley (mostly because Hafrith is a Saint (tm)), and most everyone else pities her and tolerates her oddities -- after all, if you've been abused by the universally vilified Grima Wormtongue, you've got infinite cred. All in all, Ainsley exists in the story for two reasons 1) to show yet another dimension of how Rohan is a broken realm, and how the war has taken a toll on its people and 2) to inject an element of chaos and hypersexuality into Lothiel's circle.

(Human) faceclaim: Tamzin Merchant or Elle Fanning. Alois Trancy is pictured in the middle, for those who have not seen the snime.

@konartiste @emmanuellececchi @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @celeluwhenfics @dilettantefeminist

[phantomsghoulette]

Kingdom of Heaven STORY IDEA

This post goes out to all the Kingdom of Heaven fans that write ffs, especially about our King - Baldwin IV

Now this idea may not be historically correct but I still need someone to make a story out of it. I'm talking A LONG ASS story with many chapters because I'm somehow a hopeless romantic when it comes to Baldwin.

So here's the story:

(Please use Y/N for Tiberias' daughter and not some name)

We start off long before Baldwin was born, when Tiberias and his wife arrive in the Kingdom of Heaven. Later on they have a daughter together, around the same time Baldwin was born. Tiberias already has a close relationship with the royal family at this time because of his wise knight shit. At some point Tiberias' wife dies and he has to raise their daughter on his own and he starts taking her to the palace where her and young Baldwin would often play together and develope a friendship. At some point Baldwin's illness is discovered. The priests and higher ranked people try to find a wife for him asap in order to keep the bloodline but every woman kindly rejects, scared of the illness so they just accept Baldwin's lonely fate. His illness is slowly taking over his body and Tiberia's daughter decides to take care of him, not being scared of him no matter how disfigured he looks. But when Baldwin notices that he's slowly developing feelings for her and that his face looks more and more sinister and his limbs are slowly becoming useless, he becomes kinda distant because he's scared to confess his feelings.

Remember that scene in the movie when Baldwin asks Balian to marry Sybilla? That's when he confesses his feelings. So let's imagine Tiberias' daughter is there too and when the men are done talking Baldwin sends off Balian and Tiberias but wants Y/N to stay. "No, Y/N. Not you. I need to talk to you. Stay... please." Or something like that. And we all know that Baldwin knew that Jerusalem was doomed because of his sister and that's why his confession goes something like:

"You know there is one more thing I could have done to save Jerusalem and its people... and I'm now regretting that I haven't done this."

Y/N: "And that would be?"

Baldwin: "Making you my wife"

And then he goes on with his cheesy romantic medieval confession. And Y/N confesses too bla bla bla and she then even takes off his mask and kisses him on the corner of his lips (one side of his mouth wasn't that damaged, remember?).

On his death day she takes care of his wounds one last time.

Make their last conversation HEARTWRENCHING. I WANNA CRY.

After his death Y/N seeks comfort in her father. Make it a wholesome daughter - father relationship (idk how to do that because I never had a father lmaoooo)

How the story ends is for you to decide. Maybe Y/N goes to Cyprus with Tiberias because she cannot take it to watch the Kingdom fall that Baldwin created and led with so much love and respect for the people.

You can also add some suggestive themes. For example Baldwin dreaming about getting intimate with Y/N because he's just that touch-deprived.

So yeah if anyone would be willing to take on this idea - you're more than welcome to do so and I'd DEFINITELY read it. I personally am not good at writing GOOD stories because English isn't my first language and I would ruin the story by using "basic" English. And since Kingdom of Heaven takes place during medieval times you need to write such stories in "fancy" English.

Anyways. I had to get this off my semi-autistic mind or else I would have gone CRAZY.

I just hope this post reaches the right people🙏

[velvetvexations]

I find it really telling that the people involved in the "dropout needs more transfem rep" discourse are TME/TMA users. Strange that there's an overlap but, should have expected useless tumblr discourse from the tumblr discourse crowd.

lol it's not that strange because it's an entirely invented problem

the way that people try so hard to divide the trans community into a binary over and over and over again drives me up the wall, whether its tme vs tma or the constant lumping in of all trans people into either transmasc or transfems!! like in regards to the whole recent dropout conversation (recent example) someone mentioned that there aren't any transmascs either. Dropout's trans representation is largely, if not entirely, nonbinary people, and yet somehow this conversation is somehow entirely focused around how few transfems there are. but oh no, because (loud sarcasm) transmasc and afab nonbinary people are both tme therefore they're basically the same thing right? and no one cares if i say act as if they're the same thing, right? so stupid.

Tribalism is poison.

I feel so fucking misunderstood right now by someone I used to trust. I literally have issues with splitting and I was fucking open about that, but then they bitch at me for being an evil transphobe because I've come to distrust tme/tma people AS AN INTERSEX PERSON, something they LITERALLY TALK ABOUT THEMSELF. I thought it was a safe space to vent there but now I have one less fucking place to go I guess. 'weaseling out' of what, having fingers wrongfully pointed at me? I vented about that, just to have more fingers pointed at me. fucking christ.

and if that wasn't bad enough my so-called friends aren't fucking bothering to pretend to care either. I hate everything.

hi, same misunderstood anon. 'bully' HA! all I did was express disdain for intersexists, but apparently that makes me a toddler and a 'bully'. how fucking insulting. I thought this person had better reading comprehension than that.

Sounds like they should get fucked.

so many people on the internet just. experience one thing and make assumptions about everyone else’s experience

like. trans men on here who pass or whatever will be like ‘well um ackshually i have never personally experienced any discrimination unique to me being a trans man and also have privilege over trans women so you need to shut up about being discriminated against specifically for being a trans man’

privilege when it comes to trans people is entirely fucking dependent on the person and largely influenced by factors that are not about which direction we are transitioning in

for example. i am a trans man. i am also autistic and mentally ill

(trigger warnings for discussions of ableism, specifically against psychotic people and autistic people, and transmasc-specific transphobia for the next few paragraphs. i will put in brackets when the trigger warning is done)

i am not treated like ‘trans’ or ‘man’ or ‘woman’. i am treated as an animal that does not understand anything and needs to be hurt and forced back into its place because how DARE an animal like me try to sit at the table with people

people assume that i know nothing. i cannot be trusted to determine my own identity. people try to convince me that i’m just genderfluid or just nonbinary

if i got aggressive or angry pre-testosterone, then it was because i am autistic and overreacting. now that i am on testosterone, if i get aggressive or angry, it’s because the testosterone is making me that way

i experience a very specific overlap between ableism and transphobia and the specific ways in which it is weaponised against me tie directly to the fact that i am specifically a trans man

for example, a real interaction: ‘you experience psychosis. you can’t possibly know that you’re trans. it’s a delusion, you silly, stupid woman. you don’t know reality. you’re not a man.’

^ this has happened before. because i am psychotic, and was afab, it’s assumed that i’m unreliable even about my own identity, so they brand me as a hysterical psychotic woman who needs her medication dose upped

another example. ‘no. don’t go on testosterone. don’t get top surgery. you’re ruining your gorgeous female body. autistic girls don’t understand gender, anyway. you’re just a tomboy.’

^ in these interactions, people do the usual anti-transmasculine tirade about ruining my body. except they also weaponise my autism against me, and say that i’m just an autistic girl who doesn’t understand gender and cannot possibly be trans

(trigger warnings end here)

privilege as a trans person is SO dependent on factors outside of which way you are transitioning. i have privilege over some transfems. some transfems have privilege over me. some nonbinary people have privilege over me. i have privilege over some nonbinary people.

i don’t usually experience transmisogyny. none of my transfem loved ones experience the specific anti-transmasculine transphobia that i do. my transfem girlfriend passes better than i do, even though she’s pre-everything. i very rarely pass, even though i have been on testosterone for months. some of my transmasc friends pass while being pre-everything. it all varies immensely from person to person

being a man in of itself isn’t a source of oppression, but it definitely influences the ways in which you are oppressed. some of my transfem loved ones go through the world in much easier ways than i do. some don’t. the level of privilege a trans person has largely depends on things like race, wealth, disability, and environment, among other things. the specific direction in which you are transitioning, from my observation, just changes the stereotypes and concepts weaponised against you. it doesn’t seem to dictate the severity of your oppression. it just seems to influence which specific things people use to oppress you

And they will never, ever want to acknowledge that it's possible for trans people to have privilege over each other in different circumstances despite the fact that most readily acknowledge the possibility for trans men to have privilege over trans women exists and do everything in their power to lift them up in those situations.

"and the cat is there" how is a cat. TMA?????? can anyone explain meowth being TMA. Are we being fucking for real here?

Well, I mean, he is sapient lmao.

TMPickmEs... I'm stealing that now holy crap that's so good...

I'm very funny.

Honestly I'm just so fucking worn out by the whole TMA/TME thing and the "trans women are the only people who are known about by transphobic cis people and the only one who's suffering matters" because I, a (closeted thankfully) trans man, just had to deal with my coworkers going on a MASSIVE rant about how little girls are chopping their tits off and mutilating themselves and getting "frankendicks" and shit.

But sure, trans men are beloved by all and are accepted by the transphobic cis people-

The transphobes at your workplace are probably outraged over little trans girls detransitioning.

happy warless weekend or at least im 80% sure its the weekend rn. my friend asked me for help starting crochet and i got to autism all over the place about it

Hell yeah! Doing things with friends is important.

It’s kinda crazy how so many people are speculating about your identity just because you have opinions they don’t agree with. It kinda reminds me of that one Hamilton fanfic writer who faked her whole identity to win arguments on tumblr, I guess they think you’re the sequel to that or something? Lol

I knew someone who faked being Black, years and years ago. Wild time.

Wait i wasn’t paying attention to the discourse for a second and am clearly behind on the plai/dos stuff, did Aabria actually block her bc of her dumbass “wah too many TMEs” callout??? That’s SO funny but genuinely Aabria (and everyone else) deserves financial compensation for having to see plai/dos’ & her little circle’s unhinged transphobic misogynistic etc takes

that's what she claims lol

honestly completely expected, people like that always melt down when you just ignore them and refuse to engage because at heart they're high school bullies who enjoy knowing they're tormenting someone with a faux-progressive coat of paint and it's incredibly transparent lmao. like sorry you tried to pick on someone who's established enough that you can't utilize your dead blogging website following to effectively ruin their life this time, might wanna go back to picking smaller targets like another trans person with 10 followers online

Aabria is 6 feet and one inch of invincible badass. You cannot start shit with her and expect to win.

Another day, another *** trying to get her followers to at- tack some random disabled guy she doesn't like (totally not because he's disabled…)

Better to block and ignore the feral little idiot. She doesn't have that much of a following and it's always appeared to me even the regular TRFs think she's too mask off to platform.

[zai-doodles]

You know one of the biggest criticisms of Lucy is that she’s useless but on some level I loved that about her. She’s a bit redundant in most fights and loses a lot but oh my god do her friends still love her and include her and want her to come along on adventures anyway. That really hooked me. I don’t think that was intentional tho

I kinda answered this over here but ill add some more ramblings bc y not

I dont need lucy to be some super strong powerhouse BUT it would be nice if they showed off other aspects in which shes useful!!

bc she is useful! She completes team natsu and is actively the reason they kinda became a team in the first place. She balances out the main 3 and grounds them, reminding them that normal ppl don't just sacrifice themselves every 5 seconds and stuff

like of course its bc shes meant to be the relatable character through this? like just reacting to wild shit that's happening but her personality and backstory leave so much room to make her her own fully fleshed out character rather than a supportive lead if that makes sense?

I said it in my other post but in my little rewrite Lucy has hardcore imposter syndrome and is CONSTANTLY trying to prove herself as worthy of her mothers keys which leads to moments of arrogance early on that CAN be comedic but build up to lucy feeling less and less like she even belongs in the guild

this is where id put the loke arc (before phantom lord) bc I think the loke arc specifically highlights her best traits!! her loyalty and her stubbornness.

lucy cares so much and so deeply that she went out of her way to figure out what was wrong with loke even though they had only interacted like twice and he was mostly just running away from her, like yes! that's Lucy! shes endlessly curious and wants to find any and all ways to make herself helpful to her guild but in that moment proving herself takes a back seat because in her mind this is something that ANYBODY would do for someone, regardless of guild or history.

this is getting long but basically her arc would start with her being kinda weak in fights but she thrives in the smaller interpersonal moments where shes willing to give all of herself just to help someone else and it slowly builds up to her having to learn that shes not special because of who her parents are shes special because shes lucy!!

its v corny but thats literally the point of fairy tail so sh

[myymi]

ohh if you can i would appreciate some tips!! honestly writers are so admirable we dont give yall enough credit🙏🙏🙏

well, for me to give you the absolute best tips i can to help out, i need to know what exactly you're struggling with when it comes to writing. there are about a million different tips i can give you for about a million different things and some of those tips will be completely useless to you

for now though, i'll give you the things that help me getting into a writing mood + general tips i give to new writers and if you still need further help you can explain what exactly you're struggling with and ill do my best to help out;

1) whatever you learned about formatting essays; forget it.

a common thing i see in new writers is they try to write it like an essay. which isn't a bad idea really, but it is restricting. your paragraphs don't have to be four or more sentences. they can only be one if you want. it's your story, format it however you want. you don't need to follow rules

2) listening to music

this is mostly for when you have that one specific scene in your head but have no idea what to do for the rest of the fic. listening to music and connecting the lyrics to the characters you're using is a great way to get your mind thinking. one song can give you several different ideas depending on how you interpret it

3) make sure you are in a good mood

personally, i cannot write to save my life if im upset or just generally having a bad day. i know some people can use creating as a way to cheer themselves up, but it just doesn't work out for me lol

4) if you don't need background noise, don't use it

it's pretty easy to get distracted when writing, especially when you have something new playing. if you do need background noise of some kind, i would advise playing instrumental music or that one movie/show that you've seen a thousand times and could quote in your sleep. keep your focus on your writing

5) brackets will be your best fucking friend when writing

one of the most important things about writing is keeping your flow going. if you find yourself writing sentence after sentence for a good while and then you suddenly hit a stop because you don't know how to word what happens next; throw it in brackets and write the scene after it. its the same reason why you're told to skip questions you get stuck on when taking a test. let your brain do what it knows it can and come back to the tricky stuff later.

6) you don't have to write anything in order

you don't have to write a story exactly start to finish. you can jump between any scene you'd like and find out how to connect it to a different scene another time. this kinda ties into the last tip in the sense that you gotta let your brain do what it knows. if you only know the beginning and the end then write those first and figure out the rest as you go. if you need to edit either one of the previous things then that's okay. there's no shame in changing things around, it's just how creating things go. sometimes change is needed

7) writing prompts

for new writers, i like to tell them to find a prompt online to write a story for before they start their own. using a prompt someone else made keeps your brain from getting overwhelmed, allowing you to focus more on finding a writing style that works best for you. using writing prompts also lets your brain find ways to contribute to a story without having it make everything while also figuring out how to put it on paper. it's easy to overwhelm the brain, so let it get used to writing before you start creating your own ideas. (this is also something i advise to people who experience burnout or just cant think of anything to write. your brain just needs a break from creating ideas right now, go and find a prompt for it)

8) word count

listen to me because this is so important; ignore the word count. you need to focus on learning, not how much you're writing. it doesn't matter if you only wrote 50 words when other people have fics well over 50k. ignore it. you are learning, you'll get there eventually. if you focus too much on how much you're writing you're going to stress yourself out and ultimately drive yourself away from ever writing again. treat word counts as milestones. start with 50, then 100, then 150, then 200, etc. let yourself work towards it slowly rather than push yourself too hard right out the gate. you can't expect to draw the mona lisa the first time you put a pencil to a paper, so don't expect to write thousands of words the first time you write a story. it'll take time, and that's perfectly okay.

9) analyze the shit out of your characters

this is easier when writing fanfiction, but take a few hours to learn your characters. find the content they're in and hyper-focus on what they're doing. pay attention to their speech patterns, their body language, their relationships with others, etc. if they're not in a scene, try to imagine they are and what'd they do and/or say if they were. it'll help out with keeping them in character when writing

10) if you get to a point where you can't write anymore even when using brackets; stop writing for the day

we have our limits. you will get to a point where you can't get another word down and that's okay. it doesn't matter if you've only written a handful of words, close your program and wait until you feel motivation hit you again. if you keep trying to force yourself to write when you just can't then you're going to burn yourself out. the most probable reason for this is writer's block, which means you need to focus on other things for a while. give your brain time to recollect itself. it's annoying, i know, but it's better for you if you just let your brain do what it needs to. it knows how to take care of itself, so let it.

i also have a tag i use whenever i give tips, so you can check those out as well to see if anything helps! it's just writing tips

[cheddargoblin]

23, 24 and 25 for Meisi and Deidre

prompts

hi again baron love uuuuu i think you wanted me to answer both for both? ill do that anyways 23. What do they feel guilty for that the other person(s) doesn’t / don’t even remember? (assuming its for one and the other, vice versa) For Meisi, i think he'd feel guilty for not having enough of a hand in keeping an eye on deidre due to involvement with an undisclosed dragon-slaying/watching/raising/helping guild. He'd feel like he couldve been there to better assist and guide deidre AWAY from becoming a perpetually shellshocked little mordrem medic, maybe a little 'hey buddy maybe i can help you find a home outside of the military to acclimate to life in' In turn deidre is guilty about.. most things. while they dont specifically have much association with Meisi, due to being a lowly medic vs one of the vigil's warmasters, hed still manage to try and apologize for things, like the damage the asura took during the maguuma disaster & mordrem outbreak. "im sorry about the events i wasnt involved in hurting you, i feel guilty about them anyway' type beat. love you you silly little anxiety lizard. 24.Did they take a cookie from the cookie jar? What kind of cookie was it? Meisi probably bought the cookie jar or put the cookies in it, and hes taking a fig newton or something else fruity. Dee is refusing to steal from it but staring at it from across the room like a cat that Wants Something. If offered, would prefer Shortbread. 25. What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

Meisi actually has a background and knowledge in archaeology, and to a lesser degree, anthropology! (is there a term for that that covers multiple sapient races). He enjoys herping and picking up weird snakes a as a hobby but hes got some actually decent knowledge about old history and weirdly niche things. area man that will recite the histories of human civilizations with extreme detail and boredome and then stop it all to show you the rare two-tailed gecko or something. Dee doesnt have MUCH of a life outside of being a pact medic until recent years, but his desire to help as well as his unique anatomical position have allowed him to get a wealth of knowledge on the differences between sylvari & mordrem physiology, as well as how they are cross-applicable, such as grafting woulds and regrowing limbs! He's trying to make it a medical book for people to cite, hes very eager for it to help save more lives.

[tuxedokit-thoughts]

i want to kill myself

im not going to, but mom says i should write my feelings out. says itll help me feel better

and. i mean. i know its worked before. i have this whole thing to prove it

see even just tryping that much helped a little. at least enough that ny urges are back in the harm territory and not in yhe kill territory. which isnt great. but. yknow. ill take what i can get? i guess?

i dont know anymore. it feels like theres this gaping hole in my chest, and everything i have and everything i am is just pouring and pouring and pouring out of it until there is nothing. i dont want to be nothing.

but maybe it would be easier than this

i hardly got out of bed today. i didnt get dressed, i only ate because my brother was so gracious as to bring me a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup. he put a little rosemary in it, "to make it fancy," he said. it wasnt perfection, but it was the best goddamn soup i had ever tasted in that moment. he used the last clean bowl for it. its his favourite too, a kirby themed ramen bowl with holes for chopsticks and everything.

chicken noodle isnt even my favourite soup. fi think its just. how loved i felt? when he carried that bowl into our cramped little room from our cramped little living room.

i was standing like. an hour ago? and he asked me to try to clean a bowl for him. (he does all the household chores, save for dishes. we both hate them, but i can barely do shit else, so one really shitty chore is better than a mountain of decent ones)

i took one look at our sink, so full of dirty shit you can hardly see the faucet, and i tyrned around and let myself fall limp, face first on my bed.

i put the blanket over my feet, so that if he came in he wouldnt have to see them (even the thought of feet disgusts him, i think)

he did come in, but i dont think he realized how hard it had been for me to even do that. i think all he saw was a whiny, ungrateful, pathetic mound of flesh under a blanket. someone so useless it couldnt even clean a single bowl for him without falling apart.

i heard him clean his own bowl. i have never felt so guilty for doing absolutely fucking nothing.

he already puts up with so much shit from me. im a drug addicted, mentally unstable, sorry excuse for a person.im trying, god im trying so fucking hard, but every day is harder than the last, it seems.

still. he deserves better than this.i dont know why he bothers.

... i keep finding myself scratching my cat scratches from earlier today. it stings. i feel like i deserve it.

i know thats not true. but honestly? scratching at my hand and wrist is better than actually doing something, right? its just a sting on fresh skin. no blood, no fresh wounds. just the pain thats already there. just poking at my bruises so i feel something other than this crushing despair

god. i cant believe i said that. i mean thats a totally normal thing to say in a crisis. ive just soiled my mind with references and medias and now i cant be normal about anything haha

anyway

uh

yeah.

...

i still hate myself. but. i guess this helped me stop crying as much? i dont know. i dont know anything anymore

thats not true

i know my wrist hurts. like a cat scratch, it stings on the back, mostly because thats what it was, at first. from where both my cats claws and my own found themselves digging into my skin, i can feel a bump when i glide my finger over it. and every time the pain gets too dull, too quiet, i let my nail return to its little groove and pull, just for a moment.

i know my heart hurts. like i have been carved open, my contents unceremoniously dumped on the floor. my blood spills out on the floor over my organs and my thoughts, and as i try to clean it up the lead in my veins says stop. and so i lay there, on the ground, next to the contents of the person i have become. it is all blackened by tar and resin.

i know that every breath i have taken today has felt like a chore. like slogging out of bed at 5:45 in the morning to get ready for school, knowing i wont learn shit because all my energy will be focused on holding myself together, or at least keeping myself from shattering altogether. ill just slog through another page of the textbook, wondering why i bothered when i couldve just stayed home.

i know i am loved. even if i dont feel it. even if i dont deserve it.

i know i never had a choice in any of this

...

i know that. for now. ill keep dragging myself out of bed. keep breathing. scratch my wrist so i dont cut it.

and maybe tomorrow ill apologize to everyone whos had to put up with me

{16/11/2023}

[cheerstotheelites-if]

Author ask: What is the concept of destiny in your stories? Is it "One is the master of their own fate" or more like "no matter what you do everything is predestined, you can't change it"?

What is the ROs belief on it now? Will it change in later years?

That's a really good question, anon. I actually love getting asked these, since it's fun to talk about the philosophy and idealogy of what the characters (and the stories they're in) hold.

* I won't answer the RO's portions as much as I want to since that'll be very long discussion too big for an ask, and it will be talked about in game. Plus, it's in a huge spoiler territory unfortunately. Oofs. Sorry, my guy (gn).

However, I will say that their belief about fate may or may not change through the years, some being more stubborn in their belief than others.

I think it mostly depends on which story you're talking about, since the majority of them have the theme about death and relationships and what are its effects and impact on people. Though I like to believe that my stories hold the ideal and concept of fate being vague or point blank at best, depending on who are in those stories.

Fate and destiny in itself is a tricky thing to talk about, since its god is dead and has been for centuries. Plus the topic itself is something so undetermined yet its not with the help of Magi like Astrologists, Prophets, Seers, Oracles and beings who are simply omnipotent by nature.

It's a concept and idea that isn't talk about much in casual conversation because it's a polarizing topic since everyone refuses to believe that fate and destiny can be something else in one way or the other. Fate in itself is just an abstract thing that came to be and is mostly defined by who you ask.

There will be those who believe that fate is in your control from the start you've been brought to this world and took your first steps since it's your choice to get up one day and start walking and running like everyone else in this race. You want to keep up. You want to do something that you find will bring you the most joy in the end.

Others will say its predetermined because of the fact that you're born. You never had a choice to be here, and you never asked to. Why are you here? There must be a reason why you are put where you are, right? To complete and reach something already laid out perhaps?

And there are the people who'll say fuck it because who cares about who you are and where you're from. We all die in the end, right? Why even bother trying to achieve this vague lifelong goal if it'll only be something so useless in the end?

You can argue that the destiny of the wives of Juliet & Cinderella are predetermined because of its Romeo & Juliet themes or about Fleur and her chronic illness and those two contradict what I just said earlier about fate being an abstract thing, and while that is true, I am only talking about the concept of destiny to the inhabitants of these stories. To them it is just an abstract, untangible, scary thing that they aren't even sure if they can even change it or are changing it with every choice they make.

For me, personally, destiny (and the plots itselves) in my stories is, in a way, predetermined because I am the one writing them, thus knowing what's going on and its why's. Though despite the end goal either being a tragic or a good one, the journey getting there is always more important to me. It's a "Sure, our destiny might be shitty in the end, but let's have some fun before while we're at it" kind of thing than people racing to get to the goal or prevent it like it's an Amazing Race for the McGuffin.

It's melancholic when the destiny is tragic and the person on it just accepts it, but it's bittersweet when you know that they tried their best to at least try to make a change or spend their remaining time the best they can before the downfall.

[ellevandersneed]

Hi, sorry if this is overstepping, but I don't like the idea of someone suffering as I do: advice as someone who has changed an absolutely terrifying amount and yet the core that I have mixed feelings for remains the same - you have to at least try to honour the person you were and are, what that person found hard. I spent years thinking I was just being a precious little shithead who needed to get over it instead of whining about how living in my middle class family home with a family who loved me in a house we owned outright was just soooo hard, but when I extended that kindness back and found people who saw, heard, and validated me, I realised that I have significant psychological issues stemming from that home because it was enormously stressful, even if I don't bear ill will to my family. And I'm able to work on that now, because I see them. A thing you can do is find something you'd like to change that's reflected in behaviour, and then focus on the behaviour. Just give yourself time and patience to make those changes.

What also helps is, when upset or angry or whatever, you think of yourself and your state as belonging to someone else who is younger than you, and how would you treat someone in this state? If you know or suspect you have Conditions, look into those conditions and how to help them, and crucially, how to help other people with those conditions. I learned some great tips for managing my brain by looking up things to help autistic children.

Also, it turns out I have a form of OCD and a lot of my worrying that I'm an evil lazy stupid person who stagnates and makes excuses to distract from the fact that I'm a terrible person comes directly from the Obsessive, and trying to reason out and philosophize and interrogate and problem solve these issues in my own brain is a Compulsion, so, something to keep in mind? Your post about the doorway reads 100% as something I'd have written when I was Really Fucking Going Through It.

Thank you for the answer. I don't mind these kinds of messages at all because they can be helpful, if they are not helpful I try not to answer. I am very aware of my own OCD, though it has a funny way of rearing its head in all kinds of interactions, which I think is part of my analogy with the doorway. It doesn't disappear if I ignore it. It merely waits for me, welcomes me back with open arms whenever I wake up feeling a bit off or get a little too overwhelmed. If I don't attack this problem, don't feed in the compulsion to analyze and overcome, then I'm worried that I'll simply subconsciously continue my poor behavior or embarass myself or say the wrong thing, which I understand is something I will have to live with, even as I try to improve and change. It's simply an aspect of life, but I am very hesitant to put myself into situations where I might cause harm or be made an example. I can recognize this as a traumatic response.

I find that I sort of regress when under stress, I forget I'm the age I am and am suddenly 17 or 18 again, anything learned after that period becomes unlearned. It becomes very hard to come back from that and see things clearly, and I often feel locked out of a lot of my own knowledge, and what comes with that is a return to the depths of that OCD spiral where I am stuck philosophizing and panicking and reliving bad memories that I struggle to tell are real or exaggerated, and I become, essentially, useless to myself and others, and potentially harmful. In the past, I have been the person who threatens to hurt someone physically because I am convinced that I am harmful and that person won't tell me how I am harming them, essentially saying "I will get worse and worse because this is fundamentally who I am, and no one has been able to convince me I'm not, because it's the little things you say and do that prove that I am what I am but you're too afraid to admit it, and you won't leave me even though I tell you I am what I am." I said these things to someone, a few years ago, and in that moment they felt like they made perfect sense to say, which is what scares me. I felt total clarity but in a false sort of way, an intense rush of emotion but utterly calm; just pure focus. I've failed to explain it to my counselor, who simply asked if this feeling I felt was anger/rage, but it was something different. This is the person I am scared of being, and the OCD loop basically promises to me that this being is inescapable despite whatever efforts I make, the regression that comes with panic promises that I cannot escape this being. But I still have to, because I will continue to cause suffering to myself and to others if I do not make the effort to change. The OCD spiral then becomes, how do I know if the way I am acting is or is not harmful and dangerous for others? If my behavior in that moment "made sense" to me in that moment, despite it very clearly coming off as harmful in hindsight, what other behaviors of mine are or have been harmful? OCD essentially ushers me into a pattern of behavior where I have to mechanically sort through everything I've done to prove if I am redeemable or condemned forever, either by some higher power that doesn't exist or socially which is something that frequently happens to transfems with a lot of attention online, and since my memory really sucks, especially when under stress, the solution is that my imagination starts to build scenarios in which my behavior is the worst it possibly could have been, and I still struggle to determine which memories are real and which are fake, which are accurate and which are exaggerated. And it's exhausting. It fucks with my ability to transition, where I think, if all of this stuff is true, and I am irredeamable, then I have a moral incentive to myself to transition, or else I am just another cis guy who has caused a lot of harm, which wouldn't really affect my material conditions (unless my behavior was so bad as to justify a felony charge, I don't have the capital necessary to avoid that sort of thing, and I don't think I would be able to handle lying to the contrary if I believed my behavior fit the crime, etc.), but it would fill me with an unspeakable dread that would only worsen my mental health considerably, and I am already struggling as it is. The "moral incentive" then presents itself to me as false justification for transition, that I am only doing it to escape "who I have been" (whatever that may be), and is thus illegitimate compared to every other transfem on earth, and the thought of it is so pervasive in my mind that it's hard to detach my general thinking from it. This is clearly OCD, but then here's the kicker.

It tries to convince me that I do not have OCD. That all of this thinking is deserved, that I should experience this. It makes compelling arguments for why I should whip myself, and hesitate around transition (because I don't "deserve to"). As you put it, it's that idea that I really am just evil and lazy and all the other things and that this is just how I should feel. "There is no OCD," it says to me, "you're still just as pathetic as ever." And this shit pervades. I should not be friends with people, I should try to make art and be well known for it, because I don't "deserve these things." It even pressures my general knowledge acquisition, where I have to learn as much as I can and be as informed as physically possible (even though I have a lot of clear, undiagnosed attention deficit problems that make this very difficult, so I just end up in another "why are you hitting yourself" spiral.) I think the worst thing is that it feels so illogical. OCD very often feels like a joke to people, like it's simply a matter of getting over it over the weekend or something, and getting back to acting logically and reasonably, and facing my problems - and I wish I could! I wish I could do that, but then I struggle to and am back in the "hitting yourself" situation again.

I feel I could talk about this endlessly, but that's the game isn't it?

Anyway, I only realized after the fact, but the whole doorway thing is pretty much taken from an episode of Adventure Time, The Hall of Egress. It's really good, if you haven't seen it. Probably one of my favorites of the show.

[candy-floss-crazy]

No, not our favourite Rolling Stones song, Jumping Jack Flash. Gas Gas Gas is a reference to the recent news that the government is going to ban the sales of Nitrous Oxide, or laughing gas as it is commonly known. Evidently some people like to breath it in for its psychoactive properties. Whereupon unfortunately it can cause illness, nerve damage and even death. Now why is that on a blog for a catering company you might well ask. Easy, the substance is also sold in mini cylinders which fit into a whipped cream dispenser and turn fresh cream into squirty cream. We make massive use of it on our hot chocolate, and waffle/crepe services. The alternative to this is the cans of squirty cream, nasty UHT treated 'cream' that is four times the price. Why are blanket bans imposed that affect the massive majority of people who use the product responsibly, because some minority of cretins find an illegal use for it. How about trying the radical idea of punishing those who sell it for the purpose of sniffing, or those who actually imbibe it illegally, rather than all those who don't. Coca Cola It is a similar story with Coca Cola, and other 'high sugar' drinks. I don't drink the stuff very often. But on the rare occasion I fancy a tin, I find myself in the position of having to sell body parts to pay the exorbitant cost. Why so dear I hear you cry. Because there are a large number of irresponsible parents out their who pour gallons of the stuff down their kids throats, resulting in some massively obese kids, oh sorry, my blogs AI inclusive language system is telling me not to use that word, they are now to be referred to as kids with higher body weight. WTAF, instead of playing stupid word games to try and wallpaper over the cracks, why not concentrate on educating parents not to make their kids of higher bodyweight. Of course putting the price of Coke up with this sugar tax, is going to instantly transform the said parents into health freaks that only dispense wholesome good food to their kids. Of course it bloody isn't, the same useless parents will just find something else, equally as unhealthy to shut their little darlings up. Alcohol We are heading for a similar position with alcohol. Due to some people not being able to control their drinking, there is a clamour for a minimum alcohol unit price. Seriously, you think this will suddenly dry an alcoholic person with alcohol use disorder out? I have personal experience of people with drink problems. The cost of the product bears no resemblance to the amount they drink, They will beg, steal, borrow, sell their kids, whatever to buy what they need. The only thing a minimum price will do, is take more money off those people who drink responsibly. Instead of punishing everyone else, why not come up with a scheme that actually helps those people who need it, all that the extra revenue will do is line the pockets of the retailers. Read the full article

[savebatsartedition]

Whumptober 2024 Day 25:

Summary:

Ashley has been locked into her apartment by voices that tell her it will all be okay. Prompt pieces used: Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

Notes:

This was not my original plan at all but I felt bad only writing one TCOAAL fic when I originally planned for two so here’s a second one. :3 Content Warnings: Starvation, lying to the public, fake pandemic thing, might have underlying tones of incest but I tried to restrain myself haha Words: 1,019

(Fic also under the cut.)

The illness raged through the lonely old apartment building, deadly, quiet, and easily spread. It was something that had to be contained from the rest of the world, to be hidden away, to be starved out of existence until it was safe for its unfortunate carriers to be let out again.

Thankfully, the people inside said apartments were kept safe and well fed. Really, it was a much better life than the one outside, where there was crime every other hour and every day was just job after job after useless job. At least inside they got all that time to themselves, and if they were really alone, there were always sympathetic guards to talk to through the door. It was as good of a life as the illness allowed, and the residents didn't really mind. In fact, hardly any of them ever even cried out.

At least, that's what the general public had been led to believe.

But Ashley had sort of a different view on it.

The phone never rang, and no one ever picked up. The guards never spoke unless to yell at them to be quiet or to die quicker already. She wasn't safe from the horrible repeating of the cultist music in the other apartment, and she certainly wasn't well fed. Not at all.

She stared hungirly at a moth that fluttered through the air above her bed in her and Andy's room, but guessed that she didn't really have the energy to catch it. She had already used up so much just trying to tidy up the disgusting place, something as free and quick as that tiny bug wouldn't have been much of a meal anyway.

The knocks came at the door, but quickly moved on. The TV had promised food, water, conversation, but neither she nor Andy ever got any from the outsiders. (The TV promised a lot of things. Ashley wondered if any of them were true for anyone outside of their tiny home.

Andrew was somewhere else in the apartment, but Ashley didn't really have the will to find him. She wanted to see him, to hold his hand and cuddle, or do anything that would help the two of them get through this, but he was away, and she was already tucked in all nice and sweet. She felt like a tiny stuffed rabbit all ready for bedtime, except she was a young woman, and it was mid morning, and there was no food in her stomach to serve as stuffing. 

She rolled over painfully, trying her best to ignore the ache in her stomach as she made the mistake of imagining a meal in front of her. Steak, or potato soup, or some other kind of dish that Andy had once so carefully cooked for them. Back when mother was too busy to help. (Ashley didn't really blame her, but it hurt when her phone never called. Maybe she had changed it again? Maybe the illness had hit her instead.)

She curled in on herself, and the tiny blanket that covered her rolled up and partially off of her back as it got squished in between her knees and her chest. Even being in warmth felt cold now, so skinny and shivery the starvation had made her. She would have liked no more than to sit in a warm shower until sleep took her, but she could not.

She could not.

The TV promised that this was for the good of the residents of the apartment, and for the good of the people outside, but it never really felt that way. At first she had believed it, but that naive little girl she'd been all those days ago just seemed like a bad memory. The illness hadn't been real, and if it had, it sure hadn't been in her room. She'd only started feeling sick when the guards refused them food again and again, and when her eyes started shutting on their own in her hunger induced tiredness.

She had started getting desperate enough to consider propositioning the guards in return for a meal, or even just a little snack. (Anything would have been better than nothing, and that had only been a little while in.) It wouldn't really have been that difficult really, especially since she hadn't been hungry enough to collapse at that point.

But when she'd raised the idea to Andrew, he had turned it down with a bite in his voice that reminded her why she loved him. Jealous. Still following his promise. Still, if there had ever been a time where she would have wanted him to be a bit less protective, it would have been then. Seriously! She could have done it if she'd wanted to. She had the hair, the body, the face and the words. Those guards could have been putty in her fingertips, but Andrew had turned her down, and now they were appearing less and less often. They'd never listen to a corpse, she had missed her chance.

Ashley fiddled with her necklace and did her best to hum a quiet tune through her aching teeth. (She had gone so long without eating that they were starting to feel like they were falling out.) Something to keep her busy, something that wasn't thinking about food, or missed chances, or her silent telephone, or her brother and his stupid overprotectiveness. (The obsession that she encouraged and admired. The obsession that she all but required, just like the food that she had lost access to.)

The wind howled through the mostly empty building, and Ashley distantly wondered if there really were any germs on it. (They certainly weren't in the pipes. She knew that much.) It was like she was the one in the box. Stuck without food in a stuffy room because she couldn't find it in herself to break out, unable to breathe as the dust piled higher and higher, and crying out to the guards who had already left.

The only difference between Leyley and her, it seemed, was that Andrew had stayed by his sister's side.

[esoteric-nightmare]

Tips from your therapist that work!

(... but its not as simple as that)

theres many tips like "create a sleep schedule" and "exercise more" that most people have heard especially from their therapist. and yes these ideas help... but they are not always accessible, are easy for the person to incorporate into their life or a fix all.

create a sleep schedule

proper sleep helps however we cannot always agree how much sleep some one needs. creating a sleep schedule and routine can help. stuff like going to bed at the same time every day, not looking at electronics before bed, doing a simple relaxing exercise or a warm shower. but.... not everyone can implement a schedule for a variety of reasons. and some people even using a schedule and routine for months actually find help for their restlessness.

eat right, and drink more water

being hydrated and having proper nutrition helps a ton. having the right amount of vitamins, minerals, protein and other nutrients in your diet do wonders for your mental health! but... its not a cure. people with depression will still have depression even if they have all the nutrients they need. it can help but its not a cure, plus some people struggle getting all the nutrients they need due to a variety of disabilities. I personally struggle keeping hydrated and eating all I need to eat even with the help of apps. some times i feel nauseous from pain or I feel too fatigued to even make myself a glass of water.

exercise regularly

exercising regularly can make the body and mind feel great ... but it can be not assessable. some people cannot find the to do it, or have the space to do it, or even feel up to it. well other people have no idea how to, if you have something like a physical disability you might struggle finding exercises you can do. in my personal case if I do stuff like jumping jacks I get an immediate intense migraine. i've personally run into so much more "you need to exercise" rather then "heres some exercises that are accessible". plus for a variety of reasons theres people who just cannot exercise for reason of disability or life circumstances.

create a routine

creating a routine can help you stay on track, reduce stress and keep you organized but... especially for mentally ill and neurodivergent people creating a routine is hard, and sticking to a routine is hard. maybe even the person needs outside help creating and sticking to a routine.

do journaling

journaling can help you understand your emotions and feelings, it can be a place to keep track of things you struggle keeping track of but.... not everyone can journal or knows how to journal in a way that works for them. just saying "try journaling" is useless if a person requires a specific format to journal. journaling can be writing down your day, but i can be just having a chart of your emotions, or it can be texting your one friend every day how you feel. but like everything else not everyone can journal.

we can acknowledge that there are simple things like drinking more water and sleeping better do wonders. sleeping better and eating better can turn really bad depression symptoms into a way more manageable version. so in an ideal situation you would do a combination of therapy, medication and implementing healthy habits (like ones listed above). but we can also acknowledge its not a cure all, not everyone can do some or most of these healthy habits, or obviously some one with a disability would inherently struggle doing healthy habits.

my main point of this all is just believe people when they say they cannot do something, its fully not up to you to decide if they are "not trying hard enough" or lying. it really is none of your business

(note: hope to be as clear as possible, my brain has been malfunctioning like crazy lately)

[atlaskrr]

im scared im phasing into a depressive phase AGAIN. i dont wanna go back to when i couldnt even brush my teeth and sat on a window contemplating every day but it feels like i might. things are better but everything still feels so weird. yeah i have friends now but im just kind of there. i realize that my voice is just never loud enough. whenever i try and speak up or voice something not just to friends but in general nobody hears or listens to me i feel like i did when i was a kid again. and then someone else says what i said and theyre seen, people listen. worst part is its also my other friends so i just feel shitty of beung envious of them. i see people whove spent less time on their skills and just why are they so much better than me. i just realize how the person i click with best has their own friend group and then in my friend group my 2 friends click better together than i do with them so what am i then. and i have no mativation to do anything these days, nothing of worth anyways. so when im there and theyre talking its like im invisible and maybe i should just start talking and i try but sometimes nobody hears me and i dont feel like trying again in case they did but just didnt react or cause i didnt want to disturb their time with others or maybe i didnt speak up at all in the first place cause i feel so empty and tired which sounds so cringe amiright but how tf else do i describe it. i just want someone to ask me something or try and get me included why do i always have to take innitiative or question if somethings an open invite. thats just friends. at home my dad had an outburts, bruised my brother, and made my mom feel useless recently. then he starts acting all nice and ik hes just trying i mean his family are a bunch of trash but i just cant anymore. i feel like im the one breaking thw family apart now by being angry and spiteful and distant and i feel like im becoming my dad and the thought makes me want to throw up. but whenever i see myself acting nice to him because hes being nice it makes me want to throw up too because hes part of the reason my moms depressed. and i realize i dont even know who i am or what i want i lack the direction or long standing passions everyone else does. the only consistent thing i have is writing but i dont write a lot like other writers and nobody cares for it its not that impressive. ive managed to tone done my old tendency to tell small lies to seem like im so simillar to other people but its still there so in reality nobody really sees the true me (great im sounding cringe again but once again cannot find the words) i think thats why i love rp and writing sm because i can be someone with a set mould and identity. meanwhile im a walking contradiction with blurred lines. i think if i dissappeared people would be sad for a bit but theyd move on faster than youd think. it wouldnt be hard to go back to normal because i wasnt much part of it. maybe my parents would be the saddest but theyd be happier after no. worst part is i often put my emotional burden onto my friends and i feel like the shittiest person for venting so i think theyre nice out of pity. sometimes i exaggerate my problems so others feel more pity, so even if its not genuine ill feel like people care for me but at the same time i cant tell when im exaggerating or not. its more like leaving it vauge so i dont seem like the ungrateful bitch i am. cause my life isnt as bad as others so why am i crying and complaining. i come from a rich family with parents who are home more than other families. my parents are not pressureful and they are nice and i just lash out. i cant tell whats the truth of that situation anymore if im frank. i have a good amount of friends and a group, i have people to text and call. yet why do i still feel like this? i was just feeling happy yesterday. i really dont get it.

[pesterloglog]

Dave Strider, John Egbert, Jade Harley

Act 6, page 6302-6323

DAVE: so weird being back here

DAVE: cant believe how long ago it feels since i lived in this place

DAVE: spent way too long wallowing in our own filth on that gnarly meteor thats for sure

DAVE: this doesnt even seem like my room anymore

DAVE: its like trespassing or something like im horning in on somebody elses life

DAVE: a life lived most sweetly though i will admit

DAVE: ahahaha the fuckin toilets still there

DAVE: i remember when jade put that there that is perhaps like my favorite memory

DAVE: wish jade wasnt crazy just makes me remember how much i miss not crazy jade

DAVE: or less crazy jade

DAVE: wait

DAVE: didnt karkat once say terezi ripped a troll toilet out of his house

DAVE: what is with girls and their universally constant tendency to rip out plumbing fixtures

DAVE: did i just accidentally crack another cosmic riddle or

DAVE: i gotta txt him and get confirmation on this asap

DAVE: actually nah

DAVE: i probably harangued the poor guy with enough of my bs the last few years

DAVE: ill just keep shufflin thru memory lane making wistful observations out loud

DAVE: you know it kinda chaps my bulge that people rip on me for talking to myself

DAVE: its like the most perfectly natural thing to do

DAVE: why are people so up tight about keepin a lid on their monologues what a bunch of stuffy pricks

DAVE: ive always found the sound of my own voice to be mysteriously soothing

DAVE: haha talk about an embarrassing sentence to say in earshot of an actual person

DAVE: well maybe not the mayor

DAVE: you can always tell the mayor anything <3

DAVE: hahaha this piece of shit is still here too

DAVE: didnt we use this thing like ONCE

DAVE: what a useless pile of trash in hindsight

DAVE: sometimes i think this game was designed by an idiot

DAVE: wasnt it called like

DAVE: the laserbeam intellivision or something

DAVE: id throw it in the lava but that would be a waste of melting

DAVE: oh yeah

DAVE: almost forgot about my ill beats from the past

DAVE: i wonder if theyre as ill as i remember

DAVE: ok i just pushed some buttons and verified they remain as ill as the day they were dropped

DAVE: ill have to send them to karkat he has always been an enthusiastic patron of my exceptional science

DAVE: i mean sure he says it sucks and maybe he even believes that on some pathetic sub intellectual plane of consciousness which gross philistines operate on their whole lives

DAVE: but whenever he gets a load of my hype

DAVE: i see him there

DAVE: tapping his foot ever so slightly

DAVE: i see him

DAVE: this poster...

DAVE: love this poster

DAVE: its like an old friend

DAVE: never even knew who these guys were or what their deal was

DAVE: never gave it much thought i guess

DAVE: doubt ill ever find out at this point

DAVE: oh well

DAVE: some things i guess were never meant to be figured out

DAVE: or benefit from any kind of elaboration

DAVE: not even years later

DAVE: just the way it is sometimes

DAVE: its like ive said before

DAVE: this poster is a hell of a mystery

DAVE: that i never even thought was a mystery

DAVE: and it would be pretty cool if somebody solved it

DAVE: but damn if thats ever gonna happen

DAVE: so thats a shame

DAVE: aw hell its my old dead things collection

DAVE: what a stupid blast from the past

DAVE: i seriously cannot remember if i was sincere with this shit

DAVE: i was probably trying to flex my underdeveloped irony muscles

DAVE: like the shrimpiest kid at the hipster gym

DAVE: why does my childhood room have to be such a predictable museum of embarrassments

DAVE: i dont know

DAVE: some of these things are kind of cool actually

DAVE: like from a standpoint of objective reevaluation afforded by the sobering maturity that comes with being literally 100% grown up now

DAVE: dead things are actually pretty rad

DAVE: i feel like if i was legitmately into all this then more should have come of the interest

DAVE: like there could have been like

DAVE: entire CONVERSATIONS about it that never even took place

DAVE: hey rose youll never guess what im excited about and have loads of dialogue to spill over

DAVE: whats that dave

DAVE: ancient mollusks

DAVE: hmmmmmmmm said rose

DAVE: how many bananas do you think this paw clutched back when it was alive and attached to a monkey

DAVE: dave i really must say

DAVE: this conversation blows

DAVE: yeah sorry

DAVE: maybe i could have really developed this interest

DAVE: maybe i could have been something cool as a result

DAVE: like what even profession is this

DAVE: a dead shit ogler?

DAVE: no wait

DAVE: probably a paleontologist or something

DAVE: i could have been a paleontologist

DAVE: instead of what i became

DAVE: which was

DAVE: uh

DAVE: some pajama packing fuckface from the renaissance fair

DAVE: that would have been the dopeness!

DAVE: eurgh

DAVE: the ironic selfies

DAVE: oh god

DAVE: now this

DAVE: this is some irredeemably mortifying shit here

DAVE: what was i thinking

DAVE: i dont know man

DAVE: i just dont know

DAVE: this is what seasoned veterans call "bad irony"

DAVE: look at this guy

DAVE: what a fucking novice

DAVE: oh who am i kidding

DAVE: i cant stay mad at that face

DAVE: ok this one is pretty funny actually

DAVE: ...

DAVE: eheheh

DAVE: hehehehe

DAVE: haha!

DAVE: hahahahahaha!

DAVE: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

DAVE: WHY

DAVE: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

DAVE: (gasp)

DAVE: WHY CANT

DAVE: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

DAVE: WHY CANT I STOP LAUGHING

DAVE: PFFFFAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

DAVE: YOU WIN!

DAVE: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

DAVE: YOU WIN YOUNG DAVE

DAVE: THESE SELFIES ARE COMEDY GOLD

DAVE: AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

JOHN: hi dave!

JOHN: what's so funny?

DAVE: whoa

DAVE: john

JOHN: what were you looking at there...

JOHN: hey, are you crying?

DAVE: what

DAVE: no

JOHN: ...

DAVE: i mean i was just laughing too hard at something dumb

DAVE: you know how it is

JOHN: heh, yeah.

JOHN: can i see?

DAVE: no its nothing

DAVE: where the fuck have you been

DAVE: do you remember what happened since we got here

JOHN: yes.

DAVE: well

DAVE: are you gonna fill me in or keep floating there in the most uninformative way possible

JOHN: uh oh.

JOHN: dave, i have to go!

DAVE: what

DAVE: why

JOHN: i can't hang around in one place for too long.

JOHN: let's catch up later, ok?

DAVE: john wait

JOHN: see you buddy!

DAVE: no dont

DAVE: john no stop turning into wind you fickle idiot

DAVE: dont just leave right away that is such an insanely predictable move

DAVE: i said get back here you slippery motherfucker!!!

JADE: hello dave

DAVE: god dammit

JADE: he was just here wasnt he

DAVE: no

JADE: how do you even know who im talking about??

DAVE: look all i know is egbert most definitely didnt just appear out of nowhere and catch me weeplaughing at my selfies

JADE: dave i know he was just here

JADE: i can smell him

DAVE: i keep my apparment misted with his odor at all times

DAVE: essence d'egbert

JADE: degbear?

JADE: what...

DAVE: no like the french pronunciation

JADE: ah

DAVE: anyway im just a lot more comfortable when my whole place reeks of nerd musk

DAVE: so that explains that

JADE: you cant fool me dave

JADE: i will track him down sooner or later

JADE: in any case it doesnt matter

JADE: i came here to see you, not him

DAVE: you did

JADE: come with me

DAVE: where

JADE: out here

JADE: we have some work to do

DAVE: what work

JADE: youre going to need to upgrade your weapon

DAVE: what

DAVE: you mean the deringer

JADE: yes

DAVE: i thought it was like the best possible sword

DAVE: or at least the best possible broken sword

JADE: that may very well be the case

JADE: but it will be useless against lord english

JADE: wouldnt you prefer a weapon that is capable of inflicting damage against him?

DAVE: uh

DAVE: not really?

JADE: of course you would

JADE: this isnt even up for discussion

JADE: now give me the deringer

JADE: we have all been traveling for three long years. what better way to celebrate our reunion than with a little alchemy? :)

DAVE: lots of ways

DAVE: we could have a jade goes back to normal party

DAVE: starring normal jade

JADE: HAR HAR

JADE: gimme the sword

DAVE: ok here

DAVE: how do we make it so it can damage him

JADE: it needs a special ingredient

JADE: something which represents his only known weakness, but hasnt been properly weaponized

DAVE: and you know what that is

JADE: i do

DAVE: how

JADE: i get all my intelligence on such matters from the old lady

JADE: shes had centuries to hatch a plan to settle her score

JADE: over time shes uncovered many secrets about him

DAVE: i dont understand how this is working

DAVE: is she piping all these secrets into your brain

DAVE: along with the evil

JADE: that is not relevant!

DAVE: fair enough

DAVE: i guess technically almost nothing is relevant to the dude youre barking orders to

DAVE: literal barking because of dogginess

JADE: bark bark bark!!!

DAVE: yes exactly like that

DAVE: thank you for participating in the joke

DAVE: now what is this special ingredient and where do we get it

JADE: i already have it right here

DAVE: oh yeah?

JADE: in fact ive had it for about as long as i can remember

JADE: it was right under my doggy snout all along

JADE: remember this?

DAVE: no

JADE: dave are you lying to me?

DAVE: no!

DAVE: ive never seen that thing before

JADE: but i found it on your planet

JADE: it must have gotten here somehow

DAVE: i didnt take your lousy egg

JADE: its not an egg!

DAVE: yeah well these planets are crawling with brainless lizards maybe one of them thought it was an egg

DAVE: and then brought it here cause its warm here and tried to hatch it

JADE: you really have a one track mind when it comes to certain things

DAVE: what things

DAVE: what are you talking about

JADE: davesprite was like that too... i just figured it was because he was part bird

JADE: but no, here you are going on about bird things too just like him :p

DAVE: come on dont compare me to him

DAVE: just cause i think its an eggy looking thing dont mean i think like a damn bird

JADE: mm hmm

JADE: and just because i have these pointy ears doesnt mean i wouldnt kill for some snausages right now!

DAVE: .....................

DAVE: do you actually want snausages

JADE: .....................

JADE: maybe ._.

DAVE: ok well snausages notwithstanding this is bullshit

DAVE: tell me how that thing doesnt look like an egg to you

DAVE: how is that not so obviously SUCH an egg???

JADE: its a cueball dave!

DAVE: i see

DAVE: so if im following

DAVE: then what youre trying to tell me is

DAVE: lord english has some sort of severe egg allergy that we are hoping to exploit

JADE: sigh

JADE: i see its still impossible to have a serious conversation with you, whether you are a sassy bird or not

JADE: i thought regular dave might have matured a little over three years but i guess i was wrong

DAVE: can we just make the eggsword already

DAVE: oh no

DAVE: not the legendary piece of shit again

JADE: pardon?

DAVE: its the fuckin welsh sword again!

JADE: are you telling me you have seen this sword before dave

JADE: how is that possible?

DAVE: i dont know!

DAVE: because i have a shitty quest is how

JADE: .....

DAVE: didnt davesprite tell you anything

DAVE: i found this sword in a gold cave and broke it

DAVE: then davesprite took it to hephaestus who fixed it and upgraded it to the deringer

DAVE: and sent that to me and i broke it again

JADE: you sure seem to break swords a lot

DAVE: i know!!!

DAVE: that has always been my thing for some reason

DAVE: now i guess it turns out my ultimate sword is really just a repaired downgrade of my previously ultimate sword mixed with a cueball?

DAVE: we just cycled right back to caledfwelsh like a bunch of tools

DAVE: that is the most stupid convoluted ass backward way to get a sword out of a stone i can even imagine

DAVE: i feel like somebody somewhere is having a good laugh over this i sure hope like the juggalo equivalent of fuckin loki or whoever the fuck is having a top notch riddlewank at my expense

JADE: :|

DAVE: you know what really gets me is

DAVE: this shitty welsh sword presumably consisted of those ingredients all along which just makes me want to travel back in time to perform a mutually assisted suicide with myself

DAVE: me and other dave can take turns suffocating each other with our own DUMBASS capes

JADE: dave i admit this is a peculiar turn of events, but i think you are overreacting

DAVE: jade this is STUPID

DAVE: my quest is a STUPID PIECE OF GARBAGE QUEST for LAME SHITTY LOSER FUCKHEADS WHO SUCK BALLS WHILE CRAPPING THEIR PANTS

JADE: omg

JADE: youve really spent way too much time alone with karkat havent you

DAVE: ...

DAVE: i need help :(