#my mom's relationship with the dog is a little unhealthy

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

hii 📓

Okay so the thing is that I wanted a “the Zenin raised Megumi instead of Gojo” fic but the thing is that I’m absolutely convinced that if the Zenin were the ones that took Megumi they wouldn’t actually take tsumiki too. The fandom consensus I’ve personally seen has been that she would have been taken and mistreated by zenin for being a female non sorcerer but I personally think they would have just straight up left her behind.

They only bought Megumi. They keep non sorcerers and women as servants in their compound but all of them are Zenin themselves. Tsumiki isn’t related and I couldn’t really see any reason why they’d want her. Which turned this into a fic where Tsumiki loses her brother, but she’s trying to find him again, she swears. I think of it as my “siblings doomed by the narrative desperately try to write a new one where they can be together” fic.

The thing is that Tsumikis mom was one of those people who thought love and consumption were synonymous. She had a habit of getting caught up with assholes and just… having both of them chew on each other for a while until it turns into this horrible fucking bloodbath.

Tojis just another loser her mom got caught up in, but he’s Tsumiki’s favorite out of all the losers, because he gave her her brother. Her mom marries this random guy she barley knows and Tsumikis pretty sure she does it so they can both ditch their kids twice as much, secure in the knowledge that there’s supposedly another person checking in. It works out great for them, because they both stop coming entirely. It’s fine, because Tsumiki has Megumi and Megumi has Tsumiki and they don’t need anything else.

It’s one of those things where they were in really unhealthy circumstances and it made their relationship a little bit unhealthy but not necessarily bad. They both had to grow up way too fast and deal with way too much too soon and become codependent on each other because they are, in the most literal way possible, dependent on one another. Neither of them know how to love in a way that doesn’t involve sacrificing themselves for their sibling, mostly because they don’t have a way that doesn’t involve that.

They’re in a sinking ship and tsumiki knows it. Their parents aren’t coming back. The money is going to run out sooner or later. Their problems are stacking up.

Megumi has confessed to her that he sees things that no one else does. When she asks him how he knows no one else sees them, he explains that they’d say something if they did and won’t say anything else. And she doesn’t know what to believe but she refuses to call him crazy. He tells her that monsters cling to her back and he fights them off for her. She patches up his bruises and cuts and tells him he’s brave and tries to figure out if she’s just imagining that her back feels lighter after. He tells her that there are dogs that only he can see that have started following him around, and she tells him she believes him and can never remember, later, if she meant it or was just saying it.

The last time Toji came by, he left them more money than tsumikis ever seen in her life, took them to ice cream, told them that he was sorry he was so shit at this and that the money was Megumi’s share in a payment. It was for something he was going to help daddy with later. Tsumiki and him were to use it to take care of themselves and be healthy, because Megumi couldn’t help him later if he wasn’t. And tsumiki was always afraid of what he meant by that, but in the end, she let it slip her mind. After all, Toji hadn’t been by in ages. He probably wouldn’t come by at all.

And he didn’t. But others did. Two men she’s never met before are waiting outside their building one day, and when they see Megumi, they laugh. But the thing that Tsumiki can never get out of her mind later is that she swears they weren’t looking at Megumi directly. They were looking at his dogs.

Tsumiki basically tries to get Megumi and powerwalk past them, but they’re a lot bigger and a lot stronger and there’s nothing she can do, really. They have a brief conversation about whether they should take her too, before one decides that Toji only sold him his kid and to leave the other behind. This makes both of them try to run, but there’s nothing either of them can do to overpower the men, and the men say that “Naobito would go ballistic if they left the ten shadows behind” so they take Megumi and leave her.

They put Megumi in a car and shove Tsumiki to the curb outside of it, and she tried to hold onto his hand, she swears. She grabbed at the car door even when the car started moving, and she banged on the windows, and she watched as Megumi kicked and punched and screamed inside, until one of them hit him and he went still. She ends up falling and hitting her head when the car picks up speed, and when she wakes up again, the cars gone and she has no idea where it went.

And it becomes a foundational moment for who she is. I think she was just intensely lonely before Megumi and poured a lot of herself into this idea of a family together. Tsumikis never able to shake the moment of her being outside the car and Megumi being on the inside, and not being able to get into him. She can never again get what she felt in that moment out of her head.

She goes to the police and tells them that it’s her little brother, his dad sold him but she wants him back, and they’re like “…”. The issue is that apparently her mom can pick up the damn phone if the police call and she shows up, spins some lie about how her and the stepdad split up and he took the kid with him, they never adopted each others kids so it was within his rights, Tsumiki was taking the separation hard and acting out. She lies, basically, because toji hadn’t kept up his end of the deal and dropped in to check in (neither had she) and his kid wasn’t her responsibility, he could do what he wanted with him. She doesn’t want the police poking around the way she lives. Just let the kid go because he’s probably dead and not her real brother anyway.

Tsumiki refuses to give up on him. They were both kids who no one cared about but they cared about each other and that had to be enough. But she’s seven with no support and zero idea on how to find him. She starts skipping school to look for him in random streets, puts up flyers, can’t go outside without looking for him. She gets held back a year in school because of how much she skips and she can’t bring herself to care. She buys him gifts on every birthday and writes him letters she can’t post because she’s going to find her brother and she’s going to prove to him that she never once stopped looking for him. She just. She needs him to know that she never stopped looking for him. She needs to find him and be able to honestly tell him she never stopped trying.

One day her mom comes back in clothes she can’t afford and comes with movers they shouldn’t be able to afford and announces a move they definitely can’t afford. Tsumikis absolutely opposed to going because if her brother comes to look for her, she needs to be in their old apartment so he can find her. She doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter. They have mysterious new benefactors who are setting up a trust to take care of tsumiki with a very generous stipend for her mom but they have to move to Sendai as a stipulation of getting the money.

It’s not until the attorney who’s managing her trust hands her a set of glittery blue butterfly hairpins that tsumiki realizes her mom sold her brother a second time.

The thing is that tsumiki had this one cheap set of butterfly hairpins she’d always stopped to look at in the store when she took Megumi to go grocery shopping. Shed never buy them, because they couldn’t afford it, but it was the thing she wanted most openly in front of him. She was always secretly really insecure about her hair, because they were the kind of poor where bar soap was a luxury they could only sometimes afford and kids at school made fun of how her hair was dirty and frayed. Megumi was the only one who ever saw how badly she wanted those stupid hair clips. If they had to give her a set of butterfly hair clips, it’s because he demanded that they did.

It’s basically implied that the Zenin are the ones paying for her care and upkeep due to an unspecified deal they cut with Megumi, but when they approached her mom with it, they added the caveat that Tsumiki had to be moved to a new city entirely and there could be no forwarding address left anywhere.

The zenins stance on tsumiki is, effectively, that she’s a weakness Megumi needs to be weaned off of. They honestly assumed he’d just like, forget she ever existed and he. Did not do that. He actually pitched a total bitch fit. Tried to scale the compound walls. Bit multiple people including the clan leader. But he’s got the ten shadows, he’s heir to the clan, and he can’t be caught up on some random non sorcerer who isn’t even a Zenin. They end up agreeing to pay for her to live very comfortably if he starts cooperating more but they want to make sure that he can’t ever find her again if he does ever succeed in running away.

Tsumiki is at once full of hope and hopeless, because on one hand, the butterfly clips prove that Megumi still loves her and remembers her, at least in her mind. But at the same time, she’s being moved to Sendai and doesn’t know how they’ll ever find each other again. She doesn’t honestly know if they’d recognize each other if they saw each other again. She wears the butterfly clips every day, even when she gets too old for the style, because she’s more confident about her brother recognizing them than her.

The thing about tsumiki is that she doesn’t understand hate. She just doesn’t. Her mom and toji always got caught up in these perceived slights and revenge and never once let go of the past. They’d destroy themselves if it meant taking down the people they hated with them. She never wanted that. She wanted to live with the people she loved and she’d happily turn around and forget everything, all the pain, all the searching, if it just meant she could go back to being megumis sister.

This isn’t about hate. This is about that moment outside the car, where her brother was inside and she couldn’t get in to him. This is about how helpless and small she felt when they shoved her to the curb and ripped megumis hand out of hers. She needs to make sure that when she finds Megumi, she can take him home again. So she decides she needs to learn how to fight.

Itadori Yuuji has the constitution of an ox and the strength to match it, and he is known for getting in fights with bullies and trouncing them so thoroughly that it’s never a question of who wins when the fight starts. He’s insanely physically capable and can hold his own in a fight with ease. He’s also nice and kind and Tsumiki’s comfortable enough asking him to teach her how to throw a punch or two.

She is bad at it.

So fucking bad at it.

But she never gives up, and Itadori is nice enough to keep teaching her despite how embarrassingly horrible she is at it all. He always asks her why she wants to learn so bad, she doesn’t seem to like it all, and she never answers his question honestly.

In their last year of middle school, their class has a trip to Kyoto. She, Itadori, and the rest of their group walk into some random restaurant in the city and have barely sat down when someone comes inside, starts searching every booth in the restaurant while shouting Tsumikis name.

And oh. They could recognize each other after all.

She looked for Megumi in every crowd she was ever in, but she didn’t consider that he was doing the same. Or that he would see her first.

Her brother grew up without her seeing it. Hes older, dressed in strange, expensive clothes, has a slightly bruised up face and split lip, but his eyes are the same, and he looks like the brother she remembered.

But a lot more nervous than Megumi ever was. He was a tiny, stoic child who didn’t take any shit and never showed fear, even when there were monsters that only he could see. But he’s nervous when he tells her that she probably doesn’t recognize him or remember him, but when she was a lot younger, he—

Megumi. He’s her little brother. Of course she remembers him. She’s been looking for him everywhere.

Megumi didn’t smile much as a child, but he smiles at her then. He tells her he doesn’t have a lot of time and she tells him that they can leave out the back, and he never let her hold his hand as a child but he takes her hand so easily in that second. And just for a second, she’s his sister again, and it’s everything she wanted.

They never make it out the back.

Two men come in. Megumi calls one of them uncle, and he goes stiff and flat the second he sees him. His uncle apologizes for his nephew, tells everyone that he always makes scenes when they’re out in public, tells him to apologize to the nice people and leave. Megumi was mistaken.

Tsumiki tríes to keep ahold of his hand. Really, she does. She tries to tell people to call the police. But megumis “uncle” steps towards her and Megumi slams him into a table, and then suddenly Megumi’s the one insisting that they leave immediately. They can go. It’s fine. They’re leaving. She loses ahold of his hand.

She tries to follow, but the other man restrains her. She learns that she’s better at slamming plates into peoples heads than she is at punching, and at this point itadoris Friend In Danger Override has been triggered and he fucking tackles the dude, which gives tsumiki the clearing that she needs to chase outside after her brother. She gets out just in time to see him be pushed into a car, and she’s had years to think about the last time this happened and figure out what to do differently. She throws herself in front of the car and refuses to move.

See her entire stance is that she’ll sooner get run over and killed in the street than let them do this a second time, but she also can see Megumi trying to fucking punch the drivers head in from behind because he’s about to hit his sister. His uncles trying to restrain him, and just for a second, she sees his hands make the shape of the shadow puppets he used to show her as children. Something invisible slams her out of the way just as his uncle knocks him out.

She picks up a rock and tries to smash in the fucking window with it, and itadori has to pull her out of the way to keep her from getting her feet run over when the car finally tears out of the parking lot. She goes ballistic on him for stopping her because her brother was right there and she lost him again and she didn’t even get the license plate. He was right there.

The police basically do jack all again. There’s no license plate, no names they can follow up on, and they’re still half convinced this is a settled custody issue even though tsumiki insists her brother was sold by his dad and is very plainly getting hurt wherever he is. Itadori is now a devoted advocate of finding tsumikis brother and reuniting them, and both basically kind of end up becoming really close to the other? He’s taking care of himself and his grandpa alone, she’s alone while her moms awol again, and they both become the others support system.

At one point, there’s this random girl and boy who doesn’t speak who shows up to their school for indeterminate reasons. The girl is bored and twirling her glasses in one hand while the person in a suit that they’re with asks the principal questions, and when tsumikis eyes catch at the right angle, she sees an invisible monster clinging to a classmates back through them. She realizes it’s exactly what Megumi always talked about and still remembers that the people who took him could see his dogs. She corners the two others in a room and tries to demand information about the invisible monsters or see if they know her brother or the people who took him, and immediately gets blown off. The fight escalates until the girl tells him that actually, yeah. She knows tsumikis brother. He is a very special person to some very powerful people, and the only way she can ever help him is to tell him that she’s let go of him and that he needs to do the same to her. That’s the only message that the people who have him would ever let get through, and his life would get a lot better as soon as he got it.

The people who have him would give him anything in the world, except for her. He could be a lot happier and healthier than he is right now if he just agreed to stop trying to find tsumiki. If she really wants to help her brother, then she needs to let him go.

Tsumiki nails her in the back of the head with a milk carton when she tries to walk away. It sloshes out on her. Tsumiki did not intend this. She cannot admit that fact. There are some actions you just have to own when you do them. She tells the girl that he’s her brother and she’s never letting go of him. She’s going to find him. They can’t keep him from her forever. She doesn’t care how long it takes her.

For a second, tsumiki really thinks this girl is going to kick her ass, but she doesn’t. She wishes her luck and tells her she’ll need it, and it’s only later that tsumiki realizes she slipped the eyeglasses into her pocket.

And as it turns out, her brothers monsters were real all along.

There was a knife that toji left in the frame of his bed. Tsumiki confiscated it from Megumi as soon as he found it, and it was odd and strange and gave her bad feelings when she held it, and it can kill the things that gather on her back. When she follows Itadori to their local high school and joins the occult club in an attempt to find more people involved in this world of invisible monsters, she wears the eyeglasses and keeps the knife hidden in her bag.

It comes in handy when her senpais are trying to open this thing and suddenly there’s like a fucking portal opening and Actually Let’s Not Oh Too Late Let’s Run Let’s Fucking Run.

They run.

Meanwhile at the hospital Megumi found out in very quick succession that his sister has fucking sukunas finger and also that there’s a very over enthusiastic himbo who is the self appointed vice president of the Find Fushiguro Megumi And Bring Him Home Club who absolutely fucking refuses to leave his side. Sorry who are you. Why are you so enthusiastic about finding him. Megumi sort of was the one doing the finding there was a whole tracking situation and him waiting dramatically in the shadows like they just did it.

Anyway they run very very quickly to tsumikis school where she is dodging she is serpentining this is a fuckton of monsters oh holy fuck is that her brother?

The fight goes bad.

Tsumiki manages to follow itadori and her brother out at a much slower pace because she’s not a freak of nature like itadori and shows up just in time to see her brother shouting at itadori to not eat the fucking finger while itadori is absolutely trying to eat the fucking finger.

She chucks her shoe at him. The finger goes flying.

Then the monster eats it instead.

Tsumiki: :o

Yuuji: :o

Megumi: fuck

Now there’s a bigger monster and the fight goes even worse. There’s a lot of shouting. Itadori ends up with her knife. Then he ends up getting eaten and they’re down both a knife and itadori, who’s probably fucking dead. Then megumis insisting she run and she’s insisting he shut the fuck up because it’s sort of taken a decade to get this close to him again and she’s not fumbling the bag now because of a monster on the rampage. Have a sense of fucking priorities here.

Then itadori bursts out of the monsters stomach with the knife like the fucking Kool Aid Man and the fight is suddenly very over. Good job, team.

Gojo rolls up to his most stoic and eternally pissed off student having a dramatic and emotional reunion with his sister.

Yuuji, in a very bad whisper: no no so like she’s been looking for him for years but he saw her in the restaurant

Gojo: :o go on

Yuuji: and then he got caught by like, I don’t know, he said he was his uncle or something but the dude acted so weird and creepy and they put him in a car and Tsumiki tried to stop the car but they got away

Gojo: *gasp* what no

Yuuji: I know! Anyway then I start helping her look for him but we can’t find him anywhere until I’m at the hospital and he just walks up to me right?? And I’m like “dude I have been looking everywhere for you” and he’s like “I have no idea who you are, I’m here about that fucked up demon finger” and I’m like—

Megumi, really trying to have a moment here: we can both hear you

And megumis like “this is uh. My new teacher. I guess. I am his only student. And he is uh. Enthusiastic. Do not linger in conversation with him.”

Tsumiki is lingering. She needs fucking intel so he can’t disappear again. Where does he go to school and can she transfer there. It’s fucking wizard school? Will they take her even though she’s not a wizard? She cannot emphasize enough that she will study any fucking subject they want so that way she can be close with her brother again she does not care if it’s applicable to her education or life. She can throw things at people itadori tell the man tell him how enthusiastically she will throw things at monsters for their weird fucking wizard school.

Itadori: she hit me in the face with her shoe like five minutes ago

Tsumiki: see???

Megumi keeps trying to forbid her from wizard school but she’s technically the older sister so she has override rights. She will go to wizard school. How does she get wizard school to accept her.

And Gojos just really weird and off and keeps looking at Megumi and saying that he “didn’t know he had a sister.”

He really didn’t know that Megumi had a sister he wanted to stay with.

And then suddenly it’s like a switch is flipped and he’s back to his normal self telling them to leave everything to him, because he’ll make sure tsumiki can come back with them. And uh? Itadori? Weirdly physically capable kid who will apparently eat anything? Is he going to be good getting home after all this?

Itadori: actually if it’s not too much trouble can I go to wizard school too my grandpa sort of died half an hour ago and I don’t have plans for the rest of my life. Tsumikis kind of my best friend and I’d like to make sure she’s all good at wizard school. I’m a really good fighter and I stabbed the last monster so like can I come too because you know. Dead grandpa. No family or future to speak of. Haha.

Gojo:

Megumi:

Tsumiki, softly: dude

There’s more after they make it to jujutsu high but this is already really long so we leave it here

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Ooh, I got one. AITA for telling me sick, elderly dad "no" when he asked if I'd come help around the house?

So I think I know the answer to this already, but I'm curious about other people's opinions…. and I want to rant.

My dad and I (36, trans masc but I only figured that out about 5 years ago) have been butting heads for a while. Family situation is: I had cool hippy liberal parents but things went downhill with various addictions and depression. I lived with them until I was 30 (with me paying the bills for several years) and then finally moved out after I realized how unhealthy it was for me to be there.

Moving out coincided with me figuring out some things about myself, mainly the trans thing, probably because I felt more comfortable/safe and could focus on things other than that shitty living situation.

Another thing I'd finally realized, shortly before I moved out, was how messed up my relationship with my dad had been. Basically, I grew up with him doing this thing where he'd tell me I couldn't trust any of my friends (the implication being I could only trust him), or he'd tell me how smart I was because I saw things his way and talk about how people we knew were dumb because they didn't. He also taught me that I shouldn't show or admit to mental illness or neurodivergence because people (even my friends) would take advantage of me.

Once I'd gone, he repeatedly asking me to come visit, sending me messages about how sad he was and how much he missed me. I did visit a few times, but just being back in that house makes me feel real uncomfy.

At some point I share with him my observations about our past and how it negatively effected me. His response… is to say he doesn't think that's how it went. I keep trying to explain, asking him to acknowledge that these things did happen between us and, whether he meant it to or not, it did mess me up. He keeps dismissing it or redirecting the blame onto my mom or his shitty dad, or suggesting that my friends (who I'm living with now) have turned me against him.

But he also keeps pestering me to visit more, guilt-tripping me with how sad my old dog, Cavall, is after each time I do come by (I would have taken the dog with me, but he's a big fluffy malamute mix and the roommates have a small house + one is allergic. I didn't want to impose too much, so I'd limited myself to bringing only the one cat who I had the closest bond with and leaving the other pets with my parents).

All of this back-and-forth with my dad finally comes to a head a couple months ago when I ask for a specific item of mine that I left at my parents house. My dad responds with a little poem about how depressed he is because he misses me and I've abandoned him. I throw back some brusque line in which I call him "bro"…

… and that earns a response in which he mocks me about pronouns and gender identity.

I am shocked, because my parents were always super cool about queer stuff. I tell him so and then block him on facebook. He responds to that by scouring the house for everything I left behind, packing it up in cardboard boxes, and dumping it all in my roommate's driveway with zero notice.

I figure he's done with me at that point… but then, last week, he sent me an email which reads:

"I hope you're well. I hope your family is well. I miss you. I'm sick today. Weak. Dizzy. Queasy. Slept a lot, thankfully. I want to ask you, if I were to become too sick to do things for days, would you be someone I could ask to come make some soup, take out the trash, help and give comfort? I won't be surprised at a "no", but, a "yes" would be wonderful. I got the trash out and the dogs fed. Cavall is off his breakfast lately, but, usually eats supper. He used to eat better, but, he's really getting old and slow now. In the six years I've walked him he's gone from wanting to run a lot to slow walking and sniffing. I'm getting down some oatmeal with raisons and yogurt now. Hopefully I'll be better tomorrow. I think so, but, the question arises at such times. Plz tel yes or no, so I can know for future reference."

And, well, I told him no. I hate the idea of abandoning sick elderly people who are already living in poverty, but after all the shit I described, I don't want to be around him. So, what's the vote?

What are these acronyms?

[ten-chocolate-sundaes]

Hiiii hiiii I haven't seen you talk about your Maitlands ocs but I have chosen some questions that I personally like for you!!!!!!

Would your character wear something someone else picked out for them?

Does your character ever spend more than they have?

Does your character personify objects?

How big is your character's appetite?

Is your character food motivated?

Is your character good with animals?

Is there a creature that scares your character?

What animal would your character say best represents them?

How would your character react to being put in a position of leadership?

What would it take for your character to get into a fight?

What words could tear your character down?How often does your character have nightmares?

How often does your character have nightmares?

Because I don't know how many you have, I chose a bunch!!! :D feel free to ask about my stupid idiot man.

Kskdkddkkd thank youuu I never talk about them but they live in my head forever and ever.

I’ll keep it to their parents & their cat (her name is Nephthys <3). For context cause I rarely talk about them Barb’s mom is dead but the rest of them are alive. I still haven’t come up with final names for the parents yet shhh

Would your character wear something someone else picked out for them?

Adam’s dad - absolutely not. man’s annoying as hell.

Adam’s mom - yes, she dresses however her husband tells her to (they have a really unhealthy relationship)

Barbara’s dad - yes, he’s really chill.

Barbara’s mom - she used to dress up however babs wanted her to

Nephthys - she’ll wear a collar if adam puts it on her, but other than that, no way.

Does your character ever spend more than they have?

Adam’s parents - no, they’re super frugal

Barbara’s parents - no, they were middle class and were careful but reasonable shoppers. barb’s mom was always trying to make sure she had enough money for college.

Nephthys - that cat is lucky the deetzes are rich.

Does your character personify objects?

Adam’s parents - no, they’re no fun

Barbara’s dad - not really, but occasionally would when barbara was little.

Barbara’s mom - all the time. it’s part of the reason barbara personifies objects all the time; she developed the habit when her mom died.

Nephthys - no, but she can see dead people.

How big is your character's appetite? 

Adam’s dad - average.

Adam’s mom - large, but she doesn’t eat much.

Barbara’s parents - average

Nephthys - so fucking big. that cat could eat a horse.

Is your character food motivated?

I don’t really know about anyone else, but Nephthys sure is. She’s picky, though.

Is your character good with animals?

Adam’s dad - no, but not for lack of trying.

Adam’s mom - in the middle. they’re ok with her I guess.

Barbara’s dad - animals like him. they have a family dog that’s really comfortable with him.

Barbara’s mom - Disney Princess level animal person. she’s like a cute animal magnet.

Nephthys - despite being an animal, she’s a jerk to other creatures and fights anyone who isn’t babs, adam, lydia, beej, or charles. Delia is Not Safe.

Is there a creature that scares your character?

Adam’s dad - Beetlejuice, once they meet. And snakes.

Adam’s mom - does her husband count? also beej.

Barbara’s dad - spiders. and beej to a small but present extent.

Barbara’s mom - she’s not afraid of creatures, but concepts.

Nephthys - she isn’t afraid of creatures. creatures are afraid of her.

What animal would your character say best represents them?

Adam’s dad - bear

Adam’s mom - yorkie(?)

Barbara’s dad- aussie shepherd? some kind of big sweet dog

Barbara’s mom - deer

Nephthys- demon.

How would your character react to being put in a position of leadership?

Adam’s dad - oh, he’d be so bossy. it’d be awful for everyone else involved, but he’d love it.

Adam’s mom - she’d be so scared and probably try to pin it off on someone else.

Barbara’s dad - he’d be nervous, but take it in stride and be a great leader.

Barbara’s mom - she’d be flattered, and you’d be lucky to have her as your boss.

Nephthys - demand wet food. silly cat.

What would it take for your character to get into a fight?

Adam’s dad- very little.

Adam’s mom - she’d rather die than get in a fight. she gets angry, but she’s too afraid of the consequences of asserting herself.

Barbara’s dad - he’s pretty reasonable, but politics will get him riled up.

Barbara’s mom - if anyone said anything bad about her daughter, she’d murder them.

Nephthys - fights are enrichment for her. she’d defend babs and adam from anything in their way.

What words could tear your character down?

Adam’s dad - any argument from his family. he doesn’t know how to deal with not being the one with the power.

Adam’s mom - being told she’s fake. she’s afraid of being seen through and criticized for being unable to truly fit societal expectations.

Barbara’s dad - being told he’s a bad father. he gives his everything to be good to barbara, especially after his wife dies, so someone telling him he’s not good enough would kill him.

Barbara’s mom - barbara losing hope. her last days were her hardest because she had to see her teenage daughter act like there’s not life without her.

Nephthys - on a way lighter note, any scolding will make her very sad :( sensitive kitty

How often does your character have nightmares?

Adam’s dad - often. his conscious is guilty and that’s the way it manifests.

Adam’s mom - an average amount

Barbara’s dad - less than the average person

Barbara’s mom - less than average until her accident; her last weeks are full of nightmares.

Nephthys - she is the nightmare.

I’ll ask abt your lil guys, don’t worry 😉

[eashmo]

Hello everyone, welcome to my page. My name is Jessica, but I go by Jess. Just wanted to do a little get to know me because why not?

Location: Georgia

Age: 30

How long have I been on Tumbler?:

since 2013 i do believe, originally got it to post my sad emo poems and to fangirl over emo/Gothic bands 😂 then I used to be somewhat popular on here doing kpop ship moodboard which got a lot of hate doing that, idk why but I did. it also was consuming my life because of the people's demands for a deadline, so I quite that, but I did make forever friends with that creative hobby.

Recently, I've been writing absolute straight-up porn now even tho I feel like I've never been a writer or that I'm good. Also, I think it's funny that in real life, I'm not a sexual person what so ever when I'm in relationships (unless my bias corrupts me 👀🤣)

I do occasionally make moodboard for people still, but only when I choose to do one for a fanfic I've read.

Favorite movies: Lord of the rings/ hobbit (I'm not a hater) and HP.

Favorite animals: frogs and Tigers, I'm actually known as fangorna, the elven frog queen at Renaissance festivals because of my outfit and the probably unhealthy obsession of frogs. So give me all the frog trinkets!

Occupation: i own a small business called fangorn travels in which i do any type of photography and make clay sculptures of snails and nature inspired jewelry. But since 2020, i haven't had luck with getting clients, so my business hasn't taken off. So I work as a dishwasher at a private school.

Pets: 1 dog (hoshi) and 2 toads (gimli and romeo) owner, used to have a fleet of snail at one point.

Favorite music: anything BUT country.

Favorite color: green, but think of the shades of green that's throughout a rainforest.

-Plant mom that actually is doing well on keeping them alive.

Idk what to write now so bye! Hope you enjoyed the get to know me post, geez. I'm awkward ✌🏻

Message me a question if you want to know me more.

[incoherentbabblings]

Heyyy kinda saw Year of the otp and i want to ask if you take any fic req (and it’s okay if you don’t) but the (seemly) unrequited love or university au on April for seems interesting for imsteph or dickkory kejwksk

Take good care 💕💕

Oh! I'm so pleased to get a request! I did wonder if anyone saw that post. Let's go for it then! Here is one for April - I have combined the two. Some smutty time here, but (as you'd expect) nothing that explicit. This is beyond sappy. Hyup! If anyone wants to request ones for later in the year, here's the original post!

One More Mistake

It was a mistake.

Or so Stephanie told herself. Frat House party, too much to drink, the classmate she had come to see, one drunken and ill-advised night later, Tim and Stephanie were in a pharmacy, collecting a morning after pill.

She wasn’t pregnant, that was fine. What was less fine was Tim saying,

“Do you want it to be a thing?”

By ‘thing’, Stephanie had assumed he meant sex. She should have asked for clarity, but instead, she let her head get in the way, and told herself that if Tim had wanted her - romantically - he would have pursued her long before drunk sex. One didn’t wake up after a sloppy one night stand and think oh, no you are the one, you drooling on my back mid thrust half asleep proved it! 

Right?

Stephanie had decided long before sleeping with Tim that she loved him. Earnestly, foolishly, desperately. He was that weirdo who asked questions during lectures, sitting in the second row (not the first, that would be truly weird) and typing far faster than Stephanie could match with a pad and paper. He was that oddball who was dungeon master of a rather eclectic DnD session group, with the posters and books to back it up. He was the foolish boy who was nothing short of a good Samaritan, finding a lost dog and returning it to their owner expecting and accepting no reward, or chasing after a thief when an old lady had her purse taken and managing to body slam the thug into a wall.

He was the beautiful boy that she was so madly, pathetically in love with, that she would rather take a sliver of affection from him, meaningless and empty as it was, than have nothing at all.

No kissing. That was her own rule. Kissing made it too real. Pull his head down instead, right next to her neck, so she didn’t have to look him in the eye. If he looked, he’d know. If they kissed, he’d know. She couldn’t bear the rejection that would inevitably make their relationship, as ill defined and one sided as it was, come crashing down. 

Any rational person would realize such a relationship was doomed. Unhealthy. The sex was good, the pair of them climaxed without fail each time, drunk or not, but their day to day interactions remained unchanged. She still would turn up to lectures five minutes late, Tim near the front as always having arrived fifteen minutes early. Their working groups and tutorials and seminars remained firmly on work and work alone. 

What little pieces of information she'd managed to scrape together from watching and listening to his conversations with others only made her heart ache further. Dead mom, a trying but for the most part absent father, nice enough step-mom, a general dissatisfaction with where life was taking him despite an overwhelming pressure to succeed at something…

Stephanie knew what she was - a very convenient way to blow off steam.

So she let him. She wanted to be useful. And she would close her eyes, hold him as close as she dared, pretend there was something there, only for each time causing her heart to die just a little more. 

Today was particularly difficult. He wouldn’t let her hold him. Instead, he pulled her up so they were sitting entangled, his right hand was wrapped around her waist, the left holding onto her hand so tightly Stephanie believed the blood circulation to be suffering. She did not care, pretending that he was holding on to her because he needed her, she anchored him and comforted him and was an irreplaceable facet of his life and -

She made a mistake.

Her lips found his, just for a moment, brushing skin and heat and warmth. 

Tim jerked back, the expression of his face shocked (disgusted), startling Stephanie out of her day dream. Ashamed, she pressed her forehead to his collarbone, and let him finish his task.

Which he did, dutiful as ever, making Stephanie tremble and gasp and want nothing more than for him to once say what he felt, and mean it. 

She felt him finish with little more than a gasp and a quiver, then the expected happened. He moved out from underneath Stephanie, ignoring her as she immediately rolled away, grabbing her thin worn sheet to cover herself. Staring at his clothes on the floor scattered across the room, Stephanie listened as Tim sat on the edge of the mattress. She heard him tie off and throw away the condom. She heard him sigh, run his hand through his hair (she could do that for him, always, forever, as long as he wanted), then simply sit breathing for a moment.

Turn around, she wanted to ask, no, beg, Turn around and hold me. 

But he didn’t, instead he stood up, padded over to her tiny en-suite bathroom, and Stephanie heard him turn her cramped shower on. He’d come back through for his clothes, mutter about having to go finish the paper they both had not written on statistical thermodynamics that was due by the end of the week, and leave Stephanie behind, the room feeling much colder suddenly.

Stephanie continued to stare at his clothes, silently screeching as she watched, in an out of body experience, herself reach for his jacket. She was holding it reverently, back still to the bathroom. The noise of water running through old pipes stopped, and soon Tim emerged to the sight of Stephanie with her back to him, holding his denim jacket.

Piece by piece he collected his clothes, until all that remained was the darn coat.

She turned, resisting the urge to sniff and look pathetic, and handed it over. Remaining conscious of the fact that she was still naked and had yet to clean herself up, Stephanie twisted until she was sitting against the headboard, sheets pulled up under her arms. Determinedly, emptily, she stared at the foot of the bed.

“I have to work on that report,” Tim said, as expected.

Words would not come, so Stephanie nodded. Her throat closed up, feeling very tight. Damn, she really needed to open a window, the room was stifling and hot and must have stank - 

Tim paused at her door, then looked back.

“Steph?”

She made a humming noise in response, but continued to glare at her hidden feet.

“...I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

Oh. There it was. There was the broken heart. Of course. She wasn’t worth trying for, she wasn’t worth keeping, of course she knew this would happen. There was only ever going to be one outcome, so why should she feel her breath be stolen? Why should she feel her stomach turn in a nauseous tumble, threatening to remove any chance of dignity from this goodbye? She knew this would happen. 

And yet she burst into tears all the same.

Tim, to his usual oblivious idiot credit, looked mortified. “Wait - wait I…”

He came over, touching Stephanie’s shoulder. She flinched, strangling out a pathetic apology.

“I thought…!” Tim trailed off. “This is too hard for me! I can’t keep sleeping with you and pretending there’s nothing more. You don’t even look at me, let alone…”

“All I do is look at you,” Stephanie warbled. “And it isn’t enough.”

“You…” Tim got down on his knees, then took one of her hands, cradling them in his own. The distinctive dripping noise of fallen tears came, plip plop, onto the white bed sheet. Stephanie breathed unsteadily, then wiped them away. 

“Stephanie,” Tim tried again. “What would be enough for you?”

She said nothing, only shaking her head. “Tell me,” Tim urged.

“You wouldn’t be able to give it,” she whimpered.

“Try me.”

One hand moved into her hair, dishevelled and sweaty and tangled, stroking with his thumb the space behind her ear. She turned into the motion, finally looking at Tim on his knees before her. 

One last mistake, she told herself. Stephanie would hurt herself one more time.

“I want all of you,” she said.

Tim blinked twice, slowly, reminding Stephanie of a cat. Then, as if in slow motion, his blank expression melted, and his chest heaved a great sigh, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“I can give you that,” he said simply. 

“You…” Stephanie reached up, holding the wrist that cradled her hair. There was no pain, only a startling and intense feeling of hope. “You have all of me,” she whispered, pulling him up.

He perched himself back on the bed, letting the jacket fall once more to the floor.

“Then I guess we can keep doing this.”

And he kissed her, and all Stephanie’s mistakes felt right all at once.

[cyeayt]

Ambivalence OC Profiles

ive been tagging some posts as my ocs and i want to talk about them so here are the three main characters of my ambivalence oc set.

Ambivalence lore (very cliche but this story is more for me to process religious thoughts and weird relationships): its basically an incredibly stereotypical urban fantasy setting where there are realms/planes where magic is more distilled, there's a heaven and a hell analogue and like, werewolves, etc. There are a gods/demons that sometimes organize stuff and might try to end the world but eh. there's a group who tries to stop that happening but its centered around one specific god and gets v culty, they are referred to as "the knights" from here out. Ben spent his childhood as a 'chosen one' figure (he's half demon), and got really fed up with the whole bit. Alice was his friend and brief girlfriend when they were younger. During the last arc of their childhood and after the last big battle, their ragtag hero group gets absorbed into the knights who have been gaining numbers and legitimacy. Ben runs away and Alice takes it hard. The main story takes place a few years later when they reunite.

I've made them each in these three picrews to properly capture the vibe.

Ben:

Reuben (Ben), 24, he/him. Ben lives alone in a house he inherited from his maternal grandfather. He likes to live simply and peacefully, and works as a carpenter. His hobbies include pottery, gardening, and collage making. He is badger coded and capable of great violence, but is very calm most of the time. Since cutting ties with his old life, he has simultaneously mellowed out and repressed a lot of shit. He is trained to fight with a broadsword, although he turned his old one into a garden sculpture. He has a lot of scars and pain from old injuries. He is generally very stoic but is pretty emotional if you can read his understated facial expressions. He values the happiness and safety of himself and the people he loves, and dislikes liars. He can often be hypocritical and selfish.

Alice:

Alice P. Morrison, 23, she/her. Alice lives on a remote knight compound researching and developing ways to protect the balance of the planes. It is a very high stress environment and she's honestly pretty miserable. She likes caffeine and graph paper, her hobbies include sleeping and eating. Sometimes she goes hiking in the surrounding woods. Since Ben left, she has lost connections with old friends and mentors and become increasingly reliant on an unhealthy relationship with the director of the knight organization. She is trained to fight with only magic and can maybe use a spear. When she eventually gets out she will enjoy live music, painting, and reading nonfiction books. She's 'dog that you might think is a large rat or sick cat at first' coded. She shows her emotions pretty strongly and gets embarrassed easily. She cannot read facial expressions she just knows Ben really well. She values values knowledge and approval and dislikes apathy. She can be petty and stubborn.

Max:

Maximilian Hadley, 24, he/they. He certainly is here. Ben meets Max after leaving the knights and as Ben makes a new life he and Max build a relationship that Ben is hesitant to define, although Max would like to. They are outgoing and very socially adept, he likes fashion, history, and forming connections with people. his hobbies are a lot of what people around him want to do, but he personally enjoys horseback riding. Their family is very rich and owns a lot of animals. He knows little to nothing about magic, although his moms got up to their fair share of bullshit before he was born. He is not trained to fight but he would try to bite if it came to it. He is fancy cat coded and expresses his emotions carefully. They value connection, loyalty, and finesse. They dislike cruelty. He often struggles with boundaries and can be pushy or jealous.

Other Characters:

John: Ben and Alice's mentor figure, was not very good at the actual raising children part of it, was injured in the final battle and died as the knights were taking over.

Archer: Another mentor figure, they were closer to Ben and ended up faking their own death after he left. Was involved with John's sister.

John's sister: So very dead real narrative haunting gal she was prophetic and very mentally unstable about it.

Mason: Stereotypical fighter guy, was very close to Alice and Val, is still essentially loyal to the knights but doesn't talk to Alice anymore.

Val: Mason's partner and also fighter gal, was always quick to put herself at risk for the others and it caught up to her. She's been in a coma since the final battle.

[coffeenteadiaries]

My room is home to the dust and sadness, Moldy air conditoners, and built up cat hair. My room is home to unorganized thoughts, scattered parts of me, ripped posters, and lonliness. It is home to depression, and the behaviors of a dysfunctional being. My bed is a mess. There are garbage bags filled with clothes underneath, ripped with clothes falling out of them. There is dust and cat litter, random other things and things I thought I lost. My shelves have holes in them, my funkos look like shit on them. I have books upon books that are all slanted. I have a couch table in here and a box of pads just sitting on top. My bed is small, smushed against my desk and the wall. My desk is covered in dust, my keyboard is filthy. There is so much stuff on it, stuff that I thought would make me feel good being able to see it displayed. My boyfriend is clean, His room pristine. His mom makes sure of this. He has a dresser and a closet to hang things. He has a job and money to buy things. He is able to drive, even if short distances. He is 30. There's a suit case by the door, and a target shopping bag next to it filled with Phone cases. I live in my sadness, I am it. Part of me wishes I could cement my body to the room floor. I know I will die as I lived. Miserable, Alone, Filthy, Chubby, Unhealthy. Why? it seems so easy to change it all other's say. For me? It feels like so much. Doing simple things feels like too much, and no one understands this. So I live in filth. I live in disgust, I live out of garbage bags because I chose to. I was much too lazy to fold things everyday and put them nicely in either of my wash baskets. I have a cat, a son, and he has to live like this. I am depressed. I am angry. I am dying. I breathe in the mold. The dust an cat hair. I'm allergic. Why do I care for myself so little? That I have allowed myself to live like this when there are those who have so much less. Why? When I am human. When I do human things? I really hate myself this much? That I'd allow myself to live in this condition that can be helped? I don't even shower everyday anymore. I used to be really proud of myself for at least that. I don't anymore. I entered this relationship and stopped. I did lose a part of myself. Fear, anxiety riddled ass I know myself as nothing more. I only become less, soon I'll be dead too. I just hope by then I can leave behind great things to remember me by.

I go downstairs to talk to my mom about how sad my room makes me. She pretty much tells me to go away, and to not throw everything out. I ran to her...when I know I wasn't going to receive kindness and comfort but I hoped. It's really time to stop hoping now. Our dog is dying, with only a few months to live. She deserved better. She was never taken out on walks when we all could've. I could've taken her. We destroy everything, and make our pets sad. I'm no different then the rest of them. I push away. I leave. I hate. I get mad. I argue. I assume. I am all that I hate. I run. I had a dream and my ex was there. He said he wanted me back. When I grabbed his hands I felt that familiar feeling. That something I was used to, but I didn't want it. I didn't like that I felt more comfortable with him than with my current partner. I didn't like that I felt myself melting. I wonder now if I fully moved on. It was only a year ago where one ended and one began. There was no time. I sang sad songs everyday, and messaged him everyday wishing he'd respond. I should leave. Turn off my lights, and walk into the night. If only I didn't have anyone depending on my living. If only I knew my son wouldn't be looking for me. I really don't know if I wanna live, or if I'm just living for others. So I think of the half way down, jumping off and wondering how fast it'd be. Hoping that I don't survive only to feel the pain of hitting concret with extreme force. Christmas is next week, yet another year I approach it with sadness. Only this time, the first time, I can't say I'm proud that I made it another year. I'm already dead, the only difference is a pulse. I have no impact on the world. I have nothing to be remembered for. I don't really live, and no friends to really miss me. To miss my hugs or the way I'd laugh. Em understands but then again, she doesn't. Things I don't tell her. I don't tell her how bad my mind is. I don't tell her how I think, and how sickening it can get. My partner is sweet and his eyes are kind. He should move on. I'm sure his family will be bursting with glee. I'm a nescience, and god I'm so sorry. Even if I don't end my life, I can leave other peoples lives. Truly they don't need me, it's always been me needing them. I won't end my life, I'll just continue dying slowly. Is there anything I know I'd miss? The smell of burning wood, and a christmas light display. Saying I love you, and losing myself in other stories. I'll miss the sound of music. But above all, I'll miss the person I thought I could be... I'm really sorry I let you down young me. I failed you...

[keefwho]

May 20 - 2024 Monday

10:40pm

3.5/10

This morning I woke up in a terrible mood. I didn't want to see or talk to anyone. I felt like an outcast in a way. But I figured like usual I'd get over it with time and tried to stick to my schedule. I shaved my body today and discovered the irmine I caught last night escaped his trap. He also shit in front of my door. I wasn't very hungry this morning so I just made a packet of soup. I got to stream a little late.

I warmed up with a few different things. I thought I was doing very poorly and sort of gave up by drawing basic shapes. My confidence was crushed today. I felt like I was being judged or not taken seriously for being in such a poor mood. I was extremely close to quitting and laying in bed but I committed to working on the commission for a couple hours. Eventually I started feeling a little better. DS showed me a nice YCH she wanted.

After stream I watched a few youtube videos on Minecraft anomalies until lunch time. I almost napped. When I took Sporticus out before lunch, mom said we'd be moving but the way she put it made me think it was going to be this year which was sudden. It was news I couldn't process at the time but I got the timeline cleared up since I misunderstood. This is happening next year or later which was already a plan I knew about. I again wasn't hungry for lunch so I made a can of beefaroni.

While I worked on a pic of Princess Celestia, I talked to JD for awhile about the housing situation and then about whatever. I JUST realized that I forgot to do today's request because I started shuffling the kinds of projects I work on throughout the week. So for some reason I thought it wasn't a request day but it was. Anyways, I also worked on my Mr Bean VRchat world and experimented with how I'm going to animate the lighting. I left JD early to use the bathroom before my therapy appointment.

Therapy was interesting, I went over what I've been journaling specifically for the appointments and he helped me realize that I'm overthinking and that it's contributing to my stress. I've begun using 'problem solving' as an unhealthy coping mechanism. I also told him about how I think I've been having trust issues lately and we started delving into that. He asked me something like "When have you given someone your all and experienced them leaving you?" This was a really good way to phrase it and I gave him a couple examples. I couldn't pull it all off the top of my head though and we were running out of time so my homework is to remember the kinds of relationships I've had and determine when I've experienced this kind of thing.

After therapy I decided to stay in VRchat and joined BD since she was on and I know it's her day off. She was playing Go Fish with DR so I joined them and it was very fun. He won most of the rounds, he even won on turn 1 which was so lucky. He did that by getting three 7's and asking me if I had a 7 which gave him an instant set of 4 which is a victory. Then we checked out a couple dog worlds and I got into my dog gear avatar to be funny. I didn't quite feel like I belonged, I sort of felt like a 3rd wheel. But I think they liked having me there.

I joined DS while she worked on her fursuit. We watched a Markiplier video and a She Ra, finishing season 2. We did our puzzles and she headed off for bed. I planned on spending the next hour alone doing something so I hopped on the Minecraft server. BR happened to be playing and invited me to a VC so we chatted and played together. It feels weird opening up to stuff like this. I always feel like no one wants to play anything with me so when it happens, I feel like they are just waiting to get me out of their hair even though they are the ones that approached me.

[1787americanrevnerd]

Wanda: *when sparky climbs into her lap* Oh, hi there precious, who's the best one? You are!

Wanda: *when Billy and/or Tommy sit next to her* What do you want?

[the-gay-trashmouth]

Okay so I binged q-force. Is it perfect? No. No its not- it's a comedy adult cartoon about gay spies. It was funny, it had that found family trope and it had it good rep. It had butch 4 butch rep (pam and Deb my loves) trans goth chicks, and even an older women in power who I have a permanent lesbian crush on. I see a lot of people complaining about the stereotypes - mostly Twink- but like.... Y'all realize stereotypical gay people exist, right? Like there are butch lesbians who BBQ on weekends and adopt way to many dogs. There are drag queens who are super extra and loud and sexual. There are alt queer people who like obscure shit and would maybe like to fuck robots- shut up

Like ... Gay people are allowed to act gay. Y'all know that right? Gay culture is built on the "weird". Q force gave us stereotypes but also broke them.

Twink is a top who can throw a punch and is fucking badass. His drag connections come in handy and offers them tons of Intel. I've seen people talk about how it's bad that he wants to be skinny but.... Yall know some people Wanna be skinny? And that's not a bad thing??? Like yeah it can be unhealthy but he never once commented on anyone else's weight negatively- and we had a diverse body types. Just in the force we had a muscle vers, a fat stud lesbian, a tall lanky hacker, a slim thicc drag queen, a chubby hunk, and a middle aged woman with actual proportions. Could I have done without some of the tummy tuck jokes? Yeah, sure, but y'all realize actual queens talk like that.

Then we have Deb- the only character with her life together. She and her wife are very very happy and secure and its like... One of the first butch 4 butch relationship I've seen on screen that healthy. She's a mechanic and was on surviver but she's also the mom of the group. She's in touch with her emotions, she rescues dogs, her happy place is on the phone with her wife- she is a black stud lesbian and she's not a cold mean shell of a person. How often do y'all see that????

And then Stat- STAT! she's weird!! And that's the point! She likes being weird!! She's a trans hacker badass and she fucked an AI!! She's herself and unapologetically so. While affection and emotions make her uncomfortable she's still the one to go after Twink on his birthday. She cares about them all, even in her weird goth way. Shes good rep for those of us who are the "ugly alt queer" people love to make fun of. And the force loves her and her weirdness! Her and twink- two characters on complete opposite sides of the stereotype spectrum- are like best friends. They could of had them hate each other but they don't! He loves her and her weird goth vibes, she doesn't understand his scene but loves him and his drag and never says a damn word. Also!! Her VA is a trans woman!!!!

And fucking Steve- he's the cis het ideal. Strong, masc, average gay man. He could pass as straight- but he doesn't?? He has a boyfriend (who isnt some fuckin super model with the same body- he's a shy bear with glasses and a suffocatingly loving family- also!!! No homophobic family side plot???? Unheard of!!!!) and half of his arc is trying to be there For Him. He's not some hyper masc guy who "happens to be gay but everyones surprised" There is no sub plot of him hiding himself or "being seen as het" he's just a vers with a dorky sense of humor and has a little gaggle of gays (plus buck) that he's adopted and co-parenting with his butch lesbian best friend. Also wlw mlm solidarity!!! Holy shit!!!! that's rare!!!!

Even Buck- who's prolly bi let's be real- goes through an arc and isnt a 2D prick- he loves those gays like family by the end. And that's the end message- community in each other and loving your fellow queer people. There's no fighting between them about being a stereotype. No one makes fun on Twink for being femme, every one gets so happy when Stat smiles, Pam and Deb are happily married and Pam automatically takes her wife's little gay family from work and goes "I love them :))) you should bring them over more."

No its not perfect- I wish there was more open trans rep and nb rep, I wish there was some ace aro rep and I wish there was less animated dick and I could do without some if the skinny jokes Twink made but y'all realize rep isn't ever gonna be perfect? Gay ppl aren't perfect. Gay people are allowed to be stereotypes and the amount of LGBTQ people who worked on the show made it realistic. There was never a point that I was like "this was written by straight people".

Y'all shot down a funny, well written comedy cartoon made by the gays for the gays and hate it because there's a femme drag queen? There's stereotypes?? We're never going to get good rep if y'all crucify everything we do get. That's not saying don't be critical, but don't attack queer writers and what little rep we have because it's not the perfect cookie cutter shape for gays.

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of the Past. Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

Wordcount: 3875

CW: Dissociation, graphic depiction of violence, hallucinations, unhealthy relationship and unhealthy power dynamics.

A.N.: I used a lot of my experience with dissociations in this and if it makes you uncomfortable, I would advice not to read it. I also plan on writing continuation for this, as it’s set before the Rite of Descension. P.s. I am not a native English speaker, so could you notify me if there’s awkward wording.

[Next chapter]

There are plenty of times you find yourself reminiscing about the past and now, your mind slips back to your memories, as you look at the horribly mangled body of the treasure hoarder. The stench of blood stuffs up your nose, it’s sickly sweet metallic odor making your gut clench and nausea rise, as your limbs grow heavier and numb. You don’t feel  like you belong in your skin and bones and blood anymore - it’s cold, so cold, yet you don’t feel any of it. You are an outsider, an unwanted intruder in the house that is your body, an indifferent observer looking at the world through the thick glass.

The world around disfigures, shapes and colors changing in the constant whirlwind - they jump and dance around, small becoming large and large shrinking so much it’s barely visible, green shifts to red to blue and to yellow and to million of other colors, and sounds suddenly become muffled, losing their sharpness, but you don’t care about it: the part that is “you” fled to the daydreams of your childhood moments ago, leaving a clinically observing, yet unfeeling being behind. 

Adults would describe you as a perfect child: quiet, obedient and dutiful, you were a stark contrast to the other louder and more free spirited kids. You studied hard, cleaned the house, helped with dishes and cooking and never talked back. 

I can't upset mom and dad because they work so much. I can't play with other kids because if I do, they will make fun of me, I have to study hard and get good grades, because mom said I will have a good job and become rich and help them. 

These particular memories don't feel good to you: they're bleak and boring, yet full of silent shame - they make your throat clog and eyes water, as something burning starts to bloom deep underneath your skin. 

Childe stops beating the still alive treasure hoarder, a blood smeared on the cheek and a dangerous glint in his eyes, and turns his head to you. 

"Hey, how about lending me a helping hand?", there’s a hunger in his voice you recognize, he wants to teach a lesson to the debtors, then. You walk towards him, feeling your knees get weaker and weaker with each step for some reason. A dagger made of ice shines in your hand with cold light. 

"It's no wonder [First] received a vision! My [First] is always so good and smart, there are no children better" the exact words your mother says, as she brags to her friends, showing them the vision you were bestowed with. You left it to her, not caring what will happen to it - despite all the child's wonder you felt before receiving it, the glowing orb doesn’t look so amazing to you now. It feels foreign and ugly, a reminder of what happened seconds before you gained it. 

“You know, when I was a child”, he takes the weapon and focuses on the treasure hoarder’s leader again, “we made a special kind of promise”. It’s tip travels to the hoarder’s hand. “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life”

The sweet voice he uses and the fact that you  know the nursery rhyme too would make you sick in the stomach the other day, but not now. 

You don’t exactly remember how you joined the Fatui - it happened shortly after you gained a vision, when you were still too numb and cold to the outside world after the Event. 

Mom will hate me, dad will hate me too. I can’t let them know.

Your parents say that officials just knocked on the front door one day and offered you an entry into the Fatui and a monthly salary, big enough to stop your parents from overworking themselves. You were terrified back then, Fatuis despite being known as a diplomatic organization are still a mystery to the ordinary Shezhnayan and a direct servants to Her will. The thought of disappointing Tsaritsa or letting down Snezhnaya was enough to paralyze you, but seeing the smiles on your parents faces was enough to make you swear to yourself, that you will work there no matter how scary it seems.

“You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice.” The blade stops between phalanges of the little finger: “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend", he presses it, strong enough to detach the limb from the rest of the body in one swift slash. Treasure hoarder starts to cry and scream from the sudden pain, yet quickly chokes on it as Childe hits him in the solar plexus. The crack of bones feels deafening among the sea of muffled sounds.

Training was rigorous to say the least, you came back to your dorm room absolutely exhausted and after you fell on the bed you were practically dead to the world. Turns out, having a vision wasn’t enough to make you a fighter - you needed to know how to climb, swim, run with a weight to lift and wield a weapon. There were other children and teens with you, they eyed your vision with a mix of adoration and envy, you pretended not to catch it in turn.

“The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again”, harbinger forces the victim's jaw apart by squeezing it with one hand, the other rapidly forcing a dagger inside the mouth. Treasure hoarder gasps and mumbles, fat tears forming in his eyes. A part of you expects a sound of parting flesh, but none comes: Tartaglia stands up and removes the blade, leaving a shivering and terrified man laying on the ground.

“Well,” Childe shrugs, as if he didn’t just dismember a person, voice back to his cheery tone : “You didn’t actually make a pinkie promise, so consider it a small mercy”. The treasure hoarder cowers even more, snuggling the injured hand close to the bruised chest. “But if you fail to repay your debt I will oversee that the frost”, he points in your direction, a treasure hoarder’s eyes going wide as he notices your vision, “will actually freeze your lying tongue off”, his voice descends again, back to it’s dangerous half-whisper.

You meet Ajax during the winter, he’s close to you in age and just arrived into Fatui grounds. He boasts and shows off to all of you, and you desperately want to retort something acidic to shut him up and rip off that arrogant bravado, yet say nothing, picturing how the tomorrow training session will have him laying flat on his back, too hurt and too tired to move even a single finger. 

He defeats the trainer in less than a minute.

Now, that the treasure hoarder fled, still snuggling disfigured limb, Childe turns attention back to you. “You seem a little bit disinterested here”, his hand on your cheek is so foreign, it’s burning and freezing at the same time, the shock from the unwanted touch almost strong enough to pull you back into reality. He notices your unintentional flinching and unfocused eyes “Ah, you hurt my feelings, [First]! And I thought we already became friends”. 

You say nothing, cold and unmoving, blind and deaf to the outside world, his words register a second too late, and there’s no cliche phrase for you to reply with. He looks a bit baffled and deflated for a second, but shrugs it off, just like he did during teen years, when you deliberately ignored all his attempts at catching your attention.

“Huh, even if you are so cold to me, I still forgive you”, he takes your hand, his touch still too overwhelming for you to process and pulls you back to Liyue harbor, your legs barely bending as you walk after him, like an obedient dog trailing it’s master.

“You know [First], I can beat you up so badly, that you will barely walk”, you put feather aside, stopping writing the letter to your parents as you glare at Ajax with barely masked indignation. He grins, satisfied to finally catch your attention after the whole day of pestering you. “I am aware of that” you reply in an absolutely flat tone, holding yourself from pouncing on him and trying to break the teeth out of that smug smile. He beams even wider, as if sensing your not-so-good intentions, revealing even more pearly whites as if taunting you.

“But I won’t, count yourself lucky”. And he leaves, this short interaction filling you with so much rage that you shake, handwritten letters noticeably becoming sharper and faster, your thoughts clouding around the idea of acquating his face with your boots. 

 Nonetheless, you indeed count yourself fortunate enough, when you see Ajax defeating grown men with bare hands. When you two, the only vision holders among your peers have to spar, he always goes easy on you, prefering to immobilize you rather than beating, making your defeat less painful yet even more humiliating. 

Almost at the end of your trail he suddenly stops and says something, but you don't catch it, words turning into separate vowels and then fusing together into one unintelligible gibberish mess. He leans in, close enough for his breath to burn your neck, and he continues to get closer, until his empty eyes look into yours glazed ones. He seems disappointed for a second and backs down, his breathing no longer fanning your skin. 

Distantly you think that you somehow angered him and he will slap you for it, and do nothing to dodge the hit - you barely feel pain in this condition anyway, but he doesn’t. The road to the Northland Bank is completed in absolute silence, Childe no longer trying to grab your attention, only when you enter Liyue Harbor does he whisper, that you two must look like a pair with all that hand holding. Judging by the volume and tone of his voice he says it more to himself than to you.

***

You come back to yourself in the safety of your room on the third room of the Northland bank. It feels like a rush of sensation, as everything becomes sharper and clearer again, like you just swam to the surface of water from the very depths of it. An invisible bubble around your head pops in one moment, and the world becomes real again, mind and body connecting for once more.

Eyes and ears focused you take in surroundings: the room is neat and lifelessly empty - just a bed and a working desk with a stack of written but unsent letters, along with a small bookcase near, no figurines, pictures or even plants to decorate living place, as you see no reason to adorn the area you use for sleeping only. Indiscernible wallpapers and a small window close to the middle of the bed finish the picture of austerity.

 Once, your memory catches up to you, you can't help groan from the shame and irritation, hiding your face in both hands. Afterwards  always feels both like a disgraceful escape and a warm blanket during the stormy night, a duality that you accepted long ago after joining the Fatui and today is no exception. You curse Harbinger when you remember why exactly you had an episode, and get up from the bed you threw yourself on minutes ago. You come to the desk, taking a clean form of a relocation request from the drawer and writing materials. 

Filling in the blank feels like commiting a felony to you for some reason - you stop several times when you hear footsteps in the corridor, focusing on the door,ready to hide the half written form and say some lie as an excuse. You don't list the Childe-related reasons, knowing that there's nothing that could make any of the Harbingers face the consequence for their actions, and instead you write completely normal and fake causes: health concerns, family matters and so on. Part of you doubts that this will work and you will have the fortune to get away from a certain harbinger as far as possible. Trying and failing is better than never attempting, you think, quickly writing the paper.

Once you finish it, you almost rush to Ekaterina, praying that you won't run into a certain ginger on the way. Sometime ago you caught Tartaglia checking your letters, for a secrecy he said back then, we can’t let anyone know about the coming operation. Childe then instilled that every sent and received letter should be checked, lest Qixing and other Liyuens learned what Fatui had in plan. It sounded logical and sensible, but the paranoid thought that he enforced this policy just to have a glimpse at your feelings never stopped eating at you. From that day on you sent your family the most basic and vague letters, just stating that you’re in good health and mind, still missing them and Snezhnaya, leaving the ones with more private sentiments in your room. 

Her eyes are completely obscured by the mask, but even with that you can’t miss the pointed glare she sends your way - Tartaglia never shied away from showing off, be it his strength, money or his twisted obsession that he calls love. With the amount of time and finances he spends on you and the way he acts like a kicked lovesick puppy in your vicinity, you are pretty sure that at least half of the bank workers see you as a cunning and cruel seducer, so keen and devious in the art of temptation that you managed to lure in Eleventh Harbinger.

As if archons decided to laugh at you, Childe descends from the second floor too, catching the sight of you near the receptionist. He looks unusually somber for a moment, but then he sees you, a smile appearing on his face as he takes the form from Ekaterina's hands. You can just feel how Ekaterina rolls her eyes under the mask, as if muttering complaints about the lovers’ spat and insubordination, having been working with her for some time, enough to have a clue of the inner workings of her mind.

You have to give him that he plays the confusion and regret very persuasively. He asks how he can fix this, says what a valuable team member you are to him and how much you are needed in the Northland bank. You agree to his suggestion - if years of training with Ajax and then work with Childe taught you anything, it is that Ajax is the chaos incarnate and Tartaglia is Ajax’s less tolerable and more unpredictable version, so it’s better not to anger him.

***

In the end he invites you to dine with him at Wanmin restaurant, a place Childe heard from some “xiansheng” as he called them. A bustling Liyue street is open before you two, tall midday sun painting the whole street into bright orange, so unlike the pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya. He orders two Black Back Perch Stews on the chef's recommendations, and hands a bouquet of local flowers in a parody of a normal boyfriend. Any random observer would really see it as a date.

You take the flowers, pretending to pay more attention to  them than to a man sitting near you. Tartaglia is an unpredictability wrapped in human skin, there’s no privilege as being lax and carefree near him, as even Tsaritsa has no idea what he will do next. 

To your mutual confusion Xiangling presents the meal with two pairs of chopsticks. Utensils feel foreign in your palm, you having no idea how to handle them and Childe, by the looks of it too. Tartaglia specifically asks the chef for spoons, while you observe the other clients, noting how they use theirs. Holding one stick like a pen and then placing the bottom one in a fixed position under the thumb you manage to grasp the fish from the soup, albeit clumsily. You consider it a small win. 

The image of a mighty Harbinger struggling in a failing battle with chopsticks would look funny to you, if it wasn’t for the whole "date" you were having. After putting them aside, and seemingly admitting defeat, Childe starts from afar: "You know [First], you changed a lot since I first met you" .

You raise an eyebrow at the starter, it's vague and innocent enough, but experience tells you that he will or at least try to stir the conversation into your relationship with him again. Straightening a bit and finally turning your eyes to him, you pause for a second, picking the least offensive reply you can muster - there’s a swarm of insults buzzing at the tip of your tongue prepared just for him, growing and sprouting since your pubescent years.

“Yes, I got taller”, he laughs it off, like you said some funny joke, his giggles not stopping for some time. "No, I mean as a person. Remember how you used to glare at me for joking? And now you act so unfazed ”

Joking. Is this what he calls it? Shivers creep up your spine when your memory oh so conveniently conjures the images of the aftermath of his jokes.

“Your jokes weren’t funny to anyone but you”. Breathe, you think, there’s no need to anger him. There are pictures of broken bones and bruised bodies and a cacophony of somebody else’s pained screams flashing and rattling in your head, Adults never did anything. Why would they? They had a golden boy Ajax, why would they help the others when they had him? Why would they help you? Bitterness and anger you thought you swallowed long ago rise up to the surface again, and you decide to bite down on the stew - Tartaglia always found a way to turn your words against you and hurt you, no need to give him more weapons now.

“I changed a lot too. I know I was insufferable as a teen”, he must have taken your silence as a free pass to continue whatever nonsense he’s sprouting, “I am sorry”.

The last three words catch you off guard, a piece of fish almost stuck in the throat from the jolt. Ajax takes you by surprise once again, for him to finally acknowledge and apologize for all the pain he caused and years he tormented you?

You blink and look at him intently, his facial expression changing into an unusually somber one. It seems authentic enough.

“Let’s start from the scratch?

You contemplate unsure what to say.

Was he lying?

Looking back, you in a sense are luckier than most of Childe's victims, witnessing his youth, familiarizing and distinguishing the tells of him lying and scheming, observing the way he bloomed into the manipulator he is today firsthand. You see a familiarity in his face and voice, something that helps you from falling to his charms. There's also the added fact that you were and still are an involuntary witness to the way how carnal and bloodthirsty usually friendly Ajax can become. 

When did you catch his attention?

You remember his smile when he first approached you, less teeth and more sincerity that is thereafter,a hand outstretched to you. It happens on the next day after his arrival, almost as cold and unpleasant as the previous one. You brush the limb away like a noisy fly, secretly angry at his arrogant attitude and how effortlessly he endured training. His smiling doesn’t stop, yet you feel a sudden change in the air around you.

Would your fate be different if you took his hand?

You can't forget how your mind disconnected from your body for the second time. It was Ajax again vying for your attention akin to a spoiled child, and like one he threw a tantrum when you refused to give him any. The poor recruit you were talking with was hospitalized the same day, as you helplessly watched the carnage before you. You didn't fight, you didn’t flee, you just froze, like a scared animal, paralyzed by fear, yet somehow too detached from feelings. That day was bizarre: once you felt reality, it was solid and undeniable and then you didn't. The realness of the current diffused, slipped through the fingers like sand, leaving nothing but unreliable and delusive reveries behind.

Will he let you go? 

“People do change and I see that you changed too. I don’t think of you as a teen you were” you carefully pick the words, Tartaglia visibly blooms, thinking that his apology worked, yet your next words snuff out his triumph: “but my memories stay the same. I don’t think we can start from scratch”

You bite the tongue, the second part still coming out too harsh for your liking. The moment of sincerity is interrupted, you see him, changing the masks, unsure what to do. It seems for the first time it was you who caught him off guard. You guess which one of the two standard facades he will decide to show to you, having spent years by his side to observe him masterfully wielding both, the friendly one with a vacant smile that never reaches his dead, dead eyes or the calculating one, distant and devoid of humanity?

In the end he uses none, a hurt still evident, dripping in his tone, face and moves - is it another mask you never got to see or is it real? - “So that is your answer”, he leans in closer, dull cerulean eyes looking right into yours.

You hold his stare, nodding, instead of saying anything and he hums, sitting back and wearing the cold mask, reserved for his enemies: “Just wanted to remind you that I am the Harbinger and you are just a position higher than an ordinary agent”. Despite seeing it so many times, it’s the first time he directs it at you and you have to suppress the shiver. The unsaid threat hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

You two are no longer solemn [First] and annoying Ajax, who trails your steps behind like a puppy, no, you are a special agent [Last] and Eleventh Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, to whom you are personally assigned by Tsaritsa herself. Even possessing vision and delusion yourself you can’t match Childe’s power, and your loss would be easy to overlook if your harbinger wished for it. Honestly speaking, there are a lot of things he could do to you without anyone questioning it, the Harbingers being the second most powerful figures in the organization, right after Tsaritsa herself. You heard the stories of Krupp and other assistants who got missing under Il Dottore, you heard of horrible accidents happening to the people Scaramouche dislikes, you heard about the injuries Signora inflicts on the unfortunate recruits when she is in foul mood, yet you never thought that Tartaglia will abuse his power in the same way.

“Don’t worry” he seems to have taken mercy on you, “I won’t use my position like that, it’s cheating and I like to play the fair game”, despite the seemingly reassuring words , you don’t let yourself relax, knowing him for years.

“Don’t think I will back down though, I am not the type to give up”

[tf2-hellhole]

can we get some fluffy tf2 headcannons? giving you full creative liberty over this one! :)

Idk if you meant tf2 x reader headcanons or just general head canons, so I did two sections for each merc; the first point is a general headcanon, the second is X Reader.

sorry this took forEEEEEEEEVER, I was just experiencing burnout and working on a prize for a contest on my server (BTW WE HAVE A NEW DRAWING CONTEST GO CHECK IT OUT)

Scout:

Scout is actually really self-concious about his intelligence. He’s not very bright and he knows it, and it makes him feel horrible. He had flunked out of high school and struggled in most of his core classes. He honestly feels really stupid and he hates when people point it out. But luckily for him, a lot of the other mercs understand what it’s like to be looked down upon and empathize with him. Quite a few of them help him relearn the skills he never mastered in school. Engie helps him with math, Spy sometimes helps him with writing, and even Pyro has him read children’s books to them to improve his reading.

Scout absolutely loves little casual dates. Stuff like going out to eat lunch, going to the movies, maybe just cuddling up in his quarters and watching a movie. He tries to plan one every week. His dream date is taking you back to Boston to meet his family and go to a Red Sox game. But obviously, since you’re both in New Mexico at the time, he’s going to have to shelve that dream for a few years.

Soldier:

Soldier is an excellent raccoon dad. At first, the other mercenaries thought they’d all end up dead by the end of the month when he first found them. But surprisingly, they are are very well cared for. They’re all fed regularly and basically have his entire assigned quarters to themselves. He loves every single one of them dearly, even the ones that hiss and scratch him every time. The raccoons, at least some of them, are kind of like weird, quiet dogs, and actually get along pretty well with most of the other mercenaries.

Soldier is a surprisingly very physically affectionate partner, and he’s not at all opposed to PDA. He loves hand holding, cheek kisses, cuddles, the whole nine yards. Whenever he’s particularly excited, he loves to run up to you, scoop you up into his arms, and press a hard, sloppy kiss to your lips. Of course, he’s careful to not hurt you, but he’s a very intense, emotional guy and he needs to express all that love he has for you!

Pyro:

Pyro is and excellent listener, so they’re a person a lot of the other mercenaries depend on to vent. Demo often comes to them to vent about his emotions, Scout, Sniper, or Medic will rant about what’s bothering them, and even Engineer will talk about his stress. And of course, Pyro doesn’t understand a lot of what is told to them, but they’re still happy to help them feel a little better, and they would happily do it a hundred times over to make their friends feel better.

Pyro has a hobby of baking and making candy/treats, and they love sharing everything they make with you. When they first gave you a treat, you honestly thought it’d be burnt or bad in some other way. But to your surprise, it was amazing! They’re actually and excellent cook, but they just love making sweet things the best. They’ll make you just about anything you could ask for without hesitation, but they’re best at making anything sweet.

Demo:

Demo obviously has the potential to pretty emotional when he’s drunk, there’s no doubt about that. But on the off-chance that he’s sober, he’s actually pretty sweet and considerate. Though he still is a rough-housing joker, he’s much more considerate of his friends’ feelings and has deeper and more meaningful conversations with them. He often likes to go to bars with his friends and co-workers on ceasefire weekends, having lots of fun conversation, drinking together, and generally causing chaos around town.

Demo, to put it simply, doesn’t like himself. He’s critical of everything, from his skills to race, because people have always put him down about them. His mother told him he’s lazy and unskilled too many times to count, just everyone makes fun of his eye, and many have made fun of his skin color. But you make him feel so much better about himself. Just the fact that someone so kind and gorgeous is actually with him makes him feel like he’s not as horrible as he thought. There’s been a couple of times where you’ve accidentally almost brought him to tears with a sweet compliment or show of affection, because he never thought in a million years that someone would love him and care for him like you do. He feels so blessed that he has someone like you.

Heavy:

I know the fandom’s decided that Engie is the Team Mom and makes the food, but I also think that Heavy cooks a lot too. He makes all of his own food, so he often makes a lot of extras to feed the team because a lot of them just eat junk food and Medic’s always complaining about their eating habits. Heavy often takes like half the food for himself (he does have a huge appetite and loves food, so he likes to take a lot) and just boxes up the leftover portions and leaves them in the fridge for the team to take. He says he’s only doing it because they can’t work properly if they’re unhealthy, but he also does it because he cares about their health. A little bit.

At first, you wouldn’t think Heavy’s the most cuddly guy. But surprise, he actually loves giving and receiving physical affection. He just doesn’t show it often out of respect for your boundaries, and doesn’t do it around others. His absolute favorite thing is to cuddle you against his chest. Sometimes it’s when going to sleep, or cuddling on the couch, or maybe just a quick hug. He just loves the feeling of your head resting against his chest and your arms trying (and failing) to wrap around his torso. It makes him feel like you’re safe. Nobody could ever get you when you’re wrapped up in his arms.

Engie:

You’d think Sniper’s the only nature nerd on the team, but Engie absolutely loves the outdoors, as well as animals. It’s because his father would often take him out camping every couple of months. It was often the only time he would get 1-on-1 time with his usually very busy father. So he does love the great outdoors, especially that of his home state. He especially loves animals. He was raised on a farm and helped take care of lots of injured wild animals with his mother. He absolutely loves pets and would like to have many when he retires. His dream is to have is own ranch, with horses and cows and a bunch of dogs and the whole shebang.

Engie absolutely loves playing the guitar, so of course he loves playing for you. He learns all sorts of sweet love songs to sing to you. He’s an excellent player and actually has a pretty decent singing voice (think Johnny Cash, he kinda has that singing style). I hope you like country music, because that’s all he’s going to sing to you until you give him some requests or he finds out your favorite artists or genres. You can tell how happy he is every time he gets to surprise you with a new song he learned, and he’d be a giddy, laughing mess if you sang along with him.

Medic:

You’d think this guy takes horrible care of his birds because of the environment he keeps them in, but his birds are actually exceptionally well cared for. He buys them only the best and most expensive bird food, gives them super high-quality water with vitamins n stuff in it, takes them to the vet regularly, the whole shebang. Yeah they get a little dirty from sitting around in his lab, but he always gives them a little bath at the end of the day to get all the blood and guts off.

Medic is honestly such a playful partner. Of course, around his co-workers he’s a little more professional; he still gives you soft touches, a kiss on the cheek, or a big smile, but that’s about it. In private, however, he’s such a sweetheart. He’s always sweeping you up into big hugs, kissing all over your face, and calling you all sorts of adorable nicknames in a variety of languages. It comes as a surprise, because you’d think he’d be a little more formal, but that’s really only for special occasions. It honestly brings him so much joy to have someone like you by his side, and every day he’s going to make sure you know just how grateful he is to have you in his life.

Sniper:

Sniper is an incredibly independent and self-sufficient man, but he’s also secretly a real mama’s boy. He loves his parents dearly and has a particularly close relationship with his mother. As well as sending them money every month, he sends them all sorts of gifts, letters, postcards, and souvenirs. He also makes sure to call them regularly. He goes home every couple of months to visit them, and one could see that he loves helping around the house and chatting with his parents. His mother loved gardening, so his number-1 favorite thing to do is help her in the garden.

Despite Sniper’s obvious lack of knowledge on self-care, he takes a lot of time out of his day to make sure you are happy, healthy, clean, and well-fed. He doesn’t hound you like a helicopter parent but he likes to ask how you’re feeling, if you’re hungry, stuff like that. It feels nice to know you’re taken care of or take care of you himself. If you switch it around and try to take care of him, however, he’s honestly baffled as to why you would care so much as to make sure he’s doing well. He does absolutely love the affection and attention he gets out of it though, it makes him feel loved.

Spy:

I’ve mentioned this before, but I have a head canon that Spy has a dog. Her name is Charlotte, and she’s an elderly Chihuahua. One would think he’d buy a French breed, but he found her out in the pouring rain one day and fell in love with her fluffy ears and spunky personality. She’s now 17 years old, extremely frail, missing most of her teeth, and extremely aggressive to anyone other than Spy, but he loves her dearly and pays for all of her medical expenses without batting an eye. And of course, she expresses her thanks with lots of kisses.

Spy loves dancing, and knows all kinds of dances, from flamenco to ballroom dancing to the Charleston to, canonically, disco. So of course, he’s dying to share all of the most romantic dances he knows with you. He’d love to actually teach you how to dance, rewarding you with kisses every time you finally get a move right and laughing softly when you make mistakes. But in reality, he just wants to use it as an excuse to dance with you against his chest and smother you in affection.

[nelllover]

Okay I'm finally at season 3 and there is so much stuff that I want to talk about so here I go (I'll talk about the Lit/Rory part of the episode in my next post):

First of all, the opening scene is so evil!!! I still remember the first time I watched it and even though I knew that Luke and Lorelai didn't get together this season (I went into the show knowing how it ended) I still had a moment where I thought: "Wait what's going on did I skip a bunch of seasons or something???"

anyway, Lorelai calls Rory and even Rory the Queen of denial herself is like "Mom you're in love with Luke" and Lorelai goes into denial about it (is that a genetical trait?)

Okay but what the hell was Rory's and I quote "Taylor hula-hooping dream" like am I supposed to just ignore that??? and what do you mean he had Dean's hair??? I need more context!!!

Paris quoting politicians in her sleep is one the best bit this show has ever done in my opinion it will never not make me laugh.

Okay but Sookie trying to make Jackson comfortable with the way the house looks is adorable (although not needed).

When I was watching the episode with my mom, she asked me who put the banana peel on Taylor's doorstep and I'm like 99% sure that we never found out and now I need to know!!!

By the way I love Lorelai's outfit with the bob hat!!

The fact that Luke stood his ground with Lorelai all summer is honestly impressive and also showcases how much he actually cares about Jess and while I hate the thought of JavaJunkie not getting along I do love the fact that Luke prioritizes Jess.

I love Jamie he is adorable, and I hate the way things ended between him and Paris. (Also, I still see Paris and that professor kissing in my nightmares bleh)

Rory and Lorelai reuniting is such a sweet scene I'm the first to talk about how unhealthy their relationship can be but it's scenes like that one that makes me love them still!!!

Okay I know that Lorelai was joking about the dogs but why does that sounds like something she would actually do?

Another instant of my mother and Lorelai being freakishly similar! every time I'm gone for as little as one night my pillow (and some of my clothes) will have disappeared it's as if no mother on earth as a good pillow!!!

I am not even going to acknowledge Christopher's existence because doing so will give me hives. But all I will say is he sucks, and I pity Sherry for having to carry his child.

And the Hazy Lazy Days of Summer song is stuck in my head once again!!!

Emily always blaming Lorelai for everything that happens with Chris always makes me so mad!!!! but sadly I'm never surprised. Although Richard jumping in and being on Christopher's side kind of surprises me, (I honestly didn't remember!) I know that Richard is really traditional but come on!!!

The scene of Luke and Lorelai making up is sweet!!!

"Come again, Mimi."

Also, Lauren's acting in that scene is amazing!!!

While this isn't the best episode in the season, I still love it!!!

[mbrainspaz]

Very long convo with gran today that was basically me just rehashing points I'd made before but all at once. I think I got her to see how her situation where she wrote and burned a letter to her deceased abusive mom is not the same as me not wanting to make small talk with my aggressively evangelical mother who doesn't respect my autonomy and reports on me to my abusive dad. I don't think gran's accepted that this isn't a problem she can 'fix.' She knows I've given my mom some assigned reading to try and get us to a point where we can actually have an informed conversation about gender and maybe politics. But the fact is that while she adheres to biblical fundamentalist beliefs my mom will never be able to respect me, and those beliefs mean more to her than I do. Nothing anybody can do to change that.

Gran still wants to ramble on about the 'grudges' and 'hate' I'm 'holding on to,' so that probably won't be the last I hear of that. She can't grasp that I don't have any anger toward them. Just a feeling of disappointment. She can't understand that all I did was recognize these people in my life who were acting in a way that was unhealthy toward me, ask them to stop, and when they didn't, I removed myself. Of course, gran doesn't respect me very much either, not enough to care about my name or pronouns or any of the things I'm really passionate about, so it's weird having these talks over and over again.

She tried several times to convince me that my relationship with my mom would be solved if we just agreed to never talk politics or religion again. I don't understand how anyone could think that would work in any kind of meaningful relationship. I asked her what the point of pretending to get along with my mom would be and she didn't really have an answer. I smiled and pretended to be civil in my dad's company for two years and what did that solve? Now I had to block his number and he's been sending me sinister vague emails. A relationship without mutual trust and respect is one you're better off without.

Most interesting part of the convo was when I asked her what the best case scenario looks like for her. I asked her what she thinks having a loving family means. All I could get out of her was 'I wish you could go to the lake with us again,' by which I'm gonna assume she means Quality Time. All she wants is to be surrounded by family and friends at the lake. That's probably doable, honestly. I'd still go to the lake and drink all my uncle's whisky while I write my book in the corner with my headphones on so that I don't have to listen to all the latest morally depraved conservative talking points. It's not like my dad will ever go to the lake because he's too homophobic to visit a house owned by my gay uncle (who is also a conservative yeah). The only barriers to me visiting are usually my latest peasant labor situation or my uncle's partner deciding he doesn't want dogs on the designer carpets. I've offered to camp in my car with the dogs. C'mon, that would be objectively funny on their fountain rotunda driveway. Me? I still want a family that cares enough to go to a protest or a rally with me. Hell, I'd settle for a family that clicked 'like' on my comic posts or showed up once a year to watch me ride a horse. I feel like that's not a huge ask but it would make me feel loved. They don't do those things because they haven't taken time to understand or care about me in a decade. There have been times when they showed up for me in the past. There were times when I felt loved. That was a long time ago. I don't think enough people ask themselves what a loving family looks like.

Then we went shopping at a decor store and I bought a pumpkin with a cute little snake on it. Gran gave me a hug goodbye and her perfume still smells like home. I love her for caring enough to meet up and talk to me even if we didn't 'fix' anything.

[cdroloisms]

idk why but i imagined vegas 2.0 as two soccer moms (the politics bois) trying to outdo each other while their sons are dragged into it (green bois) in a rlly fvcked way. e.g.

maybe big q reconsidering dream's usefulness by saying sam's enough as protection and has other things to offer to the team as well. wilbur steps in by suggesting a duel between sam and dream then, to prove it then. maybe while it happens, wilbur whispers to quackity a list of what is still physically broken abt dream post prison (so many unhealed bones, barely healed muscle, he can barely stomach food so he had like 1 steak in the past few days, etc.) and of course, he mentions dream's most powerful asset, the revive book :)

-🐇

LMAOO

this is hilarious and also accurate as hell ,, thank you anon because the image of c!wilbur and c!quackity as PTA moms is completely sending me. this prompt (as most vt2 related things are) was really fun !! it also kinda ran away from me, which is why this ended up being almost 6k words instead of my usual 1-2k for asks, but i hope you enjoy it regardless :]

tws: implied torture/abuse, death, violence, blood, injuries, conditioning, dehumanization, panic attacks, emotional distress, trauma, unhealthy relationships (so many unhealthy relationships), smoking, dark contents, dark themes, vt2 au is always really dark so definitely proceed with caution !! dark portrayals of c!quackity, c!sam, c!wilbur, and c!dream

It starts, as many things do nowadays, with a board meeting - which seems to be as much of a sign as any that everything is going to go to shit. Board meetings for Quackity, much like Wilbur’s stupid group therapy sessions, are just a thinly veiled attempt for the two to fight for control of pretty much everything - ranging from the casino schedules to the laws still being written for Las Nevadas to what food to stock in the vending machines. As Sam is still sitting on his false throne of moral superiority and therefore less inclined to indulge himself in the same blatant corruption that characterizes their discussions, and Dream - more than anything - knows his place (which hardly gives him any position to wrangle for power among the likes of Wilbur and Quackity), the fights for control more or less remain restricted between the two. More often than not, they devolve into proving their superiority over the other by using their control of Dream (which naturally never means anything remotely good for him as a consequence) so when Quackity strolls over, all tight-lipped smiles and a cigarette held between clenched fingers, Dream really doesn’t feel anything other than dread.

Still, orders by Quackity are still orders - Dream knows this fact better than he knows that he’s alive and breathing, better than the fact that he’s out of the prison, better than he knows his own goddamn name - and Dream is far too well-trained to ever consider trying to rebel. So when the time comes - 7:30 pm, sharp - Dream is in his chair, spine straight and head alert like a goddamn dog, and he waits.

It doesn’t take long for the others to arrive. Sam comes over first, leveling him with a heavy, distrustful stare as he sits down in the chair across from Dream, the expression nearly enough for Dream to roll his eyes if it weren’t for the fear that rockets through him, still, at the sight of the Warden so close to him. Sam has made it more than clear from the very beginning that he has no trust at all for Dream, that if he had his way then Dream would be locked up for the rest of eternity in a labyrinth of blackstone and obsidian, forever guarded by his ever-present supervision. Dream feels his ears burning with heat as he dips his eyes low to the surface of the table, wanting no more than to curl up and hide under the scrutiny of the Warden’s glare.

Quackity enters next, throwing open the door of the conference room loud enough to make Dream jump out of his seat, looking at him with an upturned corner of his lip when he comes back to himself enough to notice. Dream stifles a shudder at his visible good mood, all-too-aware of what that usually meant for him in the cell, stiffening further with a growing ringing to his ears as Sam and Quackity talk and Quackity sweeps past his side to get to his seat at the head of the table, carelessly brushing his fingers along the back of Dream’s neck in a way that makes him freeze, stock-still, in his chair - feeling his fingertips ease themselves over the ridge present there from a thick band of scar tissue, a deep, jagged thing that had been carved from the blunter back edge of Quackity’s axe when he had lost his temper and let the thing slam against the back of his neck, hard enough that it probably would’ve paralyzed him completely if it weren’t for Sam’s use of almost a full chest of regens. Quackity remains over him for a few more seconds, leaning over his chair to talk to Sam as he runs a light, possessive hand over the topmost bumps of Dream’s spine, before settling over into his chair, watching him with a small smirk as he keeps a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table.

Dream hates the prickling shame and terror that keeps his muscles tense as he stares at the table’s surface, still feeling the ghost of fingers tracing over skin and bone along the back of his neck, keeps his burning eyes trained on the surface of solid wood as he tries to steady his breaths. It’s all he can do to press down his flinch when Quackity, with a frustrated yell, slams his fist against the table a few minutes later, rage simmering underneath his words as he speaks.

“Where the hell is Wilbur?” His glare slides across the room, landing on Dream, making him shrink back in his seat, heart thudding in his ears. Quackity doesn’t stop staring at him even as he pulls a cigarette and lighter from his pants pocket, lighting it and bringing it to his lips and letting the silver-grey threads of smoke fill the room and press against the inside of Dream’s lungs. “It’s ten minutes til 8 - I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

Sam digs his fingers into his temples, already looking exhausted. “If you want, Q, we can always start without him and catch him up later. Depends on you.”

“No, then I’ll have to repeat myself and it’ll be pointless and ugh,” Quackity makes a vaguely frustrated noise as he finally turns his eyes over to Sam, making Dream’s shoulders shudder as he finally finds the air to take a breath, “We’ll just have to wait. Fucking idiot. I knew I shouldn’t have worked with any of these fuckers.”

In true Wilbur fashion, it isn’t until fifteen minutes later when the taller man finally makes an appearance, the entire time tense as hell as Quackity takes slow, steady drags of his cigarette and taps his fingers impatiently against the table’s surface. He offers one to Sam, who goes on to decline, making a short quip telling Quackity to watch his health for the future that promptly falls flat. Dream thinks he’s a fucking hypocrite, considering his whole deal with weednip or whatever Ant has on him, but doesn’t voice the thoughts as he sinks down in his chair, wishing more than anything to disappear. Against the fabric of his shirt, the right side of his chest itches, and he presses his palm against the place where he knows there is a small, irregular grid of pockmarked scars from when Quackity had taken smoke breaks in the middle of sessions.

“There you all are,” Wilbur smiles as he slides into the room, a covered metal tray held in his hands as he kicks the door closed and slides the tray onto the table with an awful screech. “I’m sorry for being late,” he continues, sounding not very sorry at all, “but I made some food to make up for it!”

He takes off the cover with a flourish; underneath, sunny yellow squares, nearly blindly bright, look up blankly under the conference room’s overly harsh lighting. They smell sugary and vaguely sour, stinging his nose slightly, and seem to be coated with a fine dusting of powdered sugar.

“Lemon bars!” Wilbur grins, just left of sincere, “they’re gluten-free!”

“God,” Quackity laughs, sounding slightly incredulous, shaking his head. Dream’s gut rolls at the sound, Wilbur’s smile growing wider, even more dangerous, at the tone. It’s familiar, the way the two of them challenge each other, and in a rare moment of solidarity Dream watches from the corner of his eyes as Sam’s shoulders hunch as well. The two of them always bring trouble, even normally, but when they’re in this mood? Actively challenging each other, toeing the line, trying to find the limits and push them just because they can? Dream shivers in his seat, grip tightening on his own arms; this, he knows, is when they are at their most dangerous - and he has the scars to prove it.

“Gluten-free, huh? Really leaning into the whole ‘PTA mom’ schtick today, aren’t you?” Quackity smirks. “Should I call you Linda from now on?”

“I don’t know, Quackity, I was just thinking that I would make a little healthier treat for all of us, you know?” Wilbur brushes off the remark easily, taking a seat and immediately kicking his feet up onto the table. “If you want it, of course. I would hardly want to get in the way of your professionalism, Mr. President- do you have one of those? Or are you going for a more authoritarian approach”

“Fighting words from someone who rigged an election as President,” Quackity drawls, “and couldn’t even win it, might I add. “

“Oh, Big Q! You fail to understand, I wasn’t criticizing you at all,” Wilbur smiles, jagged, “we agree, I believe, on the failures of democracy. Unless you’ve forgotten our conversation, already?”

“Of course not,” Quackity snorts, and Dream doesn’t miss how his gaze shifts towards the side of the room, landing on Dream and making him curl further in his seat. “I’ll save you from me trying to pick your brain, this time, but don’t worry. You make yourself…rather hard to forget.”

Wilbur claps, seeming satisfied with this round of verbal sparring, and the sharp sound of his hands meeting together nearly has Dream jumping in his seat. “So! Lemon bars- does anyone want any?”

Dream is keenly aware of two pairs of eyes landing on him, Wilbur and Quackity watching for his reaction with bated breath and narrowed eyes. Panic crawls up his throat; he knows the purpose behind their stares, knows that he’s once again become the object of one of their power struggles. Quackity’s orders rattle in his brain, his thoughts a messy jumble of pins all knocked loose from his time in the prison, hopelessly unorganized and running on little more than instinct. Wilbur is expecting him to eat, to give into his sweet pastries and sweeter words; the lesson not to eat, move, think without permission, hammered into him between chunks of potato and battered ribs and blood gathered in the crevices of his skin, keeps his hands at his sides instead of reaching towards the pastries still set in the middle of the table. Even with Quackity at the opposite side of the room, Dream swears that he can still feel the pressure of a hand against the back of his neck, pressing just hard enough to make itself known from the feeling of fingers pressing into either side of his spine - he doesn’t even quite feel himself shaking his head, only really realizes what he’s done when he hears Wilbur sigh in frustration and meets Quackity’s satisfied gaze.

“I’ll take one,” Sam says, sounding exhausted, eyes flitting from Wilbur to Quackity to Dream with an increasingly long-suffering expression. His face twists around the first bite of the bright yellow pastry, nose scrunching as he puts it down, missing a half-moon bite along one corner, and drags his fingers over the table to ease off the remnants of powdered sugar. Wilbur watches him, seeming amused, and Quackity rolls his eyes as he pulls a binder out of his inventory.

“Now that everyone is finally here,” he starts, directing a particularly dead-eyed stare at Wilbur, “we can finally get on with the meeting. I was thinking we could go over the budget, today, if that’s alright with the rest of you.”

It sounds innocent enough - which is the first sign of many that this meeting, whatever it is, is going to be anything but pleasant. The grin that steadily grows on Quackity’s face does nothing to assuage Dream’s anxieties, only pushing them higher as the man flips open the binder and messes with it for a few seconds longer before seemingly finding what he’s looking for.

“I think we all know that until Sam finishes with the bank, funds around here are going to be a little bit tight,” Quackity begins, waiting for all of them to nod before continuing, “And we really need to save wherever we can. I recounted the budget yesterday, just to make sure that we’re all on track, and- well,”

Quackity points to a circled series of red numbers that Dream doesn’t understand but can assume mean little good for them. Sam makes a low, considering noise, sounding strangely concerned, and Wilbur actually seems to close his mouth and lean forward in curiosity.

“We have a deficit,” Quackity continues when they’ve all settled back into their seats, “and we’ll get it all back once Sam gets the bank up and running, but for now our funds are...limited. I don’t want to stop progress on Las Nevadas, of course, we really don’t have time to waste. So I thought we’d have a meeting today to discuss the budget and eliminate any expenses that we might find-” Quackity gestures with a smooth twirl of his wrist, “expendable.”

Sam hums. “Do you have anything in mind, Quackity?”

“A few,” Quackity flips to the next page, where he’s seemingly jotted a few notes - different things that they can put off for the moment, it seems, and the money that would be saved for forgoing them temporarily. Dream reads down the list quickly, stilling at the last item.

“Quackity,” Sam sounds twenty times more tired already when he speaks, tone flat and a little irritated. “Why is Dream on the list?”

Quackity shrugs. “Hear me out, now- most of our money right now is going into living expenses for the four of us. Having more people here, until everything becomes more sustainable, is a huge drain on our resources. I’m just listing all our options.”

“So what do you want to do?” Sam huffs. “Throw him back in Pandora?”

Quackity shakes his head.

“Wilbur does have the revive book knowledge, you know,” he says, and Dream’s blood runs cold. He can’t run, can’t move; he’s stuck in his seat, heart hammering faster in his chest as the other three hardly spare him a second glance. Sam purses his lips, a considering expression flashing over his face, as Quackity presses on. “Seriously- listen, Sam. There’s nothing that Dream is really offering, at the moment, that the rest of us can’t handle. Wilbur has the revive book, you can act as security to take out any threats - really, we shouldn’t be pissing anyone off until everything officially opens, and we can always retrieve him then when we need him. He’ll be out of the way, which means he won’t be able to start any fucking trouble,” Quackity laughs, short. “It’s a win-win.”

“I don’t know, Quackity,” Sam says, the words slow, but the tone is familiar enough for Dream to know that he’s already mostly given in. “It’s a risk, isn’t it? None of us but Dream have really used the revive book, before.”

Wilbur doesn’t even look at him when he chirps a reply. “That won’t be a problem, Sam. I’d be very happy to test it out, if you want.”

Quackity leans forward, and Dream nearly gags; he’s preening in his spot, eyes dancing as he smiles up at Sam. “Anything else you can think of?”

“I don’t know,” Sam trails off, and Dream looks down, only barely staving off the panic squeezing around his lungs and tears burning in his eyes. It’s nothing he hasn’t envisioned before, nothing he hasn’t expected, but this- he feels like such a fool, for hoping- “If we get ambushed, Q, I really don’t know if gear is going to be enough. You remember what Technoblade did last time.”

Quackity huffs, sounding annoyed, but nods to concede the point. “That is...fair. But then again, we don’t exactly know how good Dream is either, do we?” Quackity finally leans over to look at him, and Dream feels himself choke on his own breath at the dangerous gleam in Quackity’s eyes, all-too-familiar in their scrutiny, looking at him the same way they had pinned him to the floor of his obsidian-walled hell. “Anything to say, Dream?”

“I-” The words shake on Dream’s tongue, and he only barely manages a dry swallow as he struggles through the rest of his sentence, shrinking back from the heavy weight of three pairs of eyes fixed on his own, “I can be useful, s-” he only barely manages to bite down the word, a new wave of shame making him shrink back further past the fear. Quackity’s lip twitches upward.

Wilbur twirls a pencil in one hand, looking spectacularly bored; Dream’s chest shrieks with a harsh spike of envy at his composure. “How about you prove it?” His eyes are laughing when Dream gets a good look at them, amusement clear at the idea. “Put on a show?”

Quackity rolls his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

“You want to know if Sam can serve as an adequate replacement for Dream’s combat prowess, no?” Wilbur leans back in his chair as he talks, still focused on spinning his pencil over and between his fingers, “Why doesn’t he prove it? Let them duel, one on one. If Sam kills Dream, then you’re right, we’re done, and we can all move on with our days. If Dream wins, then he’s proved his worth, and we can figure out the rest of the budget after. What do you think?”

Quackity’s lips press together, seeming displeased, but he doesn’t say anything in return. Sam, ever practical, drums his fingers against the table.

“That sounds...fair,” Sam purses his lips. “How would we judge this? Equal gear?”

Wilbur only smiles wider as he shakes his head. “I was thinking we would make it a little more accurate to reality, if Dream’s services were truly to be needed. Sam, you can keep your own gear, and Dream should use his own. I guess on your end we can fight until you yield, but for him…”

The words are left unsaid, but Dream flexes his hands underneath the table as he catches onto the implications. For him, it’s a fight to the death.

Sam shrugs. “That works for me. Dream?”

He doesn’t really have a choice, does he? “Okay.”

“Wonderful!” Wilbur claps, bringing his hands to his chest and looking thoroughly thrilled at the prospects of the potential duel. Quackity glares at Dream but doesn’t say a word, and Dream hunches into himself, nearly folding himself in half as he ducks as far as he can down his seat. Sam pulls out his sword, flipping it around and testing its weight, and Dream doesn’t quite manage to suppress his full-body shudder at the sight. “Let’s get started, then.”

They move out in a roughly single-file line out of the conference room, Wilbur making idle chatter as Sam continues to examine his armor and weapons as they walk. They settle into an open space in the still-unfinished casino that Wilbur looks around for a second and then deems appropriate for the duel. Sam sets down an enderchest to gather his necessary materials, and Dream settles in front of it himself afterwards, shifting the lid open with shaking hands as he tries to work through his inventory.

He’s started the process of building up his gear again in his spare time, but he’s not had the time to finish gathering netherite for both himself and Wilbur - Wilbur meets his eyes with a sly wink before equipping the set of netherite armor that Dream had crafted for him, and Dream stifles a desperate snarl. He doesn’t even have the other set (still a gleaming blue from unplated diamond) enchanted, outside of a Sharpness book that he had slapped onto a diamond axe. He gathers the rest of his supplies with careful hands, trying to press down the increasing trembling of his limbs from his growing panic, flexing his arm around the weight of a shield once again and pocketing steaks and golden apples from his hoard.

He has no potions, no good weapons, not even a properly enchanted crossbow to offer the slightest bit of an advantage. Dream lets his eyes flick up to where Sam is waiting at the opposite side of the room, standing up straight with enchanted netherite covering him head to toe and a familiar axe slung over his shoulder, and tries not to break down right then and there. It’s too familiar, too reminiscent of obsidian walls and netherite pressed against his ribs and demands that he behave, and despite the glittering white walls and high ceiling and cold night air he swears he could fall just from the memories alone. Drowning within them, he distantly remembers a duel long-past under a bright blue sky, Sam laughing under a swirl of potion particles on the grass surrounding the Community House lake, and wonders which of the memories hurt more.

“Dream,” Quackity snaps, and Dream stills in his place, slamming the lid of the enderchest shut as his heart hammers in his ears. Quackity watches him intently, expression twisted in disappointment, and some beaten, instinctual part of him whines uncomfortably at the sight. “Hurry up.”

Dream nods, because of course he does, and stands with the results of his mad scramble to gather anything that could be useful in the duel to come - a few gapples, steaks, a sword, a bow lacking any enchantments at all, and an axe and shield. It’s a rather pathetic ensemble, but it’ll be enough. It’ll have to be enough.

“Ready?” Wilbur takes place as referee, standing off to the side with a smile on his face as Dream stands across from Sam, holding his axe with a white-knuckled grip as the Warden - expression unreadable through the shadow of his helmet and the mask fixed over his face - squares his own stance in preparation for the fight. “Good luck.”

Wilbur’s arm cuts a line in the air as it drops, and the Warden explodes into action, lumbering forward as he raises his axe over his head to bring it down. Dream tumbles in the opposite direction, letting a long held back, battle-trained part of himself take over as he rights himself back on his feet, swinging up his shield to catch on the downward arc of Warden’s Hammer, frantically pressing back the dregs of fear and panic staining the corners of his vision black as he moves.

The Warden hits slow but hits hard, too big and bulky to really avoid any quick attacks but too well-armored to be easily defeated despite that. He’s a classic tank - Dream skitters out of the way of another hit as he reaches for memories of him that won’t leave him gasping, information on his opponent that didn’t come from within the prison and all its horrors.

He’d dueled Sam before, he knows; it wasn’t the same, as Sam was trying out a Turtle Master potion and intent on proving the superiority of Resistance IV against Dream’s own combat prowess. He’d failed, then; Dream forcefully steadies another breath as the sound of the Warden’s armor clanking against the ground almost sends him into another panic. He’ll have to fail now, too.

Fortunately, he’s been allowed food to heal - without it, this fight would probably be near impossible. As it is, even without the potion, the principles of this duel are the same. Dream swings up his axe, catching the blade hurling towards him in the crook where the head meets the handle just long enough to pull himself out of the way and let the Warden’s weapon fall uselessly to the ground. Dream raises his head in the second he has, tracing his gaze over the Warden’s armor in search for places to exploit. Even the best defenses aren’t perfect. All he needs to do is survive for long enough to chip through it.

A fumbled dodge leads to the Warden’s blade skimming past his skin, carving a thin red line in the skin of his upper arm. He hisses as he dives out of the way of the next blow, the twinges of pain from the area almost enough to make his vision unfocused, almost enough to send him tumbling head-first into the part of him screaming submit submit submit if you don’t fight back they won’t hurt you more. He grits his teeth as he swings forward, knocking away the axe coming towards him with his axe long enough to push forward with his shield and knock the Warden further away from him. He can’t afford to flinch, can’t afford to let fear take control of his movements as it has so many times before. The keening desperation running through his veins is familiar, but desperation can fall both ways, can make him fight or flee - and there’s only one real option that will end with him getting out of this alive.

Dream stands and forces himself to meet the next swing hurling towards him dead on, raising his shield to catch the blade and pushing forward past the shuddering shock in his left arm from the force of the blow. His own blade arcs downward in the next second, scraping against the Warden’s netherite armor with a metallic screech. He manages to get in two more blows before the Warden’s next attack has him backing away to dodge, shaking off his arm to get his shield ready for the next attack.

He has to stay on the offensive, keep pressing the Warden back and forcing the other to play defense. He’s still weak from the prison; in terms of brute strength, he’s no match from the Warden, not after months of starvation and torture stuck in a box with hardly enough room to stretch his legs. All he really has going for him is his speed and his experience, neither of which will do him any good if he teeters over the edge into the panic attack he’s been trying to hold off the entire time. Dream runs forward, not giving himself more than a second to breathe as he rushes the Warden once again, switching weapons mid-leap to a sword that will allow for quicker blows in the time that he has the Warden off-balance enough to attack freely. He scores a series of glancing hits on the Warden, none doing any major damage but altogether enough to make the Warden back off, wary, with a gasping note of pain, and Dream shakes his head to force himself to focus before running forward once more.

The Warden pulls out a shield of his own, and Dream switches back to the axe and swings it squarely into the shield, then twists himself around to the Warden’s unprotected back to catch him with another heavy blow that leaves him reeling in the second he takes to recover. He’s clearly untrained with a shield, his left arm clumsy as he tries to block Dream’s blows, and Dream uses the opportunity to score another few solid hits to the Warden’s sides and legs, getting a good blow with the blunt side of his axe into the back of one of his knees, leaving the warden limping when he pulls away.

Dream has hardly come off unscathed in the fight - he wheezes out a heavy breath through his teeth, chest aching from a hit that had broken one of his ribs. The exertion and anxiety still pressing at the back of his throat has left him light-headed, and he bites through a crisp, almost sickeningly-sweet bite of golden apple to close a wound bleeding sluggishly on his side. Neither of them can go on for much longer; the Warden’s grip tightens on his axe, and Dream swallows past the shudder that arises from the sight.

Once again, he raises his axe and runs into the fight, parrying the coming strike and twisting out of the way to strike at a joint of the Warden’s armor with the flat of his blade. The Warden’s arm raises, and Dream bites off a yelp of alarm as the handle of his axe is levied against his unarmored side, knocking him off-balance and falling back onto the ground, too disoriented to catch himself. He lands on his left arm, and his vision goes white as it gives out with a sharp crack.

Through half-lidded eyes, he can make out the Warden stalking closer, axe raised and ready to end the fight - end him. His chest shakes in a pathetic wheeze for breath, arm completely useless from where it’s screaming in pain underneath him. He needs to move, now, if he wants to survive this - fear swells forward, unhindered as his focus is broken by the vice grip the pain has on his skull - he’s shaking, now, the terror so familiar he can taste it - salt and iron and sticky-sweet health potions against the backs of his teeth-

The Warden raises his axe.

No.

Dream raises his sword just in time to catch the blade hurtling towards his neck, uses his foot to kick against the Warden’s grip on the handle. The axe clatters out of his grip, falls forward - Dream rolls away, breathing harshly around the pain threatening to make him black out. Unarmed, the Warden takes a second to grab a sword from his inventory while Dream forces himself back to his feet and kicks the axe as far away as he can.

He’s so flooded with panic he’s choking on it, broken arm hanging limply by his side as he charges forward, sword in hand. He won’t die, not after all this time, not after all this effort - he throws himself at the Warden, batters him with jabs and thrusts that force the other man to back away and parry, snarling wordlessly as he brings his sword to slash forward again and again.

His attacks are messy, uncoordinated, but the Warden is tired and disoriented from the loss of his weapon - he flinches back as Dream hits him in the jaw with the hilt of his sword, only barely matching his blows as he continues to push forward. Any hits that he scores on Dream are brushed off with a growl of pain and his sword moving even faster in his fury, and it’s not very long at all before he’s knocked flat on his back with a sweep of Dream’s legs, gasping for air as Dream pins him to the ground with a blade pressed against his neck.

Dream meets his wide eyes with his own, lips curled back in the same desperate rage that had moved him forwards despite the black creeping into the corners of his eyes and the lancing pain tying its strings around his neck and leaving him gasping for air. The sword in his hand bears threads of blood along its edge, pressing deeper into the Warden’s neck and drawing crimson up to the surface - a thousand fearful, angry thoughts swell up to the front of his skull in a singular, white-hot point. It is the Warden underneath his feet, at the end of his blade, cowering beneath him as he had cowered before - the Warden, the cause of his pain, the reason behind the ache in his gut and the stinging pains in his limbs and the piercing agony from his arm and chest. It would be so easy to push just a little harder, to press the sweet blue blade down and down and down until the Warden is gone and the Warden is dead and the Warden can’t hurt him anymore-

“Down, Dream,” Quackity snaps, and Dream backs off immediately, losing his grip on his sword as the command has him dragged back by the neck like an invisible leash and collar pulling him away. Sam settles back in a sitting position, still wide-eyed, wincing as he moves and bringing a golden apple from his inventory to heal the worst of his injuries.

“Eat,” Quackity commands again, and Dream only barely manages a stiff nod through the nausea and dread curling around his chest as the adrenaline begins to fade away, fumbling with the golden apple he finds in his inventory and nibbling at it to tide off the worst of the pain.

“Bravo, bravo,” Wilbur grins from the side, clapping slowly as he walks back into the middle of their makeshift arena - he’s taken his armor off again, but it doesn’t make the sight of him any less intimidating. “What a show! We should do that more often, what do you think?”

No, Dream almost screams, I can’t- but Quackity beats him to it, glaring at Wilbur with an incredulous expression.

“We don’t have the time to waste on your fucking ‘shows,’” he snaps, crossing his arms as he swings his gaze over to Dream. “Fine. You’ve proved yourself. Now hurry up - we have to clean up all of this shit and then figure out the rest of this fucking budget.”

Dream pulls himself to his feet, watching from the side as the Warden does the same.

“Make yourself useful and clean off all your fucking blood from the floor,” Quackity meets his eyes with a vicious glare, waiting until he stammers his way through an agreement before turning to the other two in the room. “Sam, Wilbur - with me. I want to get this money issue figured out tonight.”

Dream watches them go as he shuffles to the cleaning closet, feeling a shudder crawl up his spine once they’re out of sight. Make yourself useful, Quackity’s voice rings in his head, and Dream bites his lip, only stopping when he accidentally breaks through skin and the taste of blood floods his tongue.

He has a feeling that those words are going to haunt him for a long, long time.

[indigo-a-creeping]

Nearly 2 months with TJ’s, and my anxiety is not entirely cured, but it has shrunk down to a manageable size and I’m no longer panicking at nothing throughout the day. I also actually love talking to people when I’m on register (because that is my job - I am only comfortable existing if I have a distinct purpose, apparently) and I’ve had some really meaningful, heartfelt interactions. Also lots of free snacks and a nice discount. I don’t have any friends there yet, but I have people I can talk to. The night shift tends to be cliquey and young (and stand around talking when they could be WORKING and talking), but I mostly don’t mind. It’s my second-favorite job I’ve ever had. And I’m still making enough to live comfortably (with the adjustments I made in bills). Insurance won’t kick in for a while, so I’m trying to be careful and stay healthy until then.

Peri and Graham both went to the vet last week. Graham is HUGE and healthy, and got his anal glands expressed so he will no longer be scooting his butt all over the house. The vet left a message saying she needed to discuss Peri’s bloodwork with me personally, so I’ll hopefully talk to her about that today... He acts okay, but he’s 12 years old now and we may need to start a medication or a prescription diet (OF COURSE right after I bought dog food). He’s nowhere near his endpoint, but I can’t help but think of all the animals I’ve taken care of whose owners were keeping them alive at any cost... And I wouldn’t do that to him. For now, though, he’s enjoying life and I can make sure that continues for as long as possible! 

I’ve been planning a trip with a friend for a year now, and I’m nervous but SO looking forward to it. Leaving early Friday morning, and I’ll be gone for a week. My parents are driving down to pet-sit and use my house as their vacation home. My mom’s been working with dogs for a few years now, so I feel a little better about leaving her with Peri at a time when medical things may be needed than I did before. She is 100% the voice of my intrusive thoughts and other bad things in my head, but I’m happy to have a superficial, utilitarian relationship with her. Unhealthy and selfish? Maybe a little, but it works.