#nothing I do is fucking good enough

[brazen-kenobi]

why do I even leave my room when all I get told is what I did wrong every time

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

[consultingfujoshi]

some thoughts wrt the two established "romances" in severance so far (burt/irving and helly/mark) inspired by @figmentof who pointed out how irving had to find out mark and helly kissed from the corporate video in s2 e1 and how he must have felt seeing his co-workers' love affair like portrayed like that, and how it ties into the queer narrative at play here which uses workplace dynamics and policies as very clear analogues for real-life prejudice against queer couples. I mean, just look at this:

it's not just documented, but celebrated. used as propaganda for how the conditions on the severance floor have improved. proof that the severed workers are happy. and how even though he is unaware of the sociopolitical meaning of all this, lumon is very not-subtly telling him that what he had with burt is inherently lower and less valuable than this.

irving doesn't even know homophobia exists and yet he is still affected by it, it still seeps into every corner of the way his and burt's romance progresses. burt is positioned as an unacceptable love interest from the jump. irv is actively discouraged at every turn from pursuing it. their friendship is viewed with disgust and apprehension from their coworkers. burt working in a different department that's hated by MDR. dylan himself not being homophobic in the sense he opposes their relationship because they're both men but his attempts to keep them apart still has a parallel sort of prejudice behind it and still ultimately has the same effect as if it WERE driven by homophobia. irving is made to feel perverse for wanting contact with burt. he's told this is for his own good.

and then, just as they manage to overcome that immediate resistance from their peers and escape to a place where they can explore this blossoming romance on their own terms, burt retires. for all it matters to irv, he's dead. and then irving is given the option to live the rest of his life with grief that will never heal, or kill himself too, because there is no reality where they get to be together. that's just the way things are. of course they wouldn't get to be together. he was unreasonable and childish for ever hoping that could happen. this is just the way it goes for innies. he's told to get ahold of himself and not make a scene.

but the thing is, the standards are not the same for all. a heterosexual romance gets upheld as the shining example of success and fulfilment for the severed employees, whilst a homosexual romance is ridiculed and invalidated, and written off as something that was simply never meant to be. and even more importantly to irving, a heterosexual romance is APPROVED OF by lumon, and by extension, by kier. irv held back from allowing himself to even call his and burt's relationship a romance, because his god had told him it was wrong, he followed the handbook, thinking this was what kier wanted, and then finding out after suffering the worst heartbreak imaginable because of it, that this WASN'T EVEN TRUE. it's simply just that someone like HIM doesn't get to have something like this. his love is not the kind of love god wants. he does not approve of irv's love. cynical and manipulative though that approval may be (even within the context of the corporate video, the helly/mark romance is only being celebrated to further the narrative that lumon care for their workers, but the point still remains that it was THEIR romance specifically used to suit this end), when your entire life has been in pursuit of that approval, it must be devastating to learn it was never on the cards for you.

he and burt even used the fact kier met and fell in love with his wife in the same circumstances as them to justify this to each other - and they were RIGHT, god does approve of falling in love with your coworkers - this simply just doesn't apply to them specifically. and if irving needed any more proof that he no longer has a place at lumon, that he's better off not existing at all than existing with this pain that cannot be remedied, pain that won't even be acknowledged for what it is, a symptom of a sickness which plagues the entire severance system, pain that he is simply expected to choke down and get over - this is that proof.

and that's the POINT. they're TELLING us that this is unjust, and there's a double standard. they're using the ways the innies experience romance and the difference in lumon's reaction (lumon being the collective of all the management we've seen, lumon as a singular entity) to burt/irving vs helly/mark to comment on how queer people are not afforded the same level of respect or validation IN REAL LIFE, for their attachments, their love, their pain, their suffering. it is NOT just incidental that irving's romance is with a man. it would not WORK if his love interest was a woman. the POINT is that they are both men and how that puts them at a disadvantage, even if they aren't aware of the prejudices of the outside world, even if they don't TECHNICALLY apply on the severance floor, there are very clear analogues which still end up oppressing them in equivalent ways that they would be suffering if this were a normal workplace in the outside world.

it genuinely sickens me to my stomach that even in a world so divorced from reality and the sensibilities of regular society, a queer couple is still made to suffer and feel inferior in a way that perfectly mirrors their real-life counterparts. how they will never, EVER be allowed to exist in a world where their love could thrive freely and uninhibited - they never get to taste the joy our world has to offer people like them, but they are still somehow subjected to all the pain it has to offer them regardless. it's such horrifically devastating writing. it makes my skin crawl. I can't stop thinking about it

[bacchuschucklefuck]

caps from comic Im doing

[moongothic]

The reason I ended that Crocodad AU where he finds Baby Robin-post where I did was because I actually just don't know what would happen next, where things would go from there. Let's talk about that.

Also apologies in advance, this post got obscenely long. Again. I don't know how this keeps on happening.

(If you wanted the minimum context without having to read the whole OG post, just scroll down to the Plot Section and read until the end from there)

But just to give a minor recap: They're in the tombs of Alubarna, Cobra's dead and the second the guards notice their king has gone missing they're going go searching for him. So there's no time to mess around, Crocodile and Robin need to leave as soon as possible before they're discovered, otherwise they'll risk getting reported to the World Government for assasinating Cobra and boy howdy Croc's not going to be a Shichibukai for long if that happens. The two are there to just get what they want. Crocodile wants Pluton. And the Poneglyph says its in Wano Country

What the hell are either of these two going to do? In this scenario?

'Cause on one hand, there's Robin, who could be scared shitless of Crocodile and unsure what to do next.

If Robin tells him, will Crocodile kill her because he doesn't need her anymore? Because he got what he wanted?

Or might he lash out at her and kill her because the weapon isn't in Alabasta as he had assumed?

But if she refuses to tell him, he'll kill her anyways, won't he?

She can't run away from him anyways, he'd catch her in seconds.

Should she lie and give him a fake location nearby in the hopes of creating an opportunity for her to escape?

But even if she managed to escape, she'd be back on the run from the Government all over again, fighting for her life, all alone.

(Minor note but it's worth pointing out that Robin probably wouldn't know about Wano's takeover, she might not know who Kaidou is, let alone what the Yonkou are, or where Wano even is. Like we know it's a bombshell of information, but Robin wouldn't know where on The Scale of Bad News it'd land, and that could also add to her fear of telling the truth)

Like I think those would be the kinds of thoughts that would run through Robin's mind, and even I can't tell what she'd do.

And on the other hook, we have Mr Murderdile. How the fuck would he even react to whatever Robin would do?

I mean I don't think he'd actually kill Robin if she told him the truth about what the Poneglyph says. I do think he would Fucking Furious and deeply hurt if she'd refuse to tell him, if she'd lie or tried to flee, as these would be acts of betrayal and we know Crocodile would not take that well. Would he kill her for betraying him? Possibly? Since he could see her as a threat to his son's life (the priority), I don't fucking know man. That could very much turn into like a "Doflamingo killing Rocinante" moment for Crocodile in this AU.

But what the fuck would he do if he found out Pluton was in Wano?

Mind you, by this point the country would've been freshly taken over by Kaidou, and it's only been 2-5 years since Crocodile would've had his ass kicked by Whitebeard in the New World. Like that trauma would be Quite Fresh in his mind. I don't think Crocodile would be stupid enough to try to go to Wano. It'd be stupid fucking dangerous, and surely he'd know that. And not just in the "he could get killed by Kaidou" kind of way, but because surely Crocodile would realize Kaidou was sitting on top of Pluton as they spoke. Even if he didn't know about it yet, if Kaidou found out about Pluton being directly beneath his gigantic ass, it would be Fucking Bad. And thus going to the island with the only person on the planet who could reveal the exact location of the weapon would be a stupid ass move. (Of course, without the heir of the Kozuki Clan Pluton can't be released and Momo has just been yeeted into the future, so even if they did go they wouldn't be able to open the borders of Wano, but unless the Alabastan Poneglyph explained that then neither Robin or Crocodile would understand that)

So if Crocodile's only goal in life at this moment had been obtaining an Ancient Weapon so he could nuke the World Government and then go be with his son (since nothing in the world could threaten his child anymore and force Crocodile to keep his distance to keep him safe)... And he found out he was far, far too weak to even obtain that weapon... What would Crocodile do? Knowing he wouldn't be able to do what he wanted, that he wouldn't get to be with his son ever again?

(Mind you. There is a whole discussion to be had about whether or not Crocodile was suicidal during Impel Down/Marineford and if his petty revenge against Whitebeard was a borderline suicide mission. Because unironically I think there's like a 40-50% chance that could be the case. And I'm pointing this out because if Crocodile was canonically suicidal after failing to take over Alabasta, how would this scenario in this AU be different? Aside from the obvious time commitment, and the way Crocodile's traumas would be much more fresh at this point compared to canon)

Like. What can he do anymore? What's there left for him to do?

Fall into absolute despair and give up? Allow the royal guards to find and capture him, and let the WG throw him in jail for assassinating King Cobra for no reason? Or just kill himself on the spot because what would it matter, he'd die eventually anyways? God knows, even if he wanted to keep on opposing the WG, between the Dragodile Divorce (and however the fuck that might've played out) and Crocodile probably not approving of Dragon's methods for revolution (too idealistic, soft, and slow), ditching his Warlord-status and fully joining the Revolutionary Army wouldn't suit Crocodile either. He's a pirate, not some hero of justice. And he's never going to be strong enough to defeat the WG himself, all alone. That's what the Ancient Weapon was for to begin with.

So, what would he do now, when his final option had been crossed out, labeled impossible. Would death be the easy way out, and at least give him the peace of mind knowing his son could never be linked back to him and put into danger because of him?

But what would happen to Robin?

If Crocodile allowed himself to become captured and go to jail, Robin would be doomed too. Between his hatred of the Government and Robin being an innocent child, surely he didn't want the Government to get their hands on her, they'd just put her to death. But what else could he do? Tell her to run? Leave her to fend for herself all over again? Alone? Would he have it in him to tell her that?

Or would Crocodile's anger and spite at the Government be more powerful than his despair? Would he rather flee with Robin for now and figure things out later, when they're not in some ancient tombs with the corpse of a king where they could be found out any second and be in far deeper shit than they're already in?

And I think this is where we circle back to what Robin would do, first. Because even if Robin told Crocodile the truth, there's still multiple ways she could do that, and depending on how Robin went about it, that could influence Crocodile's reaction too, couldn't it?

If the two hadn't become too fond of each other yet, and Robin very calmly told Crocodile Pluton was in Wano, I think he could just become kind of catatonic in shock and horror, falling into despair. Maybe without saying a word he'd just walk out of the tombs straight to the guards without ever looking back. Abandoning Robin and leaving her running for her life again, alone.

But Robin is at this point a 12 year old child***

The sheer intensity of this situation could become too much for her. And if she had become fond of Crocodile, if despite everything she still wanted to stay with him because he had been the only source of safety she had had in three years... what if she just burst into tears, and told Crocodile she was afraid of him and what he might do to her because he might not like what the Poneglyph said? What would Crocodile do then? How would Crocodile react to that? To this child being not just brutally honest, but emotionally vulnerable and showing him that she WANTED to trust him? If Crocodile had been emotionally flipflopping between trying to remain emotionally unavailable to Robin because he didn't trust her, and trying to be caring (partially because he was intentionally trying to manipulate her and partially because he genuinely felt bad for her)... Would this become the moment Crocodile himself realizes he has to decide if he's going to be a cruel pirate who only cares about his son's safety, or be Robin's guardian? Either demand her to just spit it out if she knows what's good for her, or comfort her and tell her he would never hurt her regardless of what the Poneglyph said? And... almost regardless of what Crocodile would choose, could Robin's outburst still like... both soften the blow of the bad news and emotionally ground Crocodile? So that he wouldn't fall into despair?

If so... Guess the two would just have to flee then. Leave their hostage (be it the (unconcious???) pregnant queen or baby Vivi) behind, and just leave Alabasta. There'd be nothing left in that country for them anyways, nothing but people who could catch Crocodile and report him to the World Government for assasinating their King (mainly Shaka who could probably tell their king was murdered by a heavy smoker thanks to his DF and then realize it was Crocodile if he ever gotten within sniffing distance from him), leading to his Shichibukai Status to being stripped from him. Escaping and never coming back would be their priority.

Whatever the fuck would happen next is a bloody mystery though

Like IDK maybe, after getting over whatever emotional turmoil he'd be going through, Crocodile could start building an organization of some kind?? But this time with the intent of wrecking Kaidou's ass and taking over Wano himself????? (Roccoco Works wouldn't nececarily have to be a secret organization either since if he wanted to take over a non-WG Affiliated country from some pirate... He could just do that. The WG shouldn't care. He would have to be extremely careful though to make sure nobody ever found out his sweet little assistant/secretary Miss Sunday was actually Nico Robin. Also if he was the Rev Army's Secret Sugar Daddy he'd have to be extremely careful who he would hire to work for him. Like the hiring process would be extremely selective still, if not more-so than with BW?) Also he could spend a fuck ton of time just working out to get as swole as humanly possible. Because god knows he'll need to if he wanted to actually fight Kaidou and survive with all his limbs still in-tact. Maybe try to get friendly with Moria too knowing Moria has some serious beef with Kaidou and could be down for getting revenge one day. But mind you, this would be A Whole Process which would no doubt take years if not decades.

All while looking after Robin. Because he was all she had and he couldn't possibly abandon her now. He's in too deep.

And this is where my brain finally hits a brick wall with this AU, I can't imagine how shit would go down from here on. Because IDK, this whole thing started out more as a thought experiment (of "how would things be different if they met earlier") and the further you go down the timeline it stops being wild what if-speculation and more just a fanfic lmao

***(Look if I'm not wrong, the year Luffy was born Robin should be going 11 turning 12, right? (And Croc 27 -> 28). But if enough time has passed that Vivi has been born, well, Robin's birthday is a few days after Vivi's, so she could've turned 13 by now. Or hell, this whole shitshow of a scenario could take place on her birthday if you wanted to be really evil) (But if I'm wrong and Robin was 10 -> 11 the year Luffy was born, then she'd be around turning 12 at this point) (This shit is so complicated aaaaa 😭)

One more note because I might as well put them in the same post

So in my mind, if Crocodad Real IN GENERAL then it would make perfect sense to me if Crocodile's reason for wanting his funny little military nation and to obtain Pluton was to nuke Marijoa and just delete the World Government so his baby boy would be safe. Because god knows if the Government found out Dragon had a son (or that he had been involved with the Revs/plotted against them and that he had a son), that baby boy would become a target for the WG. Thus he couldn't even take his child with him and raise him like Bege or Big Mom did with their kids. Like it wasn't even an option. And because that's like my default headcanon already, I'm obviously applying it to this silly Crocodad AU.

But it raises a fun question; what would Crocodile tell baby Robin about his motivations?

Like, I can perfectly imagine Crocodile explaining to Robin that he hates the WG and wants to destroy them, and that not only would Robin be safe with him (not just in the "I won't hurt you or turn you in to the Marines, we're on the same side", or the "I'm stronk and can protect you from danger" way, but also "the WG can't find you if you're under my wing" way), but also if she helped him find an Ancient Weapon, she could help him defeat her greatest enemy for once and for all and become free herself.

And that's not a bad deal, now is it.

But even if Crocodile explained that to Robin when they'd first meet, just to get her to agree to coming with him, surely it would take Robin some time to actually start trusting Crocodile, after spending the past three years on the run. 'Cause in her mind, either the Government Approved Pirate was lying to get her guard down (so it'd be easier to hand her over to the WG), or the Government Approved Pirate was explicitly admitting to being a backstabber and couldn't be trusted. But hey Papadile could maybe win her trust with some time, plenty of books and maybe a few plushies

However.

I'm sure Robin would wonder WHY Crocodile wanted to destroy the World Government. And Crocodile sure as fucking hell would never tell her it was because he had a son, god knows he would not trust her with that information. I'm not sure if Robin would ask about Crocodile's motivations, and even if she did, I'm sure he'd find a way to respond in a truthful way without telling her anything (Like arguably he isn't free from the WG either, he can either play and pretend to be on their side until they decide they have no more use for him, or try to eliminate them first and ensure his own safety. So he could tell Robin that as an excuse) (Kill-or-Be-Killed is not a great life lesson to be teaching Nico Robin Age 12) And you know, not knowing why this Scary Pirate wants a weapon of mass destruction would raise alarm bells in anyone's mind. Robin isn't stupid.

And now we circle right back to the begining of this post. Again. This post is a fucking timeloop, there is no escape. What would Robin do when Crocodile would ask her to read him the Poneglyph. Because there is that option that she could try to ask him Crocodile why he wanted to destroy the WG, then and there. Possibly defiantly, possibly calmly, possibly with tears running down her little face because she's scared out of her mind and wants to have faith in her guardian, but is unsure because the situation she's found herself in is a train wreck and Croc's on thin ice. And would she start with the question right away, or would she first tell the truth and then, after seeing Crocodile's reaction, ask him about it? And would Crocodile tell her? The TL:DR; of it? That he had a son whom the WG would want dead if they ever found out about it, a son he wanted to protect? That that's what this all was about?

And how would Robin feel about such a revelation?

Because on one hand, it could be calming for her, to understand that Crocodile wasn't out for world domination like a cartoon villian or anything, that his motivations were actually understandable. He just wanted to protect his family. But on the other hand... if Robin had been (conciously or subconciously) hoping to find a father figure in Crocodile... would finding out that Crocodile had his own son, his own family somewhere out there... Would that knowledge break Robin? Because in her mind, even if she hadn't wished for it conciously, Crocodile could never become a father for her? Because if/when Crocodile would get what he wanted, he'd just go be with his son?

Keep in mind. Robin's core fears and trauma come from not just betrayal, but also abandonment. A fear of being alone. Even if it was for Robin's own sake, her mother left her behind. She wasn't able to find friends or community in Ohara at all, even with the people of the library she felt left out because they wouldn't allow her to participate in the Poneglyph research (understandable on their part) And even when Robin's uncle and his family "adopted" her, she was treated as an other in the family. An unwanted burden, a servant. Not a real member of the family.

Finding out Crocodile had a family he wanted to return to could in her mind mean she was going to become abandoned again, left behind to fend for herself. Even if the WG wasn't out to get her, that would still be absolutely soul crushing for a child. And even if Crocodile did decide to adopt Robin, would she not be afraid of being treated as an other in that family too, because she wasn't his daughter? That he'd never love her the way he'd love his own son?

How would the truth behind Crocodile's motivations actually make Robin feel?

And one final gut punch before I go:

Would Crocodile struggle with some kind of guilt and shame over looking after Robin when he had his son somewhere out there? Would he be beating himself up inside because he couldn't stop himself for caring so damn much about this poor kid, but didn't want to treat Robin like some kind of a replacement for his own child? And would those feelings get even worse after finding out he couldn't even get Pluton because the bloody thing was hiding under Kaidou's ass? Would Crocodile feel horrible about how he had to abandon his son seemingly forever and then found himself looking after some other child instead?

Also. If the Dragodile Divorce was bad, especially in the "Dragon wasn't particularly accepting" kinda way, and if Crocodile had this deep fear inside of him about whether or not his son would ever accept him as his other dad and/or be upset about not having a mom (a fear that could get worse over time since he wouldn't have been with his baby from the begining, that he'd have to show up in his child's life later, praying for acceptance and forgiveness for having to leave him behind)... Would Robin potentially expressing that she saw Crocodile as a father-figure kind of break Crocodile (in a good way)? Not just because of the gender affirmation (for the recently transitioned guy mind you), but also because it'd mean that there was at least one person in the world who looked at him and thought they wanted him as their father? And could that happiness then like ADD ON to whatever guilt Crocodile could also be feeling?

These two are such broken people. I can not help but to wonder if they'd be able to navigate through their complicated emotions and find the healing and comfort they both so desperately need.

Anyway yeah that's the post, hope you enjoyed The Thoughts

[puppppppppy]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[july-19th-club]

i have no mouth and i must scream speech but for about insomnia hate hate hate let me tell you how much i have come to hate being awake

[beepbeepmfkr]

Honestly if trump wins I'm blocking anyone who's ever put "the Dems are just as bad so why bother voting" bullshit on my dash. Y'all will do everything to blame anyone else but yourselves for not doing the absolute bare minimum of your duty as a citizen and the hilarious part is that so many of you pretend that be fucking pseudo revolutionaries on the internet

Y'all can't even handle a conflicting opinion without sending anon hate but sure. You're definitely the one who's gonna plan the revolution 🙄

[feroluce]

Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.

So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!

But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.

According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.

He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!

So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.

Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.

And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.

And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.

Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.

Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.

Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...

One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.

Gepard doesn't sleep that night.

Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.

Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.

She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.

"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.

Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.

His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?

“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.

Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.

“We don't even know-”

“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.

It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.

The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.

“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-

Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”

“No what?”

“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”

Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”

Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed. 

Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.

“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”

“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.

From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light. 

The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.

He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.

Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.

Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.

Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.

In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.

Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.

He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.

He only hopes that it's enough.

[spiderman2-99]

Where should you be kissed?

Knuckles. it feels as though you have fought every day of your life. sometimes, you cannot even tell how much of the blood on your hands is your own... and how much comes from those who've tried to hurt those you defend. you deserve the gentleness of a kiss to your bruised knuckles and broken skin, a reminder that you are not only made of violence.

[stolen from templeofvengeance; tagging you]

[shaadowmilkcookie]

I love ur oc

OIJSNFKDL;ALKFJNG'DKNJLHG????????????????????????????????????????? OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY GOD OH MY GOD HELLOOOOO PRETTTY LITTLE BLUE PRINCE HWO I HATE. SO DEARLY. SO MUHC. right in my inbox... oh my gawd.. oHHH MY GAWD u draw him so nice it makes me MAD bc he does not DESERVE this. 5 billion nukes to his location!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[sidesteppostinghours]

I stick with real things, usually facts and figures When information's in its place I minimize the guessing game Guess what? (What?) I don't like guessing games or when I feel things Before I know the feelings

im ngl, like 90% of the reason i drew this was so i could make this

[eternalergo]

.

[solivagantingrebel]

The commenting situation in this fandom is really fucking atrocious, huh.