thinking about 4halo again and dying
they just. they used to be so sweet together. and then the election arc managed to genuinely turn them against each other (and bad is still affected by being caged in the museum) and i would NOT have been surprised if a rebellion had started within the next few weeks after their last fight and. they used to be friends and then they almost destroyed each other
and then the eggs went missing
and there are so many parallels between them, but one of the biggest parallels is how they're both protectors. they both protected the eggs (and, when he became president, forever extended that protection to the other islanders) but the eggs went missing and they had to put all of that aside. Forever was quicker to put it down than Bad was (it felt like only a very temporary truce, from Bad's end), but they put their problems on hold, because their eggs. were gone.
and another parallel. the destruction. both of them with their plans to cause ruin because then, maybe, theyll get their kids back. bad caused most of the grieving arc damage directly, and got aypierre and antoine to help him. he dug holes in the ground. he placed mines everywhere and leapt into them. he started the lavacasting process of the fed building (and was interrupted by admins, so he stopped, but philza and fit were still right to laugh at him lmaoo). he drilled a hole through the side of the federation office from a huge distance away. he has chosen to hurt his friends and himself to get the eggs back. whatever the cost.
forever destroyed the island. or he planned to destroy the island. or he was interrupted just before he destroyed the island or or or. I don't know. but it was big, and it was bad. bad enough that the feds had to step in and forcefully drug him, and kickstart the happy pills arc.
and the happy pills arc..... oughghghgh as fucking awful as it was for their characters to experience i genuinely truly think that it saved them from each other. when he was first told about forever being fucked up bad was still in the "i need to kick his butt" mindset, and was all ready for an excuse to kill forever. and then he saw forever. and the first proposal happened. and bad was angry and he was sad and upset and he was careful. forever tried to kill him. bad decided to save him. forever kept trying to marry him. forever kept taking the pills. forever was so scared of his own anger and all of the damage he could and would have caused to his family that he kept taking drugs that kept him so out of his mind he hallucinated his son was just sleeping safely at his house.
and they both tried to kill each other. and they both failed.
and bad showed phil and cellbit (and tubbo) the item scanner that dapper discovered, which could destroy him, because nothing else was working. because they needed to save forever. because bad was reminded by then that forever was a victim of the federation instead of just a mouthpiece for it. and then when forever woke up he saw bad, suffering, and so excited to see him awake.
and now they're here on opposite sides again with forever projecting his protection urges onto the fed worker in bad's basement and bad frustrated that he isn't being believed and his evil plans of giving ron lemons apology brownies is being interrupted and. look at them. soft "i hate you" and the appreciation room and bad's quiet heartbreak when he learned about forever being missing and the "i miss you" book bad got mad at because it asked him not to torture fed workers. does anyone hear me im so ill about them. do you understand they care about each other so much and the happy pills arc reminded them of that. forever realized bad is colourblind and bad assumed forever was poisoning him and then forever helped bad cheat on another colourblindness test and forever was giving bad flowers and bad was accepting them and accepted that he was colourblind despite his previously constant denial and! i don't know if im being comprehensible and i dont really care i will be honest i just need you to know i am frothing at the mouth like a rabid little beast. they are a TRAGEDY of miscommunication and external pressure but they love so so much. platonic or romantic or qpp they CARE and it tears me to shreds
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omg you’re WELCOME tumblr.com for the collab of Ridi x Siken I take gifts in the form of german cars or freshly baked pies just an fyi!!! Hmm okay can I pls have either 3 or 5! xx
HELLO BAB! FIRSTLY cant thank you enough for this ask game its wreaked absolute havoc on the dash xx SECONDLY sorry this is so late! i am the slowest of all time xx its kind of long though so there's that!! and THIRDLY: i went with five in the end!! some post-moon angst xx
He’s been in there nearly three hours, now. Sirius has done the dishes, changed the sheets, sorted the cluster of plastic bottles and blister packs and jars of ointment on the bedside table into the precise order in which they’ll be needed. Dug out their Muswell Hillbillies record, since they were talking about it the other day. And Remus is still in the bathroom.
On the other side of the door, all quiet. Miserable bleed of the dripping faucet, but nothing else—no movement, no jostled water. They left the kitchen window open. A draft rocks through the flat.
“Remus?”
He thinks maybe he ought to knock. He doesn’t. The bathroom isn’t thick with heat, as he expected, and Remus doesn’t turn to face him: he’s hunched over in their narrow alcove bathtub, the hair at the nape of his neck slick and sweat-curled, his knees against his chest. The start of a bruise, splayed out over one of his shoulder blades.
“Hi. Hi, you.” Sirius wipes his hands on his jeans, kneels by the bathtub. Remus’ pyjamas, folded in a pile on the lid. “Everything alright? Can I do anything?”
Remus looks at him—or, rather, looks vaguely at his collarbone. He’s bitten his bottom lip bloody, and his eyes are red. Damp, like he’s been crying. When Sirius touches his face, it’s clammy, beneath a sheen of cold water.
“Sorry,” Remus mumbles, "I’m—yes, m’fine.” His voice is chafed, dusty; he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, the dark thorns of his eyelashes. Rasp of raw skin up his forearm that’s yet to scab over. Pinkish tinge to the bathwater. “I’m sorry. Shit, god. Sorry.”
“Oi, no. None of that, Moons. What’s the matter?” Sirius swipes his fingers through the short, sticky hair at Remus’ temple, flicks away a tangle of dirt in it. So much of last night is still raked up against his body, gathered in the soft creases at his arms and thighs.
Leaves rotting on the forest floor. White moon, lodged there in the black like a bullet in an X-Ray, or a tooth through skin. The way the delicate bones at the wrist sound when they snap, like twigs: radius, ulna.
He deserves a gentler night than that. He always does.
“I’m not…m’sorry,” Remus shakes his head, a thinness to his voice that sours Sirius’ insides. “I just don’t—I don’t feel very good, and I wasn’t ready to get out, but I can’t—”
“What is it that’s playing up? Is it your hip again? I can—”
“No, I mean—” Then his shoulders jump, and something catches in his throat; some scraped-up, shuddering noise: “I don’t—feel good, Sirius,” he chokes out, blinking quickly. “I’m just so, so tired, all of the time, and—and it never fucking stops, it’s always so much. It’s so much, every month, and it doesn’t—doesn’t ever end, and sometimes I can’t do it, I can’t.”
Sirius watches the outline of Remus’ ribs, the way they heave. The divots between them that he has traced out so many times. In the corner of the bath, there’s the scummy soap dish that for whatever reason currently only offers a pack of fags: Cadets, white box and red stripe, which neither of them smoke. His jeans, wet at the knees from splashed water.
“I just—I want to feel okay,” Remus breathes, knuckles scratched beneath his eyes. “I don’t feel okay.”
Edging closer to the bathtub, Sirius tries to stamp his voice into something more solid: “Okay—okay, hey, look.” He presses the side of Remus’ head to his chest, kisses his hair and his burning cheek and the bump of bone at the top of his spine—sorry about all that broken skin, sorry there’s only loose change in my pockets, sorry I can’t hide you anywhere.
“Look,” he says after, “we’re alright. We’ll be alright again, you’ll see, Moony. My Moony.” His hand slips down to Remus’ neck; he knows exactly where to feel for his pulse, proof of the desperate kick of his heart. “I love you, and…and I’ll make you feel okay. I will, every single time. You don’t have to do a thing.”
He reaches past him for the washcloth, hanging limp over the faucet. “I’m sorry,” Remus repeats, with a cough. “I—I don’t know why, sometimes.” He pauses. “I’ve made your shirt wet.”
“No you haven't,” Sirius lies, just for the sake of it. “Fuck, though, you must be knackered. I’ll get a takeaway later. Indian, if you like.”
Remus nods. Sirius starts the hot water running again; Remus opens the packet of Cadets, takes five snaps of his fingers to light one. His hands are still jittery. He does this shy, sad smile, as if to say sorry, again.
“You have to know—you’re the very best thing I’ve got, Remus,” Sirius tells him, quietly, fingertips still against his pulse-point. Steady, darling bass beneath his skin. Ash in the water. “The very best thing, so. Sit forward, will you? I’ll wash your back.”
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