#why they are there is still very plausible

[ddarker-dreams]

Thrones.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, Gojo & Geto are weird and questionable in their conduct. Word count: 7k.

-Index-

June 22nd, 2007.

11:40 a.m.

-

Your first impression of Amanai Riko is that she’s tragically young.

You can appreciate the irony since you’re only two years her senior. Still, it feels like decades have come and gone since that time, even if your biological clock would argue otherwise. As you brush through her long, dark locks, you feel like an understudy unfairly given the lead role. The setting is plausible. It’s likely she’d visit Okinawa one day. Perhaps as a school trip or a vacation planned with friends that she eagerly scrimped and saved for. 

The itinerary would’ve been similar to what Suguru planned. She’d visit the beach, Churaumi Aquarium, Kokusai-dori, and try local cuisine like soki soba or shikuwasa-flavored sweets. The beginning and middle could align; the end will differ. She won’t be flying home with memories to cherish forever and a carry-on stuffed with souvenirs. 

She’ll be flying back home to disappear. 

You separate her hair into three parts and begin braiding. She’s humming Arashi’s Wish, content to loop the catchy chorus. Suguru and Kuroi are purchasing necessities, considering no one had time to pack for this impromptu trip, while Satoru peruses vendors for sugary treats. You’re both sitting on a wooden bench beneath an awning’s shade. Halfway through your process, her fingers no longer tap to the rhythm. 

“Y’know, those two might be weirdos, but you’re not so bad,” she decides. Then, in a small, quiet voice, “I’m glad that it was you three.” 

It’s a small miracle her back is turned so she can’t see your expression. 

“... Me too.” 

-

“Could you quit frowning already? It’s stressing me out.” 

You cross your arms over your chest. “I’m not frowning, I’m thinking.” 

Though you can’t see them, you can feel Satoru rolling his eyes. “Then quit it, cause—” 

“What are you thinking about?” Suguru interrupts, putting a premature end to Satoru’s tirade. You expect the white-haired sorcerer to continue his histrionics, but he falls silent, staring at you impatiently. Although Suguru’s gaze remains on Riko, who is trying on different sun hats and awaiting Kuroi’s verdict for each, you know where his attention truly lies. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to their shared scrutiny. 

Apart, it’s tolerable. You can redirect Satoru if you try hard enough and muster up a lie that Suguru pretends he believes. Together, they’re a different beast, complementing one another’s strengths and erasing their faults. You don’t stand a chance. Especially since it’s coming from a place of genuine concern, unconventional as that concern may manifest itself. 

“It’s just…” You hesitate, unsure how to best get your point across. “Is this the only way?” 

“The assimilation?” Suguru clarifies. 

Assimilation. That’s a nice, clean word to describe it. You feel death would fit better, despite Riko’s protests. She admitted — albeit with unexpected zeal — that she’ll ‘become’ Tengen. What does assimilation entail? At the very least, she’ll lose her physical form. Will any of her consciousness remain? Or will it be like a drop of rain falling into the vast sea, rendering it indistinguishable from the rest? 

“I said there’d be issues if she tagged along,” Satoru juts his thumb in your direction. “She's too sentimental.” 

You frown. “If you were so opposed to it, why am I here?” 

“Hell if I know.” 

Suguru clears his throat. “Tengen-sama’s orders show consideration, or we would’ve been told to bring Riko-chan back to Jujutsu High immediately. I assume [First]’s presence is an extension of his thoughtfulness.” 

“‘Thoughtfulness,’ huh?” Satoru scratches his neck. “Sounds like a pain.” 

You kick him in the shin, to which he dramatically yelps. 

“If it’s impossible, then it’s impossible.” Your words come out more clipped than you intended. Wanting to rectify your error, you add, “Let’s just focus on making this time meaningful for her.” 

Though they don’t respond, you’re sure they agree. 

-

“Are you gonna swim with us?” 

Riko’s question cuts through the air. In an instant, all eyes are on you. For some reason, there’s a shift in the mood, like her inquiry holds great significance. Satoru, who was sipping a can of soda, starts sputtering wildly, whereas Suguru tugs on a loose thread of his uniform. Kuroi suppresses a laugh. 

“What’s wrong with those two?” Riko grimaces, unimpressed with their antics. 

“I gave up on figuring that out,” you shrug. “Swimming, swimming… I guess I could? I don’t have a swimsuit, though.” 

Satoru abruptly stands, having seemingly recovered from his close brush with death. “Way ahead of you.” 

You’re ushered toward the closest boutique, where ceiling fans do their best to dispel the sweltering heat. It’s stuffed to the brim with tourists. Some try to calculate the prices in their currency, others give haggling a shot. Amidst the pandemonium, you shuffle through the collection, none of their displays catching your interest. Your search is frequently interrupted by your classmates, who have questionable taste. 

“That shows way too much skin!” 

(Satoru hangs his head as he walks away in defeat). 

“I’m not scuba diving, what’s with the full body getup?” 

(Suguru’s arguments in favor of his pick fall on deaf ears). 

Eventually, Kuroi approaches, holding a light pink two-piece you must’ve overlooked. A white bow sits in the middle, with diaphanous fabric flowing down from the hem. After you express approval, Riko jogs over, an obvious pep in her step. Grinning, she presents a pink and white polka dot headband similar in width to hers. 

“It’ll be a matching set!” 

Satoru is promptly hunted down to foot the bill. 

-

You consider your reflection. 

The headband Riko picked sits snug in your hair. The bathing suit accentuates your features, fitting just so. Your skin has a slight, glossy sheen, courtesy of the ample amount of sunscreen you applied. All that’s left to do is fix your countenance. You don’t want Riko to sense your apprehension, she deserves to focus on having fun. 

You take in a deep breath and shakily exhale. 

With some effort, you manage a convincing smile. 

Suguru stands waiting when you emerge from the changing room. Upon locking eyes, he’s quick to glance away, clearing his throat while he does so. It could be the lighting, but you swear the tips of his ears are red. Is it possible to get sunburnt that fast?

“You all good there?” 

“Yes,” his voice comes out tight.

The closer you get, the more you notice his flushed complexion. Scrunching your eyebrows together, you stand on your tiptoes, pressing the back of your hand against his forehead. The usually calm and collected Suguru gapes like you suckerpunched him. As you perform your medical examination, he stands still as a statue, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. 

“You’re really hot.” 

His pupils dilate. “I— what?” 

“Your skin,” you explain. “Have you been drinking enough water? Dehydration’s nothing to play around with.”

“Ah. Of course. That must be it,” he chuckles weakly. “Should we find a convenience store?” 

You nod, content with his acquiescence. Shoko would be proud of your diagnostic capabilities. 

The two of you walk side by side, navigating the crowds. The ideal weather must’ve drawn everyone out. In the distance, you hear the faint crashing of the sea and the call of seagulls. A steady breeze carries the scent of saltwater and sunscreen. Sunlight beams down, its rays oppressive. You’ve only been out of air conditioning for a few minutes and you already miss it. Sweat beads at your forehead and drips down your temple, stubbornly persistent no matter how many times you wipe it away. 

The advertisements for icy treats catch your attention. Suguru says your name, breaking you from your stupor. You didn’t realize you’d stopped in the middle of the walkway. He follows your line and sight, his lips quirking up. 

“See anything you want?” 

“Er… maybe…” you trail off. “But my purse is back at school. And my walking wallet’s splashing around in the ocean like a magikarp.” 

Suguru laughs, the sound soft and soothing. You could never get tired of hearing it. “I assume that’s Satoru?” 

“Yep. He’s rich, so I don’t care about mooching off him.” 

“You say that like you don’t turn him down if it totals up to more than 3,000 yen.” 

“W-Well, there are limits to these things,” you huff. “I can only mooch up to a point.” 

Suguru reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, flicking it open. “How about letting me treat you for once?” 

You wave your hands around. “Oh no, I couldn’t! You're my working class brethren!” 

“If you don’t tell me which you want, I’ll have to buy one of everything.” 

“Eh? Then they’ll all melt!” 

He makes his way over to the stand. “You better hurry up and tell me, then.” 

Suguru couldn’t look more pleased with himself as you point to the Suika Bar if he tried. Soon enough, you’re eagerly ripping into the colorful packaging. You pop the triangular treat into your mouth. The sweet, refreshing flavor coats your tongue in icy waves. Your eyelids flutter shut and you hum in utter bliss. 

“Thank you. You’re the best, Suguru.” 

“I’m just glad you’re acting more like yourself.” 

You avert your gaze. “Have I not been?” 

“In a way,” he opens the water bottle he bought and takes a few gulps. “It’s like you to worry about others. I’m just not used to you being so quiet about it.” 

With each step, you’re getting closer to the beach where everyone else awaits. You’ve felt hesitant about rejoining them. You wonder if this conversation is why Suguru offered to hang back while you got changed. His thoughtfulness is like the moon, ever present regardless of its visibility. You once made the mistake of comparing him to a big brother, an observation that, for whatever reason, made Satoru laugh so hard he started tearing up. Suguru’s strained smile dissuaded you from every mentioning that again.

“I guess… I’ve just accepted that this is the way things have to be.” 

Suguru’s eyes sear into your side profile. “Even if it’s an outcome you desperately want to avoid?” 

You can’t find the words to respond. 

“There’s always another way,” The tone he uses conveys near-frightening conviction. “If you asked Satoru or I to change the course of this world, we’d tip it off its axis.” 

The ground beneath your feet turns soft as you walk onto the vast expanse of sand. It glitters in the sunlight, blown along by the wind in mesmerizing swirls. The coarse texture brushes against your exposed skin. It burns hot through the soles of your flip flops, encouraging you to lift your feet, but you stand planted. For once, Suguru doesn’t wait for you. He keeps heading forward, leaving you to your tumultuous thoughts. 

It’s strangely lonely. 

Eventually, you reply, though you doubt he hears your small voice. 

“... I’d never wish a burden like that on you.”

-

You find Kuroi situated on a towel, whereas Satoru and Riko are playing around in the ocean. Satoru’s the first to notice you. He starts waving, then freezes like a paused recording. His sunglasses slip past his nose and almost fall off his face. Suguru must have mouthed something behind your back, because Satoru yells at him to ‘shut up.’ 

Riko wades through the water to meet you halfway, the apples of her cheeks prominent from how wide she’s smiling. “There you are!” 

Cautiously, you test the water’s temperature with your toes. 

“It’s good, trust me,” she takes your wrist and starts tugging you along. “C’mon already. I need your help taking this guy down.” 

You bend over and whisper, “What’s the plan, general?” 

“Just follow my lead,” she whispers back. Then, in a louder voice, “I’m glad you got that guy’s number. Do you think we’ll see him again? He’s probably staying nearby.” 

Satoru’s head whips in your direction. “Hah?” 

You decide to trust Riko’s vision and play along. 

“I don’t know, I’m worried I’ll say something stupid and scare him off.” 

“You can’t go through life thinking like that! Here, let’s go find him, he’s gotta be nearby—” 

“Who exactly are you referring to?” Satoru snaps. 

“Now’s our chance! Get him!” Riko exclaims, running her hands through the water and splashing it in his direction. You’re quick to join in on the frontal assault. Your joint barrage is relentless, seawater gliding through the air and dousing where he stands. Much to Riko’s chagrin, it hits his infinity. The water bounces off the invisible barrier and drips down uneventfully. 

She puffs out her cheeks. “Man, I was so confident that’d be a good distraction too…” 

You give her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “The effort was there, that’s all that counts.” 

Satoru stands with his hands akimbo, the skin between his eyes wrinkled from how hard he’s scowling.

“Is there or is there not a guy?” 

-

When you get out of the shower, you find Riko lounging on the hotel balcony by herself. 

Gingerly, you sneak over, uncertain if she’s fallen asleep. It’d been an eventful day. Rescuing Kuroi from kidnappers, Satoru's decision to delay the assimilation, and the activities around Okinawa. You’re worn out yourself. You plan on turning in for the night after checking in on her. 

The sound of chittering bugs and cars driving through the streets greets you upon sliding the door open. Riko turns to face you, the earlier signs of exhaustion on her countenance no longer present. No vestiges of satisfaction or contentment remain. The slight puffiness and its implications aren’t lost on you. You hold your breath, the sluggish cogs in your head spinning as you consider your next move. Riko is a headstrong girl, carrying herself with a sense of pride you believe she’s earned. You don’t want to take that away from her. 

Offering a hushed apology, you prepare to return inside and act like you hadn’t seen anything. 

“It’s fine,” she mumbles. “You can stay… if you want.” 

In that moment, you’re reminded of a story that left a lasting impression on you as a child. 

It’s the story of a father and his beloved son. The father was commanded by his God to take his son to a mountain, where he must build an altar and sacrifice him. The father did what was bid of him, setting out with his only son, carrying the tools necessary to complete his task. He binds his son, yet before he can commence the ritual, his God provides a ram to use instead, sparing his son’s life. 

Even then, you wondered what the trip to the mountain felt like for the father. Did he have any doubts? Was he not angry at his God for making such a request? Would he really have killed his son had the ram not been provided? Could he stand to look his son in the eyes, knowing what fate awaited him? 

Is it wrong to deny a God who asks you to sin? 

You pull a chair alongside Riko’s and sit. 

“I’m not having second thoughts or anything,” her words tumble out fast, like a criminal caught in the act. “It’s the change in climate messing with my senses, I think.”

You gaze up at the night sky. The tapestry of wonders glimmers against its dark backdrop, the stars boasting unrivaled majesty without light pollution to dull them. This celestial mural fails to pique Riko’s interest. Her eyes remain downcast, transfixed on her lap, where she has folded her hands together. She’s a shadow of that boisterous soul who slapped Satoru and insulted Suguru’s bangs. 

“Do you want to have second thoughts?” 

She scrunches up her nose. “What?”

“Like, does it feel wrong to doubt?” 

“This is what I was born for,” She sounds like she’s someplace far away. “If I don’t do it, then who will?” 

You stare at her like she’s already a ghost. Bile rises up your esophagus, spreading a bitter taste inside your mouth. You want to argue until your voice is hoarse, even if that makes you a hypocrite. Counterpoints slot into place like bullets in a revolver. Each newly loaded chamber is capable of potentially piercing the bulwark she’s built around herself through the crenelated stone. However, your finger hovers over the safety, hesitant to pursue such a brutal offense. 

Especially when you’d be shooting from behind an identical fortress. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to get all depressing on you. Maybe it’s selfish, but I’m grateful things turned out the way they did. It’s been fun — really fun. I got to spend more time with Kuroi, I even got to meet people like you. It would’ve been nice to get to know you better and experience more things, but… this day was always going to come.” 

Is that enough to make this right? 

Riko smiles weakly as your eyes widen. You didn’t mean to say that out loud. 

“Who knows? I never gave that part much thought,” she reaches up toward the heavens, grasping for something only known to her. “It could be sad, it could be wrong. Either way, it’s what I’ve been waiting for.” 

It’s your turn to look away, an act that causes her to fistbump your shoulder. 

“‘I can say cheesy stuff like ‘I’ll always be watching over you,’ ‘cause I will! When Tengen-sama and I become one, your school will be my new stomping grounds! Spiritually, or something. No one really knows the specifics.” 

Upon reinitiating eye contact, a new sentiment regarding Amanai Riko is sown. 

That night, and in the years that follow, it bloomed into one recurring thought. 

“I wish I could’ve gotten to know you too.” 

-

Kuroi stands beside you inconsolable. 

By now, you can no longer see Suguru and Riko’s retreating figures. They’ve entered the labyrinth that is the Tombs of the Star, the hallowed ground Tengen indwells. The further the elevator sunk, the more you felt like you were being ferried into the underworld. Four souls descended, three would return. In this limbo, every second is amplified tenfold, as is any slight change in atmosphere. Your senses have dialed past their normal parameters. 

You don’t think the past thirty minutes were real. It’s as if you’re witnessing the events yet not living them, your body propelled forward by an independent entity. 

Here, in this terrible impasse, you want more out of life than you’ve ever asked. To hear Satoru’s annoying self-confidence. A phone call with Akane where you admit she may have been right. A long nap on Shoko’s bed. Words to comfort Kuroi that aren’t lies. Another day at the beach with Riko, where you can share sweets and funny anecdotes from school. More than anything, you want to go home. 

You shake your head. 

Now isn’t the time for that, you chastise yourself. There has to be something I can do for Kuroi—

Something to your left snaps. 

You know this sound. You heard it in rapid succession once, that night you visited a daycare abandoned by the living and colonized by the dead. It’s an instrument you wielded to the tune of your potential demise, a discordant requiem. You glance toward the source, where Kuroi was. 

Was? 

On the ground lies a pile of shredded fabric, exposed bones, punctured skin, and a pool of blood slowly seeping outward. Clumps of brunette hair stick out like a child had played at being a barber. You don’t understand. There’s no one else around. You hadn’t felt a draft in the air, nor the telltale prickling of cursed energy along your skin. 

You’re no stranger to fear. Ever since discovering the existence of curses, the emotion has become intimately interwoven with your existence. In the past few years, death’s skeletal hand has hovered near your pulse, ready to extinguish your life’s flame. Every close call leaves an indelible mark on your psyche. To dwell on it would tear your sanity asunder. So you choose instead to accept the hand, following a macabre waltz to the tempo of your frenzied heart until the final beat. 

You believe the metronome’s pendulum is on its final swing. 

A hulking figure examines the jagged blade in his hand, dripping with fresh blood. His materialization leaves you speechless. For an instant, you stare at one another, your body frozen in horror. Isn’t this the man who stabbed Satoru? What is he doing here? How is he here? If he hasn’t lost yet, he should still be engaged with Satoru, whose presence you can’t sense anywhere nearby. 

He scratches the back of his neck, his head tilted as he stares you down. 

“Ended up here anyway, huh?” The man remarks. “... Unlucky.” 

You act without thinking. Your fingers rise to meet one another, the hand gesture necessary to initiate Cursed Technique: Null. The stranger lurches forward, swifter than your senses can comprehend. The pain that comes next isn’t a surprise, aside from how it manifests. Instead of stabbing you with his blade, he kicks your stomach. You’re sent flying, your back hitting the wall with such force that debris splinters in every direction. 

Wheezing, you cough up blood, its metallic taste heavy on your tongue. Your vision goes in and out of focus as he walks closer. Every inch of your body cries out, pain unlike anything you’ve ever experienced setting you on fire. The act of breathing is agonizing. Every time you try, you feel something sharp and jagged dig into you. Through the haze settling over your fading mind, you realize that must be your fractured rib cage. 

“... not gonna… might kill me…” 

The stranger’s sonorous voice fails to penetrate the high-pitched ringing in your ears. Your fingers twitch, but your arms remain limp by your side, refusing to rise as you repeatedly instruct. There’s no way for you to activate Null in this state. Refusing to give up, you summon Ophanim. Your disorientation makes maintaining more than one ring at a time impossible. 

It whirrs through the air and toward the stranger’s jugular. 

He raises his katana to deflect, but Ophanim slices through the blade. Now unarmed, you have the faintest flicker of hope. The golden ring is too close for him to dodge. Even if he tries, Ophanim’s speed is at its zenith when concentrated into a singular ring. It’s seconds away from making contact. Though you’re confident you have a concussion and are clinging to consciousness, a few moments are all you need.

Or so you thought. 

You wish it were a hallucination conjured up by your swelling brain. The monster of a man catches the ring with his bare hands like it’s nothing more than a frisbee. Ophanim — a technique strong enough to cut through solid steel — comes to a grinding halt. Your lapse in concentration causes the ring to disappear, leaving nothing but a small cut in his palm. Black blobs devour your vision, pushing you further into an inky abyss. 

Your head falls down as you lack the strength to hold it up. He walks over, likely intending to finish the job. 

I’m going to die, you think. I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die…!

The world around you grows further away.

…

I’m scared. 

Maybe I’ve always been scared. 

There are so many things in this world I can’t do anything about. 

I thought by coming here, I was doing the right thing. 

Even if I’m not as strong as they are, I could still do my part. I had to help. It’d be selfish not to. Wrong. Unforgivable.

Run away and live, or stay and die. 

Mom and dad are never going to know why their daughter died. 

It’s going to hurt them so much and it’s all my fault. 

They don’t get to be proud. They don’t get to understand. 

I wonder if I could’ve explained it to them. 

Would they have stopped me from coming here? 

What a joke. Of course they would have. That’s why I never tried, isn’t it?  

I’m sorry, Akane. 

Please don’t blame yourself. 

Knowing how stubborn and stupid I am…

… It always would’ve ended up this way. 

-

Shoko can’t help noticing how quiet it is without you around. 

She’s made a point of avoiding the dormitory, disliking how empty it feels. Most of her time has been spent in the infirmary, assisting with your recovery. It won’t be much longer until you’re discharged. A few days, by her estimate. Her reverse cursed technique has improved since Kaizu, where you had to be hospitalized to compensate for her inexperience. Recovery times post-treatment have decreased in light of her progress.

As an aspiring doctor, she should be satisfied with these results, but for some reason, she can’t muster much enthusiasm. 

Her box of cigarettes is light when she pulls it out. Upon opening it, she sighs. She forgot she’d run out. She tosses the empty box into a nearby trash can and begins the trek back to the infirmary. So long as either Gojo or Geto are around, they’ll get her some more, though convincing them to leave your side is a pain. She doesn’t understand how or why you put up with them.

At least they mean well, she thinks. Most of the time. 

Occasionally, she considers warning you, only to change her mind at the last second. It’s your nature to see the best in people at the cost of overlooking their most damning qualities. To an extent, she gets why Gojo and Geto are so possessive. When she’s receiving your kindness, she can’t help thinking how nice it’d be if she were the only one you looked at that way herself. 

Unlike them, she can’t justify acting on such selfish impulses. 

She hopes they won’t start demanding more than you can give, because knowing you, you’d offer everything. 

-

You happen upon your underclassman, Nanami Kento, struggling with his tie. 

Frustration grows prominent on his countenance. While he’s still composed, it’s like a dam nearing its limit, ready to burst forth. You walk over, taking the tedious fabric into your possession. As you work through the steps, you can feel how he assesses you. You’re certain there’s much he wants to say. You get it — you’re in a similar predicament yourself. Crushed by the weight of the world and forced to soldier on like you’re not one misstep away from being crushed. 

“Are you sure you should be up?” he asks, dispelling the heavy silence. 

“I’m alright,” you manage to quirk your lips up. “It feels good to move around.” 

It strikes you then that this could’ve been your funeral Nanami had to attend. 

Your blood turns to ice, as does your smile. 

Misato Kuroi. Amanai Riko. And now, Haibara Yu, who just two weeks prior, you played video games with late into the night. 

You notice your fingers shaking as you complete the last step, the tie now secured into place. Nanami’s frown deepens. He opens and closes his lips, unusually indecisive. You’re contemplating various excuses to run off when he speaks again, his eyebrows knit together, lips curling into a grimace. 

“... Does it ever get easier?” 

The words are spoken so quietly, they barely reach your ears. Nonetheless, you heard them, each syllable dredging up terrible sentiments from the depths of your soul. As his senior, you feel an obligation to offer guidance. It’s what you would’ve wanted if the roles were reversed. There are platitudes you could espouse. The kind you’d find inked into cards that express condolences, hollow and useless. 

Bitterness seizes you in place like paralytic venom. Your heart aches, heavy as an anchor in your chest. 

“It doesn’t,” you admit. “Not really.” 

His expression remains impassive. 

Before you can walk away, he steps forward, his haste taking you by surprise. 

“Don’t go dying anytime soon.” 

You blink, slowly processing his words. Promising you won’t would be a lie. Your recent brushes with mortality have proven that. So instead, you say the next best thing, the casual phrasing belying the wish’s gravity. 

“Back at you.” 

-

Nighttime has become your most consistent enemy. 

There’s no escaping it, try as you might. While much appreciated, summer’s domination is a small kindness that can’t erase twilight’s encroachment. Every day, darkness’ dreadful descent is inevitable. Your biological clock must obey its creed. In your most vulnerable state, it's there that, like vultures circling above a rotting corpse, your subconscious dives down to strike. 

Nothing is sacred. Your deepest fears — some fully realized, others still in development — cast you as the lead in their macabre plays. If you’re lucky, you’ll awaken in distress, crying out the names of the deceased and those that might one day join them. Otherwise, you’re forced through scene after scene, stumbling through eidetic sequences that rip at the seams of your wounded heart. 

It hasn’t been this bad since you were a kid. Back then, your parents would find you sleeping on their bedroom floor come morning, tear stains visible on your cheeks. In the present, you’ve settled into a new routine, though vestiges of the old remain. Shoko has become your safe haven. She leaves her door slightly ajar, allowing easy access should you seek her out. Swaddled beneath her covers, smelling faintly of cigarettes and vanilla, you’re granted temporary solace.

This strategy isn’t foolproof. Shoko has designs of her own and can’t always be on campus, like now, for instance. She’s busy elsewhere, attending a five-day-long medical conference in Osaka. Her absence has seen your energy levels greatly depleted. Lethargy has made your bones as heavy as lead and your spirit numb. 

Sometimes you wonder if the Tombs of the Star had been your mausoleum and you’ve yet to notice. 

That searing pain, bleak despair, wretched cries that went unheard and prayers unanswered… how do you resume normal life with such a blot staining your soul? 

“Is the movie that boring?” 

Satoru’s voice cleaves through the miasma enveloping your thoughts. Blinking sluggishly, you’re about to ask what he means, until you consider your posture. You’re both sitting on a couch, but unlike him, you’ve begun to slump over, your wearied muscles seeking respite. With some effort, you manage to sit up straight. By then, it’s too late. He pauses the film and stares at you, his expression hidden behind his sunglasses. 

You feel impossibly small beneath his unrelenting gaze. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to zone out.” 

He hums, the upward inflection hinting at where this is going. It’s a sensitive topic you’ve been trying to avoid. He played along for a bit, but you sense the pantomime is coming to an end. 

“You need to sleep,” his tone is unusually severe. “You can’t avoid it forever.” 

“I know that.” 

“Do you?” He leans forward, looming tall. “Looks like you’re just trying to punish yourself to me.” 

“That’s…!” You bristle, adrenaline jolting through your system like an electric shock. He quirks an eyebrow, clearly finding your outburst unimpressive. Your shoulders droop. Finally, you murmur, “... Not true.” 

“You really do suck at lying.” 

You shoot up, standing over him as he reclines back, uncrossing his legs. 

“What, should I just take a page out of your book and act like nothing happened? I hate to break it to you, Gojo, but not all of us are as indifferent as you are.” 

You regret it as soon as it leaves your mouth. You don’t get why you’ve chosen him to unleash your pent-up frustration on; you should be used to his lack of tact by now. Still, he should’ve known he was stirring up a hornet’s nest. It might not justify your vitriol, but what did he expect? Why can’t he reach out to you normally? 

“Do you actually mean that?” 

You bite your bottom lip. “... No.” 

“You’re not entirely wrong,” He’s smiling now, but it’s cold, like an arctic gale. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’m still human.” 

You shiver.

“What do you mean?” 

He waves your question off. “Nothing, nothing. Guess I’m a bit out of it myself. Still working out the kinks with always running Limitless, and all that.”

Satoru pats the spot beside him. Wordlessly, you obey, feeling defeated somehow. You fold your hands in your lap and fixate on them. You’d been so close. Had you been faster and more capable, you could’ve activated Null, the ultimate win condition. That anomaly made human — Fushiguro Toji — would’ve been shredded into ribbons. Or, at the very least, immobilized until reinforcements arrived. Then Riko’s life wouldn’t have been stolen from her in such a barbaric way. Suguru would’ve been spared those injuries, and Satoru from the weight of taking another’s life. 

There’s a dull throb in your head. According to Shoko, your hunch was correct; you had sustained a nasty concussion, among other life-threatening complications. She had treated the worst of it, but warned that headaches were going to be an ongoing issue.

However, physical pain is turning out to be the least of your concerns. 

“Hey, Satoru.” 

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Like I said, you weren’t far off the mark, anyway.” 

“That isn’t true,” you squeeze your hands together so tight it hurts. “I know how hard you tried. Because of you, Riko got to have so much fun. I’m sure she treasured each moment.”

For a moment, he’s silent, undoubtedly untangling his own chaotic web of thoughts and emotions. 

“... I hope so.” 

You’re about to look at him when an arm slips around your shoulder, drawing you close to his side. Warmth erupts over your face. He’s never cared much for respecting personal space, but this feels different. Meaningful in a way you can’t quite articulate. Instead of squirming away like you would’ve in the past, you sit still, curious about what he’ll do next.  

“Tired?” He asks. 

No longer seeing the point in feigning otherwise, you respond with a muted ‘mhm.’ 

“Then sleep.” 

Incredulity overcomes you.

“Right here?” 

At this, he scoffs. “Well, duh. Where else?” 

A beat passes, then another. Your face goes from feeling mildly warm to a scorching inferno. 

“But that’s—” 

“What?” He cuts you off, his voice sounding tight and rising in pitch. “You can sleep with Shoko, but not me?” 

So he picked up on that? It doesn’t surprise you, given how observant he is, but he’s acting peculiar, almost childish. There was an underlying bitterness to how he enunciated Shoko’s name. Your current acumen is dull from fatigue, or you would’ve picked up on it sooner. Satoru’s annoyed that you haven’t been confiding in him. No wonder he’s been so abrasive. It’s easy to be blinded by his strength and forget that at the end of the day, he’s still a teenager with a massive ego. 

You can’t stop yourself from smiling, which he must misinterpret as mockery. 

“Forget it. Go faint from exhaustion, see if I care.” 

He starts retracting his arm, huffing as he does so. You coil around him before he can fully pull away. Satoru must not have expected your boldness, for he grunts and goes stiff. Taking the strongest sorcerer by surprise is no small feat. Under any other circumstances, you’d flaunt your triumph, but right now, you’re content. His muscles gradually relax, allowing you to make yourself comfortable. 

You lay your head upon his shoulder and close your eyes. 

Yeah, you think, fondness teeming in your chest. You’re still human, Satoru. Very much so.

-

There’s something different about Suguru.

This thought has lain dormant in your subconscious for a while.

You were content to keep it buried, fearing what may happen once it’s exhumed. While you’re ashamed of your cowardice, this thin veneer of normalcy that gives your day-to-day life a sleek sheen is fragile. Any pressure could see it shattered beyond repair. These shards, once scattered, might never fit back together, hence your vigilance. 

Sitting silently on the subway ride home, you’re forced to consider the possibility that the cracks are already there. 

Despite being the only two in this car, Suguru remains standing, holding onto a grab rail. Your mouth feels dry as you mentally rehearse different ways to broach the elephant in the room. You aren’t used to being tongue-tied, especially around him. This inexperience leaves you at a loss. Should you just come out and say what’s on your mind? Or is it better to subtly approach the subject? While weighing your options, he turns around, finally giving you a chance to study his visage. 

He looks tired. 

“I messed up,” he says. “I should’ve let you take care of yourself and prioritized the civilians. You don’t have to sugarcoat it.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “It worked out in the end, though.” 

“If that’s what you think, why do you look so conflicted?” 

It’s now or never. 

“I’m worried about you,” you confess. “And it’s frustrating ‘cause— well, I get it. I know there’s nothing I can say or do to fix everything. But I want to do something. Anything, so long as it helps.”

Suguru closes his eyes and smiles. “Anything, huh?” 

“Would you run away with me?” 

You focus on the click-clack of the tracks beneath you. The subway grinds to a steady stop, its brakes huffing as it does so. The automatic doors fly open as a prerecorded voice announces the stop through the fuzzy intercom. No one gets on and no one departs. A chime sounds, indicating that the doors will be closing shortly. Your body jerks to the side as the car rises, going into motion again. 

“What?” 

It’s the only word that your tongue can successfully form. 

“I realized something,” he quietly begins. He looks past you, out the windows, at something only he can see. “This world is far uglier than I ever wanted to admit.” 

You freeze up like he’s a gorgon when his eyes find yours. 

“Satoru could come too. I’m sure he would, if you were the one who asked.” 

Dizziness overtakes you. Your skin is clammy, despite your incessant shivering. Or are you shaking? You can’t tell. His figure eclipses the setting sun, a halo illuminating his silhouette. You’re unable to look away, even when it hurts. You’re worried that if you do, he’ll be gone when you reopen your eyes. It isn’t until foliage blocks the blinding rays that you’re given reprieve. Even then, a faint burning sensation remains. 

There’s a lot you could ask, but you settle for: “What would we be running away from?” 

“I don’t know,” he responds in truth.

A pause. 

“I take it my joke was in poor taste?” Suguru laughs weakly, rubbing his neck. “I thought I could lighten the mood; I suppose Satoru’s better suited for that.” 

You think you should be upset, but all you can feel is utter relief. 

“A joke,” you repeat, your cadence flat. “Right.” 

“I’m sorry. When you said ‘anything,’ my imagination went wild.” 

His shift in demeanor, although drastic, is no less welcome. 

“Really, though… just being near you helps,” he nods as if it’s a foregone conclusion. “I’ll be alright. I only need a bit more time.” 

The finality in his tone poses a difficult obstacle to argue against. Your trepidation must be obvious, for he walks over, gazing down at you with soft eyes. The dark circles beneath them shoot through your heart like a bullet. If there’s anything you understand, it’s sleepless nights. Remaining upset with him or Satoru is impossible. They always find a way to thaw the ice, one layer at a time. 

“Don’t scare me like that,” you murmur. “I thought you were going off the deep end.” 

Suguru’s next laugh is melodic and, most notably, genuine. 

“Not a chance. Not if you aren’t there beside me.” 

-

December 24th, 2017. 

4:30 p.m.

-

“Feeling restless, sensei?” 

Zenin Maki’s voice echoes throughout the empty hallways, earning your attention. She regards you with an impeccable poker face. Nonetheless, you catch hints of her unease. Her posture is stiff and her eyes meticulously scan your surroundings. You can’t blame her. The entire Jujutsu world is waiting with bated breath, anticipating an unprecedented disaster. All sorcerers — with the exception of you, her, and Yuta — have taken to the streets of Shinjuku and Kyoto. 

There’s nothing you can do except wait. 

“What gave it away?” You ask, despite knowing full well you couldn’t be more obvious if you tried. The chance to take your mind off things with banter would serve you both well. 

“Oh, I dunno,” she shrugs, lips forming a wry grin. “Maybe just the fact you’ve lapped the school like, fifty times. Impressive stuff.” 

“And here I thought I was being discreet.” 

Maki snorts. “Mind if I join you for lap fifty-one?” 

“Be my guest.” 

She half-jogs until she’s by your side. “Any word yet?” 

“Radio silence,” you shake your head. “We’ll hear as soon as there are any updates.” 

At this, she hums, throwing her arms behind her back. You walk absentmindedly through the halls, no real destination in mind. A part of you remains doubtful of Satoru’s decision. When the fighting starts, your presence on the battlefield would’ve been a great benefit. Ophanim excels at eliminating multiple small targets, which, according to the meetings you attended, constitute the majority of Suguru’s armada. 

“You were classmates with that guy, right?” 

You hope she doesn’t notice how your countenance falls. “Mm. Yeah.” 

“One of Jujutsu’s most notorious boogeyman and the blindfolded idiot,” Maki grimaces. “Sounds like hell.” 

“It wasn’t so bad.” 

“Right. Guess Ieiri-sensei was there too. That helps balance things out.” 

For a moment, she pauses, glancing at you from the corner of her eyes. “... What was he like?” 

You tilt your head. “Satoru?” 

“God, no. I mean the other one,” she waves her hand. “Geto.” 

How would you describe him from those carefree, bygone days? 

He could be a bit mischievous. He knew how to get away with things, how to test the limits of others. He wanted to make good on his strength. He tempered Satoru’s ego, challenged him to be better. But most of all, he had this quiet resolve others couldn’t help but admire. I trusted him wholeheartedly. I wanted to grow alongside him. I wanted to make him proud and be proud of him in return. I thought we could change the world for the better.

He was my best friend.

More than anything, he was my biggest regret. 

“If I had to pick a single word… it’d be ‘lost.’” 

[toastytrusty]

i think it finally clicked what about cassian and luthen's relationship i find so compelling. when cassian officially joined the rebellion at the end of season one, he effectively surrendered all of his autonomy to luthen. "kill me or take me in." he literally put his life in luthen's hands. he clearly had very little will to live, and beyond giving luthen the choice to kill him, he gave luthen the choice to give him purpose again. and not Just purpose, either, but full control over the rest of his life, as well. he became part of the cause because he felt he had nothing else left, and was either going to effectively kill himself, or let someone else dictate every single thing he does until he dies anyway, now with a reason behind it, now able to plausibly deny it being wanted. it's simultaneously an admittance of defeat, where he is telling luthen that he won, and an act of defiance, where he is challenging luthen to discard him rather than use him. and obviously luthen would rather use him.

but then there is the bix aspect. cassian's hopelessness at the end of s1 implies that he did not, at that point, see bix as an adequate reason to keep going. not as a reason to stay alive, not as a reason to stay present in anyone else's life. it was not worth remaining an individual, for her sake or his own. and obviously a lot of that is from the insane depressive grief that the whole Ordeal of s1 + losing maarva was. but still. he was very closed off, and singlemindedly thinking about his own ability to give himself to the rebellion. which makes his protectiveness over her in s2 all the more compelling. he is repeatedly getting worked up over her well-being, and acting out in ways that are possibly jeopardizing to the rebellion. it's such a fascinating transition, and regardless of how they got there again, i think in season 2, cassian sees bix as his last place to be human. the one person in the galaxy he can be an individual with, rather than a tool. which is why, in my current, ever-evolving understanding of these characters, i think he gets so contradictory and confused about what he wants from her. he wants her to be strong and a soldier so they can go to war together, because the war is so terribly important to him, but he also wants her to prioritize her own safety over anything else and never put herself at risk, because if he loses her he loses himself. this is necessarily the conflict between them.

which comes to the incredible exchange between cassian and luthen about bix in episode 6 of s2, where we can see how much this conflcit is affecting cassian. he can't stand that luthen is potentially putting bix in danger, and can't stand that luthen is treating them like droids, rather than people. but then. then luthen Reminds cassian. he reminds cassian that he already surrendered his autonomy. he already surrendered his individuality. "we're not who we were when we started." cassian chose this; chose to change for this, chose to give up being a person for this. he doesn't get to now choose to put bix, his one haven, over it. she needs to be able to handle herself, because cassian asserting himself by worrying about her compromises their entire system. "you will have to decide when it becomes too large a problem." but cassian's response is the most important part: "no. that's gonna be up to you." he's essentially turning it back on luthen. if luthen expects him to remain compliant in the way his role calls for, then luthen needs to be fullfilling his side of it, and making sure cassian has an environment that he Can remain compliant in, without compromising anything. "you want my blood? you help me solve this." he is finally standing his ground on something to luthen, asserting himself in a way that is basically begging luthen to let him submit again. he wants to be part of the cause; he still wants to be able to lose himself in it, but he also needs bix, and will not give up the life he knows is possible to share with her.

[ontoilogical]

The idea of Aylin breaking her oath is narratively nonsensical because:

1. They made Larroakan so dislikable and his actions completely self-serving, that one needs to be a special person to think killing him would break an oath. As a matter of fact, if you want to be completely literal, Aylin NOT killing him would prevent her from continuing her work, WHICH IS DIRECTLY TIED TO HER OATH. So... she actually needs to kill him to keep her oath?

If the story wanted us to question her actions, Larroakan would have been written more ambiguously so the player could be "whoa, Aylin is a bit brutal and her decision-making is not entirely sound". Instead, the story beat is "Larroakan is absolute trash and Aylin is completely justified but still feels bad for killing him, isn't that unusual?"

2. Aylin doesn't struggle with her oath at any point, so to lose it accidentally / on some imagined technicality is like… what? Do you think Larian would choose this storytelling option? They wouldn't any they didn't.

3. The story already offers so much pain and misery for Aylin, that oathbreaking isn't a necessarily plot element. Heck, if you want grimdark, you can make Aylin's story end in complete tragedy if you choose to, so elbowing in oathbreaking into the positive branch of her storyline is just... no.

Possible reasons why people still gravitate towards oathbreaking:

1. Aylin is a secondary character in the game and unless someone takes a special interest, they'll give it as minimal consideration as possible, as there are so many other things going on in the story. So "paladin feeling wrong about action -> oath broken" is that minimum.

2. Stories as they're told in classic formats tend to portray moments of change or transgression and not Aylin being completely successful thousands of times, although I'd play the shit out of that. Because the established status quo for Aylin is that her oath is intact and has been for a long time, and we're meeting her in a moment of extreme change, it's easy to assume the story is telling us about another change. The error is that the assumed change is "breaking her oath" instead of "setting up DLC content (that we now know won't happen) about the aftermath of what she's experienced".

3. This one may be a bit out there, but allow me: There's something about watching characters fail that is relatable to players. Watching Aylin be above-human amazing may be too far away to enjoy / want it, so thinking she broke her oath brings her closer to stories and experiences that feel familiar on a personal level, so there may be some subconscious bias when one defaults to that interpretation.

Edited to add: The other side of that same coin: a subconscious bias that goodness is suspicious or fake (often fueled by arrogance, dishonesty, self-serving goals, ...), and wanting the narrative to confirm it. That is that mentioned cynicism, that often comes from disappointment (declaratively good things not being good, goodness can only go so far, personal failure to be (as) good).

3.1 Plus, oathbreaking is and was an established archetype and trope before the game, so it's easy to assume this new story is AGAIN doing that with the stubbornly single-minded and goal-oriented paladin, than setting up emotional complexity within that panadin singularity (which is so much more exciting, I agree).

With all that devil advocating out of the way... You make a lot of sense, Oath, and I agree!

I personally find Aylin, and Isobel, so fucking fascinating because they embody virtue and competence so completely – including when faced with near insurmountable horrors – but still remain believable, plausible charaters with problems, and not some shallow power fantasy. There's something very special about having a good character struggle not with maintaining their goodness, but with the personal consequences and limits of that goodness, in a world that is difficult and doesn't (necessarily) reward it.

AND WITH HAVING THEM STILL CHOOSE TO DO GOOD, AFTER EVERYTHING.

It's not easy writing good characters that are interesting, flawed and do not fall to the usual tropes. But Larian did it and they did it within the limited amount of space they occupy in a big game. And that's just scratching the surface.

I think I've pinpointed what my main problem with how widespread and pervasive and accepted at face value the whole "Aylin broke her oath" nonsense is (beyond the itchy nerd rage annoyance of No But That's Factually Incorrect About My Fave), why it grates on me so damn much: I hate that people apparently cannot conceive of a storyline for a paladin/knight-type character other than a fall from grace.

As if there is no interesting struggle to any kind of genuine goodness or nobility or honour or virtue other than a loss of it, be it sudden or gradual; just piling on a whole lot of cynicism and a need for everyone to be dragged down and through the same dirt and endlessly punished and never, ever, ever emerging changed and challenged but victorious, but instead being tarnished and diminished and having something fundamental taken away from them. Coupled with this whole miasma around it of how even daring to strive or try for something else, to be better, to hold yourself to principles and standards is futile, and a bit of a nasty hint of how even if you've succeeded in some way, it will be taken from you, or it will be soured for you and ruined. The cause you believed in and dedicated your life to was not actually worth it or worthy, the person you believed in and were loyal to and respected betrays you or uses you or lets you down, and never actually cared about you in the first place, as if the story cannot be allowed to go any other way. Or, also, often the implication that this is all somehow good and liberating? These aren't interesting shades of gray or clever subversions. This is disillusionment and misery and bleak shit - but anything else is a childish fairy tale and boring, apparently. Am I making sense?

[e17omm]

I might slightly be overusing the Phosdjinns as a "filler Valkyrie squad", but much better that than me making a new filler Valkyrie squad every 3 chapters.

[sergle]

When ppl will create a "curvy" girl character and get pretty much the whole body's proportions right, obviously they're putting emphasis on bust/hips but it seems like it's being executed well--- except that they completely, fully, and deliberately, skip the stomach entirely. Just nothin there. Not even a whisper. I'm like. Just sack up, make it make sense and be honest with yourself by making it official and say it's canon that they got a tummy tuck. You cowardly ass, yellow bellied, wet brained, upside-down dog mouthed dirty bitch.

[shivroy]

future shiv

[carlyraejepsans]

not only do i not think lynne would ever under any circumstances call or even just think of cabanela as her dad, if that possibility ever came up in conversation i think cabanela would straight up kill himself

[moxie-girl]

DRDT SPOILERS

WAIT. WHAT IF EDEN GRABBED THE TAPE FOR A NON MURDER REASON N GAVE IT TO SOMEONE ELSE BC THEY ASKED HER FOR HELP? and now she’s realizing she might have helped Arei’s killer unwillingly, maybe why she kept repeating that line about friends helping each other?

[narwhalandchill]

oh my fucking god i feel. SO stupid rn at How i didnt make the (super sane very normal just absolutely. Yes. Surely) connection earlier but uhh

so anyway im now like 89% certain that whatever the "traces" of the narwhal that remain on ajax and facilitate their (ever-growing) innate connection are like. an actually fundamental aspect of it (them?) more or less.

why? because if you consider its pov just for a moment. the narwhal was literally about to depart teyvat for good. it had nearly finished consuming the primordial sea and preparing to breach surface to finish the job by eating the french for the leftovers their human bodies were made from. its an interstellar voyager it does not linger on planets it devours. it goes glug glug and it leaves.

and like if it wasnt for traveler intervening its confirmed through narzissenkreuz and renes world formula that teyvat wouldve just been destroyed. no one could have stopped the narwhal not neuvillette not focalors not anyone.

so what was the one other thing it did right before going for that french brunch? calling for ajax. getting them reunited in the primordial sea. like all the possible implications aside bc theres many different ways to speculate on the exact reasons why and the nature of that link. the point remains.

it wasnt leaving teyvat without finding him.

like the narwhal is about to fucking Dip from this cringe planet and whatever part of it that ajax carries within himself his narwhal Absolutely wanted to be reunited with. what the fuck am i supposed to read from that. hoyo???????!??! answers?!?!?!

and its not only the calling from the narwhal side itself either bc this is ALL coinciding with the growth of a 'restless power' within ajax and his vision malfunctioning (the things celestia is literally confirmed to harvest energy thru to repair its damaged authority) and his connection with the narwhal reaching an actual conscious level (arguably subconscious n emotional too bc i find it Curious his mood is poor right as the narwhal is repeatedly described as positively malding to the point its boss fight mechanic is literally a rage meter). ajax' power is growing. his destiny is starting to shift and something is drawing him to fontaine... right as the narwhal is getting close to finished with the primordial sea. funny how it overlaps eh. how it aligns 🤨🤨 why are they orbiting each other like this (they should kiss)

(& not to even Mention how ajax just Happened to get that absolutely exponential and borderline unbelievable feat of power spike in extending his foul legacy endurance as massively as he did. while. within the primordial sea. with his narwhal. who had at that point all but incorporated the power of that sea into itself. i s2g if childe was getting passive home turf co-op bonus exp with a 4x multiplier automatically the whole 40+ days 💀💀)

[thatscarletflycatcher]

One of the biggest problems of writing that Frasier post is that the logic of 90s comedies is not real life logic. It's not just that you can just pick which exaggerated thing to believe more (and sometimes you need to outright pick between two mutually excluding canon facts), but also the degree to which you believe anything. Which is fun for theorizing but also terrible for theorizing because to argue one way or another you need to create the fiction that the coherent narrative you are pointing out has value of truth in a universe where the value of truth is the rule of funny.

[razzle-zazzle]

6561 Words; Between AU, TBT, JD's arrival

AO3 ver

“All right, Rhonda, we’re here.”

John Dory stepped away from the wheel as his armadillo-bus and main companion came to a stop at the edge of what he really hoped was the main settlement of the Pop Trolls. With a grunt, John Dory opened the door and hopped out, giving Rhonda’s side a small pat before heading towards where the pods were thickest.

It had taken him weeks to properly track this place down, and even longer to actually work up the courage to visit. If it wasn’t for Floyd’s letter, John Dory probably would have kept traveling for years, only ever thinking about Pop Village—or was it Trollstopia?—as a place on his map he could visit someday.

But now John Dory was here on a mission. He had a brother to save, and to do that, he’d need to track down all the rest of his brothers. Might as well start with the easiest—all he had from Spruce were unmarked postcards, he’d heard nothing from Clay at all, and Floyd was the brother in need of rescuing. Which left Bitty B, who up until a few months ago John Dory had been pretty sure was dead—but now wasn’t the time to think about that. John Dory had a baby brother to find.

As he made his way past pods and Trolls, tail nervously lashing behind him, John Dory took in the sights and sounds of a place that was all too familiar and all too alien all at once. It brought him back to his days in the tree, even though the community here was much more spread out. And it wasn’t just pods—John Dory could see all kinds of Trolls walking about, could see Country housing and Funk spaceships and even lights coming from within the larger bodies of water scattered about. And ooo, there were even Rock and Classical! Not exactly John Dory’s style, as a Pop Troll through and through, but it wasn’t as unsettling to see as John Dory had feared.

John Dory came to a stop before a large mushroom serving as a central pavilion, looking around. How in the world was he going to find Bitty B from here? He supposed he could ask around, use his natural charms to get the answers he needed, but… there were so many Trolls, all around, so much color and life and music going on that John Dory wanted to retreat back to the calm of Rhonda.

John Dory shook his head, dispelling his anxieties. What was he thinking? He had this in the bag! He used to be the leader of Brozone, of course he could handle a crowd.

With a laugh, John Dory launched himself up onto the mushroom, opening his mouth to start calling out for his brother—

“Oh, you’re new!” Pink filled his vision, darting in and out of his line of sight as an excited blur circled around and looked him over. “I’ve never seen you before, which is weird because I thought I knew everybody who lived here! Which means you must be new which means we haven’t gotten to know each other yet which means we get to get to know each other and become friends if you’re okay with that and oh my hair I forgot to ask your name!” None of the words were registering, coming out so fast that they all blurred together into an aural sludge that went right in one ear and out the other.

John Dory reflexively stepped back from the deluge of sheer energy coming off of what resolved itself to be a Troll, bright pink and bouncing excitedly. Her tail was whipping back and forth with a frenetic energy as she bounced in place, holding out her paw.

“I’m Poppy!” Poppy introduced herself. “And you are?” There was something so bright in her eyes, an energy that John Dory could only remember seeing in the happiest of Pop Trolls. Wow, he really had been on his own for a while, hadn’t he?

John Dory held out his paw to return the pawshake, but the moment he opened his mouth Poppy squealed again as recognition hit her, her eyes alight with vicious glee.

“Oh! My! HAIR! You’re from—you’re from BROZONE!” Poppy squealed again, clasping her paws together in excitement. “Oooo, but which one?” She pondered, leaning in to examine John Dory more closely. “No, don’t tell me! I wanna guess!” She hummed contemplatively, walking a slow circle around John Dory.

“You’re not the Heartthrob,” Poppy commented, the words hitting harder than John Dory was expecting. He could be a heartthrob! “The Fun Boy? No, you seem kinda uptight…”

“Weird thing to say about someone you just met,” John Dory commented, but Poppy continued to theorize.

“Definitely not the Sensitive One…” Poppy’s face lit up, “Oh, I know!” She cheered, certainty in her voice. “You’re John Dory!”

John Dory nodded. “The Leader—”

“The Old One!” Poppy finished, hopping up and down in place. Her paws were clasped together in excitement. “So what brings you to Trollstopia?”

John Dory’s tail was flat against the floor. Sure, he was in his forties, but barely! He wasn’t old! He still had so many decades left in him! He was in his prime!

“I’m here to find my brothers.” He said. “It’s…” Did he want to confide in Poppy about Floyd’s imprisonment? She certainly felt trustworthy, but this was more of a family issue.

“You brothers… the rest of Brozone?!” Poppy lit up, grabbing John Dory’s paw in her own to drag him from the mushroom pavilion. “Well, you’re asking the right Troll! I know everyone here!” She ran along, leaving John Dory little choice but to be dragged in her wake.

“Wait.” She came to an abrupt halt, “I don’t…” Her demeanor turned sheepish as she turned back to John Dory. “I don’t know anyone by the names of Spruce, Clay, Floyd, or Bitty B.” She admitted.

Well, that was a bust. John Dory shrugged. “‘S okay.” He nodded, stretching his arms up above his head. “I already know that Spruce isn’t here, and I know where Floyd is.” Something about Poppy’s words hit him, and he frowned. “You said Bitty B.” He pointed out. “But… would you happen to know a Troll who goes by Branch?” They had never used Bitty B’s full name in promotional material—he was just a baby, after all. It was safer that way.

“Branch…” Poppy’s face lit up with recognition. “I do!” She leapt up, “He never told me he had other brothers!” She gasped, “HE NEVER TOLD ME HE WAS IN BROZONE! Ohhh, I can’t believe this!” She ran in a tiny circle, tail waving wildly as she gestured with her paws.

“So you know where I can find him?” Oh, thank Troll. Now all John Dory needed was to find Bitty B’s pod, say hello to Grandma, and then they’d set out to find the rest. Easy.

Poppy nodded. “Yep!” She grabbed John Dory’s paw again. “It’s a few days’ travel by critterbug, though. Or just one day if I can get a caterbus…” Her tail flicked as she considered the options. John Dory swore he even heard her mutter about wormholes at one point.

“That’s… far.” John Dory frowned. He thought Bitty B would be living with the rest of the Pop Trolls, here in Trollstopia, not… wherever he was.

“I know the way, though.” Poppy assured him. “Just give me a little bit to get some things in order, and I can get you there!” Her tail curled behind her as she turned—

John Dory grabbed Poppy’s tail just below the hair. She froze, and he hurriedly let go. “No, wait, you said a few days by critterbug, right?” He laced his hands together and stretched his arms out in front of him, tail stretching behind him. “Rhonda could probably cover the same distance in an hour or two, tops.” Really, all he needed was the destination. He appreciated Poppy’s offer to come with, but, well—it was a family matter.

But Poppy kept following along as John Dory made his way back to his armadillo-bus. “Rhonda? Who’s that?”

John Dory picked up the pace. Poppy kept up easily.

“She must be really fast…” Poppy was theorizing, tapping her chin as she skipped along. “Oh! I bet she’s a bird, right? Birds can cover big distances fast!”

John Dory chuckled as he came to a stop. “Not quite.” He gestured to the armadillo-bus in question, patiently waiting in the underbrush. His most trusted companion, means of getting around, and beloved home: Rhonda.

Poppy squealed, bouncing over to Rhonda in excited delight. Her enthusiasm was infectious; John Dory couldn’t help the chuckle building in his throat as Rhonda greeted Poppy back with similar enthusiasm.

“Whoa!” John Dory called out, as Poppy made her way over to Rhonda’s door. “I appreciate the help, but you don’t need to come with.” It was a family matter, after all—

“Eh, I’ve been meaning to visit Branch again soon.” Poppy waved off. She paused. “But if you really don’t want me coming with—”

John Dory shrugged, and hopped up into Rhonda. “If you really want to.” He had the feeling he wouldn’t be able to stop Poppy, if she really put her mind to accompanying him. He’d only known her for half an hour at most, and she was already rocketing up his regard through her sheer energy and excitement. So John Dory shrugged, happy to have some company for once.

“Alright, Popster.” He sat down in the driver’s seat as Rhonda started to move, “Get me to Branch.”

+=+=+=+=+

Poppy’s enthusiasm, John Dory was finding, was infectious. Maybe it was the Pop Troll in him, maybe Poppy really did have so much energy that she couldn’t help spreading it everywhere—either way, John Dory couldn’t resist the amusement starting to dance in his chest as she took the wheel, going on and on about the adventures she had had with Branch. She had mostly focused on the Rockpocalypse, as that was where most of John Dory’s questions focused on—but even then she had a lot to say.

John Dory wondered how Poppy and Bitty B knew each other. They must be childhood friends, he figured, with how well they worked together in Poppy’s retelling. Maybe they were even closer—would John Dory find himself with a little sister in Poppy, someday? He sure hoped so—Poppy was a delight.

“So why’re you looking for Branch, anyway?” Poppy asked, as Rhonda made her way from the underbrush to a dirt path.

“Well, I’m looking for all my brothers,” John Dory began. “Because Floyd is in trouble.” He didn’t know if he should say more—he’d rather be telling all of this to Bitty B, if only so he wouldn’t have to tell the story more than needed.

“So you’re getting the band back together to rescue him?” Poppy asked, paw pressed to her face. “Aww, that’s so sweet! And exciting!” She smiled, big and bright. “I know I’m not really family, but if you need any help then you can count on me!”

John Dory chuckled. “Just helping me find Branch is more than enough.” He really wanted to show her the baby pictures—but Poppy was busy driving, directing Rhonda in following the trail as it shifted from dirt to cobbled stones. Rhonda jolted slightly at the terrain shift, but quickly adapted, following Poppy’s driving even as the surrounding forest thinned out to a yellowed field.

John Dory looked out the windshield, watching as the field gave way to an imposing metal fence, far too large to have been made by Trolls. There was something familiar about the looming structures, some distinct feeling of foreboding beginning to curdle in John Dory’s gut.

At once, recognition hit John Dory like a bucket of ice. “This is—this is Bergentown.” He nearly growled, his knuckles paling as he gripped the back of the seat. He leaned forwards to correct the course, or to demand to know what was going on—

“Yeah.” Poppy agreed, her voice firm and quiet. It was such a change from her sugary energy that John Dory hesitated, and she turned to him, expression gentle. “I guess I should have thought about how scary that’d be…” She shook her head. “But we made peace with the Bergens more than a year ago. And I promised I’d get you to Branch.” She urged Rhonda forwards, the armadillo-bus weaving around the streets under her direction. “I just need you to trust me for a little bit longer, okay?”

“I…” John Dory looked out the windshield, fighting down the urge to haul the young Troll from the driver’s seat and turn Rhonda around. He could see Bergens out and about on the streets, looking content—no, happy. That… John Dory’s intuition really didn’t like that. The last time he’d been here, it had been to find the tree withered and empty and the few Bergens he could spot looking absolutely miserable. It didn’t matter what Poppy said—if Bergens were walking around with uplifted spirits, then Trolls were clearly back on the menu.

But Poppy pulled Rhonda up to the central plaza with nary a care in the world, and none of the Bergens harassed or otherwise waylaid the armadillo-bus as she picked her way through the town. As Rhonda came to a halt in the grass, John Dory finally took in the state of what had been his home for the first twenty years of his life.

The cage was gone, and the tree looked even more colorful than John Dory remembered it. He could still see blackened bits on the trunk and branches, and some of the pods were as dull as last he’d seen them, but—

There were Trolls happily going about their business. As Poppy slipped out the side door, John Dory watched as the nearby Trolls noticed her, and started to rush over.

Slowly, goggles firmly over his eyes, John Dory exited Rhonda, keeping his back to her side as he shuffled as far away from the safety she represented as he dared. He could make out the conversation going on towards the base of the tree, and that was enough—if things got ugly, he could probably snag Poppy with his hair from here.

“Well, Branch did make his usual rounds this morning.” A green Troll with pink hair was saying, Poppy listening with rapt attention. “But he left a while ago.” They shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, I can’t tell you more than that.”

“Oh, no problems!” Poppy waved off. “Thanks for the help!” She bounced back over to John Dory and Rhonda, a pep in her step despite the fact that they were still in Bergentown. She slowed down as she came close, holding her paw to her face contemplatively.

“Hmmm, where would Branch be at this time of day? He’s got a pretty set schedule, but with his brother’s wedding coming up…” Her voice dissolved off into mutterings, but John Dory’s brain snagged on the words “brother” and “wedding” and everything after that failed to register.

“Wedding?” He grabbed Poppy by the shoulders. “Clay’s here, too?” He couldn’t possibly imagine Clay of all people getting married—but when he knew that Spruce was elsewhere and Floyd was being held captive, there was only one brother left.

Poppy’s face scrunched in confusion. “...Clay?” Her voice was void of any recognition, then she snapped her fingers. “Oh, right, you mean Brozone Clay!” She shook her head, already skipping off to Rhonda. “No, it’s not him—before you showed up, I didn’t even know that Branch had older brothers!”

John Dory followed Poppy back into Rhonda, his head spinning. “But you said brother?” He pushed his goggles back up, forehead creasing as he tried to work out what the hair Poppy meant.

“His younger brother, duh!” Poppy waved off, already directing Rhonda away from the tree. She said it so casually, like it wasn’t the most out-of-pocket statement John Dory had ever heard. And he was quickly approaching forty-three—he’d heard a lot of insane shit.

“Younger—” John Dory was right up next to the wheel, now, not even caring that Poppy was directing Rhonda down streets alongside Bergens like it was nothing. “Explain?” Mom and Dad were both out of the picture before Branch’s egg even hatched—how in the name of all that was Trolly would Branch ever have a younger brother? It made no sense.

“Well, Gristle and Branch are adoptive brothers,” Poppy clarified, “But that still counts! They pretty much grew up together, from what I know.” She brought Rhonda to a stop, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just brought John Dory’s world to a screeching halt. It hit John Dory like a sack of bricks, how long he had really been gone—Bitty B had found himself a family. Branch had found himself a family, and John Dory had no idea.

With a start, John Dory realized that Poppy had already exited Rhonda, the door flipping shut behind her and leaving him all alone. And while he certainly felt safe inside his dearest companion, John Dory didn’t fancy letting sweet young Poppy walk around Bergentown alone.

Yeah, that was it. That he was barrelling out of Rhonda to catch up with Poppy was purely over concerns about her safety, and not at all because he felt unsafe. Not at all.

Poppy had parked Rhonda near a nondescript… boutique? And had already slipped in through a Troll-sized cutout in the door proper. With a deep breath, John Dory pushed his goggles back down over his eyes, and followed.

Inside, he looked around—there! Poppy had made her way up onto a clothing rack, walking along a strip of metal wide enough for three Trolls. She was face to face with—John Dory stopped in his tracks, deciding to come up to the top of the rack through the clothes. He did not fancy being the subject of a Bergen’s attention! As he slowly made his way up, he caught the conversation Poppy was having with—with the Bergen—

Ohhhhh, John Dory did not like this, nor what it might imply about his baby brother.

“The wedding’s not for four more days.” The Bergen commented, as John Dory finally hauled himself up onto one of the clothing hangers. “Did Bridget need help with some last-minute planning?”

Okay, John Dory was officially lost. Just what had happened in the time he’d been gone? It had only been twelve years since he last came to Bergentown!

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Poppy waved off. “I just wanted to visit Branch, that’s all.” Her tail flirted back and forth as she spoke, not an ounce of fear in her body despite how close she was to the Bergen’s massive teeth. John Dory only found himself growing more concerned about the safety of his people—was Poppy simply insane?

The Bergen chuckled, a low rumble that had John Dory discovering he could tense up even further. “I see.” She commented. “Well, I couldn’t say for sure where he is right now,” She held a massive claw up to her chin as she hummed contemplatively. “You know how he gets when he’s stressed; always finding more work to do and people to yell at.”

Poppy nodded, looking contemplative. “Well, thanks for the help anyway, Bernice.” She turned to where John Dory was balanced on a hanger, tail curled around the metal, but not before waving to the Bergen one last time. “See you at the wedding!”

The Bergen—Bernice? Bernice?—smiled, shaking her head. “Always nice to see you, Poppy!”

John Dory let Poppy take him by the paw and lead him out of the boutique and back to Rhonda. If his head was spinning before, it barely even felt attached now. Was this a fever dream? Oh, god, he must have taken a wrong turn on his way to Pop Village and crashed Rhonda, and all of this was just some weird coma dream his brain had come up with to torment him—

“Right!” Poppy was saying, as Rhonda got up and ready to move again. “We’ll check the castle next, I think—and if he’s not there, we start looking for King Gristle.” With that decided, she directed towards Rhonda towards the castle in question.

John Dory didn’t even have words with which to protest, at this point. With a resigned sigh, he watched as Poppy guided Rhonda up the steps of the castle. His nerves were shot, every fiber of his being frayed with anxiety, but there was no persuading Poppy to turn back. There was little he could do at this point but let Poppy lead him around, Rhonda coasting down the halls easily. John Dory’s thoughts turned inwards, following the same cycle of fear and self-loathing that he’d been avoiding for decades, and it kept coming back to one thought:

Just what had happened to Bitty B in his absence? Living in Bergentown? It had to—it had to have been something recent—Poppy had mentioned making peace with the Bergens, after all, and that must be when Bitty B took up residence in this wretched place, but—

But why? John Dory still wasn’t clear on how, exactly, peace could exist between Trolls and a species hellbent on eating them all. With the way the Bergens he had seen today carried themselves, there was no doubt in his mind that Trolls were on the menu—was it some kind of deal, some kind of willing sacrifice on the Trolls’ part in order to appease the Bergens? But that made no sense, who in their right minds would ever—

Rhonda came to a stop, and John Dory followed as Poppy disembarked. His goggles were still firmly over his eyes, and he had no intentions of removing them. So Bitty B had moved to Bergentown—overseeing the peace, maybe? Sacrificing himself in place of some other Troll?

John Dory shook his head as he followed Poppy in using his hair to launch himself up the wall. No, he refused to think about that. Poppy said Bitty B was okay, and John Dory had agreed to trust her. Maybe her definition of okay was different—

No. John Dory followed Poppy along what could only be described as a path along the wall, perfectly sized for Trolls to run along. He was not going to think about that. Floyd’s life was still on the line—John Dory could figure out what the hair was going on with Bergentown once he had all his brothers back.

Rhonda followed along as the pair made their way through the halls, seemingly unbothered by the occasional Bergen that passed through the halls. The Bergens in question all seemed to recognize Poppy, and she returned their greetings in kind.

Just as John Dory was sure he would implode—

“BRANCH!” Poppy took off along the pathway with a speed that made John Dory’s knees ache just watching, her tail whipping behind her as she bounded over to a Troll a short distance away. The Troll in question turned from the pair of half-sized Bergens he had been talking to, processed the pink blur that was barreling at him, and yelped as Poppy knocked him over with the force of her hug.

“Queen Poppy!” The Troll—Branch, John Dory realized, those blue eyes unmistakable—wheezed, prying himself from Poppy’s grasp. He hurriedly straightened his cape before bowing, silver crown glinting in the light. “I didn’t know you were visiting today.”

The Bergen with the gold crown and red cape smiled similarly. “Hey Poppy.”

Poppy turned to the Bergen and waved. “Hey Gristle! Good to see you!” She and the other Bergen launched into a much more energetic greeting, trading nicknames back and forth. But John Dory wasn’t paying attention to that anymore, pushing his goggles back up to fully drink in the sight of his baby brother. There he was, standing tall and proud, watching Poppy fondly…

A rush of pride crashed into John Dory’s chest. He rushed forwards, shoving his still-frayed nerves to the side. “BABY BRANCH!” His brother! His baby brother! Little Bitty B!

Branch yelped as John Dory scooped him up—or rather, as John Dory tried to scoop Branch up. “Ohhhhh you’ve grown—wow! Charlie horse!”

“Put me down!” Branch kicked and flailed until, gracelessly, the both of them tumbled to the floor. John Dory was slower to get up, joints creaking with the motion. Branch was already brushing off his cape and fussing with his crown, his face a mix between annoyance and something John Dory couldn’t decipher.

The crowned Bergen—Gristle, Poppy had called him—sidled over to look up towards Poppy. “Should I leave…?”

The other Bergen—Bridget? Was that what John Dory had heard her called? Why was he bothering to remember Bergen names—shook her head. “I wanna see where this goes, babe.”

“Who—” Branch backed away, face scrunching in what might have been recognition. “Oh. You.” Not the enthusiastic greeting John Dory imagined, but that didn’t stop him in the slightest.

“Branch, c’mon,” John Dory urged, “It’s me! John Dory! Your brother!” He stepped forwards, but Branch only narrowed his eyes and stepped back.

“Brother—” Gristle gasped, leaning forwards. Bridget had a hand over her mouth, eyes alight with curious excitement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Branch sniffed, arms crossed. “I have a brother, and he’s right there.” He nodded his head towards Gristle, who nodded in satisfaction.

John Dory wanted to scream. The Bergen? The Bergen was Branch’s brother? Branch had—but—

“So you weren’t in Brozone?” Poppy asked, tail starting to droop.

“Of course he was!” John Dory interjected. Okay, so he’d been thrown for a solid loop, real funny. But he was on a mission, dammit! He turned his attention back onto Branch, “You were Bitty B!”

“Brozone?” Gristle asked, peering at Branch suspiciously.

Poppy gasped. “You don’t know about Brozone?” She bounced in place, flapping her paws. “Brozone was only the boyband, like, ever! Even now their music is super popular, and the band broke up before I was even born!” She turned her attention onto Branch, almost launching herself at him in her fervor. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that you were in BROZONE?!”

As Branch hurriedly tried to fend off Poppy’s excitement, Gristle and Bridget turned their attention onto Branch. “You were in a band?” Gristle asked, voice tinted with incredulity.

“I can kinda see it.” Bridget commented, squinting. “It would have been during your years in the Troll Tree, right? Before the Great Escape.” She leaned in a little further, brow drawn in contemplation. “You do kinda look like you’d be related to them.”

Everyone looked at Bridget in surprise. “What?” She shrugged. “I pay attention when Poppy and I share music and hot goss. She got ‘Baby Baby Girl’ stuck in my head for weeks.”

“I dunno,” Gristle interjected, turning his scrutiny to Branch. “Were you really in a band as a baby?”

“Barely.” Branch snorted. “It was only a few songs and one live show.” There was something bitter in his tone, some hidden accusation that flew over John Dory’s head entirely.

“So you were Bitty B!” Poppy confirmed, grabbing Branch by the shoulders. “Oh my Troll!! You can’t just—I can’t believe you never told me!”

“We’ve only known each other for a year…” Branch commented quietly. He turned to John Dory, back on the defensive. “Why are you even here? No, wait—” He pressed his paws to his temples with a groan. “You’re here because you need something, aren’t you?”

“I do need something.” John Dory nodded.

Branch groaned. “Of course you are.”

Unfazed, John Dory barreled on. “It’s about Floyd.” He continued, letting his words spill out. The letter, the trip into Mount Rageous, the state of their brother in that awful diamond prison—it all spilled out in a rush before John Dory was fully processing each word. The more he spoke, the less his nerves about being right next to a pair of Bergens ebbed away, until his mind was lost in the task set before him.

By the time he finished, Poppy’s expression was one of quiet horror, her paws over her mouth. Even Gristle and Bridget looked upset, and Branch—

Branch’s expression was unreadable, his paws clenching and unclenching rhythmically. There was something stormy in those blue eyes, some deep reminder of the years spent apart.

“And why do you need me?” Branch asked.

John Dory almost laughed. What a silly question! “If we’re gonna pull off the Perfect Family Harmony, we’ll need to get the whole band back together. And since Floyd is trapped in a diamond prison, the only way to save him is with the Perfect Family Harmony.” He frowned at Branch. “It’s not complicated, Bitty B.”

“Yeah!” Poppy added. “You’ll get to see your brothers again! Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Not a chance.”

John Dory stumbled back at Branch’s words. “What?” That… there must be something wrong with his ears. He must have misheard. There was no way that Bitty B would—

“You heard me.” Branch’s voice was eerily calm, almost detached.

A growl started to build in John Dory’s throat. “Bitty B—”

“Don’t call me that.” Branch snapped. He stepped forwards, “You leave me behind for more than two decades, without a single note, and then when you return you expect me to just act like nothing happened?” Branch’s voice rose in pitch with his incredulity, his paws gesturing wildly as he spoke. “I have a kingdom to help run, my brother’s wedding is in four days, and you want me to toss that all aside to go on an adventure for some Trolls I barely know?” He leaned forwards, teeth bared in a snarl. “Not. A. Chance.”

John Dory gasped, affronted. Yeah, okay, so he’d been gone a while. But he was back! And Floyd was in danger! What in the world was Branch thinking?

“He’s your brother!” Poppy protested, dragging Branch several paces down the path. “You of all people should get how important that is, Branch. I mean, if Cooper, the best little brother in the whole world—no offense, Gristle—”

“Some offense taken.” Gristle responded, though he was smiling.

“—was the one in danger, I would stop at nothing to help him. “ Poppy continued. “And I know you’d do the same for Gristle.”

“Poppy.” Branch held up a paw, putting a pause on her impassioned speech. “I see where you’re coming from. Really, I do. But…” He sighed, heavy and tired, dragging a paw down his face. “All of my brothers left when I was two. Not once, in the near twenty-three years that they’ve been gone, have I so much as received the slightest indication that they’re even alive.”

“But they’re here now…” Poppy started. “At least, John Dory is.”

Branch shook his head. “That’s not the point.” He said. “The point is that I don’t know them. They were in my life for the first two years and then they were gone.” He glanced past Poppy to where John Dory was trying not to watch too obviously, several paces away and close to the wall. “Twenty-three years, Poppy. Anyone can become a totally new person in less than half that.” He shrugged, turning his gaze away to a particularly interesting torch-holder across the hall. “I’m not risking my neck for a couple of strangers, Poppy. Not when there’s so much already on my plate.”

“But—” Poppy started, “They’re your brothers.”

“No, they’re not.” Branch’s voice rose as he spoke, and he breathed deeply, paws clenching and unclenching.

Poppy gasped. “That’s not how blood works, Branch!”

“Blood isn’t everything, Queen Poppy.” Branch murmured. He turned away fully, idly waving a paw as he spoke. “You and your… guest have full access to the castle, as usual. I have business to attend to in the Eastern Quarter.” And with that, he walked away, cape swinging slowly with each step.

John Dory stepped forwards, paws clenching into fists. “Branch—” He stopped, staring down at the bright pink paw thrown out in front of him.

“I’ll go talk to him.” Gristle sighed, turning to follow after Branch.

The two of them turned the corner, Gristle’s exasperated exclamation quickly fading as they went out of hearing range. John Dory watched the two of them go numbly, barely even aware of Poppy and Bridget talking to each other.

This was supposed to be so simple. Branch was supposed to be the easiest brother to find and pick up. Just go to Pop Village and find Bitty B. Simple. Easy. The perfect way to start the onerous task of bringing them all together for Floyd.

How had it gone so wrong?

+=+=+=+=+

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Branch picked up the pace, his shoulders hunching as he ignored Gristle’s question. Anger buzzed in his veins while new worries joined the constant flow of concerns in his mind, his paws clenching and unclenching as he walked towards the castle doors. Branch really did have business to attend to out in town; he hadn’t been lying about that. There was always something that needed to be done, as Prince of Bergentown.

“Hey!” And there was Branch’s big-little brother, matching pace with him easily. “I know you can hear me!”

Branch broke out into a run. Undignified? Yeah. Obvious? That too. But Branch didn’t care. He couldn’t let himself care—there were too many other things he needed to care and worry and think about, he didn’t have the time or energy for this—

“Are you…” Gristle panted, still keeping pace with Branch. “Are you just going to keep running? You’ll run out of castle, dude.”

Branch slowed down, if only so he could properly glare at his obnoxious big-little brother. “Shut up.” As far as retorts went, it wasn’t his best—but what else was he supposed to do? Pull a witty comment from his ass?

Gristle rolled his eyes. “Real clever.” The two of them came to a halt—there was no point in running around; Branch wasn’t going to shake Gristle. “But really, Branch, what’s going on with you?”

Branch crossed his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He huffed, turning his head to the side.

Gristle sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Berg give me patience…” He muttered. Why was dealing with Branch in a mood always worse than trimming claws?

“When Dad died,” Gristle started, “When his body was falling apart from illness…” He had to pause, here, the memory heavy on his shoulders. “He was suffering, right there in front of me, and I was helpless to do anything about it.” His hands trembled, gaze firmly locked on the floor.

“Your point being?” Branch refused to be swayed by a sob story. He was as much a Bergen as a Troll, after all.

“It sucks to lose someone.” Gristle growled. “You know that as well as I do.”

“It sucks to lose someone close to you.” Branch snarled back. “Grandma was everything to me. Your Father was everything to you. But my former brothers are nothing to me.”

“Okay.” Gristle shrugged. He fixed Branch with a steady gaze. “But when your older brother dies on Mount Rageous, slowly and painfully…” He waved his hand dismissively, “I’d say I hope it doesn’t haunt you, but we both know it will.”

Branch’s shoulders hunched, his paws clenching and unclenching.

At Branch’s lack of response, Gristle cleared his throat. He walked over to the corner of the hall and pulled one of the colored cords, ringing a bell. A moment later, one of the serving staff—Hilda—arrived, bowing in greeting. “Your Majesty. Your Highness.”

Gristle spoke, “Inform Groth and Bernice that they have the remaining days before the wedding off. Paid leave.” Hilda nodded once and rushed off with her orders.

“What?” Branch’s eyes widened as he realized what his brother’s play was. “You did not just—”

“Branch.” Gristle’s voice was imploring. “You actually have the chance to help. To save your family.” Gristle clenched his hand into a fist, gaze resolute. “I’m not letting you waste this.”

“You—” Branch swallowed. His paws clenched and unclenched, and he wrested his gaze away from his big-little brother. After a long, drawn out moment, he threw his head back and sighed.

“I hate you so much.”

Gristle waved it off. “Yeah, yeah, love you too. Now go save your brother!”

+=+=+=+=+

John Dory stared at the album cover in his hands. He had always been more of a doer than a thinker—sitting around doing nothing only ever let in the thoughts he didn’t want, the thoughts that crept up his brain and haunted him for decades.

He, Rhonda, Poppy, and Bridget had moved to one of the castle’s two drawing rooms, the plush couches and craft-covered coffee table oddly Troll-like in design. Rhonda was curled up in Bridget’s lap—she’d taken a shine to the Bergen, which John Dory refused to acknowledge. Him and Poppy were both sitting atop Rhonda’s carapace, Poppy and Bridget talking about the upcoming wedding in a rapid-fire deluge of words that John Dory wasn’t processing.

Every inch of John Dory wanted to burst into action, to track down Bitty B and make him understand what was at stake here. But he didn’t feel ready to wander the castle halls alone with Rhonda, for all that Bridget had become less and less of an immediate threat in his mind.

“Okay, fine.” Branch’s voice cut through the room, and John Dory looked up to see his brother padding across the floor towards them. He launched himself onto the table with his hair. “Let’s go save Floyd.”

Branch had swapped the fur-lined cape for one made of a tougher fabric—well, no, this one was more of a cloak, actually, covering his shoulders fully. There were two clasps, one at his neck and one slightly lower—only the belled upper clasp was closed. Under the cloak, Branch had swapped his shirt for a leaf vest that John Dory vaguely recognized. It was an ensemble that screamed travel, even with the embroidered gray swirls lining the hem of the cloak.

The crown was still the same, though—same silver ring of leaves encircling Branch’s head. John Dory wondered if Bitty B ever parted with it. How long he had it.

Poppy was already moving, already on the table by the time John Dory was even standing. “I knew you’d come around! Oh, you’ll have to tell me all about it when you get back—”

Branch held up a paw. “Why would I do that? You’re coming with.” He said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it was, to him.

“Fine by me.” John Dory stretched before sliding down Rhonda’s side to her open door. Poppy had grown on him like moss on a stone—having her and her energy along would be great.

Poppy squealed. “Oh my hair! Yes! Yes yes yes!” She grabbed Branch’s wrist, yanking him over to Rhonda with ease. “Brozone 2.0! Brozone Reunion! Brozone, Here We Bro Again! Brozone, Where’d They Bro? I don’t know, WE’RE GONNA FIND THEM!”

“Have fun!” Bridget called out as Rhonda sped out the room. “Don’t die!”

John Dory grinned as Rhonda made her way down the castle steps. Finally, time to get this show on the road!

[shmowder]

I'll forever be thankful to the person who introduced me to Björk music on here; it completely changed the way I view and interact with music, I can't comprehend the possibility of going my whole life without having discovered her music just living in my limited bubble for eternity

[lucalicatteart]

-- Poorly Constructed Enchanted Tool --

A small tool carved from a fruit tree seed. Energy to power the enchantment has seemingly run-out long ago, and the method of recharging is unknown - but, based on the appearance, it's very likely that this was once used for detecting magic. Usually, looking through the glass center would highlight areas of higher magical energy concentration present in the viewer's environment, even if they were otherwise obscured to the naked eye. While this form of enchantment itself is highly advanced, the craftsmanship of the item is far less neat or complex than what might be typically seen in similar devices. It may have been made as part of training/practice, or as a hasty replacement for a previous tool that had broken.

[philcoulsonismyhero]

I've accidentally gotten Way too invested in some characters I've been playing with for a 'one of my beloved early 2000s crime dramas but this time people are actually queer' type story, so here, have some middle-aged gays

George is a detective, Tim is a forensic pathologist, they're an established couple because I don't really write romance but I do enjoy a bit of domesticity, and any resemblance you may notice to other characters that I've drawn a lot is probably entirely deliberate, this is an exercise in self-indulgence

[woolydemon]

don't fuck with me I'm undiagnosed but suspiciously detail oriented to an immense degree and able to catalogue that information excessively when it comes to something I am super interested in

[fate-defiant]

Honestly what with him being stuck in one unaging, unchanging state with his only remaining connection to his former self being this vague notion that he must fight and protect and sacrifice with no regard for his own well-being - there really is something of The Ghost Knight in Mytho.