#and i've been in this fandom for quite a while

[holdoncallfailed]

bizarre love triangle............. 🎾 (listen)

#do you get it. cos the song is bizarre love triangle. and she fell. she fell down in the movie. and there are 3 of them. so it's a love tria #challengers #fanmix #playlist #geeeeez it's been a while since i've done Proper fandom stuff on here i'm a little rusty nobody better make fun of me #the rihanna song is almost a joke...but not quite #also tbh i'll probably keep messing with this so i guess it's still a WIP...subject to change as they say

[annaraebananawriter]

(Request) I Bet You Were the Best Brother

It's been a while since I posted a oneshot, so I hope this 5k one manages to make up for that.

As I've mentioned before, been going through a bit of a writer's block that is finally going away. Some it still lingers, but it is infinitely better. Feels like I can breathe again. So, everyone reading this that struggles with writer's block at the moment--know that it will go away. You will be able to write again. It's not a matter of if, only when. You will be able to write again.

Anyway, I don't have any other major life updates for you, so I guess I'll let you start reading now. Happy reading! Let me know what you thought!!

Fandom: Undertale/UTMV

Characters: Dream and Nightmare (Who belong to Joku)

Warnings: A character losing their memory and swearing and I think that’s it. Let me know!

Summary: Ilike_cringe (Fri 14 Oct 2022): "here is a request :>. Could you make it that nightmare might have hit dream tooo hard in a fight that (bear with me ) Dream lost his memory ( if you could could you add more spice \^o^/)"

Word Count: 5395

~oOo~

Nightmare wanted there to be a note that the fight started off normal.

His gang showed up, causing some ruckus. He hung out in the background observing, soaking in the new misery like a sponge, keeping an eye out for the tell-tale sign that the Star Sanses had shown up. In today’s case, that ended up being an arrow flying at one of his boys, which barely got dodged, the blue glow disappearing as it left eyesight. Grinning, he had taken it as his cue to join in, grabbing Dream by the ankles as he notched another one, and throwing him across the space.

Not too hard, of course. He didn’t want his brother out of commission quite yet. That was always the fun part about the fight, seeing him defeated. It needs to be drawn out a bit, though, for it to be really satisfying.

Dream recovered from the toss quickly, though he was soaked head to toe—he had unintentionally tossed him into the river. Whoops. The annoyed look on his brother’s face made his grin widen even more. They quickly fell into their routine after that, trading blows and insults, slowly moving away from the others. Another toss had them entering the woods, which resulted in a lot of fallen trees, a clear indicator of where they’d gone.

A cliff came into view, with Dream’s back to it. Nightmare didn’t take much note of it at the time, too preoccupied—his brother had just gotten a pretty bad hit to the back of his skull, making him stumble. Pausing for a minute, he gave him some time to get his bearings back before attacking again, pushing him closer to the cliff edge.

So…technically, this whole thing could be considered his fault, but how was he supposed to know what would happen?

The cliff seemed perfectly safe in the normal dangerous way!

This means the fight was going great until the cliff crumbled under Dream’s feet, making him shriek, eyes widening, his bow dispersing as he pinwheeled backward. Nightmare froze, staring at the now absent spot with eyes equally as wide, tentacles raised to strike.

Then it went silent.

 “…shit,” he hissed, automatically turning around in case his brother teleported at the last second to safety. It wouldn’t be the first time, so it shouldn’t be the last time.

No one was there.

He waited.

Still no one.

Maybe Dream was just in shock, still picking himself up. Turning back, Nightmare stepped closer to the cliff, small rocks tumbling after the larger ones from his movements. If he leaned over, he could probably tell…ah, no. Nope, that was just a bunch of trees. His brother was probably under those trees. Probably just picking himself up.

He’ll return in no time.

Nightmare just had to wait.

So, he did.

For one minute. Then two. Then…honestly, he lost track of the minutes after that, glancing back and forth around the clearing, looking over his shoulder at the cliff like Dream would just suddenly appear, having climbed up for some stupid reason. Any minute now, the fight will be back on, continuing as usual…any minute now…

…any minute…

…any—

Okay, so.

Something was wrong.

Turning back to the cliff, he glared at the edge. It was its fault this was happening. Why did it decide to crumble now? Particularly when Dream was on it? Why?

Now his brother was somewhere below, dazed as hell, without the clear thinking necessary to teleport, or injured badly enough to be unconscious—and as soon as that thought popped into existence, he shoved it away, then took time to quell the rising panic in his soul.

No, no, that’s not possible. Dream’s far more durable than that. Sure, it’s a cliff, and cliff’s cause damage, even to immortal beings, but still. His brother could heal, so shouldn’t that work on himself, make him more…invulnerable, or something? Unless…he couldn’t actually heal himself and he’s just been assuming that he could this entire time…no, that couldn’t be possible. Nightmare’s pretty sure he’d remember that if it were the case.

So…what happened?

Maybe…maybe Dream was just staying down there for a while.

He’ll probably join again in a bit.

Yeah, that’s probably it. So, he should really go back and help his boys. Hey, maybe Dream’s already there! Maybe he went to his friends instead. Makes sense, makes sense…

He should go help his boys now, he’s been standing here too long.

And…he wasn’t moving.

Why wasn’t he moving?

Dream’s fine. He’s back at the main fight. It’s something that’s happened before. It should be something that happened here. It’s fine. He can go back. So…what kept him here, staring around like his brother would magically appear, a tight feeling in his chest that threatened to steal the air away from his non-existent lungs?

Maybe…maybe he should just go down there, check on Dream—

That was another thought pushed away. No, hell no. If he gave in to that though, if he went down there to check, now, after too much time has already passed for that to be considered just moving the fight along, that’d be…that’s cause his brother to hope. Hope that things could go back to the way things were before the apples. He can’t go through the painstaking steps needed to crush that hope, put off the last stubborn spark that remained until he was sure it wouldn’t create another flame. Not again.

Besides, he didn’t even care. Not that much. Sure, yeah, he cared somewhat, always would—that’s just naturally part of being a brother. But the majority of how much he cared was in the past, before everything was plucked off a tree in the form of a black apple and devoured. That care no longer exists, taken over by the need to win all these fights, making the scales tip in his direction.

It just…didn’t exist. He didn’t care.

(Some days, it was harder to convince himself of this fact than others.

This was one of them.)

He didn’t care, so he should so rejoin his boys, and get out of this AU.

This time, he teleported.

It was an easy win. Dream never came back.

When it came time to go home, Nightmare couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering away from his boys, who were celebrating as usual, over to the trees. In the direction of the cliff, even if he couldn’t see it from here.

The tight feeling in his chest squeezed and squeezed. His tentacles flicked nervously behind him. For some reason, he kept thinking that now was the moment his brother would appear, now was the moment he could stop all this silly, stupid worry, go back to being angry. And the longer he looked, the more that thought wavered and shook, gathering speed as it transformed into a tornado that threatened to consume all of his other priorities until he made sure Dream was okay. But the only way to do that was to go and check, and leaving now would just make the boys confused and worried, which he could not handle right now.

Besides, he was sure it was fine.

He got them all home before he could convince himself otherwise, before the urge to make sure was too overpowering. To make sure he was really distracted, he holed himself up in his office, pulling out some paperwork—which wasn’t even real paperwork, just a bunch of sudoku and word searches and other puzzles printed out to make it look like he was working on important stuff.

For the most part, it worked. Kept his mind too busy to think about what happened.

Then he got to one particular word search that—and he is not joking or exaggerating this part—had three words at the bottom for him to find, all in a row, that read: ‘Dream’, ‘injury’, and ‘concussion’. Isn’t that just the strangest collection of words you’ve ever seen? The surreal coincidence of the words made Nightmare stare down at the page for a minute, completely gobsmacked. Who the hell was writing these word searches, and why the fuck did they include these three specific words on the same one?

It was like a sign or something…

Sneering, Nightmare tore the word search up into tiny pieces, sitting back in his chair, spinning around and around. Trying very hard not to think about the three words. And how his brother never came back. And how the yelp he let out when he fell just fell silent and how he never bothered to check and—

And now he was thinking about it.

“Fuck.”

Growling to himself, he stopped spinning in his chair. Then, he promptly stood and teleported back to the AU.

Leaning over the cliff again, he teleported down. His brother wasn’t anywhere in the immediate proximity—though, why would he be? This was all just a waste of time—so he started walking around, ducking under some tree branches. When he fell, Dream would’ve had to have landed somewhere around here…though he still wasn’t sure why he was searching.

His brother was probably gone by now. His friends probably came to collect him.

Why did he think he’d find him here, lying on the ground as if nothing happened? As if he just decided to take an impromptu nap, in the snow and in wet clothes and…

Oh. Oh, shit.

That was actually Dream lying there in front of him.

Fuck.

Almost tripping over himself, Nightmare hurried over, falling to his knees beside his brother. His hands hovered in the air around him, unsure what to do. “Dream?” he called, hoping to wake him up. Nothing happened.

Dream didn’t move.

For a soul-stopping moment, Nightmare actually thought he might be dead. Panic swirled in his chest, choking him, until he remembered that if they were dead, their body would turn to dust. Presumably, anyway, since they had no real way of knowing that until they…y’know…actually died, but still. The thought allowed him to gather himself enough to Check his brother, make sure of it. It said he was fine, if missing a chunk of health.

Nightmare breathed out, hating how shaky it was. “Idiot, making me worry for nothing…” he muttered to himself, looking down at his brother, frowning. Shaking his shoulder, he raised his voice a bit, eager to wake him up, make sure he left to wherever, hopefully back to his friends, and get home himself before his boys wondered where he went off to. “Dream. Wake up.”

No response. Dream was still. Breathing—he double-checked, just to be sure—but still.

Frowning, he shook him again, rougher. Still nothing.

Even unconscious, his brother insisted on being annoying. Scowling, he sat back on his heels. “If you don’t wake up, I’m going to kick you.”

Nothing.

Welp. His hand was forced.

Standing, Nightmare kicked Dream in the side—not too hard, of course, he’s not a complete monster. Just enough that he woke up.

Which he did.

Finally.

Nightmare rolled his eye to himself, crossing his arms as he watched his brother groan, coming to. A hand half-raised to his head before stopping, eyes blinking open and squinting against the light. His eyelights were paler than normal, just a hair bigger, too. He could see the exact moment they focused in, his brother clocking that there’s someone standing above him, but Dream didn’t panic, didn’t seem to be anything more than confused.

Dream blinked again. “Hi.”

Nightmare raised a brow bone. Seriously? That’s it? He fought the urge to roll his eye again. “What are you still doing here?”

His brother seemed to get more confused. “What?”

Wondering if the fall knocked loose some brain cells, Nightmare scowled. “What do you mean, ‘what’? You know what. What are you still doing here? This is, like, the most uncomfortable spot to have a nap.” Without waiting for him to answer, he continued, waving a hand around. He couldn’t let the opportunity to mock him go by. “And why didn’t you rejoin the fight? I thought you had a duty to protect the positivity in the multiverse.”

“Um…” Dream blinked for a third time, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He laughed, nervously, like a reflex, and when he opened his eyes again, they were fuzzy again. “Sorry, you went a bit fast for me there. Could you repeat that?”

Ugh. Now he was just being difficult.

“You’re so annoying.” Nightmare said, stepping away. “Just get up and get out of here.”

Looking up at him, the words seemed to take a few minutes to sink in. Then, nodding, Dream tried to stand, movements jerky, as if he was figuring out how to move them for the first time again. When he stood, he wobbled, tilting over a bit before righting himself.

Nightmare realized he had stepped forward, ready to catch him should he fall, and retreated, tucking his hands back into his arms.

Damnit. He was slipping. He had to get out here, fast.

“I’m alright.” Dream said, clearly noticing his misstep. He was smiling. Nightmare had to look away before the sight made him feel warm inside. “Just a bit dizzy.”

“Whatever,” Nightmare said in return, leaving it at that.

Still smiling, his brother shifted on his feet, looking down at his hands and clenching them into fists a couple of times. His gaze wandered back up to him, and then away, looking around them with a curious, still confused, look. It was almost like he was trying to figure out where he was, as if he wasn’t just in a fight here earlier.

He couldn’t have forgotten that fast, could he? And what was he still doing here?

Shouldn’t he be opening a portal by now?

“What are you waiting for?”

Snapping back to look at him, Dream didn’t seem to understand the question. “Huh?”

Waving a hand again, tentacles flicking behind him, Nightmare’s scowl deepened. Why the fuck was he acting so weird? “Open a portal already and go home. Your friends are probably worried sick by now.”

(He ignored the voice in his head that said he was starting to get worried, too.)

“Right, right.” Dream nodded, trying and failing to look like he knew what he was talking about. “A portal…see, um, I would do that…but, uh…” Looking around again, shifting some more, his smile turned sheepish. “Well, I don’t remember, exactly, how to do that.”

Nightmare did not return the smile, unamused. He just stared.

What the fuck? What was he playing at? What was the point in drawing all this out? Nostalgia? What did he get out of acting so weird? What was going on here?

“Do you think this is a fucking game?” Nightmare asked, voice slipping off into a growl. His tentacles moved restlessly. He was getting agitated now. He just wanted to go home, get back to his puzzles, and maybe sleep for a week. But no, he was here, playing along with this stupidness, unable to get a grasp on what was happening.

Dream looked alarmed, holding his hands up and shaking them furiously. “No! No—”

“Then why the fuck are you wasting my time? I come out here, in the middle of the evening, to make sure you’re good, and you decide to, what, pull a joke on me?” Unable to curb his irritation, he shook his head, rubbing a hand down his face. “Stars, I hate you. I’m reminded now why I don’t bother doing this for you. You never take it seriously.” Turning he started to walk away, hearing Dream stutter excuses behind him.

He didn’t want to hear any excuses. He was done. He was going home.

“It’s not—I’m not joking,” Dream called after him, footsteps crunching on the snow as he chased after him.

“Of course, you are!” Nightmare sighed, in annoyance or anger or both of them combined. He didn’t care anymore. “You always are!” He didn’t bother stopping or turning around. Just continued on. And then he remembered he didn’t have to walk away at all, could just make a portal out. Turning his annoyance to himself, he raised a hand to do so—

“I don’t remember that.”

—and stopped.

The statement struck the right chord, making something inside him fall to the pit of his stomach, pricking him uncomfortably. Slowly, he turned to face Dream again, paying more attention. “…what?”

“I—I don’t remember that,” Dream said, tone so genuine, eyes so wide and confused and even scared that it seemed to create a physical attack on his soul. Raising a hand, his brother held it to his head. “I thought if I waited a bit, I might remember something, but I don’t. It’s all just…blank. I don’t know anything you’re talking about, like the fight or my friends. I place any faces to them or names or anything.” He let his hand fall, shaking his head as he turned his gaze down to his feet, speaking softly. “I just don’t remember.”

The words pushed Nightmare out of the present, sending him spiraling into the black hole opening in his ribs, right where his soul is. They pressed in on him, reverberating, turning into a high pitch that buzzed inside him, threatening to cut off his breath.

He didn’t want to believe the words. In fact, he was trying his absolute best not to. Excuses flew through, nitpicking through the explanation and finding words that betrayed the real truth. He told himself over and over that no matter what, no matter how injured he got, Dream would never allow this to happen. His brother would hold onto himself with an iron grip, too desperate to let go, and the Multiverse would allow him to hold on because it was just another being that favored him. They would not let their favorite Guardian lose his precious memories, not for all the stories it brought them.

No, it just wasn’t possible. He was lying—though the reason why was unclear, and nothing could really justify it, he had to be lying. It was a trick, a ploy, maybe even a trap. Yes, that’s it. Any minute now, the other Star Sanses would jump out, pull their weapons, and Dream would drop this façade and go back to pleading with him and when it didn’t work, when Nightmare lashed out in anger, he would pull out his bow and—and—

It just---it had to be a trick.

It had to.

It…

His eyes didn’t look like he was lying, though.

No matter how long he searched, how close he looked, it was a blank sheet of gold. He found confusion, yes, he found anxiety—nothing new there—but he did not find any recognition. Hope and helplessness, but no relief in having someone he knew find him. Even now, as his brother looked around the clearing, he only saw curiosity, as if he hadn’t seen this place before, as if he had just arrived, as if he had just woken up and was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar faces. The eyes came back to his, smiled at him, and—

And they were still blank.

A ghost.

The black hole in his ribs widened, pulling him in faster. Digging his heels in, he resisted with everything he had, swimming back out. He had to confirm this, he told himself, had to make sure this was the truth. If there was any chance he did remember, whether that be his friends or his title or Night—

Well, Nightmare just had to find it. He had to.

He heard himself speak before he was fully back in his body. “Did you hit your skull?”

“Ah, maybe?” Dream tilted his head, reaching around to the base of it before retracting quickly, wincing. “Yes. Yeah, I did.”

“Turn around.”

Obedient, Dream did, and Nightmare stepped closer, observing the crack. It wasn’t as bad as he was expecting—certainly not as big—but it was still enough to make bile climb up the back of his throat. Swallowing it down, he darted his gaze around it, taking in the gaping black hole, about the size of a cherry, thinner cracks webbing out from around it. It had blood crusted on the edges, and he was sure that if he took the time to look around the cliff, he’d find matching spots.

Absently reaching out, he traced along the wound with his fingers. Stars, how he wished he knew how to heal. This would be so much easier.

Dream pulled away after his fingers made contact, and he let his hand fall as he turned back, already apologizing. “Sorry! Sorry, that just…really hurt.” He laughed again, but it petered out as he caught sight of Nightmare’s face. “Oh…that bad of a sight, huh?”

“You said…” Nightmare swallowed again, ignoring those words. “You said you don’t remember anything?” The feeling in the pit of his stomach clenched.

“No.” Oblivious, Dream shook his head. “The latest memory I have is of you standing over me. Before that…” Tilting his head again, his brother thought about it, ultimately coming up with nothing. No spark in his eyes. “Nothing.” He looked regretful, like he wished he could be of more help. “Sorry.”

There he went again, apologizing.

Nightmare was going to have to have a talk with him about that. He can’t keep saying sorry for things that he didn’t need to say sorry for in the first place.

First, however, was dealing with—this.

“So…” He didn’t want to ask the next question. It burned in his throat, made his tongue curl in preparation, the words too ugly to even think about. Why did it need to be said? He already knew the answer to it. Why did he insist on asking it when he knew what was going to be said? He would rather them stand like this forever than ask it.

That was a risk, though. And he would really like to get some sleep tonight—even if that might be impossible the longer this sank in. They should really wrap this up soon.

That meant asking uncomfortable questions.

Swallowing himself down, Nightmare let the question go. It couldn’t hurt to ask, anyway. “You don’t remember me?” The words lingered in the air, an odd hint of emotion to them, something fragile and vulnerable.

(He knew the answer to why he wanted to ask this.

Somehow, somewhere inside him, there was still a need that maybe something would be remembered. If the longer they talked, the greater the chance the memories would just snap back into place. That the hollow feeling of having someone you grew up with look at you like one would a stranger would disappear, replaced by joy or anger or tears, anything else.

Inside, if nothing else, he needed there to be a chance he’d be remembered.)

It felt like hope.

“No.” Dream answered, the shaking of his head feeling like salt poured into open wounds. He seemed disappointed in himself, upset he couldn’t help. For him, this was failing at giving someone what they wanted.

For Nightmare, this was confirmation.

(It felt like denial.)

(There was a stinging in his chest. Where did it come from?)

“Where you someone important?”

Nightmare automatically bristled. “I—” He stopped himself, glaring down at the ground while clenching his jaw.

His instinct was to say that, of course he was. He was Dream’s brother. They grew up together. They were, still are, two halves of the same coin, two halves to the same balance. Despite everything, that had to mean something.

But that wasn’t the truth, was it?

Not anymore.

Maybe one time, before The Incident, before the villagers came to them. It was just the two of them, after all. And Mother, but she couldn’t really say much, or do anything beyond existing. Maybe then they were each other’s most important person. And maybe it would’ve stayed that way had everything not gone to shit.

But the point was, that was in the past.

Whatever they had, it was gone. In more ways than one now…

Inhaling, Nightmare looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That…depends on your definition of important.”

They had other people in their lives now. He had his gang, his boys. Though he often complained about their foolishness and called them idiots, not once had he ever wished he hadn’t met them. Dream, he knew, felt much the same about Ink and Blue. Neither of them would trade their friends for the world.

Even for each other.

“I was—” Nightmare sighed, rolling back his shoulders. “I’m your brother. Nightmare.” He forced himself to look back at Dream, even if the eye contact burned his soul with something uncomfortable. “Your name is Dream, by the way. In case you forgot that, too.”

“Cool!” Dream paused and gasped, beaming as he made the connection. “Our names match!”

“Yeah.” Nightmare said, forcing himself to smile back. “Yeah, they do.” Of course they did, he thought to himself. That’s the reason why they chose the names.

Brow furrowing, Dream tilted his head. “Wait, if we’re brothers, wouldn’t I just live with you, then?”

“What?” Nightmare felt himself frown in return. “Why do you think we’d live together?”

Strange, considering Dream didn’t even remember him.

(There was that stinging again.)

“I-I don’t know, I just…I have this feeling that brothers should be living together. That they need to live together. I don’t know why, but it’s a very strong feeling.” Dream raised a hand to his chest, hovering over where his soul would be. “When I think about you, um, that feeling gets all…strange.”

This caught his attention. “Strange?”

“Yeah.” Nodding slowly, Dream worked through it, finding what to call it. “I think it…I think it turns jealous, somehow.”

Nightmare stared.

Jealous…?

That couldn’t be right. Dream had to be reading it wrong.

There was nothing to be jealous about. His brother always had the perfect life. What more could he want?

If anything, he should be the one jealous. He’s the only one who deserves to be jealous. Jealous of the way people were always drawn to his brother over himself, the way people thought everything of the sun and nothing of the moon, even though they both shared the same light. It was his right to be envious, his right to look upon the past and view it with bitterness. It was his right to look at the present, now, when Dream still has his friends and his standing and still has everyone revolving around him.

At least he can find relief, find arrogance, in the fact that he found his own friends, his own group of people who looked up to him. It took years, it took work, but he found them.

He didn’t need Dream anymore.

(So, what if sometimes he looked at his brother and his friends and felt a longing to join them?

So, what if he found the way they laughed, the way they treated each other, a reminder that he’s done too many things to be treated like that again?

So, what if he’s tired of fighting all the time and wants to go back to how things were, while knowing that could never happen, while looking across the battlefield into golden eyes that reflected the same kind of feelings and—and…oh.

Oh.

Oh, they would never escape being peas in a pod, would they?)

“Hey, you mentioned my friends, though.” Dream said, brightening up again, looking around like they might just pop up. Not that he would recognize them. “Maybe we could find them and they could help me get home. What do you think of that?”

Maybe, Nightmare thought, looking away as well. He couldn’t lie, it would be nice to leave this place, and dump the responsibility of an amnesiac onto someone else. Especially the Guardians of the Multiverse, the coveted Star Sanses.

But something twisting in his stomach stopped him from agreeing.

He thought, all too suddenly, about how he came back hours later to his brother still lying in relatively the same spot he fell. Meaning Ink and Blue never came back to look for him after they retreated. You’d think, for monsters that claimed to be his best friends, they’d be out here the minute the battle was over, bringing Dream back home to be checked on.

Why should he trust his brother with those two, when they didn’t even search for him? They probably don’t even know he’s missing. They certainly don’t know he’s injured. He can’t help but wonder what their reactions would’ve been to this memory loss.

Too bad he won’t find out.

“I think they’re busy, actually.” Nightmare decided, making a split decision that he hoped wasn’t wrong. “And going to be busy for the week yet.”

 “Oh…”

Dream looked disappointed. Hurt.

The look on his face only solidified Nightmare’s decision. His tentacles curled in satisfaction. “You can come home with me, though. Stay for a bit.”

“Really?” Starting to brighten yet again, Dream seemed to hesitate, searching to make sure he was telling the truth.

“Yeah.”

“Awesome.” Dream’s smile lit up the forest, and Nightmare turned himself away before he found himself getting soft because of it. Raising a hand to open the portal, he heard Dream chuckle behind him. “I gotta say, even though I don’t remember it, I bet you were the best brother ever.”

The words were said so confidently, so…normally…it made Nightmare freeze. The portal wobbled in front of him, but stayed open, and he blinked at it a couple of times before he turned back to his brother.

His mouth was dry, for a reason he couldn’t yet understand.

“What?”

“Well, I mean…it’s like you said. You came all this way, in the middle of the night, to check on me. You were worried. And then, when you found me, you stayed to wake me up, even though you technically already completed your goal. You didn’t just leave. And you checked my injury without me asking you to, and told me my name, and now you’re offering to let me stay at your place.”

Dream’s smile turned smaller, more vulnerable. “It just seems like a very nice thing to do.”

Nightmare’s gaze was frozen, locked onto that genuine, soft smile. The last sentence played on a loop, ringing inside his skull.

A very nice thing to do.

In any other situation, the suggestion would be laughable.

But like this…

(There was that stinging. Again. Why won’t it just go away?)

He thought back to the fight that happened earlier. How he reveled in the pain he caused, how much fun he had taunting his brother. How often he attacked him, without worry or caution. How eager he was to throw him around into trees, back him up into a cliff. He hadn’t even thought about what might happen, too giddy, too smug. All he wanted to do was put him in his place…he hadn’t even cared that he was bleeding…hadn’t even reached out to try and save him when the cliff crumbled…

How long had Dream laid there, in the snow, still in wet clothes?

What did he think as he watched Nightmare watch him fall?

How can that be called nice?

How can what happened during The Incident be called nice? What kind of brother turned his twin into stone, and left him in a dead AU all alone, knowing full well that he would one day return? What kind of brother picked an apple he was supposed to protect in the first place? What kind of brother was he?

Certainly not the kind this Dream was talking about…

“Right.” Nightmare said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. He understood why this time. He wanted to throw up. “Thanks.”

Dream didn’t notice anything wrong. Still smiling away. As always. Always. “No problem!” Rocking back on his heels, he started to look around as his attention span waned with no portal to go through.

Still, Nightmare did not move to open it.

Instead, he found himself changing tracks. Jumping train from thinking about how bad of a brother he was, to how good of a brother Dream was.

Is.

Was.

Stars, this was so confusing…

“You weren’t that bad of a brother yourself.” Nightmare said, and this time the words were better tasting. At least this way, something true would be said here.

Dream looked back at him, surprised, with a spark of confusion. Then, even if he didn’t know everything Nightmare was talking about, he smiled, taking it as the compliment it was. “Aw, thanks.”

Nodding, Nightmare finally managed to open the portal, letting Dream go through first. He hesitated to follow, looking around the AU again. For some reason, he felt like he would still find his brother, memories and all, waiting for him if he looked hard enough. But he wouldn’t. He knew that.

At least, he had to accept that.

That stinging again…

Showing it down once again, Nightmare turned and went home.

(It’s only after Dream is settled into one of the guest bedrooms—stocked with fresh bedsheets and a fresh pair of clothes for the next day borrowed from Nightmare’s own closet—and he’s back in the safety of his office that he lets his composure finally break. Choking, he slides down his door, hand clasped over his mouth to keep as quiet as possible.

It’s only then that he lets himself cry.

Cry about how he never reached out to catch his brother when he first fell.

Cry about what his brother thought before splitting his skull on a rock.

Cry about the stranger left in his brother’s body.

Cry about everything.)

#my writing #my fanfiction #fanfiction #oneshot #request #undertale #utmv #dreamtale #dream sans #nightmare sans #tw swearing #tw amnesia

[spaceyaceface]

hello lovelies <3

I think it’s been pretty obvious, but I haven’t been active the last few months. I had been struggling with my mental health for quite a while, and came to realize being so heavily involved in fandom wasn’t doing any good for me. So I took a big step back to figure things out. Thankfully, I’m doing a lot better now.

I’ve gotten a couple messages asking if I’m planning on coming back or being active in the fandom again—so I thought I’d make a quick post about it. I so appreciate all of you who have thought about me and messaged me, it means more than you know. I’m so grateful for the friends I’ve made in this fandom. I couldn’t love you all more. That being said, I don’t plan on being heavily involved in the fandom any time soon. I really don’t want to regress to where I was and lose the progress I’ve fought hard to make. But I won’t be gone completely—I’ll be popping on every once in a while to reply to messages.

Lately, I’ve been wanting to finish Safety. If I do do that, it’ll be slow so that I can make sure I’m prioritizing the things in life that I need to. But it’s something I’m proud of and would like to see complete. I cant promise anything, but do know it’s on my mind.

I’d just like to reiterate this: thank you. Thank you for being there when I needed you. Thank you for supporting any work I’ve made and thank you for being such a wonderful group of people. I love you all. This community is filled with some of the most creative and passionate people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, please NEVER stop that.

I’ll be around here and there. Be kind, find happiness, and take care of yourselves. Love you ❤️

#ace talks

[watcherintheweyr]

i think your idea that viserys named naerys after rhaenyra it's so sweet, i'm crying it rare seeing such lovely post in this fandom especially about viserys since for some reason people say he hated his mother

do you have more ideas or headcanon like that? if you do i would love to know

People only think Voserys hated his mother bc they have poor critical thinking skills. He and Aegon mourned her their whole lives. She loved them and raised them to be phenomenal princes and kings. I don't particularly like Viserys II but I can't deny he's effective.

As for other similar headcanons... hmmm....

I think Rhaenyra and Daemon would've had more kids if they'd been able- and girls would've been names Visenya, Alyssa, and Aemma.

I think Rhaenyra specifically.picked Mornong's egg for Rhaena because the lovely pink and strong black made her think of her stepdaughter.

I think that while Baela and Rhaena obviously love and miss their mother and carry many of her traits, I think that while Baela is Daemon's mini-me, Rhaena is Rhaenyras. I've had that hc since the book- and in the show, Rhaena often matches her dresses to Rhaenyras, and from what we've seen of her in s2 she's started styling her hair similarly to how Rhaenyra did at her age, and appears to be wearing Rhaenyras gold necklace from her wedding (or a very similar one!)

Rhaena had six daughters with her second husband and I firmly believe that while Baela named her daughter Laena, Rhaena defied political niceties, and named one daughter Rhaenyra. And perhaps another daughter was named a feminine version of Lucerys- to honor her first betrothed, who she clearly had a good relationship with.

I think that Luke and Rhaena would have made a fantastic Lord and Lady of the Tides- and Baela and Jace would've been among the best rulers Westeros ever had.

I also will die on the hill that if she hadn't been so deeply sabotaged and destroyed by grief and betrayal, Rhaenyra would've been a solidly good queen.

I think that Cregan, Jace, and Baela would've been the OT3 to end all OT3s and I honestly think Cregan mightve considered staying south to be Jace's hand, if things had played out differently.

I definitely think Aegon3 wanted to name his sons for the brothers he lost, but was pressured out of it due to the political unrest. And honestly, sadly, I do think Viserys would've been the one to dissuade him, and that likely would've deeply damaged their relationship

I headcanon that every time Rhaenyra had a child, Syrax laid a clutch- their bond is shown to be so deep to the point that they share paim, and Rhaenyra shows a deep love and respect for Syrax. Honestly all of team Black show their dragons a lot of love and respect- unlike team Green who sort of just use their dragons as tools of war and naught else.

I think if things hadn't ended how they did, Aegon 3 would've claimed Grey Ghost. Their personalities suit one another so well! Rhaenyra would've been so proud, and Daemon would've helped him every step of the way. (Side note, @spreta-invidia wrote the Best aegon3 fic quite literally ever, and he and Grey Ghost... 👀 anyways you should read the fic)

Idk I have a lot of Targaryen headcanons, particularly for Rhaenyra and her family bc they're my favorites of House Targaryen. If you'd like any more feel free to shoot me another ask- but I tend to kinda error 404 when questions are vague so if there's anything specific you'd like to know my headcanons about that'd be super helpful lmao

#rhaenyra targaryen #team black #pro team black #vira's headcanons #my writing #house targaryen headcanons

[deconstructthesoup]

I've been thinking about this lately, so, here's my Slay the Princess ships and why I ship them:

Witch x Damsel, aka Sleeping Briars: There's just something that's so compelling about the two "fairytale" vessels---aka, a witch and your classic damsel in distress---who can both lead to some of the most romantic routes in the game. The dynamic between a devious little prankster who has serious trust issues and can't let anyone get close as a result and an adorable sweetheart who trusts everyone and falls in love way too fast is really interesting to me, and I think they'd actually be pretty good influences on each other.

Adversary x Razor: Two ladies who love fighting, bloodshed, and pain in general? The potential is right there. They're different enough that there's some dimension, but they're similar enough that their dynamic would be killer. Literally.

Spectre x Stranger: Honestly, I just think that they're both very charming and would probably get along really well, but there is something to be said about them being the two Vessels you get when you don't really give the Princess a chance---either if you kill her without hesitation and get Spectre, or if you refuse to even meet her and get Stranger. They're both lonely and scattered, and maybe they'd find something in each other.

Thorn x Wild (Wounded): There's something really sweet and intimate about two people who've hurt and been hurt finding comfort in each other. Idk, I think it's nice.

Burned Grey x Drowned Grey: It's... it's right there. The duality is right there. The wedding gown and the funeral gown, the fire and the water---it's right there.

Prisoner x Skeptic: This is really the only Voice/Vessel ship I've got on my list, and it's because in my opinion, it's the most grounded. Prisoner is arguably the most human out of all of the vessels, and Skeptic's whole thing of picking things apart and looking at everything from a different angle feels like a pretty reasonable response to the insanity of the construct. Her cynicism combined with his suspicious attitude could make for a really interesting dynamic, and I think they'd balance each other out well.

Contrahero: Come on. Come on. They're perfect. The first time I saw the Stranger ending, my head was already buzzing with "they're staying in the cabin? Together? Married couple! Married couple!" thoughts. I'm far from the only person in the fandom who sees how amazing the dynamic of the intrepid knight and the goofy little jester is.

Smitten x Cold: The dynamic between the dashing romantic who lives off of passion and feeling and the tired and quiet soul who seems to have cut himself off from emotion altogether is too compelling to ignore. The tension just writes itself.

Stubborn x Opportunist: While these two seem pretty different at first glance, I think the fact that both of them are voices who don't know when to quit speaks wonders as to how they might bounce off of each other. One of them solves problems through fists and fighting and the other solves problems through words and deceit---and I think that creates a pretty interesting duo.

Huntcheat: @tai-janai got me hooked. It's actually pretty damn adorable, I dunno what else to say.

(Also, Nightmare is aromantic in pretty much every one of my AUs, and Paranoid is aroace more often than not)

#slay the princess #stp shipping #stp the witch #stp the damsel #stp the adversary #stp the razor #stp the spectre #stp the stranger #stp the thorn #stp the wild #the burned grey #the drowned grey #stp the prisoner #voice of the skeptic #voice of the hero #voice of the contrarian #voice of the smitten #voice of the cold #voice of the stubborn #voice of the opportunist #voice of the hunted #voice of the cheated #stp the nightmare #voice of the paranoid

[raelyn-dreams]

Where did you find the full tl for Ibuki? Not doubting you (HappyEle is notorious for mishandling minorities), but I've only been able to find bits and pieces for the new characters

The tl I read for Ibuki wasn't his idol story (I don't think that's been fully tled yet), it was his profile, sorry for the confusion! I should have worded that better 🙏

MireiArchive had this rough tl for his profile, which matches up with the machine tl of "Born in Okinawa, and raised in America" (though you should always take machine tls with several handfuls of salt, I believe this one is accurate, as it matches up with the info provided by other translators).

They also provided a rough overview of his idol story, during which the incidents that are being talked about take place.

We know this part of the rough overview of the story is accurate due to being confirmed by several sources (the jp and eng fandoms are talking about it quite a bit).

These parts specifically are the ones where he claims to experience discrimination due to being Okinawan or American (any foreigners face potential discrimination due to a homogeneous society), though his current nationality is Japanese. The first two kanji after the question mark in the first screenshot is the word for "Okinawa" (I'd screen record this part, but unfortunately my phone's audio quality is abysmal 🙃).

Getting a bit into Okinawa's history, the Ryukyuan people are native to the Ryukyu Islands (part of which make up modern-day Okinawa), and they were annexed by the Empire of Japan during the Meiji Era. As Japan did with other ethnic groups, such as the Ainu, the vast majority of the Ryukyuan people were stripped of their culture and forced to assimilate. During WWII, after America invaded Okinawa, the US occupied them for several decades, and there are still US military bases there that are a topic of strong debate, due to their environmental, cultural, and political impacts. Ibuki's family likely has ties to America due to these past events (many Ryukyuans have immigrated to Hawaii in particular, due to it being a straight shot across the Pacific, something which started in the early 1900s).

After WWII, Ryukyuans supported Japan more strongly due to increased resentment towards Americans, causing a further decline of people who spoke Ryukyuan languages (the vast majority speak standard Japanese, like Ibuki) and other aspects of their culture. Ryukyuans are now mostly split between the Okinawa and Kagoshima prefectures. "Okinawan" as a term has become one meant specifically to refer to the Ryukyuans (Wikipedia and other places have great sources for further info on these topics), which Ibuki is.

Therefore, we come to the current discussion around Ibuki's identity and what that means for his writing going forward.

(Tweet from mika_enstars discussing it, a well-known livetweeter and translator)

Overall, I'm hoping Akira has learned his lesson from the Amagis (and Adonis, while we're at it) and that the poor writing choices will be few and far between this time around, discounting this story, though of course I won't exactly be holding my breath. We'll have to wait and see until more stories drop, but yeah, that's the gist of the situation!

#asks #anonymous #ensemble stars #enstars #ensemble stars music #4piece #ibuki taki

[j-ellyfish]

People who engage in the Hetalia fandom while openly disliking the source material and even Himaruya himself sound kinda like hypocrites to me. Everyone's entitled to their own opinion, but please stay away from me, this kind of mindset truly annoys me and makes me uncomfortable. Am I gatekeeping? No, not really, I just believe that being a fan of something should mean, you know, being a fan and liking the source material at the very least. It should be like, the lowest the bar can get. Below that, there's not being a fan.

#if you live in your own delusion and your friends' fanon that's cool but I just can't bring myself to consider you a fan and #respect any of your opinions on the characters and anything else related to that #because really how can you have opinions on something you barely touch because 'ew canon am I right guys'??? #idk I just don't understand this behavior and it makes me uncomfortable #I've been seeing this '''trend''' for quite a few years and it irks me so much #I too have some criticism of some parts of canon but spitting in the plate where I'm eating?? Nah that'd be so stupid and hypocritical #if you hate it so much then don't leech off hetalia tags #idk #you guys do you but still I will never understand nor support it #ary spoke #ofc I'm not talking about people who are new to it and are testing the waters with fanon content before actually watching/reading the sourc #material - I'm talking about the people who actively refuse to consume the source and openly hate on it and have done so for years while #still somehow engaging in the fandom and even getting mad when the most common portrayal of characters is you know CANON LEANING and #not mirroring their valid but understandably niche opinions that most often come from an interpretation of fanon #hence at least twice as far away from canon #I don't seek drama or anything please do not pick fights I just needed to get this off my chest

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Junicrane/Starstruck Ramble

I will not be brief, all under the cut

To clear some things right off the bat:

No corpse, no proof with Juniper. Obligatory this is set in a canon where he's alive and adjacent to the agency in some way.

Reggie & Juniper are just gay to me, but I don't mind any interpretation of their sexuality

The games are set in 1967/68 to me (based on a couple bits in game) which is before it was legal to be gay in America at least (1971), which is relevant to how I interpret canon as being somewhat grounded in reality, despite unrealistic elements.

This is just an insane amount of headcanons/elements of and AU all culminated into one post. I will talk about some headcanons like they're just facts because they are established in my head, and it saves me over explaining literally everything, however I will explain some parts a little bit for clarity.

Alright. Actual beginning of the ramble:

Juniper is a character to me who had gotten so lost in his job as an actor and a social presence that in the end his whole life revolved around that 'role'. Because of this, by the time he's put into the situation where he's around the Agency, he basically knows nothing about himself, though he doesn't realise at first. Furthermore, what little identity he had has changed in so many ways. He's no longer a beloved famous actor in the prominence of public light, he's legally dead and he tarnished his career just before he was supposed to die, with the bonus of that making him lose the majority of his estate. From that, he also has horrific facial scarring from the electrical burns from literally having his face fried. I believe a friend of mine made a post about this a while ago (I also think they were the first to think it up also), but, to me, Juniper has a permanent trimmer in his right arm (aka his dominant hand) from the electrical current and it is messing with his nervous system.

All in all, he's not doing great, but he's too proud to admit that he's not doing great, because if anything, what's left of his ego is all he has as a defense since he's deep in unfamiliar water.

Before ending up around the agency (I have multiple interpretations of this, so I'm just going to bring it up generally), he'd never actually seen Reggie, and his only impression of him is a single voicemail, which was his only reference he had to later impersonate him. Juniper probably has very little feelings other than the ones he projects onto him because of Phoenix and that, at the very least, he's physically attracted to Reggie to some degree (that's like the beginning of how everything else would tumble into place in this sort of interpretation at least).

And on Crane's side? His feelings towards Juniper are probably very intense and muddled. On the one hand, he adores musical theatre, and that's his now ex-favourite actor. The thought of just casually being around him blows the bit of fanboy in him away at first because THAT'S the GUY, plus the inklings of a celebrity crush which still poke at him. And then there's the rational side of him, which knows Juniper has committed absolute atrocities on the side of Zoraxis, and hates him for that. Then there's how much Juniper comes off as an asshole at first because he refuses to cooperate with anything the Agency tried to put in place. He finds Juniper endlessly frustrating, and yet he's stuck working with him since, afterall, he's the one who knows the Agency's history with Juniper the best. I imagine him acting a lot like how he does IEYTD 1 around Juniper.

At this point, I'm just describing the pitch for a romcom.

I think the start of their relationship with one another largely started with Juniper trying to wind Crane up. It was a way of getting his attention, and I don't think Juniper knows why he's so dead set on that at first, because I don't think he realises he has a crush on 'this grump' at first. (I think that's actually the fun part about these two, because it's almost like a role reversal of the celebrity crush dynamic. This ex-big name actor has a TERRIBLE crush on an average joe and it is KILLING HIM.) But of course the Agency keeps them together because Juniper is at least conversing with Crane, so it's a start.

Through one way or another, they actually get talking casually, at least mildly at first. It takes Juniper a long time to fully deconstruct the wall he's built, and the thing is, Crane isn't the one trying to deconstruct it, at least at first, because yeah, Juniper realises if he wants Reggie to actually like him in any way, he can't keep winding him up. So they talk. Small talk at first, something rhythmic and almost easy to keep to a script. And over time that turns into actual conversations. Genuine ones in which Reggie rips out the occasional one of his jokes which Juniper is endlessly endeared about. The way he smiles just before he makes them, like he wants to chuckle at what he's about to say before he says it. That's probably when Juniper realised that he does have some vague crush on him, and that it wasn't going away.

This is what kickstarts John I can't-buy-you-things-to-impress-you-so-acts-of-service-it-is Juniper to do little things for him. It mostly starts off as him trying to make Reggie his tea how he likes it. However, the nerve damage in his arm makes that hard, as the weight of the kettle and trying to pour is hard all of a sudden. And he refuses to accept that, so he tries for a very long while. Long enough that Crane would go to investigate what was going on. And when he does see Juniper leaning over a cup with the kettle as he uneasily tries to pour it, and when Crane asks Juniper responds so matter-of-fact that his intention is nothing but genuine. And it catches Reggie off guard because Juniper hadn't done anything like that up to that point, and his very apparent vulnerability is so clearly on show.

It shifts something between them.

From that point on, conversations are longer, more familiar. Both of their attitudes soften, and Reggie makes more jokes. Juniper learns how to better use his left hand while strengthening his right back to a point where it could be used again. Slowly, they're both spending time with one another not because they have to, but just because they can. Little bits at first, not too far outside what they already were doing, but those little bits turned into long bits to a point where the other person's company was genuinely desirable.

As time passes, Juniper probably realises that he doesn't genuinely know much about himself or what hobbies he's into, because he never really had the time when he got big, and his home life in his youth wasn't bad, but it wasn't picturesque. I think Reggie would pick up on it, and absolutely try to introduce him to some things he's into. Some things stick, other things don't (corn husking very much stays Reggie's passion, and John will go with him sometimes because it's him, but it's not something he strongly cares for). Crane introduces him to a lot of music, and it's something that becomes a staple between them, with tracks they listen to more than others (tragically, I know relatively little about 60s music so I couldn't really say what). Occasionally they dance, never anything intense, think slow dancing, but the closeness is nice.

Through all of it, Juniper is battling the worst crush of his life, and he can't stand it, because I think he struggles to read people since he doesn't have anything like a script or a director to refer back to, so he has no idea if Reggie likes him back or if he's just desperate for that to be true. I think because of that any sort of confession between them would be incredibly raw, not only because of the time they live in making it hard for them to be truthful about how they love, but because it's a complete show of Juniper who's worked to be this better person. I don't exactly know how that would go, mainly because I don't have one set version of their dynamic, this post is just a generalisation of main consistent points.

Reggie does like him back, because he's gotten used to Juniper being just this guy, not a figure in the public eye, not a Zoraxis lackey, and not any sort of Agency operative (despite being under their care to some degree). He's someone he genuinely cares for, because they've given one another the time of day to learn one another, and I think because Reggie was a field agent, he was a lot better at reading Juniper than Juniper was at reading him. Eventually Juniper's company becomes something he could see around him for the rest of his life, and I think he accepts that he likes Juniper a lot more gracefully.

I think any affection directed at Juniper would at first be met with him feeling a little muddled. Reggie was a very physically affectionate person when he could be, and sure the initial flirting with one another came with the occasional little touches, but everything now was so deeply intentional. I also don't think Juniper would almost ever get over the novelty of being able to kiss him, or many other gestures, because it made the fact that they were together so very real, and it was great. I do think it comes easier to Reggie, and it's a big way of showing how much he cares, so it's important for Juniper to try and show it back because he knows how much it means to the other.

I like the idea of them eventually living with one another, too. I think Juniper would have always had a quiet little daydream of sorts where he does just live a domestic quiet life, and he can with Reggie (well, as close as they can get between the Agency and Zoraxis always being at odds), and he loves that, and he loves him, and it's immense.

I think they cook for one another a lot, it helps Juniper work on his dexterity in a controlled environment, which means a lot because it's a huge point of insecurity (that and his scars). He does improve, and Crane is proud of that and shows it and it's great. I also think they'd probably cook together too, because they can deal with being in the kitchen together and they work well with one another. It's probably a good way for them to unwind because over time they can do it in relative silence.

As I said before, I also think music is a staple in their household, and that Reggie listens to things on vinyl almost all of the time because he likes the background noise. Sometimes Juniper will catch him chuntering along to the music which he finds endlessly endearing. I wouldn't put it past his dramatic ass to also join in to fluster Reggie, but I also don't think Reggie would mind that terribly because Juniper has listened to the music enough to know the lyrics, and that's huge to him.

I don't think they are without rough patches, no relationship is, but I think the good part about them is that they're willing to talk about it (... eventually). They're used to long conversations, and while they're often less fun conversations, they're needed and they know that, and it works out.

Alright. I think I'm done for now. I haven't mentioned everything, but this definitely got the worst of it out of my system. If you ever want to hear any specific thoughts my ask box is open but other than that, behold my general dynamic for these two which has been festering in my head for years. I think they're great

#ty right-agent for explicitly telling me that this would be welcomed you a real one #i had a massive babble to my friend abt what if they all feed me to the hounds for speaking #and he said “girl that fandom is like 12 people big they need you to speak” and yeah that also helped #i have a hard time talking if I'm not asked/prompted to that's why i adding tags is great for me. that and i like the format #anyways. #THESE TWO.............dear lord can you tell I have been unwell abt them forever.. #this is propeganda (/j) for them. btw. please you have to understand the potential here. it's so good. #it's slowburn <- my (probably) demiromantic ass cannot handle romance without a build up and this set up is perfect (it will never happen) #also i find it easier to write ANYTHING between these two from Juniper's perspective because i find it easier to get into his head #idk reggie is like the gay version of the: what is he thinking of? i could take a bear in a fight. audio ive heard. #whereas with juniper i have him trapped under a microscope #im going to tag this now so i can use the remaining tags to RANT #ieytd #john juniper #reginald crane #junicrane #starstruck #i expect you to die #<- being BRAVE!!! #when I get really excited i start getting like this internal shaking feeling and uh. yeah this rant started that #the worst part abt that is it also triggers my tourettes so like. double whammy. excited about blorbos? jail :( #but. yeah I uh. yeah. sorry this IS so long..I did warn but . AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHHHHHHHHHAUUUUUUAHHHHHHHHHHHHH #also i did this rant in 2 parts. last night and this morning so yeah uh. yeah. #god im so messed up about these two #make me a boat by the family crest came on while wroting this and while it's mainly a roxanix song to me......AUUUUUG..... #i struggle to find music for these sillies because they have such a specific vibe to me amd I've not quite managed to find something which - #- genuinely feels correct for them and it drives me up the WALL #GOD NIGHT SHIFT JUST CAME OF SHUFFL.....all my ieytd songs are coming out to drive me up the wall....... #FINISHED I've been adding tags as I've gone alonga #thank you for reading hope you enoyed and if you didn't im sorry

[himebushou]

As we’re awaiting Episode 9, I’ve put together some Get to Know Me pages that you can complete, if you like.  There are Miri, Kazuki and Rei versions!

Please use the #bdintro tag when posting your page.  Also, a link back to this post would be great!

Have fun!

#buddy daddies #bdintro #bd intro template #resources #lovingly made with ms paint and powerpoint #these files are a4 .pngs #unfortunately i can't provide them in another format atm #i used to see these sorts of things quite a lot #but i'm not sure if they're as common now? #(i've been out of fandom spheres for a long while now) #but you're all so lovely that i just want to! #participate! #please like this post if you use one of the templates; thank you!

[fireinmywoods]

💝

💝 what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

I would never in a million years have predicted that smoke in every lane would be, like, talked about. It was primarily a matter of timing, I think: it was winter of 2021, a lonely and difficult and (I imagine, if you didn't work in healthcare) fairly boring cooped-up time, and a lot of folks were more involved than usual in various fandom spaces, and in retrospect I guess I can see how the weekly updates and ~~mystery~~ aspect could have contributed to a "water cooler talk" sort of deal.

In any case, I was legit shocked when I realized that a subset of readers were actually talking about the fic outside of their AO3 comments or Tumblr reblog tags or whatever. Talking with each other! About something I wrote! It was such a crazy feeling. Good crazy, of course - and also still, to this day, something of a mystery, as I was not actually privy to any of those conversations. I guess all I can hope is that my favorite theory got a little airtime at least once. (That being, of course, that the plot would somehow involve werewolves because of the moniker "monster fic" and the quote-unquote "awoos" in Hindenburg. God bless that reader, sincerely; I hope they're having the BEST day.)

fic writer asks

#thank you anon! <33 #ask #anon #ask game #fic related #the comments i got on SIEL while it was being posted are among the most meaningful i've ever been lucky enough to receive #and those wip readers still have a very special place in my heart #it was BANANAS to realize that a few of them were talking with other people about the fic on top of that #i don't imagine i'll ever have another fandom experience that quite matches that one

[lexosaurus]

Regarding your really interesting post about whether or not people share with others what they do in phandom: another potential factor is when they joined fandom! If earlier in life, when kids called you cringe for it, maybe it’s more of an instinct to hide fandom activities. If later in life, particularly as you’re learning how to embrace your inner cringe, maybe the instinct to hide fandom activities isn’t so ingrained.

I entered fandom pretty late, and started embracing my inner cringe pretty early, so I find it easier to talk to irl folks about phandom activities I do. I’ve never really had an irl partner, tho, so I wouldn’t know what the barriers to sharing phandom activities would feel like then

That is true! As I've been reading all the (fantastic) responses, I think also a lot of it has to do with like. Your personality and who you hang out with.

If you're an outwardly, unapologetic nerdy person who, as you put it, embraced their inner cringe eloquently, then you tend to attract people who also have nerdy hobbies who are maybe more into fandom stuff which would make the "i write fanfiction" convo actually not that stressful.

But if you didn't embrace your fandom cringe or if you grew up in a time/place where fandom stuff and fanfiction especially was the #1 quickest way to lose all your friends and be a social outcast, then as an adult embracing that cringe is harder, connecting with people who are more unapologetic is harder, and you don't tend to attract those same circles as others.

Not to say that people who aren't engrossed in fandom culture are inherently bad people—I'm literally dating one and all my best friends are also non-fandom types—but it does make that "I like fandom stuff and read/write fanfiction" convo a LOT more stressful.

I have one friend irl who I know draws fanart for a different fandom, and I discovered that by accident, but even then I was too shy to admit that I also was into fandom culture so I just smiled and complimented her art. And now we don't even live in the same state 😭

#i've been pretty open about this but i grew up a closeted queer kid who was masquerading as a student athlete #till an injury wiped the fucking floor with me in college #which is when my hobbies really switched and i dove into creative stuff like fandom and music #so i definitely grew up a Certain Way™️ that i haven't quite shaken off now some years later #and while im friends with a lot of different types of people and all different characters now #i definitely still hold myself to certain social standards #so that's on me honestly #im under no delusion tho that my bf doesn't already know im a giant fucking nerd under all the cloak and mirrors #but he's kind enough not to force anything #i've started letting it out more recently #(we're doing lego for our anniversary for example cuz i admitted i'd never done one before and had always wanted to) #but it's a slowwwww process

[fuckmeyer]

(Jacobsbadwig) with all due respect, when the fuck did you get back! I missed you!

never left, only reincarnated :)

#i missed you too!!!!!! how's the fanfic going???? well i hope :) #it has been a Time #my burnout & mental illness got the better of me. i intended on divorcing myself from fandom & deleting my blog #i wanted to make myself as small as possible so i could spend whatever energy i had on work and drugs #i was afraid my presence was negatively affecting the fandom at best & contributing nothing at worst #it didn't feel like there was any place for me anymore - not because of anything anyone said or did but bc #many posts i made i no longer agreed w/ & bc i was too burnt out to write new theories i figured no one would notice or care i was gone #so i got super drunk and deleted everything #people contacted me about my blog but i was too anxious to reply #bc i didn't want to admit i had made a mistake #i kept the handle in case i ever wanted to post #but for a long time i had nothing to say about twilight outside of what my fanfiction had to say about it #i lurked for a while & at the end of the day i missed the community that came with participating in fandom #really tho - what helped was quitting my crushing job and taking several months to travel around the pacific northwest #(burnout is REAL!!!!!!) #and the admin of the twilight Discord server recognizing my handle & taking the time to talk to me - which was very sweet of them #plus - i am rereading Eclipse for the fanfic rewrite and began to have Thoughts #tbh i've been finding it amazing that anyone ever noticed i left or remembered my handle! im kinda blown away #anyway here's all the information you never asked for LMAO #i am happy to be back in the circle :) #cheers to you #<3

[irregularbillcipher]

was going through old files and found the start of a resident evil village fic... idk if i'll ever finish it, so here's the start for posterity. maybe i'll finish it someday if there's any interest warnings for descriptions of animal harm, gore and surgery, along with some emotional abuse also also, if anyone here speaks french and would be willing to tell me if the tiny bit of french in here sounds correct, i'd appreciate it! i went through a few channels that were more advanced than google translate, but i don't speak the language myself and didn't really have any way to verify

Salvatore Moreau was a very good doctor. At the very least, his mother had always said so.

                To be fair, she wasn’t the only one who said so, but she was always the one who was the most adamant about it, even before he could speak.

                Stories fed to him when he could barely hold his head up of his grandfather, his namesake, who had left Italy for France to study under the Louis Pasteur— or at his university, at least— and Salvatore had learned by age two and a half that he should always pretend that he understood why that was a big deal.

                By age four, he really did understand why that was such a big deal, and by age five, after lengthy stories from his mother of his grandfather’s most gruesome surgical endeavors and hints that his namesake had been prepping since he was half Salvatore’s age, he had started performing medical experiments of his own, shaking, pudgy hands rifling through his father’s tackle box, taking out the worms and insects, using a hook to open them up and see how they ticked.

                His father never liked it, seeing the boy tear his bait apart on the docks of the reservoir, but his mother was thrilled, and tutted away his father’s concerns.

                “It’s a surgeons instinct,” she would coo, pressing a kiss against the boy’s cheek and placing a needle and thread in tiny hands, so he could stitch everything back together. “I just want him to have a head start. He’ll need hands-on experience before he goes to Paris!”

                “Of course,” his father would say, never one for arguments, “but couldn’t we stick to creatures that are already dead?”

                “He’ll have plenty of time to work on cadavers in school,” she would retort, and sometimes the discussion would become a bit more tense, a back and forth babble of French and Italian that Salvatore could make out if he focused, but rarely bothered to focus on. The Italian always won, anyway.

                “Just…” he would finally hear in tired French, “nothing that feels. Nothing more than bait… Nothing with fur, or a real brain…”

                And Salvatore was happy to agree with that— bigger things would squirm or scream, and he didn’t like to feel like he was hurting anything. He was practicing being a doctor, he wasn’t trying to cause harm.

                But by age seven, his mother started handing her little surgeon field mice and toads from the lake, speaking breathlessly about how his grandfather had once amputated a leg in five minutes flat, and he knew she wanted him to try to do it in four.

                A mouse’s leg was so much thinner, after all.

                She was ecstatic when one of his tiny patients finally survived the night, and had gleefully told him that his father wouldn’t have to know they were expanding their medical practice.

                “He’s a sweet man, your father, a good man,” she would say, with genuine fondness, patting her son’s cheek, “just…not ambitious. We both want you to be the best you can be, tesoro, we just don’t agree on how to get you there…”

                And Salvatore wasn’t sure how he felt about her dismissing his father— he seemed happy with his life, after all— but it was hard to act as if he was living up to his potential.

                He was sure, after all, that when his father had told his mother he had a Lordship waiting for him if his family ever returned to Romania, she was not expecting the man to remain a fisherman after he had accepted it. A Lord usually made more of himself.  

                When he asked his father though, on one of the quiet, early morning boat trips he took his boy on so often, the man had simply laughed quietly.

                “A Lordship is just a title, Salvatore,” he’d said, wrapping another blanket around the boy’s shoulders— Salvatore always forgot how chilly the morning mist on the boat was, and his father always kept spare wool blankets by the tacklebox, so the boy wouldn’t have to remember. “I’m sure some old Moreau was great some hundred-odd years ago, or at least found a way to make some money somehow, but it doesn’t mean much nowadays. A bit of land, a crest…”

                “A boat,” the boy had giggled, kicking the bottom of the old thing, and his father had laughed.    

“No, no, the boat I built.”

                Salvatore had squirmed a little, confused, hands gripping his fishing rod. “We… we owned a reservoir, but not a boat?”

                And the man had chuckled again. “Your brains come from your mother’s side of the family, mon chou. Not the Moreau side, even if someone long ago managed to be great on a reservoir without a boat.”

                “Well. You were smart enough to build a boat.”

                The man had hummed softly and nodded in humble agreement, standing up to cast his line out again.

                “… So if we’re Lords here,” the boy continued, gnawing on dirty fingernails, “why did you ever live in France?”

                “Well, we have family there, of course,” his father had said, chewing on his cigarette, eyes glued to the lake, “but it was mostly the weather.”

                “… Your family gave up being Lords because of the weather?”

                “We’re cold-blooded creatures, us Moreaus,” his father had whispered conspiratorially, piling another blanket on the shivering boy and sticking out his tongue when he snorted. “We do better where it’s temperate.”

                “But it’s still cold here. It’d be nicer in France. Or Italy.”

                “Hm, it is, but your mother’s enough of a firecracker to keep anyone warm,” the man had said, half exhausted and half lovestruck, and Salvatore really couldn’t argue with that. “And besides. She liked the idea of being a Lady… found it romantic, you know.”

                The boy had nodded again, kicking his legs and reeling in experimentally, just to see if he could catch any fish’s attention. It didn’t work.

                “But there’s no expectation for you,” his father had said, tugging on his own line. “There’s no, ah… role you have to play, because of my family.”

                “Mama says being a doctor would be be-befitting of a Lord.”

                “And it would be if that’s what you’d like,” he’d said, patting his son’s shoulder. His jaw had set, just a little, and Salvatore regretting bringing it up. “We both want you to be happy, Salvatore, we just—”

                “Don’t agree on how to get me there,” he’d finished quietly.

                “No, we don’t,” the man was reeling his line in now, having felt a tug. “But nobody does, really, for anybody. Ready with the net now.”

                The boy had nearly dropped his own pole in the water in the rush to get the net for what ended up being a much smaller than average fish, but his father never chided him for that sort of thing.

                Despite his mother’s aspirations, stories of how his parents met never included the Lordship.

                “We met at the market,” his mother would say dreamily, whenever her son asked. “He tried to sell me a tiny trout for three francs…”

                “And?” Salvatore would always prompt giddily, despite knowing how the story went.

                “And I told him that for that price, I’d better get it fully cooked with wine and dessert… and he was happy to do it.”

                “The dinner,” his father would always add from his armchair, “was more than three francs—”

                “And the trout was very good,” she would concede, kissing him on the cheek and patting his arm as he blushed furiously.

                “Was it worth it?” Salvatore would ask his father, as if he didn’t already know the answer, as if he weren’t essentially reciting a script, and he was never surprised when mother would reply instead.

                “Was a wife worth three francs?”

                “I think I could have spent less on the dinner if I’d thought it through more,” his father would always say, smiling the whole time.  “But the date was well worth the seven francs I spent.”

                There were many stories like that, back and forth skits of things his mother had already told him— everything from his grandfather’s most harrowing surgical endeavors to the hectic day that he was born— but the day his parents met was always his favorite. It was the one they seemed the happiest to tell, the one they always remembered new details of.

                His mother would always tell him later, while tucking him in, that she would have insisted on dinner with his father even if he’d charged a single centime for the trout, because her demand for dinner and wine hadn’t really had anything to do with the trout itself, and his father would always tell him the next morning on the boat that he’d deliberately overcharged for the trout just to have an excuse to haggle with a pretty girl, which had worked out far better than he ever could have imagined.

                “So, it was love at first sight?” he would ask them both, without fail.

                “Of course it was, tesoro,” his mother would sigh, brushing his hair out of his eyes and taking off his glasses, setting them on his bedside table. “Why else would I have made him take me to dinner?”

                His father would always be asked the next morning, back on the boat, and he would breathe air out of his nose and smile softly, shaking his head.

                “I wouldn’t call it that, Salvatore… love takes time, work, you know? It’s a… process,” he would say, baiting his hook. “But I knew I wanted to know her better.”

                Salvatore decided from an early age that he liked his mother’s answer best, but he never said so, at least not to his father on those frigid, foggy mornings.

                “He changes the story, doesn’t he?” his mother would ask, needle and thread and a rabbit bundled into her arms, and he would relay the conversations on the lake, to drown out the rabbit’s screams. To stop his hands from shaking.

“No,” he would say, hoping to avoid the inevitable. This was another script, but one he liked much less, and it was hard to recite his lines when his hands were slick with viscera.

 “He doesn’t say it was love at first sight,” she would sigh, looking intently at her son’s handiwork.

                “He says love takes time,” he would say, wrist deep in gore, “and work.”

                “So it takes work to love me, does it?” and the teasing note in her voice would never be enough to stop his queasiness from building.

                “No,” he’d say over the rabbit’s screeches, or mouse’s, or the toad’s, “of course not.” And his voice would quaver even though he’d mean it.

                She never noticed the hesitancy, and he was glad, because the minute his patient was stitched up, that nervous note in his voice would wash over him in a wave of shame. He’d shake and snivel after every procedure, and he was convinced it had to be because of that hesitancy over the woman convincing him to tear apart the local fauna, and not the act of tearing them apart. He refused to entertain the idea it could be a little of both.

                Her son’s trembling was something she could not ignore, and she’d take his hands, still dripping from surgery, still pudgy with baby fat, and smile softly. “A surgeon’s hands,” she’d sigh, squeezing. “You’ve done such a good job, Salvatore, you have a surgeon’s hands.”

                It was almost enough to make him feel better.

                “Now, let’s get you cleaned up before your father sees.”

                That was what really made him feel better, at the end of the day, wiping off the gore. He tried not to think about it too much. There wasn’t much use for a squeamish surgeon.

                Even as he got older, as his hands started to shake less, as he learned how to quiet the animals’ screams and as he developed an appreciation—or at least a fascination—with the work his mother was pushing him towards, he was still relieved every time he got to clean his hands and be done with it.

                He was ten when his father found him, halfway between the makeshift surgical center and the lake, rushing to dip sopping red hands in murky water. His father had looked at him, hunched over and bloody and crying, and his face had gone gray, and he’d docked the boat and headed up to their house without a word.

                The din in the house started almost immediately and for once, the French overpowered the Italian.

                He tried not to listen, as he scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and tried to drown out the noise, washing until his hands were sore to try to feel clean, to avoid going into the house.

                The yelling carried, though, no matter how loudly he splashed, no matter how much he muttered to himself. The only sound he could hear was his father, angry like he’d never heard before, so angry Salvatore was sure he was sobbing, refusing to back down for once.

                Vous pensez que c’est ce qui est le mieux pour lui? Vous pensez que c’est ce qui le rendra heureux? Il est trempé de sang, il tremble! Mon Dieu, il n'a que dix ans!

                Dear God, he’s only ten!

                When he pulled his hands from the lake, they were still bloody, and it took a good few seconds to realize that this time, it was his own blood. From the state of his hands, raw and cracked and trembling—God, he wished he could stop the trembling-- scrubbing any more would only make things worse, so he just sat on the dock miserably, holding his fingers above the water and waiting for them to dry.

#this fic is just the emotional equivalent of kicking salvatore moreau in the stomach repeatedly #it was going to be about this theory i have that sal was the village doctor when the spanish flu hit so miranda like. #blames him for eva's death. which is why he's treated so badly even compared to his already mistreated siblings #while also being sort of a study about his relationship with his biological family and how an unhealthy dynamic there #sort of led him into the unhealthy relationship he has with miranda and the lords #but i never quite got the motivation to finish it #idk if anyone here even likes resident evil but this has been sitting in my files for so long #and i want it out in the world in some way i suppose #there are a few other scattered scenes i've written but. whatever #anyway sal is the most potentially interesting lord imo it's a shame his siblings took all the fandom's attention #not that i don't LIKE his siblings. i do!!! #i just think it stinks that moreau is so overlooked

[ravelights]

Just a warning, I've gotten back into Star Wars bullshit again so I'm probably going to be posting stuff about that for the foreseeable future.

#I still love bnha but I've been feeling my devoted interest in it dying for a while #which considering I've been apart of the fandom since 2016 I think is quite long overdue #I'll post the occasional stuff about it but yeah I'm just getting back into some different stuff #Of course I had to pick the most toxic fandom in history but hey we can't choose our hyper fixations

[gentil-minou]

I’m loving your fic so far! I can’t wait to see wwx and jc interact

Ahhh I'm so excited you like it! This next chapter is gonna be a really fun one cause I'm actually introducing a bunch of characters and it's more than I've ever done before.

Since your ask was so nice, here's a sneak peak for chapter 3 of once upon a time, 很久很久以前

“So, what now, sheriff?” He’s always wanted to call someone that. Maybe he should practice his old western accent to really sell it. The sheriff finished writing and seems to deem it acceptable enough, though it’s hard to tell with the way he’s still scowling at it. “What do you mean, what now?” “I mean what do I do now. I was trying to get out of here, but obviously, now I can’t.” He gestures to his little red bug. “And look at my poor Little Apple, what about her?” he whines morosely, gazing longingly at his baby death trap. Sheriff Jiang sets his glare to his precious bug, scowling like it bit him. “Little Apple? What, you mean your car? Who names their car Little Apple of all things?” Wei Wuxian sputters with offense. “Hey! It’s not weird, she’s red! Like an apple! And a little car! It’s clever, what you think you could better?” He pokes a finger at the sheriff’s chest, annoyed on poor Little Apple’s behalf. If she were alive he knows she’d bite him, real bad.

“Of course! I’d name it something cool, like Speed Machine or Roadster.” The sheriff puffs up with pride, as if he’d said something profound and deep and not the lamest things Wei Wuxian’s ever heard. Wei Wuxian sputters in shock, “Haaa? Speed Machine?! Roaster? Those are awful boring names!” “There’s nothing wrong with that name!” the sheriff snaps, all but shouting. He breathes in deeply through his nose, like a raging bull.

#i still have quite a bit of editing to do with this chapter since i wasn't letting myself do any writing while i was sick #but im really like it so far! #even though im a little terrified with all the character introductions #mdzs #mdzs fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #yunmeng siblings #bushy writing #mdzs ouat au #ahhh this is my first ask for this au i might cry shhh #i've been really struggling with this fandom these last few weeks ngl i keep regretting everything thinking my work is not worth it at all #so it's nice to see people are interested and excited!!! and even better to hear from them thank you <3 #asked and answered #Anonymous

[argiopi]

fave con pics :] plz no rb I just want to show!

#you get tiny versions because Dear God Don't Perceive Me #but also Look Look ! #cosplay #oh i had some lovely conversations with people... #so many photos holy fuck i felt popular lol #got stopped 3 times in a row while walking to a panel TTvTT #i've never been to a con in cosplay that isn't half-closet before #it's so !! $@$!@! ! ! %! #i love fandom i love fandom i love fandom i love fandom #i wanna build more cosplays woo woo #my other dream cosplay is edelgard but that's Advanced and i will def need more than a week LOL #i got a friend with access to a large-format 3d printer so i might try printing mask for better symmetry & smoothness. also it was heavy rip #scab on my jaw from where the edge was rubbing LOL #(silk is real silk that was important to me) #(you can't quite tell but mantle is brocade and has spider lilies on it) (very lucky find) #outfit feels divine and honestly once i clean it up a little i could wear it on its own if i feel like being fancy. #in the second photo that wall was like 10ft tall and security yelled at me for climbing up there lmaoo #been Very Busy about to get even more Very Busy #i am currently (should be currently) packing to move #going to live in the forest for a few months. online availability will be ? ? ? ? ? ? no idea if i will have wifi or even electricity! #shoutout to the fellow congoers waiting in the train station who roused me from my slumber when i was trying to take a nap #and talked to me for like an hour while we waited for our respective trains #i enjoy the con experience of barely eating or sleeping all weekend and feeling fine then crashing once it ends and there is no more hype #Exploring my extroverted side? ò_ó #GAHH BYE I NEED TO ORGANIZE EVERYTHING I OWN INTO BOXES. FML.