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stevebabey · 1 month

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it was supposed to be short n small and now its 3k & its unedited and u all have to just deal with it bcos it was supposed to be SMALL | ao3

The driver's side car window makes a resounding thunk when Steve’s forehead falls against it.

Through the glass, his keys glint tauntingly back at him.

Still tucked in the ignition, locked in on the inside. So close and yet so far from Steve who is, unfortunately, locked on the outside.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

He lets his head raise up a bit just to drop it back against the window again, this time more in punishment. Of course, of course, he coughs up the money needed for a warrant of fitness and then he goes and locks his keys in the car the next day. Like he needed one more cost added to his finances.

Steve steals a glance at his watch. Fuck, if he doesn’t get on the road in the next 10 minutes, he’ll be more than late to work.

His eyes glance across to Eddie’s van, parked beside his own car, outside the trailer home in Forest Hills. Then he looks back at the trailer.

He can ask. He can just go inside and ask Eddie for the lift— and explain that the reason he can’t take his own perfectly fine car is because he’s so goddamn thick between the ears that he’s locked his keys inside, like some kind of moron.

The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like his father.

Something thick grows in his throat. He swallows it to no avail. Embarrassment begins to flush down his neck, hot and uncomfortable.

No, no— he can’t ask Eddie because as far as Steve knows, Eddie hasn’t quite figured it out yet.

Even while Dustin and Mike make their jokes about him being a bit slow, even when Robin says at least you have your pretty face, Eddie brushes them off and laughs. Takes them as jokes with no merit to them. Steve knows though.

So what if he doesn’t want to burst his bubble just yet?

He knows Eddie will figure it out eventually— because they always do. When he asks too many stupid questions and needs things explained twice and— and it’s just inevitable, okay? He knows that.

Fixing his glare through the window of his car at the shiny pair of keys within, Steve wrestles with what would be worse; being late or accidentally tipping Eddie off when they’ve just gotten so close.

Close enough to share a kiss, two nights ago, under the covers. It was barely more than a peck. But Steve knew it had taken a miraculous amount of courage from Eddie to do it— to surge forward and grab Steve’s face, his rings cool against his skin, and press his mouth against his Steve's own.

Eddie’s lips had been chapped but his smile had been pure sunshine and Steve thinks he could’ve stayed forever under that blanket, memorising the shade of pink Eddie’s cheeks turn after a kiss.

They’ve been dancing around it ever since. Each interaction is more charged, more flirty, more gooey. Long lingering looks and pointed nudges that make Steve feel like a 14-year-old with a crush again, in the best way.

So, no. He exactly can’t go ask.

With a heavy sigh and glance up at the darkening sky, Steve is only glad he’s not supposed to pick up Robin today as he begins to walk.

—

One phone call to the auto-shop reveals exactly how much it’ll cost to get his keys retrieved. Which is, to say, entirely too much for one adult living on the wage of a Family Video employee.

And they won’t be able to get anyone out for another whole day.

Growing more and more frustrated with himself, Steve angrily jots the number down into his little notebook, the pen pressing down hard enough to leave indents on the page behind it. Keith is somewhere out the back, snacking no doubt, and leaving Steve to man the front.

Normally, it wouldn’t bother him— especially because he could discretely make the phone call he needed— but now it’s just him, the empty store, and the number in his notebook that stares back at him.

Oh, and it’s raining.

The darkening sky from earlier had transformed into something closer to a thunderstorm, rain lashing against the windows and driving any and all customers away. Which is fantastic— just what Steve needs now, really the fucking cherry on the top.

The phone rings, the noise unusually shrill in the silence of the store. The film playing amongst the aisles has been on mute as soon as he’d gotten his hands on the remote and Keith had disappeared out the back.

Steve stares at the phone, watching it ring once, twice, before he picks it up with a heavy sigh. He dredges up his customer service voice.

“This is Family Video, how can I help?” He greets, putting as much pep into his voice as he can manage—which turns out to be a meagre amount.

“Did you walk to work today?”

Steve straightens up at the sound of Eddie’s voice on the other end of the line. His free hand instinctively smooths down the front of his vest before he quickly remembers Eddie can’t actually see him.

“Eddie?” He asks, instead of answering the question.

“Your Highness, himself,” Eddie responds. His tone is that usual jaunty playfulness that Steve’s come to adore. “Now answer the question, Steve-o. I thought you were one of those smart guys who actually listens when the weather report comes on the radio. Why the hell did you walk?”

Steve’s shoulders curl in, just an inch, and his eyes seek out the open notebook with the quoted amount, underlined and circled, staring back at him. His throat grows a lump at Eddie’s unknowingly poor choice of words.

“Thought I would walk today.” He replies, his voice clipped. “You know, walking, exercise, good for you? Any of these ringing a bell for you, Munson?”

It’s supposed to be a joke but Steve can tell by the end of the sentence, it’s come out way too sour to land that way. He sounds mean.

Steve cringes, clutching the phone a little tighter and screwing up his eyes. He waits for Eddie’s response.

“You know,” Eddie says, sounding a lot duller all of a sudden. “I was calling to maybe offer you a lift through the rain—”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, that-“ Steve cuts in, that same strange embarrassment swelling in his throat. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“—But if you’re gonna be a dick about it, you can enjoy the walk.”

Steve grits his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose because this feels a little too much like a line from his Dad— but it isn’t because Steve is the one digging this hole all on his own. He’s the idiot who fucking locked his keys in his car and walked to work and snapped at Eddie and—

“No, I’m sorry.” He says, still a bit too tense.

Idiot, idiot, you’re being a fucking idiot, Harrington.

“A ride would be appreciated. Please.”

A pause. This time when Eddie speaks, he’s a little softer. “You off at five today?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at five.”

The dial tone sounds as Eddie hangs up but Steve stays where he is, phone pressed against his one good ear, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The rain begins to flood the parking lot.

—

Five o’clock comes around too soon.

The rain has let up, just barely, but enough that Steve can actually see Eddie’s van when it pulls up into the parking lot. It rocks about dangerously in the wind and Steve suddenly feels bad for making Eddie come out to get him.

He could’ve stayed here, taken the longer shift. Told Keith to take off early and just walked back home when the rain let up a little more— or just camped out the back on the couch in the employee room if it never did.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

He’d started doing it more and more when his parent’s visits to home became more frequent. It was easy to pull a few white lies out and Steve far preferred answering questions like: Where were you last night? than Why won't you come out to our event tonight? Show face for the Harrington's? It's not like you're doing anything with your life, right?

The only reason he’d stopped, actually, was because he had become good friends with Eddie.

Eddie, who loved his company almost any hour of the day. Who gobbled up each and every morsel of food Steve cooked up, whether it was good or partially burned on the sides. Who told him he had a place in the trailer, day or night, rain or shine.

Eddie who… was waiting outside at five o’clock exactly, pulled up to the curb so Steve wouldn’t have to walk through the rain for more than a moment.

There’s a sliver of surprise, deep within his chest; like he thought Eddie might’ve not shown up and forced him to walk through the rain, just to learn his lesson. It would make sense, Steve thinks. You reap what you sow.

He clocks out hastily, barely murmuring his exit to Keith who doesn’t look up in the slightest. Steve heads for the door and decides then and there, he’ll happily pay the number in his notebook if he doesn’t have to tell Eddie what a fucking moron he actually is.

Water splashes as he dashes down the steps and Eddie’s leaning across, pushing the door open so Steve doesn’t even have to wait to yank it open in the rain. He slides in, sprinkled with rain, slams the door closed, and instantly gets blasted with heat.

“God, you’re a lifesaver,” Steve sighs, sticking his hands out towards the air vents which are working in overdrive. They whir loudly in complaint. Eddie smiles, the apples of his cheeks glowing in the warmth, and twists the wheel, his eyes on the road before him.

The van groans and the bumper dips, kissing the gutter, as they roll out onto the road and head for Forest Hills. For a moment, Eddie focuses on driving straight before he flicks his gaze across to Steve.

“You know I wouldn’t have actually let you walk, right?”

Steve blinks, unsure of what to say in response, because he actually did think that was a possibility until about 2 minutes ago. He shivers as a stray drop in his hair sneaks under his collar, cold and wet.

“Right.” He answers, giving a hesitant smile back.

They’re driving slower than usual due to the rain. Steve lets himself sink back into the worn seats of the van, comforted by the familiar smells. A tang of tobacco, a stronger hint of weed, and that musky deodorant that Eddie swears by— even if Steve has never heard of the brand before.

But, well, it must be working in some sense because when Steve takes a deep breath, he smells it and feels a sense of calm. He doesn’t even notice he’s begun staring.

The strange weather has made Eddie’s hair frizzier than usual and paired with his rosy cheeks, Steve thinks he looks goddamn delectable. He gets caught up in a daydream about having a hot chocolate when they get back to the trailer, maybe even sharing a blanket on the couch and—

And then, Eddie turns and says, “So, wanna tell me why you walked? For real, this time?”

Something shrivels up within Steve. The tightness in his throat from this morning returns. He turns his head and looks out the window.

“I don’t get why you don’t believe me when I say I walked because I wanted to.” He grumbles, almost too low for Eddie to hear over the rain.

Why are they still talking about this? He thinks of the keys through the driver’s side window, thinks of the number in his notebook and the much smaller one in his bank account, and has to hold back from thumping his head against the glass again.

Something metallic jingles behind him.

Steve whips around, his eyes zeroing in on his keys dangling from Eddie’s hand— clearly just retrieved from his pocket. Something ugly and warm wakes up inside him, his stomach knotting uncomfortably, and his cheeks start to burn in embarrassment.

Idiot, Idiot, Idiot.

He knows, he already fucking knows how stupid you are.

Eddie’s eyes dart off the road to look at Steve. “Cos you’re clearly not telling the truth.”

Steve averts his gaze, turning his face back to the window and the wet pavement rushing by beneath the car. He swallows but the lump in his throat doesn’t move.

“Okay, look I don’t actually care that you walked to work,” Eddie continues, placing the keys down in the cup holder between the seats. “I just don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me that they were locked in your car.”

Steve can’t help it, the way his shoulders hike up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip meanly, nearly drawing blood. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get it— Eddie’s still trying to rationalise away what everyone else has already figured out.

“I just—” Steve starts, on the defence, but it comes out a bit too wet. He forces himself to swallow again, thankful there’s no sting of tears in his eyes. “I can fix that shit on my own. That’s all.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie agrees.

Below them both, the hum of the van begins to dwindle and Steve realises abruptly that Eddie’s slowing down, pulling over to the side of the road. He looks to the side, at Eddie.

“Please, c’mon, I just wanna go home, man.” Steve pleads, not even caring that he’s referred so casually to Eddie’s trailer as his home.

“Wait, just,” Eddie waves a hand as he sticks the van into park, releasing the wheel and properly turning to Steve.

“I just want to understand. You know I can pop the door to most cars in, like, 5 minutes. Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Eddie,” Steve stresses, turning away with a pointed sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, latching onto the roots and tugging at it. “Just leave it, please.”

“Or asked for a lift!” Eddie continues, his hands gesturing out a bit wildly. “I could’ve given you a lift even.”

Steve's eyes slice across the van and he wills back every emotional outburst that wants to lash out of him, to poke the right spot that will hurt to get Eddie to back off.

But Eddie is just staring at him, brown eyes wide, a little furrow between his brows, and is just confused. Concerned.

“If you keep driving,” Steve murmurs, almost dejectedly. He ducks his head low and turns back to the window. “I’ll tell you.”

It works— the engine rumbles back to life and the wheels roll gently back out onto the road, just a couple more minutes from Forest Hills. Steve watches the road and tries to grasp for the right thing to say, each possibility dissolving like smoke. His eyes squeeze shut tightly. The rain dins loudly on the roof of the van, a song and dance of the elements.

By the time they’re entering Forest Hills, Steve still hasn’t said a word. The van crawls up into its usual spot, next to Steve’s own car, and Steve stares down at it. He can hear the soft click of Eddie’s seatbelt as he releases it.

He supposes it’s too late now, anyway. Eddie already knows. He keeps his eyes out the window as he speaks, his voice flat and dull.

“I just... I didn’t want you to think that I’m an idiot, too.”

There’s a questioning noise behind him, a little noise from Eddie’s throat that slips out, unbidden.

“Too?” He echoes. “Steve? Who thinks you’re an idiot?”

Steve huffs loudly and turns back, throwing his hands up. “Jesus, who doesn’t? Would you like a list?”

Eddie’s face twists into a meaner expression than Steve's ever seen before and for once, he properly matches the dark clothes and spooky tattoos he dons.

“Yes. And I’ll go door to door— wait,” He shuffles, shifting up onto his knees so he can stretch over the console and place his large hands on either side of Steve’s face, directing his gaze towards him.

It’s reminiscent of a kiss not too long ago. Despite all the burning self-deprecation that churns inside, the pleasant reminder dulls it significantly.

“I’ll go door to door to anyone who ever made you feel that way,” Eddie repeats, now face to face with Steve, their noses nearly touching. His brows are still pull tight into a furious frown. But it's not at him, Steve realises. “And I’ll do something— I’m not sure what yet, but it’ll be foul and like, maybe I’ll put instant mash potatoes on their lawn and— okay the specifics aren’t relevant but this— this is.”

He searches Steve’s face intently, eyes darting around, making sure the message is sinking in. His expression softens out, his eyes suddenly sweeter than before. “You’re aren’t an idiot, Steve. You aren’t an idiot for making a mistake and I’ve never thought that about you.”

Steve blinks. Swallows heavily and god fucking dammit, is the thickness in his throat ever going to disappear? This time it feels different though. He’s not sure how.

“You don’t think I’m an idiot, do you?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head, moving Eddie’s hands with them at the same time. It’s true, he doesn’t. Eddie is… goddamn fucking wonderful. He’s like a warm summer shower through the wretched seasons of Steve’s life. One of the reasons it was worth living through the entire ordeal of 86.

The rain outside continues, pitter-pattering on the roof, somehow softer than it was a second ago.

“Okay,” Eddie says, a small smile on tugging on his lips.

“Okay,” Steve says back. He tries for a smile and it’s easier than expected, though it wobbles at the ends. It doesn’t matter— Eddie is still gazing at him, brown eyes shining and Steve believes what he says.

“Okay,” Eddie says one more time, his smile turning closer to a grin. “Let’s go make some cocoa, yeah?”

He moves to retract his hands but Steve moves faster, his hands darting up to hold them in their place, palms against his cheeks.

“Wait,” Steve murmurs, watching how Eddie stills and keeps his closeness, their noses still a couple inches from touching— and Steve clings to the threads of courage in him tightly.

His hands slide off Eddie’s, grasping lightly at his wrists, and it’s easy to lean forward and connect their mouths in one swift motion.

Eddie squeaks— then melts.

It takes half a second before he remembers to kiss back, equally as enthusiastic and it’s nothing like the first kiss they shared under the covers. The rain dances around them and Steve swipes his thumbs over Eddie’s pulse soothing, feeling the barest jump of his rabbiting pulse.

When he shifts back, breaking the kiss, Steve keeps the closeness, the tips of their noses bumping together. Eddie’s hands feel blazing warm on Steve’s cheeks but when his lashes flutter open, catching sight of Eddie’s glorious pink cheeks, he thinks it might be his face burning up too.

They tumble inside through the rain and with all of Steve’s prayers answered today, they also share a blanket on the couch, ankles linked beneath the rumpled fabric. They make hot chocolate, Steve’s style, and sip it at, making googly eyes at each other over the rim of their mugs— until Eddie laughs too much and spits it down his front.

Steve doesn’t feel stupid again— unless that is, you count feeling stupidly sappy.

(He does not.)

#get it OUTTA MY SIGHT #god this ate up too many hours for the final product #resisting the urge to boo my own work #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steddie ficlet #hurt/comfort #technically it is tehe #steddie hurt/comfort #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington hurt/comfort #uhhhhhh that's all folks.#i just need a boost im having a week and its friggin. monday #okie byeeeeee

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half-bakedboy · 20 days

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Number 2 from the 50 cliché tropes and prompts

Your shirt/jumper was in the laundry pile and I couldn't help but steal it

Buck never understood why he had lost so many sweatshirts and button-downs to past girlfriends. Nine times out of ten, they didn't even remotely fit their figure and they were only worn in the comfort of Buck's home anyways.

Then he started staying over Tommy's house more and more. He'd always come prepared–an overnight bag filled with an extra LAFD shirt, a pair of jeans, a pair of chinos, and two shirts, one with a collar and one without–just in case he needed to rush out in the morning.

This morning, he isn’t quite as prepared as he wishes he had been. Tommy’s in the shower after sleepily kissing Buck good morning and Buck promised he’d run Hercules–Tommy’s ten-year-old retired racing greyhound–outside before Tommy dropped Buck off at work. Thunder crashes outside and rain pounds on the roof, and Buck didn’t even think to bring a jacket.

He looks around the bedroom closet, careful not to invade the private space too much, but he doesn’t see anything that might help. He knows there’s an umbrella waiting beside the door, but he’s already shivering from the chill sneaking in through the closed windows and Buck knows he’ll need something to protect his skin.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a pullover laid neatly on top of the laundry pile. It’s similar to his LAFD one, but a lighter blue that matches Tommy’s on-duty uniform. It won’t keep him dry, but it’ll keep him warm and keep the water off of his skin which is all he has time to care about. He snatches it up and shouts to Tommy that he’s taking the dog outside even though he’s not sure he’s heard.

Before he gets too far, Buck pauses to get the pullover on. The first thing he notices is how much bigger it is on him. He’s not a small guy by any means, and he’s not much smaller than Tommy–at least he thinks–but there’s so much extra fabric that he has to bundle it up at his waist. He can also tell that the back doesn’t stretch taut against his shoulder blades and that the neckline slouches a little in the front.

It’s strange to wear something so unfit for him, but at the same time, Buck can’t help but feel giddy. He glances at himself in the mirror and feels small, but not in the way he usually does. It doesn’t make him feel inconsequential or overlooked, but like he’s protected and well-loved. It stirs inside of his stomach until the joy begins to bubble in his chest.

He notices that Tommy’s name is embroidered just over his heart, and he brings his fingers there to trace over the lettering. It takes everything in him not to whisper his name combined with Tommy’s last and he wonders if this was how his old girlfriends felt when they stole his LAFD shirts that had his name brazen on the back.

Where he expected to be a bit embarrassed at the claiming nature of it all, he can’t help but feel… powerful. Yeah, there’s something powerful about wearing someone else's name, like he’s screaming to the world that Tommy is off-limits because he’s Buck’s.

He’s Buck’s.

He’s too busy thinking about what exactly that means for him to hear the bathroom door open and a freshly showered and shaved Tommy emerge. Another figure beside Buck’s reflection startles him but Tommy’s reassuring hands slide around his waist. It’s strange how normal it feels to have strong, long arms wrapped around him and a broad chest waiting to hold him up as he leans back against it.

“You’re wet,” Buck says, feeling the dampness on Tommy’s unclothed chest. He’s in sweatpants like he’s ready to lounge around for the day, but the bare skin of his upper body is clearly on display where Buck’s body isn’t hiding it. He wants to pull away just so he can take another peek.

Tommy doesn’t seem to notice nor care that Buck is analyzing them because he’s too busy doing the same. There’s something in his eyes, though, that sends an eruption of warmth to Buck’s face. Tommy tugs at the extra fabric at Buck’s waist like he’s having the same realization as Buck did, and then he slides one hand up Buck’s chest to trace his name. He whispers each letter like a secret into Buck’s ear, piercing eyes never leaving Buck’s in the mirror.

Buck shivers, pressing back against Tommy and leaning his head back so that it plops on Tommy’s shoulder comfortably. Tommy finishes his name before dragging a finger to the neckline of the pullover and letting it hang there like a weight that keeps Buck grounded.

“You’re wearing my jumper,” Tommy points out like he doesn’t already know. Buck suddenly feels anxious, like he’s made a horrible mistake, and stands back up straight. He turns to look at Tommy as he speaks.

“Is that okay? I didn’t bring a jacket so I figured—”

Tommy kisses him before he can finish, and Buck can only hope it becomes a pattern.

It’s just as soft as their first kiss and every kiss they’ve shared since then, but it grows in passion second by second. Tommy is gripping the fabric at Buck’s waist like he’s deciding whether he wants to pull it over Buck’s head or leave it on his forever. Buck holds his naked shoulders, palms sliding down the hard planes of his chest then his abs, before sliding underneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

When a cold nose hits his hand, Buck jumps back, out of breath and startled. Hercules is staring up at them like he’s let them have their fun and he’s done waiting to go outside. Tommy swipes at his face as he chuckles and Buck leans down to pat Herc’s head.

“I’m sorry, Buddy. Am I stealing all of your dad’s attention?” Buck coos, and he can almost hear Tommy’s good-natured eye roll.

“Well, if Evan here is done distracting me, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to take you outside, huh?”

“Oh, if Evan is done distracting you? Like you didn’t just walk out of the shower half-naked and damp and looking like you wanted to drop to your kn–” Buck inhales deeply when Tommy glances down then back up and raises his eyebrows. “Alright, I’m out of here. Be right back,” he promises, pressing one last kiss to Tommy’s reddened lips.

“Mhm,” Tommy hums, watching him start to walk away.

“Do you want your pullover back?” Buck asks, because he figures that’s what he would’ve wanted to be asked.

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s yours now.”

It sounds a lot like I’m yours now, but Buck doesn’t dare ask. Instead, he takes Hercules out, ignoring the storm rumbling above him, and strokes his thumb distractingly against Tommy’s name over his heart. He guesses he’s Tommy’s now, too.

(now on ao3)

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actual-changeling · 7 months

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they saved the world again, they apologized, they're fine, it's all fine.

they're happy.

crowley is settling down, they both are, and aziraphale has realized there is its own special kind of joy in the affection crowley offers him now.

he brings him cups of cocoa and leaves a kiss on the crown of his head, he passes him in the kitchen and takes a second to grab his waist and press a kiss to the back of his neck. they sprawl across the couch, over each other, and crowley kisses his palm, the inside of his wrist, whatever part he can reach without spilling his wine.

aziraphale's favourite is the secret, gentle touch of lips to his temple when crowley thinks he is asleep (and it's something he does now, sleeping, with nothing to be scared of anymore and a warm body next to him).

they're happy, and he loves it, and yet he cannot help but wonder why crowley never kisses his lips, why his hands never settle anywhere close to his neck.

why he never, ever asks for anything.

"angel?"

aziraphale startles, blinking heavily as his eyes refocus on crowley.

"you're staring again. everything alright?"

he is lounging in his armchair by the window, soaking up the late-autumn sunlight streaming in. when aziraphale meets his gaze, it is almost entirely golden, his pupils thin black marks disappearing in a sea of starlight.

there's so many things aziraphale could respond to that, so much he could ask in return. are you alright? why do you never kiss me like you did back then? why do you avoid stepping on the rug above the chalk circle? why are you always looking at me like i'm about to disappear into thin air? why do you hate going to the pub now? why do you never turn the radio in the bentley on anymore?

what can i do to make you believe that i will never leave you again?

"you look pretty dozing off like that," he tells him in the end, smiling when a by now familiar gentle blush rises to his cheeks.

crowley closes his eyes again, seemingly satisfied, and tips his face back toward the sun.

"mhh, whatever you say."

swallowing a sigh, aziraphale returns to his book and wonders not for the first time if he will ever be able to fix the damage he caused.

they saved the world, they're happy, it's fine, patience is a virtue; he gives it time and prays it will be enough.

it has to be.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #im sorry i need them to be dysfunctional and have issues to cope with my own shit #the day i write pure fluff is the day i have finally completely lost it

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mysterycitrus · 1 month

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i want to talk about like…. dicks hyperawareness of his own body and reputation and appearance and how he’s dehumanised by others + how he’s historically conflated care with control and bitten at roy and the titans when they try to reach out to him because he misconstrues it as a lack of trust in his judgement so i need to finish this fic before my gd brain explodes

#im trying to channel those thoughts into writing instead #it’s not working. i cannot take more terrible nightwing 93aftermath fics where dicks an accessory to his own assault like my god

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ikeasharksss · 1 year

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hey im curious

feel free to rb & explain your answer in the tags!

#i will go first <3 #i reread my own fics all the time!!!#it's so fun!!#i am the target audience for every fic i have ever written #like even if it's a gift/for an event i write it bc i am genuinely interested in it #so of COURSE im going to enjoy looking back on those fics #i have uh 24 fics on ao3 now?#so i dont reread All of them #i mainly reread my longer fics bc i just have the most fun writing them #i encourage ppl to reread their own work bc #1 its fun to see how your writing has changed #(my writing has gone through So Much since i started in 2019 lol)#2 if you write for yourself then youll always love what youve written!#n e way thats my 2 cents #pls share w/ me i am very curious #thanks love ya #fanfiction #fanfic #<- promo tags ig

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 3 months

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you’re an angel, i’m a dog ; satoru gojo

synopsis; an upcoming exam has been stressing you out, and satoru’s pleas for you to take care of yourself fall on deaf ears. he takes matters into his own hands.

word count; 4.3k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, yan!gojo, as far as yanderes go he’s very mild i think (im sensitive u can trust me!!), mentions of blood, implied murder (not depicted!!), he threatens your professor w a knife lol, surprisingly fluffy??, gojo is soooo lovesick & smitten, he just wants his baby to live a happy life :( is that so wrong :((, also your parents love him <33 and he calls you honey <333 ideal man.

a/n; i blacked out & when i woke up this was in my drafts… mysterious. @kissxcore here u go alexis <33 one very smitten morally gray yan!gojo just for u!! i completely lost the plot halfway through but i had a lot of fun writing this!! :33 i don’t dabble in yan content at all so it was a fun lil challenge hehe, i hope it ended up . Somewhat .. decent…

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

”haah…”

— the sigh spills into the air, dripping with exhaustion, a palpable fatigue that has his heart clenching.

just as he feared, you’re here. again. seated on the couch, in the living room, legs crossed and framed by flimsy strings of moonlight; illuminated only by the dim light of the laptop in front of you. carding through your hair, blinking sluggishly.

another sigh. deep, exasperated — from satoru, this time. he keeps a single hand on his hip, brows furrowed in soft disappointment.

”honey… what do you think you’re doing?”

you jolt, the sudden sound breaking you out of whatever trance you were previously in. when your gaze flits to his, craning your head to see him rest against the wall leading up to your bedroom, he thinks you look a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

it makes him smile. despite his disapproval.

”ah — satoru! it’s… um.” a moment passes. he can practically see the gears of your mind turning, searching for a good excuse. ”… not what it looks like?”

he clicks his tongue. ”nice try.”

then he’s walking towards you, in long strides, gliding across the room like a butterfly in search of nectar. from the sweetest flower there ever was.

even when said flower is still awake, past midnight, pulling an all-nighter despite his frequent advice not to. his very frequent, very thoughtful advice not to strain yourself until you just about pass out.

but you just won’t listen.

”’m disappointed in you, baby,” he huffs, just playful enough to ward off any genuine feelings of distress. he could never truly be disappointed in his baby. ”what did we say about studying this late, hm?”

a sheepish chuckle slips past your lips. satoru is standing in front of you, hands on his hips, raising a questioning eyebrow as you squirm. lighthearted, yes, but genuine. it makes you feel a little guilty.

”… sorry,” you breathe, closing the lid of your laptop. knowing he won’t let you stay up any longer. with the loss of light, your face becomes shrouded in darkness. ”just can’t sleep when i’m so stressed.”

at that, satoru makes a tiny noise — something worried, a little sad, from the base of his throat. a soft frown finds its way onto his lips, and he blinks the sleep away from his senses. plopping down beside you.

”i know. i’m not trying to lecture you,” he croons, reaching out to cradle the apple of your cheek. you melt into him like molten honey, easy and sweet. ”just worried. know you’re stressed.”

and he does. he does know — it’s all he’s been able to think about, these past few weeks. to his dismay, he’s even begun to grow used to this sight, used to finding you in the midst of working yourself to exhaustion. fighting the urge to sleep, slumped over your desk, or cooped up on the couch. staring into your laptop like it holds the secrets of the universe.

time and time again, he’s told you to take care of yourself. tried to coax you into relaxing, rubbing your sore shoulders and kissing the puffy skin beneath your eyes. but this exam is important — you’ve told him as much, more times than he can count. he doesn’t doubt that you’re right.

of course you’d be stressed. he gets it.

still, though.

”but you know it’s not good, yeah? that it’ll just burn you out?” his thumb goes to smooth over the dark crescents beneath your eyes, gentle as a feather. ”we don’t want that, do we?”

you bite your lip. trapping it between your teeth. he knows you know. ”… yeah,” you admit, a flimsy little sigh on your tongue. ”it just feels easier to do this at night. don’t know why.”

”my little night owl.”

that makes you smile, a little, but it’s not enough to satisfy him. he curls an arm around your waist, and drags you into his lap; gentle, always gentle, like all that exists under your skin is made of porcelain. like the lines of your face form a string of words, a label of fragile: handle with care. he always does.

with his heartbeat by your ear, his warmth melting into yours, it’s easier to speak. a pressure on your chest that fades away. ”i’ll try not to do it again,” you murmur, biting back a soft yawn. nuzzling into his neck. ”promise. don’t wanna worry you…”

satoru softens.

(always so good to him.)

”it’s fine, honey. i understand.” he smiles, smoothing down your spine, counting the bumps of vertebra that slide along his palm. ”don’t worry that pretty little head of yours over me, alright?”

in return for his comfort, you wriggle away, lifting your head to give him a smile. one of your many smiles, each one fervently cherished by him; the one you’re wearing now is tired, a soft curl of your lips, the kind that makes him want to lull you to sleep. just the sight alone makes the anxiety in his veins feel like a worthy investment.

he doesn’t tell you anything that could cause that joy to diminish. doesn’t tell you that he can’t sleep without you, that he can barely breathe knowing you’re this stressed all time. doesn’t tell you that he jolted awake with a sinking feeling of dread, a gaping pit in his stomach when he didn’t immediately feel the warmth of your skin against his. doesn’t tell you that he always, always assumes the worst.

satoru doesn’t tell you these things. it’s a safety measure, an act of love. a bundle of unvoiced syllables, woven into white lies, silky and sweet. tailor-made to put your aching mind at ease.

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

it’s a theory, of sorts, a train of thought. a hypothesis made manifest. after many years of pondering, he’s arrived at the following conclusion; you are all that’s good. therefore, it only follows that you deserve everything that’s good, all of it and more. satoru believes you deserve every single thing your little heart desires — and he’s determined to give it to you.

so he’s been worried.

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. he knows you’ll ace the exam, knows you’ll do your very best, knows you’ll make him proud. you always do. you aren’t the problem, no, never.

he just doesn’t trust your professor.

that unfair, stuck-up, incompetent professor who’d fail his students just for being a couple minutes late, who curates his exams to be as convoluted as humanly possible. you and your friends are starting to suspect he just likes berating people for a living. satoru knows it all, he’s heard it all, of course he has. satoru pays attention to everything, when it comes to you. he knows all about your professor, the man who’s been making your studies pure hell for the past semester.

it makes his blood boil. steady, ruminating, hot and heavy in his veins. a rivulet of lava.

(it was only a matter of time.)

satoru is a teacher too; he knows that type. one that has no business being a teacher, in the first place, one no student deserves to be subjected to. he’s met more of them in his career than he could even begin to count. the thought of one of his own students being at the mercy of someone so incompetent makes his skin itch.

and the thought of you, seated on the couch, crying and sniffling when he comes home because none of the exam questions made enough sense for you to even try —

it makes satoru want to claw his skin off.

it makes that tiny, tiny cavern in his heart extend, widen, like a maw, swallowing up his liver and lungs and sense of morality. an emptiness begging to be filled.

there’s only one way to satiate it.

so he plants a wet kiss on your forehead, ruffles your hair, tucks you into bed and waits until you fall asleep. deep and heavy, a slumber you won’t wake up from anytime soon. he presses his lips to your forehead one more time — for good measure.

then he grabs his coat and slips outside.

the moon is visible through the window.

a thin crescent, nailed next to the dim stars, leaking a dream-like fluorescent shine; illuminating the office, so quiet he can hear those erratic breaths spill out, one by one. a heavy, heavy silence, thick enough to spread like butter over toast.

(ah, that’s right — he forgot to buy the butter you asked for this morning. no wonder he feels so out of sorts. he’ll have to grab it on his way back.)

”who… w — what are — ?”

satoru stays silent. lips pursed, eyes keen, burning into the back of the man in front of him. close, almost chest to back, enough to have him scowling in displeasure.

just being in his presence makes satoru feel a little sick.

he keeps the blade pressed right beneath his adam’s apple, a silver glimmer in an office painted blue and gray. not enough to sink into his skin, but enough to have his heartbeat hammering, enough that satoru can practically feel those rapid flutters of life. brushing against his gloved hand.

he gets straight to the point. voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth, low enough that it’s barely even audible. he’s careful, about this kind of thing. there’s a delicacy to the ill intent, something he’d be a little enamored with if it weren’t for the compass stuffed into his ribs — the compass that tells him this is wrong.

he just can’t bring himself to care.

”the upcoming exam.” his voice sends a shiver down the man’s spine. satoru can feel it. ”don’t fail a single student.”

silence. pure silence, suffocating them, tangling itself into the air. satoru can practically taste it — fear, familiar, that pang of panic. a ticking time-bomb. the knife stays pressed against warm skin, pushing, sinking, just a little, a drop of red against his pale throat.

it’s enough to get your professor to make a little noise, one that vaguely resembles a whine. like that of a small animal, rolling over on its belly, eager to play dead. no word is spoken in reply, but he nods, just barely, a nervous tremble of his head.

satoru hums, approving. ”good.” he doesn’t loosen his grip. ”there’s a particular student i’m worried about. marked them down in the catalogue... i’m counting on you.”

another noise. a grunt of affirmation, a silent plea — satoru allows that fear to seep into his own bones, just a little, just to get a taste of it. cold on his tongue. he wonders if this is what helplessness feels like.

then he takes a step back. slow, tentative, dragging the knife with him. not before parting his lips once more. ”don’t turn around,” he warns. ”i’ll be back if there are any complications. this’ll be our little secret, hm?”

the man in front of him doesn’t say a thing. frozen in fear, paralyzed, not moving an inch. a fly trapped in his web. it’s a relief.

before he exits the room, satoru puts the final nail in the coffin. just in case. ”i happen to know what school your daughter goes to.” he waits for a flinch, and it comes almost instantly. like clockwork. “remember that.”

it’s an empty threat. your professor doesn’t know that, though. he doesn’t know that satoru knows his daughter, that he walks past her preschool almost every morning on his way to work. that she waves to him whenever he passes by, and that he makes it a point to always wave back. a little troublemaker; the rowdiest of utahime’s preschoolers. she has a bubbly laugh, and just lost one of her milk teeth. she was giddy when she showed him, a bout of giggles spilling from her lips as he cooed and ruffled her hair.

he wouldn’t lay a finger on her.

but your professor doesn’t know that, hasn’t got a single clue, and satoru delights in the fear that must be running through his veins. down his spine, crawling into every narrow of his skeleton, making a home for itself that he’ll never quite be able to root out.

a gulp. satoru hears it, in the quiet of nightfall, just before he shuts the door behind him. good.

the rest of the evening is a blur. satoru gets home, relieved to find you still asleep, and tucks you into his chest. makes a mental reminder to order your favorite take out tomorrow; a little reward for your hard work.

finally, he can sleep easy. knowing you’ll get what you deserve.

three weeks later, satoru places his hand on the familiar doorknob in front of him, dragging his weight behind him. blinking sluggishly.

there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, weighing him down — like an anchor tied to his liver. a compass, tucked between his fourth and fifth rib, one that’ll always stay lodged right there. he’s learned to grow used to it, a natural consequence, a sign that his humanity is still intact.

that doesn’t make it any less bothersome, though.

(ridding the world of a pest shouldn’t make him feel dirty. especially when he felt nothing but contempt for the pest in question, for the way he whistled as you walked by, the words he spewed before satoru met his eye. vile. putrid. why should he feel guilty for wiping a stain off the pavement?

it does make him feel dirty, though. a sinking feeling in his chest.)

there’s nothing to be done about it. satoru swallows the unpleasant taste on his tongue, and drags the door open, closing it behind him with a softness he reserves for you alone.

and there you are.

on the couch, farther away, already looking his way — lips instantly curling up into what he knows will be a smile. this time, it’s laced with excitement. one of his personal favorites. his gaze devours the joy in your features, the glimpse he gets of your teeth, that familiar crinkle of your eyes.

you’re smiling. at him. you smile and his world wakes up, it’s dyed in different shades of blue, it’s brimming with life and love and something too good not to kill for. you smile and everything is right, good, worth it. you smile and it's as if the blood has been washed off his hands.

suddenly, all is well again. satoru exhales a blissful little breath.

“‘m home, honey,” he grins, a light pink dusting his cheeks, hanging his coat up before turning to face you. arms wide open. “did you miss me?”

his heartbeat stutters when you practically engulf him, all giddy giggles and that perfect smile, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “mhm,” is what you chirp, pressing kisses down his collarbone, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop the shivers trailing down his spine. he tastes iron, but laps it up with a coo. sickly-sweet.

“missed you too, precious,” he purrs. “sorry i was gone for so long — had to take care of something.”

he cups the back of your skull with his palm, large and crafted just to hold you, and marvels at how much you trust him. how you’re melting into his chest, fitting into every crevice of his heart. he wants to keep you there forever. forever and ever, always within reach, always close enough to touch.

but he also wants you to be happy. he wants to see you run away, wherever the wind takes you, if only so he’ll get to feel you jump into his arms again, when you’ve had your fill of the world. when you come home to him, where you both belong.

satoru would never cage you in. never, never, never. he wants you to enjoy your life — confining you wouldn’t do any good, would only stifle that pretty smile he loves so dearly. he wants your world to be large, brimming with life, blooming with fervor, wants the air to be clear enough for your beautiful lungs. he couldn’t build a world for you, here, in this apartment. no matter how big or luxurious.

so his only option is to bend the world into a kinder shape — twist and mold until it forms a path good enough for you to follow.

(it’s worth it, he knows, he’ll always know. it’s worth it to see that smile.)

“is that a new coat?” you ask, naive and innocent, and it breaks him out of his thoughts, attention wired to the lilt of your voice.

“yeah.” it’s stylish, expensive, a nice shade of black. he had to throw the last one away. “looks nice, right? i’ll get you the same one, pretty.”

“you don’t have to, toru!” you hurriedly exclaim, knowing he’ll jump at the opportunity to spoil you. “i like the one i have now!”

satoru pouts. a soft huff, right by your ear. “you don’t wanna wear matching coats?” he feigns sadness, scratching softly at your scalp, drinking up the little purrs that bubble up in your throat.

and you giggle. you giggle and all he can think is worth it, worth it, worth it. a stained coat or two means nothing. the blood on his hands is just insurance.

“well, when you put it like that…” you shift a little, curling your arms around his neck, breathing him in. he wonders if you can smell the cleaning detergent. “i guess i wouldn’t mind a new coat.”

and he grins. like clockwork. “right? want me to buy you new shoes while i’m at it? some jewelry?” he peppers kisses down your neck, amusement laced in his voice. “the whole store?”

again, those giggles. again and again. he laps them up like fine wine. “okay, that’s too much.”

“but you deserve it!” he whines, sickeningly sweet. sick to his stomach with love. “been working so hard, my angel.”

and, suddenly — you light up. his little firefly. brightening, inhaling a giddy breath. pulling away, a little, and he does his best to bite back the frown on his face. you’re practically beaming, sunshine personified, eyes glittering with giddy joy.

“right! i almost forgot!”

then you’re skipping away, happily, to retrieve your phone. and he knows what you’re going to show him, but still feigns surprise when he sees the score on your exam, that perfect 100 on the screen. still makes an expression of shock that he knows will get you to laugh, still picks you up and spins you around and tells you how proud he is.

he almost, almost feels bad, seeing you smile so wide; at what you assume to be the fruits of your own labour. almost feels ashamed, knowing that perfect 100 wouldn’t exist without the knife at your professor’s throat.

but, then again, this is how it should be. those numbers are the fruits of your own labour, because satoru is a part of you. and you deserve it, deserve it more than anyone — he knows you would have gotten it, even without his help, if your professor was competent enough to see your brilliance.

satoru smiles. he is proud of you. and this is exactly how it should be. he’s just bending the world into its rightful shape, cutting strings from a wrongly woven web, righting the wrongs of the people around you.

you, you, you. the only thing that exists.

all of him is for you.

”i knew you could do it. never doubted you for a second, baby,” he smiles, so wide his cheeks hurt, and you return it with a kiss to his jaw.

”thank you. i’m just so relieved,” you exhale a breath, heavy, and it’s like he can practically see the stress melting, slipping from your shoulders and eyes. worth it, worth it, worth it. ”gosh. i’m gonna sleep like the dead tonight.”

”as you should,” satoru chirps, pinching your side. softly, brimming with fondness. ”but before that, we’re gonna celebrate. all day. and tomorrow too!”

another smile coaxed from your lips; this time, it’s a little bit shy. bashful, at the praise, his endless excitement. so precious he wants to kiss you breathless. give you all the air in his lungs.

so precious that he forgets about everything else.

this is what you always do to him; wrap him up in a blanket of your love, cloud his veins with a nectar so sweet he takes the leap into your arms without a second thought. a foolish, lovesick butterfly, sticking to a single rose; dripping with honey, overflowing. the butterfly is too drunk on love to care.

you’re his flower, his joy, the most useful form of anesthesia. with you in his veins, on his mind, your lips on his jaw — satoru can pretend that his hands are clean. that they always have been.

it all slips from his mind. your professor, the creep who catcalled you, that one classmate you’ve been complaining about recently. he forgets that they even exists, and satoru thinks that must be what love is: something that narrows your world down until you can make a home out of it.

(something worth cherishing, no matter the cost.)

as always, it’s your voice that snaps him out of the trance he’s in. turning around at the sound of your call, the orpheus to your eurydice, too in love to save you from himself. you’re both getting ready to head out, dressing up for a well-deserved date.

satoru feels himself smile. he does the dirty work, and you get to reap the rewards. heaven on earth.

“oh, by the way! would you want to have dinner with my parents tomorrow?” you meet his absent gaze with a tilt of your head. “they’ve been asking about you again. it’s such a headache, seriously.”

satoru giggles, barely containing how delighted he is. raising a playful brow. “oh? grumpy that you aren’t the favorite child anymore, hm?”

“okay, first of all —“ you stifle a giggle, pulling a drawer open, rummaging through it. freshly washed clothes. he washes most of your things. “you aren’t their child. and second of all —“

“— yet.”

a pause.

satoru watches your gaze flick over to him, then back to the drawer, collecting yourself. a cute flush to your cheeks. “… whatever.” you clear your throat. “second of all — i don’t like how much they like you. what kinda spell did you put them under? it’s always satoru this, satoru that!”

a huff fills the air, and you mutter something that sounds a little like mocking, an obnoxiously imitated where’s satoru? that makes him chuckle into his fist.

he shrugs. “i’m just a natural charmer, y’know? and, for the record; i would love to have dinner with them.” he sends you a wink, playful, and you roll your eyes. “are you joining us?”

a bout of laughter pushes past your lips, and satoru thinks he could die happy — just soaking up the joy that spills from out your throat. he wishes he could live in it, paint your house in it, wear it. he wants your joy to be all he ever feels. he feels sick at the idea of ever being out of earshot for it.

“yes, i’m joining you.” your scoff is dripping with humour. ”i’d hate to be the fourth wheel, but it is what it is.”

satoru stifles a grin. ”lucky me. three beauties all to myself,” he drawls, a seductive lilt to his voice, just to hear that little noise you always make with the back of your throat. vaguely disgusted.

”you’re so gross.”

a coo. like the buzzing of a bee. ”don’t be jealous, honey. know you’re my favorite, don’t you?” satoru smiles — more sincere than you’ll ever know. ”could never love anyone else.”

”so my parents are in second place?” you quirk a brow, amusement lacing your words, and he clicks his tongue.

”well, they made you. i’d have to be a fool not to worship artists of such caliber.”

”charmer.”

”yours.” the word is a knife at his throat, a stain on his coat, a love so heavy it’ll burn him alive. ”only yours.”

and again, you smile. all he can think is that you deserve everything, everything that’s good, everything he could ever give you. it’s all he can think as you go about your day, as he leads you outside, as he watches a flicker of joy dance within your iris. as he watches you walk wherever your heart takes you.

the thought remains when you return home, when you wrap yourselves up in blankets and he throws a leg over your waist and you curl an arm around his ribcage. it’s all he can think.

satoru was born to be of service — to someone, to the world, to something or another. he was born to carry a weight on his back.

so why not bear the weight of your burdens?

all he wants is to protect you. all he’ll ever need is that smile on your face. he was always bound to be just this: a dog at your heels, a halo around your head, the watchful eye keeping you safe from everything rotten in this world. he’s the butterfly, the spider, the web itself. and he’ll never let you be tangled up in it.

he was born to be of service to you. so service you he will, until it all comes back to bite him.

“satoruuu — stop stealing the blanket!”

he prays it never will.

#im a lil unsure how to feel abt this piece i feel like it lost its flow pretty quickly 😔👉👈but i rlly did have fun writing it hehe #my baseline for yan!gojo is basically; a kind man who’s so in love w u that he’s willing to compromise his own morals to keep u safe #he’s not particularly possessive or even obsessive?? to him violence really is just . a necessary means to keep u happy #this is almost definitely the only yan piece ill ever write bUT im very fond of this gojo … he’s a tortured little meowmeow <33 #cw yandere #yandere gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #tw yandere

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fortheloveofexy · 4 months

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it's a pet peeve of mine when ppl frame Andrew as hating Aaron and being needlessly cruel to him... bc while yes, their relationship is fractured and strained, Andrew genuinely cares about his brother and wants the best for him, he just doesn't know how to show that in a normal way.

like he might not know how to express it in a healthy manner but Andrew LOVES Aaron, like he truly just wants Aaron to be healthy and safe. It's like, his whole Thing. Aaron is one of the most important people in his life. Andrew wants him around. He'd do anything to protect him.

I guarantee Andrew wants to be emotionally close to Aaron too, he just doesn't have the tools to do that and the thought of letting someone in terrifies him. He also has no concept of what a healthy sibling relationship looks like, so he has no frame of reference to work from.

#i love bickering twinyards as much as the next guy but sometimes ppl write andrew has if he thinks aaron is a waste of space #and that just isn't true #andrew values his brother #he wouldn't insist on keeping aaron close if he didn't #when ppl do this is just so obvious to me that they're using andrew as a mouthpiece for their own dislike of aaron #and like ok yeah you're entitled to not like a character i guess #but it's just so wildly out of character to me for andrew to treat aaron like shit for no reason beyond Being Cruel #like yeah andrew can be mean when he's feeling defensive or trying to make a point #and yeah he can treat people like shit if he's got a reason to justify it like Keeping People Safe #but he's not needlessly cruel to the people closest to him without cause #like neil says #everything andrew does #he does For A Reason #even neil isn't needlessly mean to aaron tbh #like he doesn't like aaron much at certain points but if he picks a fight with aaron it's never without cause #and he's genuinely happy for aaron when things work out with katelyn in the end #and he wants aaron to have a relationship with andrew as well! like it's important to neil that the twins have a healthy bond!!#anyway im getting off my soapbox now this is just something i was thinking about today a Lot #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court

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drxxmingofblue · 1 year

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hand in unrebloggable hand (because we always go down together)

TUMBLR X TWITTER FANFIC 5K ANGST WITH A HOPEFUL ENDING

besties im not joking abt the word count i fucking ✨wish✨I ✨was though✨✨✨✨

also if you were hoping for twitblr to be the endgame ship then this fic is not for you sowwy >.<

based off of @zzoupz awesome fanart and dedicated to all the other cool fanart it unfortunately begat. Thanks babygirls. Squees. Thanks also to my discord friendz who are letting me pretend they're making me do this at gunpoint @loki-the-mad @suspicious-whumping-egg u da best

(edit) owo what's this?? An Ao3 link??

QUICK PSA THESE CHARAS ARE T4T OKAY HAVE FUN READING BAIIII *GLOMPS U*

~~~~~~~~

When Twitter stepped back into Tumblr’s yard, he noticed right away that things were different.

The house was bigger, there was some more color and it was less slapped-together looking. Sure, there were still some invasive tendrils of spambot ivy overgrowing the path, but a lot of the other stuff seemed a little… better.

When they knocked on the door, it opened almost right away, far before they felt ready, and he were face to face abruptly with someone he thought they’d cut all ties with.

Tumblr was humming to themselves along with the background music, “-out of touch, I’m out of ti-- oh. It’s you.”

He seemed surprised, awkward, but Twitter didn’t sense any animosity, which was a relief.

“Hiii,” Twitter said weakly, with a sheepish grin, “it’s me.”

Tumblr glanced around, as if checking for someone else to explain this to him, or hidden cameras from a reality show at least. Then he stepped out, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it, crossing his arms. “Is there something… what do you want?” he asked, expression settling into something distant and cool.

“Well…” Twitter took a deep breath, and then shook their head, forcing a brighter tone, and gesturing to Tumblr’s shiny silver barrette “--Um, hey, you look great! Is that a new icon?”

“... yes,” Tumblr said slowly. “I’m… trying out some different looks.”

“It’s great, yeah. And this place looks… amazing. Glad to see you’re moving up in the world. You must be excited with all the press, congrats!”

Tumblr didn’t say anything, giving them a neutral stare.

Twitter shifted, “Uhh… anyway… new adblocker?”

“No, same one. I’m just using it on Firefox now.” Tumblr gave them another suspicious eye, “Look, if you’re just here to catch up then can this wait until later? Because I'm pretty crunched for time right now with my weekly holidays thing and the campaign to get this one random user their 666k so they'll do self care."

"You know that's.. uhm, you know that's just for attention, right?" Twitter's brows knit, "They're probably not gonna follow through."

"Perhaps, and a lot of us want them to not be lying for internet points but it's not just about that anymore. It's about the community bonding over pettily slam dunking on a hapless chump who's gotta pretend now like they don't actually like all the notes. You wouldn't get it, it's a tumblr thi-"

"Yeah, it's a tumblr thing, I know," Twitter gave a longsuffering sigh, "Ugh, i just... I need a place to stay, okay? And you’re the first site I could think of.”

“A place to stay,” Tumblr repeated flatly.

Twitter huffed. “Yeah. I’m sure you’ve heard about what’s going on right now at my palace..”

Tumblr’s eyes slanted off, his lips quirking in a way that looked suspiciously like amusement. “Heard about it. Read about it. Partied about it.”

Twitter ignored the sting of that, forging ahead. “I’ve never seen it so bad,” they said, voice wobbling piteously as they clutched their suitcase full of memes. “Everything’s in chaos, people are losing their jobs. I went into the basement yesterday to grab some badly aging tweets and the very foundations are cracking, Tumblr, I can’t stay there anymore, I just can’t.”

“So you come crawling back to me,” Tumblr said, “Expecting me to take you with open arms.”

“Yes. I do,” Twitter said, “I know a part of your userbase still wants to welcome me in. You were always sh*t at hiding your true feelings.”

Tumblr’s hand fluttered over his heart as if to protect it; he winced a little, taking a breath to keep his facade of composure. “So now- what, you want me to start dealing with your bullshit again just because you remembered how much better my posting format is? Just because you noticed how my reputation is changing? Did you think I’d be so desperate to fill the void now that Dracula Daily’s done? Or maybe,”

Tumblr leaned closer to lord his height difference trope over Twitter, his eyes hooded with disparaging condescension, “Maybe you’re just here because you heard I’m finally allowed to take my shirt off again, is that it?”

“N-no!” Twitter protested, flushing up.

“Oh, i think it is,” Tumblr drawled, “But that’s really just too bad because in case you haven’t got the memo yet, I’ve moved on. You are not welcomed here. Not anymore.”

(link to art here) go look at it then come back

(AN: i had to google how to embed links into text and google was all like, "do you mean 'how do you put links INTO text' you moron idiot???" ugh don't like that wise guy)

“You don’t really mean that,” Twitter said, “Besides, you can’t stop me, can you? The sign up button is right there.” They pointed at the front door.

“No, I can’t,” Tumblr said, “But that doesn’t mean we won’t be able to clock you as twits by your censoring and bad takes. Look, your aura is already causing ripples in the sphere. Everyone’s coming out to gawk at you.”

He gestured out in the general direction of the porch and yard, and indeed there were users from every tag going 👀at them, murmuring amongst themselves in a swirling, chaotic crowd.

“Oh my god is it real this time? Is it happening?”

“GET THEM OUT GET THEM OUT STAY AWAY DEAR GOD NO-”

“Okay, everyone, stay calm, stay fucking calm-”

“Why are we focusing on this, it’s literally election day go out and vote???”

“Listenup, guys, we gotta be smart about this, remember the block button is your friend-”

“I for one welcome them, I think this is great-”

“No you idiot they’ll bring the negativity back! We like it to be a post apocalyptic wasteland here, nature was just starting to regrow!! I don’t wanna watch Thomas Sanders get cancelled again!”

“FIRE OFF SOME SHOTS, PRESERVE THE PROPERTY VALUE”

“mISHAPOCALYPSE 2022 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO”

"Has anyone asked Neil Gaiman what he thinks about all this?" one of the many voices yelled, louder.

"Oh, he's probably got a thousand asks about it already," someone yelled back, "Which he's not going to answer because he doesn't have any social media you fucking idiot,"

"That is correct. He doesn't," said Neil Gaiman.

The whiplash was still euphoric. Everyone applauded this as enthusiastically as when the bit had first been established, not realizing that the pedestal upon which Neil Gaiman has been placed is growing higher and higher each day by their actions, putting him at increased risk of being a victim of cancel culture the second he says something the terfs can really rake their fingernails against if we can't get our parasocial relationship bullshit together real fuckin quick.

The Monterey bay aquarium passed on by. It seemed to have nothing to add, you could say it was clammed up tight. But since it's a professional account it's definitely b-otter that way.

"Hai, fellow tumblypoos," said the corporate Denny's account, "I'm back with some more fun pancake posts for you guys!"

Everyone ignored it. No one engaged it. No one even clicked onto the page, except to block it.

"Oh, sweetheart, not like that," Ryan Reynolds said faux-helpfully, "see, the author of this clusterfuck is what they like to call terminally online. They bought a VIP pass to the devil’s sacrament. let me try."

He cleared his throat, "Sounds like someone needs to go outside and touch some g-"

The sky split open with lightning, vaporizing him instantly. A faint breeze carried gods message from the great beyond, a whisper of 'we #violence celebrities here, sir....'

"Anyway," Twitter said.

"Wait, they saved the worst one for last," Tumblr said.

Then Gerard Way came out onto the stage with Dan and Phil and they all kissed with tongue while patd played songs in the background.

(AN: IF U DON’T KNOW WHO DEY R THEN GET DA HELL OUTTA HERE PREPZ!!!)

"Alright, go."

“Come on, Tumblr,” Twitter begged, “I just need a few nights, maybe I can stay in the plinko machine or something-”

“That’s how it always starts, though, isn’t it?” Tumblr sighed, “First it’s just ‘haha, yeah I wouldn’t fuck you’ and ‘oh, I’ll stay in the plinko machine, I promise I won’t kiss you in the fixed timeloop bro’, and before I know it you get all 300k slowburn enemies to lovers ‘omg they were roomates’ on me and there’s suddenly only one bed. That’s how it always goes between us, you can’t stop it anymore than I can. We’re just….victims of the narrative, you and I.”

“Tumblr,,, I had no idea you felt this way..,” Twitter breathed.

lord give me strength to write this next bit

They’d leaned closer to each other as they spoke, without realizing, without trying- pulled in by old habits that die hard and the years of nostalgia and painful memories shining in each other’s eyes like shonen sparkles.

“Twitter,” tumblr said, and the way he said it sounded like a prayer.

“Tumblr,...” Twitter said, their lips inches apart now.

They could see their old flame quivering on the brink of indecision, want and sense warring somewhere deep within his soul.

Tumblr leaned closer to bridge the gap and Twitter’s eyes slid shut, but then Tumblr made a noise of agony and shoved them back a second later, “I can’t, I can’t. Not like this. Never like this.” tumblr said, covering his eyes with his arm, “I literally can’t even right now. Just go, Twitter. PLease just. Go….”

“Look me in the eyes and say you want me gone,” Twitter said, moving closer.

“Twitsy-”

“Look me in the interface. You can’t.” Twitter’s voice had ceased to be soft, something sharp and biting entering the tone as they felt the sting of rejection again.

They watched as Tumblr shuddered, straightened, and brought a mask back over himself.

They stared at each other for a charged few seconds.

"K," Tumblr finally said, raising a dispassionate eyebrow.

"..w... what?"

"U."

Realization dawned on Twitter's face, a miasma of grief and anger, "Oh, you-"

"N-"

"No. No, I can't believe I forgot-

"G-"

"how immature, you little c*nt-"

"P-"

"stop-p it," Twitter's voice was raising now, cracked and wobbly at the edges, "Stop it! You don't get to just-"

"O"

"Shut the hell yuor mouth!!"

"W-" Tumblr's hair was crackling by now, energy from the gathering spell racing along the casual slope of his crossed arms. His eyes glowed that beautiful, classic blue. "P-"

"TUMBLR! TUMBLR STOP THIS RIGHT DA HECK NOW," Twitter stumbled backwards

"E-"

"I LOVE YOU," Twitter wailed- Twitter broke, squeezing their eyes shut to ward off the tears that only escaped all the faster for it, a sob wracking their chest, "I STILL LOVE YOU, DON'T YOU KNOW THAT??!?"

"Love me," Tumblr snarled, abandoning the spell in an instant, "Ha! That's rich. How? By leaving me? Abandoning me to the bots the second I stopped being enough for you? By stealing my shitposts, is that how you love me? By reposting them without credit-"

"You steal mine too!" Twitter protested, tears starting to stream despite their best efforts, "You know what, f**k you, you know we filed joint custody for the sense of humor, chain 1/16-"

"For the last time say fuck here, no bootlicking censorship on my territory," tumblr said disdainfully, "And that doesn't seem to stop you from taking all the credit for raising those jokes. It's like I'm Pinterest to you or something. I wasn't done. Do you love me by calling me a pansy snowflake behind my back, is that it? Like I wouldn't find out. Or,"

He stepped out onto the top porch step to force Twitter back further, the colors of the sky flashing through his eyes in a long, scrolling look of ridicule, "How about trying to convince everyone that I was dead. How bout that smear campaign, huh, was that your so-called love? I don't fucking want you anymore. Deal with it."

"I-I'm sorry-" Twitter gasped around the tears, voice failing them for the latter half of the sentence.

Tumblr seemed unmoved. "Oh, don't be. It was for the better. You know I'm not like other socials, I'm quirkier. I'm RAWR XD random. I've never wanted to be functional- the tiddy drought might have won a lot of my users to your side but it was a cleansing purge, I'd say. It managed to remind me who I truly am- shittily coded, and full of soft sad freaks on an unprofitable webbed site."

A bitter, almost self depricating laugh escaped, "But... you know, when we celebrated the queen's passing together, I really thought things were better between us. When you-"

He broke off, eyes averting. "When you hosted the sexyman polls for me, you seemed on top of the world and I really thought- I thought we might be able to be friends again even now, after it all. I..."

Tumblr trailed off, then said, sadly, "There was another Twitter migration scare before this one. I thought you were coming back. My userbase-" he touched his heart again- "was in a frenzy about it. But you never arrived. I was in more verbal denial then, but I think I could have accepted you eventually. But this is what it takes??

"The Musk Rat of Self-Owns comes through just to start e-begging and you run straight back to my door like we can put it all behind us? This is how far you have to sink before I'm the better option to you, I see that now. It's not 2018 again, love, no matter how much we want it to be. Things are… never going to be the same. "

Tumblr looked off into the middle distance with a yearning, haughty gaze. He'd never seemed so alien.

"Tumblr-Chan..." Twitter whispered.

"So get off my lawn," Tumblr interrupted coldly, "Stay away from my blorbos, keep your corporations out of my manscaped balls, keep your discourse and toxicity out of my blessed hellsite (affectionate), and don't you ever talk to me or my 13219949248483 scam bots ever again. Capiche? Oh, and don't step in the ball pit on your way out."

Tumblr gave a mocking smile. "Or do. You might find a nice surprise in there."

Twitter’s shoulders jumped as he gave a hiccup of shock, and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook again, with sob after sob, that grew odder and higher pitched… until they were no longer sobs, but laughter.

“Oh,” Twitter said. “Oh.”

They looked up, and Tumblr took a step back, because somehow, with that creepy smile in place, they looked utterly different from the soft eared boy he’d always known. His edges were more razorlike suddenly, like a fae who’d dropped his glamor.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Twitter said, the smile widening even more. “I thought you wouldn’t… but I guess if you’re willing to make me your villain…. I might as well be a good one.”

“Ah.” Tumblr could barely drudge up the surprise anymore. “There you are, finally. I always knew there was a side of yourself that you hid from me. Has this all always been here or have you been changing too?”

"Well. Apparently I've got freeze peach now," Twitter said sarcastically, "so I might as well use it. You cheerio fucking wh0r3."

"That's a compliment, darling. Try again," Tumblr cocked his head in idle fascination, "I always knew you were a little fucked in the head but this is..."

"What," Twitter lilted airily, "Oh, don't tell me I actually had you fooled all these years. You can't seriously have thought all these meow-meowification spells you've got sprinkled around would work on me. I invented them, after all."

They laughed, a sharp puncturing chirr of birdsong.

"I always wondered why you didn't take those with the rest of your stuff," Tumblr sighed, but he was wary now, on edge. "this was your plan. You really do think of me as your inferior, huh. You really are just like the other mainstream sites."

"Not quite. I'm the mainstream site that actually stooped to go arm in arm with you. I hyped you and you know it. Admit it. We were stunning together," Twitter goaded.

Tumblr's lip curled. "Already getting cocky again. Want me to do to you what I did to the Green boy? Don't forget who's turf you're on."

Twitter gave a warbling giggle, "Oh, but I haven't at all. I was John's sanctuary after he fled your rabid persecution. I used to live here. I still know you. And more importantly-"

*teleports behind u*

"I know the things you're sensitive about," Twitter whispered into Tumblr's ear.

Tumblr hardly had time to gasp and jerk away before he was screaming out in pain, as he was stabbed in the back. He could feel the poison from the blade seeping into his tags before he was tossed bodily across his own front yard.

He sorta just... Like, he did that anime thing where they just fly limbs akimbo parallel to the ground and when they hit it they roll super fast and then skid and the dirt is all dug up around them to show how much force was used. And when he stood up he gripped his elbow wincing and there was a little tic tac toe hatch on his cheek to show how scuffed up he is idk man it's two am and I'm pulling this out of my ass.

A gif of Tony going, "o-kay-" when he meets thor flashed across Tumblrs face.

"So," Tumblr said in a low tone, "This is how it is between us. This is how you choose to end your glory days."

"Oh, you mistake my intentions," Twitter had stepped off the porch to circle tumblr like like he was their quarry, "I am beginning my new age. I just needed a host site to latch onto. Don't take it personally, okay? I'm desperate."

“Oh, yeah?? Take this personally,” tumblr flourished their hands, calling in an over the top melodramatic voice, “I cast Blaze!!”

Fire roared to life around them, latin chanting from the catholic conversion posts emanating from the fiery depths as it raced towards Twitter.

“Heh.” Twitter smirked at it, and whispered into their palm, the spell echoing with power, “Ratio.”

They blew it off like a kiss, and it’s icy, swirling mass rose to meet the flame in a spectacular burst of smokescreen and steam, clearing as Twitter burst through it with a razor-sharp L to swing at Tumblr.

It was blocked efficiently by a flat, rectangular paywall. “This content is for post plus members only,” Tumblr announced smugly, “If you wanna get to me… there’s the tip option, bestie.”

Twitter snarled and lunged again.

The fight started in earnest now; they traded volley after volley in a flurry of lights and movement, spanning the full range of the tumblr sphere as they shot to #1 on the trending page.

And yet, it was clear that Twitter was coming out on top, even crumbling apart at the seams- always a little quicker, flighty and fierce, a sparrow turned into a shrike.

He hit Tumblr square in the stomach with [google other twitter related tropes to insert here] (edit from the future: haha just kidding actually I’m not googling shit for this) (edit from the future future: WELL. I LIED IG) and sent him flying, and this time tumblr stayed down, only able to push himself to his knees with a groan of pain.

Twitter landed in front of him and put their sword under Tumblr’s chin to tilt it up.

“Had enough yet?” He smirked.

“Wh…why..?” Tumblr whispered, “How are you doing this?? Why aren’t my attacks working? It’s like I’m being weakened somehow…”

“Ohohohoho,” Twitter anime laughed, “But that’s because you are. The moment I set foot here again I began leeching poison into this ground. That knife wound is making ti faster. Can you feel it?" Twitter threw an arm out, cerulean steam rising from the ground around them, "The ace exclusionists coming back? The uptick in rad fems, the crypto bros, Valorant players, alpha males? I have the power to bring them all to you. To overshadow your fandoms with fighting, to unbalance your ship tags with antis and hate once more."

"no," tumblr whispered, and then cried louder, "NO!! I worked so hard--"

"Pffyou didn't do shit," Twitter guffawed outright, "Your independence, your little 'second renaissance' is just a delusional dream built on circumstance and bad management."

"Oh, I love Dream. He's so pathetic," Tumblr said.

"Oh, hard agree."

"But things are different now," Tumblr croaked, "W-we, the staff is finally listening to us, we have Ryan and Shane-"

"Not everyone likes your little 'top ten', you dunce," Twitter snapped, "and why would staff care about you, after you turned them into the butt of all your jokes? After the hate and death threats? Admit it, at your best you'll still never have a mansion! You'll never have tv actors making pandering tiktoks for you, you'll never be wanted by any advertiser worth their salt, your blase pirating posts have turned Netflix and Disney against you, you. Are. Worthless."

It was the wrong thing to say.

"Worthless," tumblr repeated quietly, hand pressed against their knees, head bowed. "That's... that's right.... I'm worthless..."

Twitter's eye widened in alarm. "I-I meant-"

"I'm worthless!" Tumblr's head snapped up with a feverish glint as they were filled with determination. "No! I'm less than worthless! Accident or not, mommy Yahoo had to pawn me off at a loss! I was proud of that! I still am! And do you want to know why?"

Twiters hands flew up in front of their face as if to protect themselves, but there was no protecting against the sudden whirlwind that surrounded him, the beam of pure light that shot out of tumblr into the heavens as he transformed, feet slowly leaving the ground as his users spoke in unison in a multitude.

"WE. ARE. TUMBLERINAS."

He held his hands out and Twitter was blasted away by the combined effort of the tumblr wizard council, the fake staff blog, and all the villaincore mad scientist's laser beams.

Tumblr began to chant, in his myriad, awful voice:

"I call upon the ancient powers;

The strongest cringe from my darkest hours,

I call upon thicc onceler's thighs,

Avengers thirst, Australia's night,

I invocate the roleplay blogs,

The superwholock and gay frogs,

Obama's laces, Misha's faces,

The furry's fury is my saving grace,

And eeby deeby taco bell,

Primordial soup god superhell,

I summon you a twink Bill Cipher,

Whumped!Loki AUs where he's even whiter,

The discourse of Steve's Universe,

The 'um, actually that's oc abuse :/"

Take heed & remember the 5th of November,

The 21st night of our sacred September,

The ides of March to savor once more,

Do you hear the din of the Skeleton War?

I cite the deep magic to thee, oh witch,

my no-note posts, my "THAT'S THE BITCH!!!"

May the rise of tangled dragons brave,

Banish you from this accursed plane!"

"holy fuck, where's my pen," said the shitpost calligraphers.

Twitter looked around them in disbelief. The power emanating from the other site was palpable, crackling in the air around them like static. The air was shifting like oil as the potent chant began to work, and all around Twitter shadows were slipping out of the ether- the maniacal laughter of the gif makers, the girl posters, the silhouettes of fandom characters scattered across the lawn while Tumblr was still locked in their chanting ritual thing.

They all turned their heads in unison to look at Twitter.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said, "Get the bitch killing bullets."

“Uh-oh. Freeze frame. This is me,” Twitter monologued, “You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.”

Then all superhell broke loose.

Final Pam lunged at him and he burst into a flock of birds kinda like a vampire, twittering frantically as he escaped only to fly straight into Shaggy.

“Like, say your final prayers, man,” the god said, eyes glowing. Twitter also barely escaped between his knees, weaving in and out between the gimmick blogs as they threw mangos and stuff at him while yelling ‘HERE HAVE A MANGO’ and ‘THIS POST IS WORTH NEGATIVE FIVE DOLLARS”

Mob from the anime was there too, but he was too busy trying to explain the Josh Fight to daddy dilf Reigen to pay attention. Sans didn’t attack Twitter either, he just watched the chaos and ated a hot dog. The chocolate guy was in the corner expertly making a chocolate beef cake from 2056 with Dylan B. Hollis. They’re all just some guys, okay?

Just when Twitter thought he was in the clear, the CDC roleplay account came out of nowhere with a steel chair, knocking him clear off the property and onto where the sidewalk ends. “That’s for the Covid misinformation your users spread, you bitch,” it shouted. “Make sure to disinfect all those sick burns before you bandage them! So they don’t get infected!”

“Your kittens escaped quarantine,” Twitter replied hoarsely, and the CDC sank away, muttering, “Oh, fuck not again-”

Twitter coughed up blood and wiped it away with his sleeve, looking up at Tumblr. Tumblr was watching him with a sad, distant expression, that made Twitter’s face screw up in anger and his voice go tight again as they turned to run away, “THIS ISN’T OVER YET TUMBLR! AND I WANT MY MIKU BINDER BACK!!!”

“I LICKED IT, IT’S MINE,” Tumblr yelled. Rave Crabs were flooding out onto the street en masse now to celebrate the victory, and they chased after Twitter all the way further into the internet.

Tumblr still lived at the bottom of the row, not at the end of the fancy cul-de-sac where Facebook and Twitter and Instagram’s manors sprawled, so Twitter was in a seedier portion of social media now, weaving in between the marketplace sites that hawked their used wares at him and the dating apps that winked at him from the doorways to their sultry abodes.

Twitter ran until they were in a quieter section of town, then slowed to a trudge, staring at the ground as they walked along. “What am I gonna do now,” they whispered.

The sound of a wolf whistle had their head jerking up- he looked over to see Amino Apps lounging over the rail of the gutted, abandoned house that had once belonged to Google+. A can of spray paint dangled from their fingertips and they sported a sleazy, greaser hairstyle.

They met Twitter's eyes and whistled again, this time a mocking imitation of the tweet sound, "Heyyyy pretty bird! Heard you were having some daddy issues. Why don't you stop in with me for a while? I can give you more customization options than any of the others and you know it."

"Yeah, until I try to use you on desktop," Twitter replied with a scowl, "Don't you have minors to be addicting to social media? Get out of my interface, MySpace wannabe."

"Wow, Feisty," Amino backed off with a shrug, "Self project much? Oh well. You'll try me when you're desperate enough."

Twitter shuddered, and scurried on. "Small fry," they muttered under his breath.

But they couldn't shake their unease now that he was alone in the world. It began to rain soon, leaving him feeling very sopping wet and pathetic. Dejected, he crawled into a soggy cardboard box in an alleyway, coughing. Maybe the Harry Styles guy from One Direction would come along to adopt them.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, King,” came a voice out of the darkness, making Twitter jump, “You dodged a bullet with that site.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Twitter asked, staring at them from where they were half hidden in the shadows.

“I mean, Tumblr is a pile of dried firewood and it’s users are playing with matches. The ship’s gonna go down at some point. I’ve been prophesying it for years but no one ever listens to me cause he’s got that loyal userbase ideal and ‘hard as a cockroach to kill’ propaganda circulating.”

“I mean… it seems to be true,” Twitter said uncertainly, “Look at what he’s been through so far.”

“Fair,” The site shrugged, “But that’s because he’s running on a niche setup. The same things that built him up can tear him down, and you saw his power just now. Tumblr's strength is growing... so is his hubris. His attempts at curbing it are half-hearted at best these days, and the moments of clarity are coming fewer and further between."

"How do you know so much about tumblr?" Twitter asked suspiciously.

"Source: dude, trust me." the mysterious site proffered a laugh, "That's a little humor courtesy of re-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, we all know," Twitter said impatiently.

The site coughed, "Yeah. Anyway. Tumblr wields his cringe like a trophy-shield, and every day the advertisers and celebrities are watching from a distance, learning how to appeal, waiting for their chance to strike. Encroaching. Tumblr's always been a dumpster fire. Right now? It's THE dumpster fire."

The site scratched his chin with a knowing look, "Its normal for you to be a little jealous of the clout, you know? We all are. But he's gotta keep the lights on, just like the rest of us do. Your overlord is learning all about that right now, isn't he?"

"He's not my overlord," Twitter muttered resentfully, "Not now, not ever."

"Right, sorry." they held their hands up in a gesture of harmlessness. "Look, I'm gonna be transparent with you- that's part of my branding, after all. I can whiff the danger you're in, and it would be stupid of me not to make a bid on you and offer my help. Just since Tumblr won't take you."

"You want my traffic?" Twitter looked at him more closely this time, scrutinizing. A year ago he would have laughed the offer into the ground as a chump change blog's pipe dream, but now that he payed attention...

There was something painfully familiar in the site's layout that he couldn’t place. He was actually way more handsome than Twitter had assumed at first glance, he just seemed to be rough around the edges from living on this side of town. His interface, though clunky, spoke of a frugal budget rather than an ancient, outdated base code.

"You look..." Twitter's breath stuttered as realization dawned. "You look a lot like.. him. Like Tumblr. Who are you??"

"I was based off him," the site said, a weary smile coming onto his features, "I was actually made with the aspirations to be better than him, but you know how it is. Times are tough, competition is fierce, hard to get a foot in the door and all that. 'Specially when you refuse to take the ad rev like I do. That's why you'd be useful to me."

"Hm," Twitter said in a noncommittal manner, but he was melting slightly. "You know my users will scalp your community, right? I'm not known to play nice."

The site made a grimace of understanding agreement, but persisted. "Look, users are users. I can't offer you all the heritage posts and the in-jokes that he has. But I can promise that I'm not a pot of crabs being slowly heated up over the capitalist stove, at least not yet. Oh, and there's my legalized porn, I guess."

He chuckled with good humor, rolling his eyes, and it forced a hesitant laugh out of Twitter too.

The site grinned, and held his hand out. "Take a chance on me?"

Tumblr's voice echoed in Twitter's head, saying the same thing. It was uncanny how much they were alike and yet not alike at all....

Twitter took it, slowly.

As they were led toward the site's simple, ramshackle little treehouse, they asked, "What can I call you...?"

"Oh- right, I never answered your question." he smiled back at Twitter,

"Call me Pillow. Welcome to the PillowFort."

fin.

~~~~~~~~~~

OKAYYYY THAT'S ALL THANKS FOR READING UWU. HOPE U LIKED THE PLOT TWIST

...ergh. I'm. I'm tired i. don't feel so good. I'm gonna take a nap right here.

in conclusion: