#throw it out into the void y'know

[mossrotts]

personal stuff

i'll be ok and it'll be okay and hopefully she'll make it to her veterinary appointment, but úlla's almost completely stopped eating (still drinking though) and she's so skinny and is struggling to retain heat and i just wish i could make this better, and failing that i wish i could make it easier on her

[bri-does-art]

.

[andi-o-geyser]

And the results have just come in, folks. Ally Beardsly has rolled a *checks notes* Hat 20

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

One of the little bits I don't think I've ever talked about with the Tideturners is that, like, a big theme with how it handles Commanders is not that 'they're the Main Character' and rather that 'before the Commander was the Commander, they were just someone who wanted to make a difference in the world.' And thus, by extension, 'ANYONE could have been the Commander, they're really just an ordinary person whose greatest strength is in the bonds they forge with others.' Even at their strongest, the Commander is still working together with a full team to accomplish their goals. The only difference between them and any other OC is that they were in the right place at the right time to make a specific difference, and the end result is that they became someone people could look up to and rely on. Ruju is, in many ways, the perfect illustration of that.

He's not the ideal hero. He's not some grand legend. He's kind of a dork, he was BARELY passable in asuran society, he has a hot temper and says stupid things that he'll have to make amends for. He has a whole history of mistakes to live up to and improve from. In a timeline where he zigged when he should've zagged, he just became some guy in the Pact helping with tech support instead. In another, he became a scourge that would burn his own world to the ground. The odds that he would become the Commander were 1 out of 3. And if you broaden that scope even more to include the multiverse as a whole, those odds drop to an absolutely microscopic percentage.

Within their own world, the Commander is someone important. But when you take them out of that world, and place them into a much broader perspective, they're just one of many-- another face in the Mists War, no different from any other. In another timeline, nobody is going to know who they are-- because there, they're not the Commander. Someone else took that role, not because they were better or more important or more qualified in any way, but because they were there when this other Commander wasn't and that's all there is to it. They weren't there, so someone else was instead.

The Commander could've been just about anyone. And because of that, anyone could've been the Commander. One of the big goals I want to explore is the idea that even characters who didn't share the same experiences can still stand side-by-side with those who did, because it's not about what you've done but about what you want to do in the future. None of them can succeed on their own.

But, together, they all just might stand a chance.

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 ✦

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (delta) | smut, 18+ | 4.1k

summary: you, soap and gaz make a silly bet at ghost's expense for an invaluable prize.

cw: mw3 spoiler free. 141 ridiculousness, humour, attempts to remove the mask resulting in life threatening (not really) injury, mild exhibitionism if you squint, very talkative ghost, 'interrogation' wink wink, unprotected p in v sex, reference to f receiving oral.

ghost mlist | main mlist | taglist

"Y'know, I'm sure as shit that L.t's got brown hair," Soap pipes up in the middle of the silence that had settled inside the safe house. 

The members of Task Force 141 glance up one by one, querying eyes cast Soap's way as the guesstimated observation hangs in the air. It's louder than chopper blades, thudding against your skull and roaring in your ears as you attempt to recall the information you have on Ghost, what little physical attributes you can attribute to him. Each time, you hit a brick wall. The only image conjured in your minds-eye is the black voids of the mask's eyes and the piercing amber of his irises. 

The wind howls outside, battering the windows with Wyoming snow and creeping in through the cracks in the panes. It makes a yowling sound as it slips through the crevices, carrying your memories of Ghost's appearance with it. He truly was like an apparition, there one moment, then gone altogether. 

Gaz's brows crease in the middle, little crevices in the skin showing his mind working over the sentence. 

"He doesn't," he eventually retorts, eyebrow cocked while shaking his head, "He's blonde." 

"What makes you say that?" Price scoffs at his colleague's certainty, "You ever seen his face?"

The silence that follows makes the Captain chuckle. A wordless 'that's what I thought'. 

"You willin' to bet on that?" Soap pushes Gaz with a lopsided smirk. There it is, that ridiculous playfulness that the Scotsman continuously let slip over coms. Simon had once reprimanded him for how it would get him killed– you were almost certain if he continued down this path in particular, he'd be in a box by daylight.

"I am," Gaz counters thoughtlessly, a smug lilt to his tone as he leans the crown of his head back against the rotting wooden wall, "He's got blonde eyelashes. He's gonna have blonde hair."

"What're ya gettin' so close tae him for?" Soap grins wide, loading the new ammunition and hitting a bullseye on the first shot, "You been snoggin' him or somethin'?"

"Lads," Price warns. It's only one word, but it says a lot; 'he'll have your head.' All of you know Simon 'Ghost' Riley well enough to know it's not a joke. Seen enough of the mangled bodies he left behind to know it wouldn't be clean, either. More like he'd hack your skull from your neck, picking out the dullest blade that'd struggle to slot between vertebrae.  

"Bets on, then," Soap continues, white teeth gleaming in the low light, "First to confirm gets the honour of shootin' Hassan between the eyes." 

It's like throwing a match at a body doused in diesel. 

                           ✰

The parameters of this wager are as follows... First: the competition is between you, Soap and Gaz. Price was ruled automatically exempt the moment he admitted he had, indeed, seen Ghost's face. It was a revelation that caused quite a storm- and a promise from Gaz of £100 if he'd tell.

The Captain, quite frankly, told him where to stick it. 

Second: None of you could just ask Ghost himself. That was boring; no fun in that. 

Thirdly, there are no other rules. Acquire the information by any means necessary to claim victory. Perhaps this rule should have been revised- because to say that 141's tactics for getting Ghost to reveal his face were a little unorthodox is an understatement of the highest order. 

Despite his hulking frame, Ghost is like a cunning fox, cognizant of even the slightest changes in energy and hypervigilant of those approaching. The midnight void of his grease paint that frames his eyesockets contrasts the whites of his eyes as they dart back and forth between you all. He appears to have noted the devious scheming, practically hearing the cogs turning in your heads the moment he returned from his watch. Something is amiss, and you know Ghost knows it. 

He says nothing. 

Day One; the grumpy, black-clad special ops soldier sits back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his vast chest, cautiously observing the minute movements the three of you made. He'd bristled when Gaz stood from the sofa simply to enter another room, poised and ready to pounce at whatever fuckery the younger soldier would attempt. 

"Hey, L.t.," Soap's drawl cuts through the humorously tense atmosphere in the room, and you brace yourself for his master plan. "When was the last time ye got a haircut?"

Ghost hesitates. Waits a beat. The silence stretches almost uncomfortably until he answers, thick, bassy voice almost booming in the box room. "What're you playin' at, Johnny?"

Soap shrugs his shoulders, exuding complete nonchalance as he settles into the seat across the table from the hulking mass of man. "Just wondered if the mask ever came off. How do you cut your hair?"

Amusement ripples through you in the sound of a chuckle, both men glancing your way. Ghost peers at you, suspicion pooling thick in his pupils. 

"Shave it," Ghost rumbles bluntly, with an air of finality that leaves no room for argument or for Soap to encourage him to try something stupid like curtain bangs or, God forbid, a mohawk. 

You can't help but grin from ear to ear as you watch the Scotsman's shoulders slump in defeat, already waving a white flag upon seeing how unwilling Ghost is to play whatever stupid game you're all partaking in. Even you can't deny the anxiety that prickles across your nerve endings when you see the way Ghost's biceps flex beneath the camo fabric of his uniform, primed for action. 

When Ghost's aqua irises slide to you, your shoulders shrug comically, putting on the performance of your life to appear as though you had no idea what Johnny was up to. You see the way Ghost's blacked-out eyelids squint in suspicion. He doesn't believe you, but doesn't say as much. 

Day Three and the polite, roundabout tactics had been discarded in favour of the nuclear option. Gaz had tried ambushing Ghost in the shower, opening the door without knocking as if pretending he didn't know the Lieutenant was in there. The door slammed so quickly into his head that an egg had been steadily growing on his forehead for the past hour and a half, blood seeping from his almost certainly broken nose. 

"You'll stay out next time, Bravo 2-6, if you know what's good for you," Ghost had growled through the crack in the door before shutting it with a click of the lock. 

Holding his face and slinking away, mortally wounded, Gaz uttered a humiliated 'Yes, lieutenant'. 

Soap, clearly not having learnt from poor Gaz, decided that the next best option was a trip, so to speak. Executing a ludicrously overexaggerated stumble, Johnny reached out to grab Ghost's mask to 'steady himself' and ultimately drag it from his superior's head. 

Ghost had leapt from his seat with a roar, threatening to send Sergeant MacTavish back to Scotland in a box with the Saltire draped across the lid. The standoff only settled upon Captain Price's barked orders to stand down or hang up the uniform. 

By Day Six, Ghost had bruised your opponent's egos enough that neither Soap nor Gaz dared attempt to peek beneath the mask again. They look at you like you're absolutely bonkers when you finally announce it's your turn to try and tame the beast. 

"Yer fuckin' mad, hen," Johnny grumbled, watching you observe Ghost from across the room. He'd settled on a chair in the corner of the room, ensuring no one could sneak up on him. "You can't seriously be plannin' on-"

"I want Hassan," you shrug, a smile playing on your lips. Though, at this rate, you couldn't care less about the terrorist and the honour of dispatching him. No, Ghost had made this ridiculous game far more competitive than needed, and you planned to win.

"Have fun," Gaz scoffed bitterly, still icing the blotchy green and purple bruise that had welted on his forehead as a medal of dis-honour. You hadn't exactly helped the healing process, poking it harshly with the pad of your thumb as you laughed at his mortifying misfortune. 

You wait patiently for Ghost to move, like a stake out on a mission. Lying in plain sight in a ghillie suit, a sniper rifle pointed right between his eyes and your finger on a hairpin trigger. You wait for him to break, for exhaustion to creep in. Thankfully, you don't have to wait long. The Lieutenant rises from his chair, announcing to 141 that he's headed to bed. 

A quiet mumble of 'goodnight' from each member grants him leave, and Ghost walks out of the room without further word. You waste no time in hurrying to your feet. 

"Are you gonna...-" Soap winces when you stand, trailing off when you start after Ghost, not allowing either of your colleagues to talk you out of this suicide mission. 

Though, the moment you turn the corner, you wish you had. Ghost's broad frame practically fills the narrow hallway like someone had plucked Everest from Nepal and shoved its hulking mass into a matchbox. He's ginormous, his usually silent footsteps causing the aged, rotting wood beneath the soles of his boots to creak with the weight he applies when he turns to face you. 

The dark hallway obscures Ghost's skull-face mask, but a glittering reflection of the golden light bleeding from the bulb in the living room area flickers across the wet surface of his eyes as he observes you. You can't allow the weighty pressure of his stare to phase you if you're to push ahead with your plan- so you step forward, swallowing down the nerves that Ghost's attention inevitably dredges up. 

"Lieutenant, sir," you address him smoothly, voice low as you gaze up at him through your lashes. Ghost's eyebrow arches in response, noting your somewhat suggestive behaviour. "Permission to spea-"

"I'm hopin' you'll tell me what you're all up to," his eyes spear your nerve as he interrupts you, "They're not lettin' up, but I'll get it outta you one way or another." 

"What... Did you have in mind?" You chance, heart slamming up against your chest when you realise just how obvious you're being. It's dangerous- you hadn't planned to be so forward. The idea that he'd be able to read your flirting so soon set off mortars in your veins. 

There's a pause. It dizzies you, throwing your previously sturdy confidence off kilter when Ghost tilts his masked head slightly. He's turning it over in his mind, considering the past few days' events. Then, he turns everything on its side. 

"I know what you're doing," he speaks suddenly, the rich baritone of his voice ricocheting off the walls and ringing in your ears like he's just discharged a round of ammo with each syllable. You jerk upright, standing to attention. 

"I don't know what you m-"

"You want the mask off," he interrupts you again, cutting your pathetic excuse short as he steps forward. It's ridiculous, the sheer size of him as he looms over you. "You lot made a bet."

Another beat. Ghost waits for a response, an admission of guilt. It feels like he's cornered you; every answer that springs to mind is incriminating. You know he can see your rueful expression, wide-eyed and panicked by the ease with which he puts you on the ropes. 

"Was this your plan?" He murmurs, reaching to grasp your chin. His palm settles on the hollow of your jaw, fingers fanning out across the bone. "Get me into bed and see if I'll take it off?"

Trembling in his hold, you whimper as Ghost's thumb stretches across to trace the curve of your lip. It follows the delicate arc, lining the shape of your mouth and trailing the dip of your cupid's bow. 

"'M sorry," you mumble weakly, cheeks hot beneath his touch. Again, you fold beneath the intensity of those honeyed irises. It's a miracle your knees don't buckle when he pushes the pad of his thumb just past your lips, so that it brushes the edges of your teeth. 

"That was your plan. Y'can still give it a try, love. But..." he hums, his voice throaty and quiet and settling in the pit of your stomach. It's embarrassing, the ease with which he figures you out, but his words drip over you, easy and warm, and all you can focus on is the slip of his thumb as he presses the pad against the flat of your tongue. 

"The mask stays on." 

Ghost’s insistence makes you giggle sheepishly and your stomach flip in dread, like a child caught with its hand down a bear trap. Despite the lewdness of him pushing his thumb past your lips, you know that he’s being serious, deathly so. You nod clumsily in recognition of his executive order, and Ghost gently taps the skin of your cheek with his free hand, the soft slap of his palm against your flesh standing your hair on end.

“Go.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighing heavily in the claustrophobic space of the small hallway. It takes a moment for your mind, rendered utterly useless by Ghost’s imposing presence, to understand exactly what he’s implying. Only when he removes his thumb from your mouth to shove you forward towards a bedroom door does his intention become clear.

Oh. Oh!

Scrambling to force your feet forward, they practically float across the threshold of the bedroom door. You can feel Ghost looming just behind you, can practically feel the heat radiating from his chest warming the expanse of your back. Fingers clasp over your shoulder, practically swallow the curved flesh, and shove you back against the bedroom wall.

The force of impact winds you, the air expelled from your lungs swallowed down by Ghost’s lips bearing heavily down upon your own. He’d ripped the mask upwards, the hem of the ski-mask balanced across the bridge of his nose. Simon’s tongue licks into your mouth– intrudes upon the space like he’s kicking down a door, like he’s swallowing the breath he’d expelled from you with his heavy hand. 

Once the dazed dizziness dissipates, you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted. Ghost’s gigantic paw takes hold of your jaw in a firm grip to fit his mouth perfectly against your own, his swirling fingerprints indenting in the soft flesh there in a mottled bruise. The soft pine he coaxes from you bleeds past your open mouth despite your attempt to suppress the frankly pathetic noise. 

Fuck it, this was worth it– all of it was worth it. The fear of getting it wrong, the anxiety of being caught, the panic that Simon could turn you away… All of it seeps into the darkness in the corners of the room when your superior drags his tongue across your lower lip. It’s though he’s relishing in the taste of the aftershocks of the arousal he sparks between your legs, the dopamine that rushes through you.

“Was this your plan?” Ghost grunts, grasping ahold of the scruff of your neck. Gasping weakly, you’re almost certain your eyes roll back in your head when he uses his harsh grip to steer you towards the bed. “Get me out of my fuckin’ mind so I don’t notice you takin’ off the mask?”

“That’s–” you huff, rendered breathless by Ghost’s intruding tongue, “That’s not it–”

Your pitiful attempt to excuse yourself is made useless when Ghost practically launches you onto the mattress of his bed, the rusted metal frame screaming under the sudden weight of your body. 

“No?” he queries, the usual boom of authority in his voice replaced by something that sounds far more like goading amusement as he places the hefty weight of his palm against your sternum, holding you down and thwarting any attempt to escape. 

He needn’t worry. The last thing you wanted was to leave. 

“Tell you what,” he muses in that smug tone you always hear over the comms, his free hand quick to grasp at the leather of his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet as he works his fingers over it, “We’ll run through this mission, yeh? See if you can complete your objective, Delta?”

Your retort, or lack thereof, dies in your throat when Ghost pushes his crotch into your own. If it weren’t for the yelp of bliss that the Lieutenant had to smother with his palm, you’d hear the way he’d practically purred when he dragged his cock against you. 

“C’mon then. Try it,” he urged. 

It’s pointless, his mock-support. You just desperately reach for the waistband of his khaki uniform trousers, cockdrunk from the tease of its shape against you. Even in the low light, you can see Ghost’s scarred lips, the way they stretch into a smirk at your desperation. 

“Abandoning mission, Sergeant?” He asks you, unzipping his trousers. “Price’ll be disappointed to know this is all it takes for Delta to go AWOL.”

“Shut up,” you moan into the cold air of the cabin. You can see your breath. “Shut up and fuck me.”

When Simon removed himself from his trousers, making some glib comment about you being demanding, you marvel at the size of him. Girthy, swollen, the ruddy tip leaks precum down the arch of his cock and traces the pulsing veins. He’s rock hard and throbbing, framed by a thatch of pubic hair. 

Fumbling with your own trousers, you awkwardly try to remove them given Simon’s weighty palm still pins you down by your sternum. He watches, a glint in his eye in the low light that would almost embarrass you if you weren’t so focused on the task at hand. 

“What was the prize?” 

“H-Huh?” you stall, mind fried by Ghost’s unexpected line of enquiry. He picks up where you left off, violently yanking your trousers down your thighs and pushing your panties aside to expose your glistening cunt to his prying eyes. 

“What. Was. The. Prize?”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling Ghost’s fingers press against the inside of your thighs as he probes this unexplored territory of you. His touch skirts the areas you want him most, teasing and goading you for more information. “H-Hassa-ahh!”

You barely manage the first syllable of your answer before Simon rests the arch of his cock against your slick pussy lips. His body jerks slightly at the heat of your swollen cunt, the ease with which he can slide himself through your drenched sex. 

“You got to kill Hassan?” he asked for confirmation, his voice unwavering. You wonder how he manages to stay so steady– you’re coming apart at the seams, trembling as the head of his cock bumps your clit clumsily. 

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he continues his laboured, steady torture. His free hand settles on your hip, arching your pelvis up slightly to meet his own. You grind your hips upward against his cock, and Simon expels a soft scoff from lungs, those piercing eyes settled on your contorting expression. 

“Mhmm,” he hums, rolling his hips again. This time it’s even slower, teasing. “A temptin’ reward–” 

Simon is interrupted by the moan that splits your lips when he drags the length of his cock heavily against your clit. It sparks arousal deep in your abdomen, clings to the inside of your thighs wetly. 

Perhaps the disturbance is one transgression too many tonight, because Simon grasps your hips so hard that you are forced to stop gliding over the length of his cock. You pine in protest, but you choke on the pitiful sound when Ghost suddenly plunges his cock inside of you. It spears you open, breaks you apart, and you find your back arching desperately against the mattress. 

The palm that had rooted itself to your sternum flies up to clasp against your mouth, smothering the shriek of bliss that threatened to expose your extracurricular activities to the rest of your squad. You sob through your teeth beneath his life line, tears welling in your eyes as you feel him stretch your walls open to make room for his intrusion. 

You can’t help yourself. You need something to grasp onto, and opt for his wrist above your face. Digging your nails into the inked flesh there, you watch as the pain sparks something dark and twisted in Simon’s pupils, his azure irises swallowed by the expanding blackness.

He likes it. You can tell. His cock arches up inside of you, pushing deep and rocking against something earth shattering inside of you. Damp with sweat already, the skin of his wrist ripples as he tightens his grip on your face, refusing to withdraw from your pussy walls and instead opting for sharp, shallow thrusts that push you up the mattress with each connection of your hips. 

“Fuck,” he spits, using his tight grasp to pull you back towards him. It’s obliterating you, ripping you apart and pushing all your pieces back together in a mangled, jumbled mess. You whimper as you suffer through his brutal pace, marvelling at how good it feels when he consistently spears your g-spot. 

“When would you have done it?” Simon asks you, a little breathless now as he chases the high that begins to build at the edges of your body, tingling and pulsing. 

“Shut up–” you beg him, the low rasp of his voice launching you towards that pleasure that threatens to consume you. Jerking your hips up to meet his, your body mindlessly reacts to the sound of his timbre. 

“Oh, no,” he chuckles, shaking his half masked face. There’s a silver laden scar that stretches across the base of his chin. It matches the one that splits his upper lip to the base of his nose, the ski mask hovering tantalisingly over the bridge. “When?” 

The seriousness of his tone makes your thighs quiver when paired with the sharp thrust he punctuates his question with. Years of training in maintaining a cover-story while a hostage are blown to bits as though Ghost has launched a mortar at your resolve, because suddenly all your state secrets are spilling out of you quicker than you can shove the incriminating words back into your traitor mouth. 

“I’d– Hagh… I’d do it j-just as you’re cummin–hhah!”

“And spoil my fun?” Ghost hums, that heavy timbre licking up your spine and sparking viscous embers at the base of your spine, “Anyone ever told you that you’re very fuckin’ selfish, Delta?” 

You’d offer a witty comment, but Ghost’s angled his hips just right, and your jaw is falling loose to let out a panicked whimper. 

“There it is, shit. Look at you, Sargeant. Fuckin’, you’re so tight–” 

You’re like a slip knot, tightening around him further with each knock of your g-spot with Simon’s ridiculously large cock-head. Prickling tears of bliss threaten to spill over the edge of your waterline, continuing to sting even when you shut your eyes. You’re shaking, trembling beneath his rocking hips as you mewl his name. 

“S-Simon! Fuck–”

Wild, wet squelches of Simon sinking into your soaked cunt echo in your skull as he ramps up his violent thrusts, the springs of his mattress screaming an unmistakable rhythm to anyone walking by. He doesn’t seem to care now though, his eyes zeroed in on your expression like he’s stalking a victim with his sniper scope. Aiming for complete obliteration. 

“C’mon Can feel you squeezin’ round me,” he murmurs, the steady tone he’d offered earlier shuddering slightly as you squeeze impossibly tight around him, coil threatening to snap, “You’re so close, Delta. C’mon, paint my cock an’ I’ll eat you out with my cum in you–” 

                           ✰

“He’s blonde.” 

Gawping jaws drop to the floor at your very simple observation, Soap’s eyes nearly rolling across the uneven, rotten floorboards after falling out of his skull. You can’t help the smug smile that threatens to tug at the edge of your lips, especially given the sensation of Ghost’s eyes boring holes into the back of your skull. 

The awe only worsens when Price gives a subtle nod of confirmation from the corner of the darkened room, crowning you the winner of this utterly ridiculous joust. 

“How do you know?” Gary is as shaken as Soap by the confidence with which you’d offered your final answer, in disbelief as to how you could have possibly obtained it without being maimed, given the egg on his forehead was still throbbing despite days of icing it with the snow from outside the safehouse.

“His pubes are. I assume the curtains match the drapes,” you shrug dismissively. 

The sheer incredulity that flashes across Johnny’s face is utterly hilarious. The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory. Ghost’s eyes appear to have lazered through your skull, singing brain matter with the ferocity of his scowl. Frankly, you couldn’t care less– you can see it in your mind's eye; the gorgeous contrast of a blood-red crosshair settling across Hassan’s forehead, the weight of the trigger beneath your finger as you pull it back.

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

[ghostchems]

hello my darling. i see your requests are back open… 👀 i've got a prompt for you if you so wish to write it… reader has been dead for decades, aimlessly wandering the halls of the ministry where no one has ever seen her, heard her or even felt her… until one day, she's walking (or y'know… floating…) through the halls and someone is walking towards her. He stops in his tracks and stares straight ahead. Then she realises…

he's staring at her… Choose a papa, any papa! Whoever you would like to write, if you choose to write it! 😘

a/n: almost 1k words of some sweetness. after reading the prompt i KNEW i had to pick Cardinal Copia 🥹 bee. thank you SO much for sending this in. hit me right in the dang feels

Loneliness has driven you to the busy corridors of the Abbey. Despite the clergy members quite literally seeing right through you, their presence around you is enough to alleviate the void inside you. You’ve had to make do over the decades but even after all of the disappointment there is still an unwavering flicker of hope that you’ll make some sort of contact. Who knew it would be impossible for a ghost to be noticed in a Satanic Ministry? Many attempts have been made, ranging from morose to macabre (floating candles vs. severed limbs) but to no avail. Perhaps there’s something wrong with you. Is your spirit not dark enough to be seen? You remember how you died and decide that can’t be the case.

You gave everything for The Olde One. The Ministry was a very different place back then.

You’re lost in the endless abyss of your thoughts until there’s a shift in energy around you. Something new. Someone new. The wisps of your ghostly train curl towards the ceiling behind you and gust of warm air blows your hair out of your face.

Oooh. A Cardinal. It’s been ages since there’s been one here, the last one being in 19—

Is he looking at you?

There’s no way but… his gaze is fixated on the space you occupy, eyes wide. He bears the Mark of The Olde One — just like the Papas, but even with the Eye no one has ever seen you. He picks up his pace, walking to you with such purpose. You feel an excitement you haven’t felt since you were alive but it’s quickly replaced with crippling anxiety. In a fit of panic you poof out of the corridor and reappear deep into the underground archives, far far away from any person. But the new Cardinal saw you. He really did. After vying for this for so long… you aren’t ready for it.

***

You’ve meandered further into more densely populated areas of the Abbey over the last two weeks after taking some time for yourself to come to grips with the fact that he saw you. Problem is now the Cardinal is nowhere to be found. The longer the week stretched the more you began to believe it was over — he must have only been visiting for the day and thus your chance at talking to someone other than yourself for the first time in 55 years has slipped through your fingers. But that same hope you’ve clung to keeps you pacing and wandering day after day, hoping to catch of glimpse of his black cassock.

One late night you find yourself perusing the library, hovering around the new releases aisle (you like to see how ridiculous the names of romance novels have gotten). The further you get down the aisle the thicker the air becomes around you, the familiar buzzing in your ear from the first time you saw him. There’s a dim light coming from one of the nooks. You steel yourself, you’re going to make yourself known like you planned. Glowing brighter than you ever have before, you float toward the light. How can a ghost have anxiety? You’d think all of those feelings would be gone but somehow you feel like you’d throw up if that were even possible. You reach the outside of the nook and suck in a sharp breath before peering around the corner.

His duochromatic eyes are on you instantly.

“Per favore — please, do not run away again.” He sounds quiet, sleepy but polite and he extends a hand out to you. “I was worried I would not see you.” You blink at him as you reveal yourself fully to him, his gaze taking you in.

“You… you really see me?” Your voice cracks, your ghost trail wiggling with how charged you are emotionally.

“Yes. I do.” The Cardinal stands, his hand still out to you. “I, ehh… I’m the new Cardinal, Cardinal Copia. What is your name?”

My name?

“You’re… you’re the only person who’s ever seen me.” Not an answer to his question at all but your brain is broken. All that time you spent hoping for this…

“Oh. Oh, poverino.” His fingertips graze your hand and you jump — he could feel you too? “Ah! I am sorry! Ehhh… what can I do? How can I help you?” Copia shuffles on his feet anxiously, making sure to keep a safe distance so that he doesn’t startle you again. Your guise is crackling, vibrating with energy, more than you’ve ever felt before. He seems… delighted by your prescience and it makes you feel warm.

“H-how? Cardinal, how?” You push in closer to him, wisps brushing against his cassock.

“Non lo so. I’ve… I’ve just always been able to.” He gives you a sad smile. “I eh… had some weird “imaginary friends” growing up. But please, you must… you must have a lot to say after spending so long only listening.” Copia may have the gentlest voice you’ve ever heard. You want to hug him especially since something about this feels deeply personal to him…but you compose yourself and instead take him by the hand as you sit on the corner of his desk.

“What do I even say now?” You laugh to yourself. “I’ve been so worried about ever being heard that I haven’t thought about what to say. What do you… want to know, Cardinal?” Even now you’re feeling shy.

He gingerly rests his hand on top of yours, a warmth spreading through you that you’ve never experienced before.

“I’ve wanted to get to know you since I saw you, fantasmina. Please, tell me about you.” Copia squeezes your hand with a kind smile. Speechless. You take a deep breath and nod.

You’ll tell him.

You’ll tell him everything.

[cursedvibes]

I’m still in shock of that chapter. Gege … why how and why did you think this was a good idea? Also why have one of the last chapters be about some random lore that nobody knew or cared about and be explained by the fandom’s two least favorite characters

I still have some petty hate for Yuuta, which is not helping my feelings of this chapter

I'm still baffled over Gege's time management. The Sukuna fight was already stretched in places were it didn't need to be, using up space with the gauntlet of people throwing themselves at him that could've been used to develop Yuuji, Megumi and Sukuna more, but this is just...so we rushed through Sukuna's end, skipped Hakari's and Uraume's fight and skipped Megumi regaining his body and the entire immediate aftermath of the Shinjuku fight just to spend 2/3 of the next chapter entirely with inconsequential bickering that sounds like Gege is beefing with reddit critics?

Remember the end of Shibuya? The hopelessness, the gravity, people mourned the ones who died, were devastated by the destruction of the city and the many civilians who died and they knew it wasn't even over. Their lives were fundamentally changed and it showed. Here everyone walked this fight off just fine. Megumi tanking 5 Unlimited Voids and having his brain leak out of his eyes merely results in him feeling a bit dizzy now. They do blame themselves at times, lament over what they could've done differently, but it doesn't feel serious, like they really struggle with it. It's just a set-up for a joke. Ui Ui and Kirara carried the corpses and gravely injured bodies of their comrades off the battlefield, being unsure who would survive all this and being powerless to do anything else, but now they make snarky remarks over who was the real MVP...where is this energy coming from? Gojo and Choso are still dead (Kashimo too, but obviously they weren't close), Megumi should be still reeling from his trauma of seeing his sister die and loved ones injured by his hands, and mind you they didn't fight in just some rubble out in the mountains, they destroyed Shinjuku, a district were many of them used to live and were also many other civilians used to live. They destroyed so many people's homes. Sukuna might be gone, but Japan is still fucked because Sukuna has never the real problem. Killing him won't fix up Tokyo again or soothe the international tensions created by the knowledge of sorcerers existing. But all that doesn't seem to matter.

I don't mind the focus on Mei Mei and I think the New Shadow Style school thing is actually very interesting, I love jujutsu politics, we got far too little about it, but this should've been something that was brought up during the Culling Games or shortly before they started preparing for Sukuna's battle. Y'know, then when it actually happened in the timeline. Not 3 chapters before the end, where you establish this massive power house that was never even hinted at and resolve it 2 pages later. Like okay? Why does that matter? Should I be worried? I'm not because I know far too little about this and Mei Mei handled it easily anyway. Should I be relieved? I'm not because I never even know there was a problem to begin with. Yes, we knew you can only teach Simple Domain to specific people, but that could've been resolved way easier than making up this whole issue and it was never treated with such gravity a secret society that drains their students life would deserve.

So this whole chapter was just pointless and a waste of precious space that could've been used for so many more important story threads.

[neverchecking]

hello! would it be possible to request yandere sage to a reader who got split from the chain but has a switch with them?

I adore your headcanons for him and I honestly would just love to see some more of him, perhaps he's trying to figure out if they're yiga or not since y'know only they see him as link without zelda and they just show it off reluctantly?

SAGE SAGE SAGE SAGE SAGE SAGE-YOU ABSOLUTELY FUCKING CAN.

Ahem. Yes, you very much can request my precious baby boy.

For those of you who don't know, Sage is the Hero of the Zonai, A.K.A. The Link from Tears of the Kingdom-- if we go down the route that he's a different guy from Wild. So TotK spoilers.

Anyway, look whose got his own banner! SAGE DOES-

CW: Talk of death, but nothing happens (Bc Sage won't let it happen)

He was very...unsure of you, to put it lightly.

Which was rare in and of itself since he knew most things. He knew how the Gloom hands would react should he hit them with a Dazzlefruit. He knew the exact force he would have to throw a splash fruit for it to burst in a splash of water. He knew the exact amount of force required to bend a Yiga's arm before it snaps a lot.

But he didn't know anything about you. Which put him on edge.

You came out of this weird...void thingy that he had never seen before and you dressed weirdly. You had began to call out desperately for names the second you had collected yourself (He had no clue who Wild or Twilight or Wind were, but whoever named those poor fools needed to be fired. Those names were awful.) . He watched you stumble like a newborn fawn, full of naive innocence and blind trust in the world around you.

What a fool you were.

Still, he couldn't look away. He didn't move from his place perched in a particularly tall tree, but he didn't let his attention wander from you. He couldn't. It was like you were...magnetic, drawing him in to your orbit just to keep him there.

Somewhere above him, the light dragon let out a warble. His ears flickered in that general direction, but otherwise he paid it no mind, clicking the claws on Rauru's hand against the bark of the tree.

You seemed so hopelessly lost, wandering about. It certainly didn't seem like you were the traveling type, so why you were out here, he had no idea. You would killed before long. He wondered how you would die. Something fast and quick? An electric arrow from a Lizalfos? (They had been getting unexplainably stronger now that he thought about it.) Maybe one swift hit from a Horriblin? Or maybe it would be something long and drawn out. Maybe a Frost Gleeok would freeze you so badly Hypothermia took over your limbs before freezing your lungs. Or maybe a Fire Gleeok would roast you alive before you even had the chance to register they were there. Perhaps the King himself would do both before shocking your battered form to hell and back. Or maybe the Gloom hands would grab at your flailing arms and legs, holding you still while they drained the life force right out of you.

Something full of anger lit up in his gut at just the thought of you getting hurt. He had no reason to get so livid at even a scratch on your form, but for some reason it had him snarling to himself, as if daring the universe to test him.

He wouldn't put it past Hylia at this point, that vengeful bitch.

It seemed she took his challenge to heart anyway, just as you slipped out some strange device about the same size as his Purah pad. You were so immersed in the damned thing that you didn't even hear one of the trees moving around behind you. Which was beyond him since they weren't quiet.

You didn't even look up until the shadow was looming over you and he was jumping from his tree. Riju's power sparked to life as he pulled out his bow, stunning the tree with enough power it fell with a pull of purple smoke. Something began leaking out of the discarded log, black and viscous, as it always seemed to do these days. It didn't make any difference to him, they all died the same anyway.

You had fallen onto your ass as he approached, watching him like prey would watch the predator. Nothing but wide eyes leaking with fear as he loped upon you. It made his gut swing with something foreign as he eyed you. He wasn't stupid. He knew the Yiga would go to some, frankly, extraordinary lengths to have his head on a stick. Whose to say they wouldn't set up some form of act where they attacked each other just to garner his attention?

He held out his weapon towards you, the Lynel horn glinting in the light as it prodded against your neck. You vulnerable and fragile little neck. You looked like you were about to cry at the action.

Unrelated, he pulled back just a bit. His snarl remained just the same. "Who are you?" He barked, daring you to avoid his question. Your...device was discarded at your side, which you quickly grappled onto as some form of protection. He'd have to remain weary of that. If it was anything like his Purah pad, it would be of an annoyance. Especially if you were a Yiga. They were able to replicate the Thunder Helm for Din's sake. (That was a mess and a half to retrieve.)

You swallowed hard, wincing away from him before fighting the urge to look up at him. His heart stuttered at the positively broken look you showed. You were so scared and so frightened.

He was supposed to be a hero.

(A part of him argued that he was the hero. Had been the hero. And look where it got him? Right back at the start. Fighting for his life once more. Fighting for someone who wouldn't do the same for him. Fighting for a Goddess who only used him as a pawn only to discard him when he was done.)

There was no way you were Yiga. You couldn't have been. None of them would've ever looked up at him like that. Nor could you have been a puppet of Ganon. Puppets and Yiga would burst out into an offensive attack the second they caught sight of him.

You didn't pose a threat.

But that didn't clear your name. "I asked you a question. I expect an answer." He allowed ultrahand to light up Rauru's arm in a warning red.

You blinked before shakily swallowing, holding your device to your chest. "...Y/N."

So that was your name. It was a nice name. Suited your features well and rolled off the tongue. Each syllable seemed built for your very being. He repeated it, using the tip of his weapon to tilt your chin up to face him again. That same, Goddess damned, look was sprawled on your features as he looked over you. You didn't seem injured outside of a bandaged wrap around your lower neck and left shoulder.

You had been hurt. Perhaps it was under that Wild's watch, whoever they were. They were unfit to care for you it seemed. He would happily take over if it meant you didn't get hurt any longer.

"You're...Link, right?"

He blinked, weapon staggering for a second. How did you know who he was? No one knew who he was anymore. Not without that wretched Zelda beside him, giving him a title he felt disgraced his very being. The swordsman. it was all Mineru called him and it burned something bitter in him.

He pushed the weapon further against your skin, watching it turn a harsh red before flashing to white. "What's it to you?" His teeth were bared as you tried to pull away, if only to breath just a little. He didn't let you. While it made his gut rot and knot at the thought of hurting you, he couldn't risk his own life. Not when he had a duty, Not when he had a vengeance. A vendetta.

"I can explain!" You hurriedly called, making him pull back once again.

"I would do so quickly."

You shook in your spot as your showed him the device. It seemed to have a selection of boxes, each holding a different picture. The one you hovered over read something in a language he couldn't read, but there was a picture of him. Right there. This was your explanation? It was pitiful. He almost did away with you, if only to move on, but you spoke before he could.

"You're Link. The wielder of the Master Sword. I- I'm from some other world. I, along with a group of others, are travelling to fight a dark magic that has been effecting many Hyrules across time. It's evidently effected yours." You gestured to the log, which now had an inky puddle beneath it. "We're here to help."

He pulled the weapon away, but didn't raise his glare from your form. "I don't need help."

"I never said you did." You let out a sigh full of relief. "But sometimes having someone watch your back is nice. I know you haven't had that person for you, which breaks my heart. This adventure is your second, third if we count...Ya'know..." You trailed off as his eyes narrowed. Were you talking about the Calamity? The Calamity he fell to? "You haven't had help, which I can only imagine as exhausting."

You were speaking nonsense. Nonsense that made him bubble with understanding of a sort. It was a clumsy attempt, but you were trying to offer support to him. Support he had never had previously.

He could kick his past (Three minutes ago) self for ever dreaming of hurting you, even if it was for his own personal safety. The thought of having someone offer just a tad bit of help to his battered and broken from, riddled with gloom, had him feeling a bit lighter.

He wouldn't trust you right away, he had gotten burned one too many times from doing that, but he would get you to a stable. Ensure you were safe from infection and whatever else before he made a decision regarding you and him in any sort of capacity.

Maybe take you to your group if only to see if those filth were worthy of your presence.

He would ensure you were safe in his, nevertheless. If he had to do away with the others, then so be it.

If he wanted to keep something, he would need to cling to it.

And this was just the start of his grip on you. Whether you knew it yet, or not.

[hearts4youz]

The Captains Daughter- Chapter 18

A/N: Thank you all for readinggg!! this one took awhile to come out so thank you for being patient with me :D

Word count: 1.3k

Taglist: @abbiesxox @n30n-j3lly @weird-katthing @kayoyamamegame @kroowonderemporium @astro-ghoul99 @darkravenqueen98 @gaylilangelbaby @yuunnnaaaa

Ghost's pov It's been a few days… I have not spoken to Y/N once. I feel terrible as she spends less time with me. Occasionally offering a sad, guilt filled smile in the mess hall or at meetings. I haven't shown up for training in days, I wonder if she still waits for me at the gym. I hate to say it but I miss her. Even though I feel so bitter and cranky this time of year. I've never felt this for anyone. Being around Y/N makes me feel good. It makes this job feel less like a job. It sounds cliche but it's true. This morning, I find myself walking to where Y/N and I usually train. I straighten my shoulders and put on a serious face as I walk in. I expect Y/N to not be there, but Instead I am greeted with the sight of her pretty face breaking into surprise as I enter. I try my best to keep my eyes void of emotion, although I want nothing more than to hold her and whisper apologies into her ear. "Good morning Lieutenant," she says respectfully as she stands at attention. My gaze softens. "Y/N…" "About the other day, I shouldn't have yelled at you. I just…" I can't believe I'm about to tell her this "I don't know how to deal with this… your kindness." She looks up at me questioningly. "The guys don't usually question my behavior because that's just how dude's are, but you… You're changing me Y/N." I pause "I really enjoy your company, you don't piss me off… well, not as much as other people I guess," I smirk. She giggles. "I want to be a better person, I don't like how people are scared of me," I sigh as I finish. "Can I give you some advice?" She asks. "Mhm" "This might not make sense to you, but I think you should save Ghost for the battlefield and just be Simon for everyone else," "I don't follow," I say, confused. "Well, when I think of Ghost, I think of you in a fight. The huge guy with the skull mask and a gun. But Simon, Simon is you when you let loose. I haven't seen it much, but I like that version of you a lot better." I nod. "Okay… I think I get it." She changes the subject, "So, what do you have planned for training today?" "Hm, I think that's more of Ghost's thing, I'm Simon today," She beams at me with that radiant smile of hers, "You mean it?" "Yeah, It's time for a change," I say solemnly. Her and I walk out of the gym and into the hallway surrounded with a comfortable silence. We walk past the mess hall and break area and I notice something unusual. "What are they setting up over there?" I ask. "Oh, It's New Year's Eve so everyone who's off duty tonight is going to throw a party," She says softly, knowing the holiday topic is still sensitive. I surprise her with my answer, "Ah, I see… are you going?" "I guess so… why not?" We continue to walk in silence for a few moments. "You know… I think i'm going to go as well," I say finally. Her head tilts to the side and she raises her eyebrows, "Really!?" "…You know you don't have to go just because I suggested that you come out of your shell more often. I don't want you to get too overwhelmed." "I want to go, I should be getting out of my comfort zone more often." Y/N purses her lips, seemingly contemplating it. "Good, i'm glad," she smiles.

-Timeskip-

That night, I stood with Gaz and Soap having a beer while scanning the room for Y/N. "I wonder who Ghost could be looking for," Gaz joked to Soap, who snickered in response. I only rolled my eyes and looked down at my half empty drink. "Y'know LT, i'm glad you came, this is nice," Soap confesses. "It is, I like this more laid back you," Gaz agrees. "You can thank Y/N, she inspired it," I tell them. "Psht, of course she did." "You could get some action tonight… if you play your cards right," Soap says leaning in closer and lowering his voice. "Wha- I'm not… she wouldn't…" I sputter out, rapid fire. "Not like that, get ya head out the gutter!" I blush and chuckle. "What is it then?" "The captains on duty tonight, he won't be here to supervise his daughter, you could make a move," Soap shrugs. I bite my lower lip, realizing that this is the perfect opportunity to confess to Y/N "But, what if she rejects me, I still have to be able to look her in the eye in the morning," "Oh, for fucks sake! would you take a risk for once? live a little?" Gaz says, shaking his head. "Hey, I've never done this before! i'm nervous," I try defending myself. "LT's nervous? Ha! that's a first," Soap blurts, clapping me on the back. I ignore the rest of their gibes because I notice Y/N entering the room. Time seems to slow as she makes her way towards us in a sparkly silver mini dress. I feel my cheeks heat up beneath the mask as she flashes her signature smile when she sees us. I take in her hair and makeup, done to perfection. The heavenly scent of her perfume lingers in my nostrils when she stops and stands beside me. "Hey everyone," she says casually. I find myself lost in her beauty as she joins in the conversation, but as the night goes on, our group splits off. Gaz and Soap mingle with other people, I try to stick next to Y/N and talk with her, but she gets whisked off by someone every five minutes it seems like. Eventually I get overwhelmed, stepping outside and pressing my back up against the cold stone building. I fish around in my pocket for my cigs and a lighter. I put one in my mouth and thumb the lighter until I get it lit. I exhale deeply and watch my cold breath swirl up and away with the smoke. Maybe this was a bad idea after all… I think to myself. I watch the twinkling stars shift in the sky for awhile, It seems to calm my nerves. That, or the nicotine. I hear the sliding door open and close and peer at the person out of the corner of my eye. "Simon…?" the voice says. Y/N "Yeah, It's me," I gesture to her with my cigarette. "Is everything alright, I've been looking for you," she says softly. "Yeah… it's just a lot to take in I guess." "The party?" "The party, the people, the mindless, drunken talk." "Yeah, I get it." I turn to face her and she still looks beautiful as ever, her mascara smudged slightly onto her upper eyelid. Lipstick worn off, the remnants of it staining the glass of the drink in her hand. Her breath has a slight tinge of alcohol to it as she speaks. I notice the redness in her face, I can't help but think it could be me for a moment but then I look down at her. "Ah shit, you don't even have a coat on… here, take mine," I insist. "No, it's alright… I just got out here. Besides, wouldn't you be cold." "Just take it," I say, holding it out to her. "My father only taught me a few things that were worth a shit, being a gentleman is one of them." She reluctantly takes the jacket and slings it over her shoulders, thanking me. The heavy fabrics envelop her frame, her legs are still exposed. I have half a mind to bring her inside but then she starts talking. "Happy new year," she says quietly. I check my phone and see that it is indeed past midnight. "Happy new year, Y/N."

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 43 Glazing

Just. Wow. Where to begin, dear void? It's hard not to post full pages from this absolute gut punch of a chapter... what a perfect way to hit the climax of this arc. I guess it's appropriate to talk about Hakuri and Mr. Proceeder himself before anything else. A bit of irony first... Hakuri gets his dad, but Kyoura didn't get him until it was too late.

I know this is most likely trauma speaking for Shiba and the other war vet, but they're right. Kyoura's in his death throes right now, everything's gone to shit, but...

... they're underestimating him and his fanaticism to the clan's tradition. Everyone is, and I don't blame them- Magatsumi's freaky as fuck even sheathed. Except there's one person who knows just how strong Kyoura's will is...

... and is going to use it to make sure every last person is saved.

Hakuri really is his father's son. And I'm just in fucking awe that Chihiro's insanity is on their level. It takes one crazy person to perfectly harmonize with another after only knowing each other for a week, I guess. I wonder if we'll see that part of their dynamic explored at all... deprogramming Hakuri so he's not just replacing fanatic devotion to the Rakuzaichi/Sazanami Clan with Chihiro's cause or something? I'll keep the Hakuri agendaposting to a minimum (for me) but c'mon, wouldn't it be awesome to hear Chihiro echo his dad's words from Ch. 14 to encourage Hakuri to grow and find his own identity? 'Cause, y'know:

Ch. 1 vs 43

"Your best would have been believing in Hakuri" is recalled for the fourth time for a reason. If you haven't caught on by now, it's not too late: Kyoura was a shitty dad and Chihiro took that personally. And it was the one fatal flaw that doomed a man with a will of adamant. 'Cause holy shit man, even though I'm glad this dude is dead, I respect the fuck out of him. He overcame the influence of the scariest of all the WMDs Kunishige made and died as himself, regrets and ego fully intact. I applaud Hokazono-sensei for making me feel for this guy without redeeming him.

I cannot say this strongly enough: Kyoura was a victim who perpetuated his own abuse. He couldn't break the cycle even though his wife's bitter dying words left him yearning for the family he could have had. It's not clear if it's a true flashback or a vision of what could have been, but the dinner table scene being shattered by the memory of Kyoura's father telling him to lead the clan is art. Another mangaka might have reversed the order so we see him being indoctrinated first and wistful second. Just for those pity points and to twist the knife a little. But no, Kyoura is completely unrepentant to the last. The only thing he yields on is throwing Hakuri away. Not his conviction to put the Rakuzaichi above his family, nor ignoring his wife's final words. His dying regret wasn't even purely being the world's worst dad. It was mixed with the fact that he failed to secure the success of the goddamn auction by misjudging his "worthless" son. To the very end, Kyoura lived as the Sazanami patriarch.

His parting words to Chihiro have me going absolutely insane too. They're an indication that yeah, finally, he gets it. He was a bad father and he reaped the consequences. His other two sons are dead because of him, and the one he mistreated finally surpassed him after all.

Chapter 39 vs. 43

[screaming softly] aaaaaaaaahhhhh

The whole world disappears as Hakuri is finally the only worthy person in his view. His greatest shame looks down on him taking his last breaths and only now does he feel the magnitude of his mistakes. Because Hakuri never did anything wrong to begin with; Kyoura himself failed the family and the clan. He lays down the sword, choosing to die as himself rather than keep fighting the Magatsumi's wielder to the bitter end. It's time to admit he was wrong.

And thus the cycle is broken at last.

Smaller Observations

More food imagery yay!

We never see Mrs. Sazanami's face. I wonder if there's going to be a Lost Mother arc for Hakuri in addition to Chihiro's. We know she's dead, but I saw a theory floating around that maybe she was more affectionate to Hakuri than his siblings to compensate for the abuse he was enduring. Soya's obsession with him "staying lovable" would have started from this. I think Soya was just irredeemably broken and cruel, but it's interesting to think about!

She's not even close to eating at the table, looks like she might have just sat down after putting out all the dishes or something. A caretaker who didn't participate in the family's joy is my guess (based on her monologue in the hospital flashback).

Soya can't let Hakuri have nice things even in this happy vision of the family

Braidbro and Sazasis aren't here, so I think there's a "core" family that Hakuri et. al. were part of and branch families that still carried the Sazanami genes but weren't in contention for running the show. The nameless kids that greeted Kyoura upon his return to the estate in chapter 22 also called him "father" so is it a title thing, or maybe Kyoura just had a bunch of concubines and one main wife? Inquiring minds want to know.

Speaking of Chapter 22, actually...

The auction house is in Tokyo but the actual Sazanami estate is somewhere remote and secluded. The backgrounds in the table scene are more reminiscent of an apartment in an urban setting:

So I'm gonna lean on this particular scene being a "what if" rather than a true flashback. But it's still vague enough to be open to interpretation. Now I'm super curious about how Hakuri ended up in the city to meet his fated samurai though... another thing to headcanon a scenario for I suppose.

Arraigned marriage... to ensure that Isou was passed on? A business relations agreement with another family? A deal to let her avoid being sold as merchandise? Why are there so many dead/missing moms in Kagurabachi anyway?

I think I have a slightly different interpretation of events here than most will, but I'll try to explain. The subspace collapsed into nothingness as Chihiro reached for the last person, so no one could be yeeted out any more. They managed to pull everyone out in time yay! Chihiro's safe too, yay! But while Hakuri put all the other people outside of the auction house, Chihiro ended up on the stage. I believe this is by Hakuri's design rather than Chihiro being placed at random. This is a huge moment for all three characters involved and it's absolutely enhanced by the understatement of the art. Kyoura finally admitting Chihiro was right is immensely powerful catharsis for us and our samurai, and that's definitely the perspective we're meant to see it from first But my boy Hakuri put him there to hear it. He violated the sanctity of the auction instead of bringing Chihiro out closer to himself and Shiba for the getaway. Fuck this family and it's tradition. It's DONE. The Rakuzaichi and Sazanami legacy are tarnished for good; Hakuri made sure of it. Maximum feels for our boy finally eradicating this loathsome event at every level!

And finally, last but certainly not least:

Hiyuki continues to be best girl, as expected. She's put off by the insanity on display from Chihiro, Kyoura, and Hakuri but it it also grounds her a bit. She can't let innocents die, so she chooses to protect Hakuri. I love her so much and I hope she can give him shit about threatening to leave her in the storehouse forever one day.

As an aside, after learning that Hokazono-sensei is a fan of Arcane I can't help but think of Hiyuki as a Vi expy. If she is, I hope she's pan, bi, or a lesbian. I love strong, badass hot-headed women who love women. I don't mind her being endgame with Chihiro either but the idea of seeing her get flustered over Hinao in a swimsuit lives rent free in my head, y'know? Her personality archetype begs to be lightly teased by seeing a hot girl and instantly losing 70 IQ.

...Anyway.

What happens from here on out is anyone's guess. We knew about the Rakuzaichi auction as early as chapter 7 but there's nothing set up for the future as of now. Whether or not Team Goldfish manage to recover the Shinuchi (betting they won't), I think we will take a bit of a break after the next chapter. We definitely need a lull to let the characters heal and breathe before building up the next arc.

My best guess is that we'll have downtime for a chapter or so before a lead for another sword is found to set up the next mission. So far we've explored Death of the Author and Generational Trauma... what's going to be next? I can't wait! I never expected themes like this to be explored so thoughtfully and thoroughly in a WSJ series...! For the first time in a long time I'm not just reading an action manga with some mature themes. I'm reading some really insightful commentary on the nature of legacy, trauma, and family dynamics that happens to have the best fight choreography I've ever seen. Truly tenoi.

[fishermanshook]

Bonjour Bonsoir

May I request headcanons for Andrew Kreiss where he has to protect the person he has feelings for in a match ? Like all fluffy and stuff !

Thanks !

Of course I can do that for you!

You first, Your Body Second. (grave keeper x gn!reader)

Roxman_ on Pinterest

I've been writing for idek how long now and I still f up grammar and spelling. Warning as always.

What is love? And what lengths would you go to protect the ones you do?

But you don't have to worry about that. Not when you've got the Gravekeeper to protect you from the dangers that present themselves in every match you play in.

He'll keep you safe, always and forever.

-

The Grave Keeper has only felt so much love in his life, which really only amounts to a couple specs of sand. He can't wrap his head around the concept of it all-let alone the feeling of it.

Out of all places to fall head over heels in, he had to in this hell hole? Nobody expects it, and it's surely a surprise to all who welcome the feeling.

Which is something that Andrew doesn't do at first. The poor boy doesn't think he is anywhere near deserving of all the love and attention you give him.

Andrew hasn't differentiated the difference between being generally kind to going out of your way to do something for someone who's developed a crush. He knows what he feels, but can't figure out if your trying to tell him you reciprocate these undying feelings.

He's new to love, having been void of it for almost all his life he's forced to take baby steps. But for you? It'll be worth it.

-

Your one and only game today is a regular match, thank gosh.

None the less, you find yourself chatting it up with the Grave Keeper. The others cannot fathom the fact that you seem to be the only one in the manor who could keep up a regular conversation with the man. But to the two of you, this is just another chat.

It was weird y'know, how quickly the two of you seemed to click. Out of all the Survivors, you find him the easiest to talk to. It's so easy to find tranquility in each other's presence that you lose track of time. (You and Andrew may or may not have accidentally been late to a couple matches because of this.)

The Grave Keeper has told you more about his life than he's told anyone else. You've excepted him for who he is, scars and all.

It's more than enough for the man to catch feelings.

He isn't entirely sure how to show it though, but maybe this match will be the perfect time to demonstrate it.

-

"Two ciphers left!" The Priestess shouts into her radio which allows the rest of the team to know to keep up the pace. She's stuck having to take over the kiting while she bides time for the Doctor to self heal herself, which shouldn't take long.

You're halfway through decoding your cipher before you hear the sound of teleporting, you're soon greeted with the sly smile that belongs to no one but "Fool's Gold". Seems the hunters changed targets.

"Shit," you mutter into the radio as you quickly throw down a pallet, almost risking a hit. "Hunter's here, continue decoding at all costs!"

For the rest of the decoding period, you weave your way through pallets and windows. Unfortunately, you take a hit which leaves blood pouring from your back and you in excruciatingly pain.

In the distance, you see a blurry figure with hair white as snow running towards you.

"Fuck, Andrew? Andre you've got to get out of here-"

Your voice is cut off by Andrew picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder.

"Wait are you seriously going to kite with me on your shoulder?"

"Of course not, I'd never risk you getting more hurt than you already are now. Just hold in there, I won't let you get hurt again, I promise." Andrew says as he makes a mad dash across the map. You soon see a glowing blue and black portal.

"Go now, I'll take over the kiting."

"Andrew no I can't let you do tha-" Your voice is silenced (again...) from Andrews lips on yours.

Does it catch you off guard? Yes. But you soon lean into the quick peck, rapping your arms around his neck.

"Mh, Darling I'd love to continue but I'd rather you be safe okay?" With another quick peck on the lips, the Grave Keeper helps you through the portal, which is quickly destroyed by "Fool's Gold's" pickaxe.

"I'll see you soon, my love."

-

The whole match seemed to have been an entire blur. Even while you got bandaged up and the entire team was able to get out you still can't comprehend what just happened moments earlier.

I guess that confirms my suspensions then... You say to yourself as you make your way back to your dorm room. Only to be stopped when you feel a strong hand grip your shoulder, turning you around.

"H-hey, um, how are you?" Andrew stutters and stumbles over his words, obviously worried about the move he pulled on you earlier.

"Hi Andrew. I'm doing more than okay, how are you feeling?" You ask him with a smile tugging on your lips as you rock back and forth on your heels.

"I'm d-doing okay, uh, so-" You cut off Andrew with a kiss to the lips. Honestly you've been waiting too long to do this.

He leans into the kiss, putting his hands on your hips and you rest your arms around his neck. The kiss is slow but passionate and secretly sends him over the edge with happiness.

He promised to protect you, and for the first time in your life, you know you can count on it.

note: No, I am not an Andrew fan. No, I do not know why I made this fic so long. Yes this does suck ass but you still read it so (THIS IS SO OOC IM SORRY) (This is so ass what the heck)

©️2023 fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

[enigmatist17]

Angel notices it right off the bat.

It's been a good year or so since he'd last seen Joyce, and he's not particularly surprised she's still terrified of him. Angelus had done too much harm for Angel to overcome, so the general initial discomfort of his return to help Buffy for a while wasn't unexpected.

Joyce moving so that Spike of all people was between herself and the older vampire, however, was surprising.

"Don't worry love, he won't 'urt you." Spike smirked, blue and hazel eyes tracking each other without a blink as Angel stands beside Buffy.

"Since when did you care?" It's petty, sure, and Spike only snorts.

"You know, most people find it rude to insult someone when you've been out of town for a while." Joyce chided, finally feeling safe enough to stand out from behind Spike. "Spike has been a lovely guest."

"You 'ear that? Lovely." The younger looks as smug as he possibly can, and Angel wants to just punch him.

"For some unknown reason, Mom has been letting him stay here." Buffy grumbles from her spot in the kitchen, and Angel would have had a heart attack if his heart still beat.

"Y-You just let him live here?!"

"Well, when you're a neutered vampire, kinda takes the whole concern of him killing out of the picture, you know?" The Slayer shrugged, and Spike growls as Joyce put her hand over her face.

"Neutered?" Angel raised an eyebrow.

"Before anyone decides to throw curses around, Dawn is upstairs." Joyce sighs, cutting off the Brit who was now flipping Buffy off. "Buffy, why don't you escort Angel to...wherever he's staying, and we can catch up tomorrow evening."

"Okay..." For a moment everyone awkwardly stares at each other before Spike breaks it by slinging an arm around Joyce's shoulders with a grin.

Angel's eyes go wide, the blonde just waggling his eyebrows.

"C'mon bird, it's almost Passions time." The older woman seemed to be relieved at that, retrieving a forgotten bag of popped popcorn from the microwave as Angel rolled his eyes.

"Of course she watches Passions."

"Mhm." Spike grinned as he and Joyce left the kitchen, the older vampire eyeing the protective arm around Joyce, who doesn't seem to understand what Spike had just done in front of his grandsire.

"Angel?" Buffy clears her throat, glancing between Angel and the living room. "You okay?"

"....when you say neutered..?"

The drive to the hotel wasn't long, and Buffy shrugged as she slipped into the passenger seat. The tale of the Initiative fills the void during the drive, and by the time they've reached his temporary home, Angel is as angry as he is amused.

"Why are you doing that laughing thing?" Buffy pestered after Angel checked in, sitting on top of the trunk with her arms crossed.

"My what?"

"Your, y'know, the face you do when you're trying not to laugh about something."

Angel raised an eyebrow as Buffy slid off the trunk, grabbing his bags of essentials before locking up for the night.

"You..." Angel can't hold back the laugh that bursts from his mouth, and the Slayer is looking confused as they entered his room. He laughs again the moment the door closes, Buffy rolling her eyes as the vampire works himself into a fit of giggles.

"I don't understand why you're being so weird about Spike hanging around my mother."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Angel coughed, grin still playing on his lips as Buffy took a seat on the bed. "It's just so obvious."

"What is?" Buffy crossed her arms, Angel joining her with a soft smile.

"When he put his arm around your mother in front of me? He just basically claimed her, and the fact that it's your mother with his history is...unsurprising."

"He did what to my mother?" Buffy's voice is strained as she stared at Angel, who gently took one of her hands and squeezed.

"This may sound weird coming from me about Spike of all things, but it's very rare when a vampire claims a human without turning them. It's an ultimate sign that they care for whoever is claimed, and being a Master will ward off danger from low ranking demons...which is 90% of Sunnydale's inhabitants." Angel paused as he struggled for the words, Buffy looking a touch relaxed as she returned the squeeze. "How long has he been living with you?"

"Ever since he escaped the Initiative, or well, a few weeks after that? Mom found him near her work one night pretty weak, and despite my many, many, many protests brought him home, and he just kind of never left."

"When did you find out he was...neutered?" Angel cringed at the word, and Buffy bites back whatever sound tried to make its way out of her throat. "I am not calling it that."

"Pretty quick, I may or may not have lashed out, and he blacked out when he blocked one of my attacks. The chip in his head gives his entire brain a shock if he does anything to harm humans."

"That's why I'm back?"

"Yep." They sit in silence for a minute before Angel looks over, lips twitching in an amused smirk.

"So, they both are Passions fans huh?"

"Don't get me started!"

[impostorsshow]

Going insane over yhs grian and time travel I've had a daydream for like a year now about the mcc hosting a special event where each team has a younger version of a previous event winner and the MCC deages and hosts a bunch of teens and young adults for a week to y'know make sure a deaged winner isnt too stressed out. And grian is the only winner on his team and although it would be okay to request to be put on a different team, grian assumes he can bullshit his way through whatever time period and that it'd probably pull from when he was on EVO and it wouldn't be an issue but instead it's yhs like a week after taurtis got hit by a car so he's an absolute mess that has been tortured by Sam and you do not have to be around that man much to be traumatized.

Grian is disqualified as soon as they find out he came from a permadeath world, much less had a panic attack over seeing smajor fall from a high place and they call in someone to replace him but it's too late now they have to babysit grian and like 4 other competitors that were just At the Wrong Time. essentially this would just pull from whatever knowledge I have but i am doing a binge of the series with a friend to reset my memory. Mostly, some key moments of this would go as follows [etophobia warning for the next part, or whatever it is the vomit fear thing EDIT CANNABALISM MENTIONED FUCK HOW DID I FORGET THAT]:

Grian covered his mouth, gagging and exiting the room as quickly as he could, turning down the hallway into a darker room and ducking over the trash bin, retching. He heard a sound to his left, and realized whatever room he had sprinted into had Lizzie and Joel in it [idfk], and god throwing up next to two adults was embarrassing. "Sorry."

"Grian! Are you alright? What happened?" Lizzie grabbed a convenient towel and offered it to the younger man, who took it and gratefully wiped his mouth. "Well, uh. Someone brought beef jerky as a gift for everyone and I couldn't stand the smell."

Lizzie and Joel glanced between each other, before Joel asked. "And what's with beef jerky? Are you really that picky of an eater?"

"uh." Apparently the light teasing was either not picked up or directly ignored by Grian, who just stayed quiet for a moment before covering his mouth with the cloth, only barely removing it to speak. "You wouldn't like beef jerky if... someone used it to ..trick you into eating your girlfriend-" and Grian turned and threw up again, hovering over the bin in the silence he created in the room because god that was a gross thought and stop thinking about it your gonna throw up again- Grian threw up again. He was going to need some water after this.

------------------------------

"Grian, how experienced are you with death? You seem to come from a pretty sheltered homeworld." Gem was walking with Grian, along with Etho to one of the training maps they wanted to show the younger. Something about jumping and swimming?

Grian smiled grimly, trying his best to ignore the thoughts that came up. "Uh, yeah. Very experienced, I wouldn't call my home sheltered in the slightest, it was incredibly dangerous. At least, high school was."

Gem grinned, patting Grains shoulder and Grain tried his best to suppress the shiver that came at the unexpected contact, much less from someone he barely knew. Grian wished he had his best friend here, but he was

"-die alot here." Grian caught the end of Gems sentence, blinking. "Huh? What about death?"

"oh, sorry, I was just saying you'll probably die alot here. It's really easy to fall off of Ace Races map."

"...uh, how far of a fall is it?"

"oh, it's not to the void, don't worry, theres a kill box down there far before you reach the void, don't worry."

"....okay." Grian didn't like the sound of falling, and with how casual Gem was being it couldn't mean actual death. But as far as he had learned from Japan, people would stab each other for fun, and getting a broken leg from a fall did Not sound fun. He would just have to take his time, even if it meant upsetting Sam the people who were teaching him how to compete. Why would the future version of himself risk dying after everything, anyway?

-----------------------------

And other iconic moments such as "Grain is Incredibly Aggressive at Rabbits and Also Deathly Afraid of Them And No One Knows What to Do About It" and "That One Trauma dump about Taurtis Getting Stabbed, Getting Into A Car Accident, And Essentially Dying That Every YHS Fanfic Has" I don't know why I'm advertising it it's just a daydream I can't write because I wouldn't be able to write a good enough variety of characters for MCC of all things

[ax-y10]

hiya everyone!

i've come on here to say something real quick.

i've had a big long talk with a good friend of mine and i feel the need to clear some things up.

lots of writing underneath the cut

the wilbur situation.

with this wilbur situation, i haven't seen anything about it until this morning around 7 am (4 hours ago) so i am not very educated on this topic yet.

he has stated and people have seen that he has a problem with alcohol, and it is his choice whether or not he gets help for it. if he chooses not to, that's fine. if it wrecks his life, that's his fault, and it is not our job to try and change that.

he has also stated in streams, recently or not, that his mental health is y'know, not very good. again, he chooses whether or not he gets help for it, and he has said he does therapy. good for him! but i am not going to go on and on about how he can fix himself.

mammalian sighing reflex.

people have been speculating that mammalian sighing reflex is or was about shubble.

now, i don't care if they dated or not. that is not for me to pry into.

but looking at the lyrics, clearly wilbur was a shit person in this relationship (if there was one), and it clearly did not end very well. he's portrayed himself as a bad person in these relationships, and it's not something i would like to associate my writing with.

this brings us to my next topic.

my writing.

as mentioned previously, he doesn't have the best mental health as of now. and yes, it has made me sort of think about how i'm going to write for his character and still keep alcoholism and mental health out of the picture, just to respect him. but if i do slip up and there are those hints, don't use that against me. i'm young, dumb, and stupid, but that is not any excuse to throw shit at me.

why i write for wilbur.

this is also one i've had a good think about.

i talk about wilbur on here and in a groupchat with a few of my online friends, and that is the extent of it. wilbur is not included in my personal life. yes, i listen to his and lovejoy's music, and yes, i watch his videos, but i do not talk about him in any other way except for updates with lovejoy or photos of him. i do not talk about him with my family or anyone outside of tumblr and the groupchat.

i disconnect wilbur's actual self when i'm writing. i am not thinking of wilbur's actual personal life when i write. i am thinking of what i see. the streamer, the musician. not the 'i get coffee every morning' ' i get home from rehearsal at whenever o'clock'. i disconnect wilbur's personal life when i write because i know nothing about him.

i write either because i'm bored or to fill a void inside of me that must be doing something, and i've chosen wilbur's character to write with.

i never associate william with wilbur, okay, if that makes sense. i do not see william gold, as wilbur soot. i use wilbur soot in my writing, not william gold.

why i made this post/summary.

yes, i understand that maybe wilbur was depicting himself as an asshole in ycgma and msr, and yes, maybe he has a problem with alcohol and his mental health. and yed, i have explained my writing in the most detailed way possible.

but whenever i am writing, there is always a thought in the back of my mind.

'maybe wilbur isn't this sweet, caring guy that everyone writes him to be. maybe he is an alcoholic, asshole boyfriend. maybe what people portray him as isn't who he is'

this isn't to say i hate everyone who writes for him, i'm just saying that i try to contain my thoughts in some way. i have lovely mutuals on this app that support what i do, and i have lovely conversations with them, but my god.

please, if you are going to do anything, do not put hate or negativity on wilbur's shoulders, on any writer's shoulders or on my shoulders.

wilbur will choose whether or not he wants to discuss what's going on and clear it up.

thankyou for coming to my ted talk

[raayllum]

Hey! I was wondering what your thoughts are on Viren's dark magic dreams (your posts on plot points are always really interesting to read, so I'd love to hear your opinion!)

Especially in perspective with Callum's dark magic dream. Callum and Viren have close arcs and I'm sure their dreams must have some linking ideas (like the door/key?)

First of all, thank you for your kind words and sorry this ask is so late!! I will do my best to answer <3

Viren's dark magic dreams are tricky since some of them reference things (specifically Kpp'Ar and Soren's illness) that we just don't have total context for, largely:

Why and how, exactly, Soren became ill. If it was a randomized illness, as sometimes unfortunately happens, vs Soren got sick because of exposure to dark magic or something adjacent to it, those will paint Viren's desperation/decisions to save him in very different lights accordingly (both sympathetic, I think, but the latter concept adds to the idea that the bloodprice will just keep growing, y'know? Unintended consequences and all that)

On that note, what, exactly, Viren did to save him, although I have my theories here regarding what ingredient might've been crucial, and why I think star magic was involved.

Potential (likely) differences between dream/nightmare Kpp'Ar vs real life Kpp'Ar, as we see the way both Viren's wish fulfilment and guilt twists the scene he shares with Harrow. And of course what Viren wanted to do that was so terrible Kpp'Ar 1) revoked dark magic, 2) couldn't justify and 3) got in Viren's way enough that Viren coined him.

The rest of the dreams are, I think, overall, fairly straight forward, mostly because we have the context to decode them:

Harrow scene because that was the main relationship at the time keeping Viren on remotely the 'right' path and the deterioration of it clearly devastated him. Also ties into Viren's S4 + S5 arc of realizing he wants to, and should have, prioritized meaningful relationships > power and status when it came to how he wanted to matter

The twin peaks reference scenes are well, references, as well as exploring Viren's wish fulfilment (Kpp'Ar as his high mage, Viren as king) but also how that pursuit for power destroyed him, hence why he's only free once he removes and throws off the crown

The Claudia scenes are about his fear and regret regarding what his death and Aaravos has forced Claudia into becoming, as well as the path Viren was leading her down for much longer, bringing the idea of "She is not an asset, she is my daughter" and his nightmare memory of it from S4 nicely and tragically to fruition

Viren speaking with his past self through the mirror re-contextualizes why he was so confident it was Important, object wise, and serves to spell certain things out for us as an audience (ideas of paths and choices and freedoms)

There aren't a ton but there are some parallels between his and Callum's dreams (because you'd have to purposefully try to find something they don't have something parallels wise on show wise, at this point) in as follows

The most obvious is the conversations with their mirror selves.

For Callum this is a reflection void of the mirror, and for Viren, this is a reflection in the mirror (whether his past or present self is the one imprisoned could go either way). For present Viren, he's the corrupted one, who has to acknowledge his younger, less corrupted self, as well as that he had more agency than he wanted to admit. For Callum, he rejected his corrupted self, but obviously S5 both complicated and pulled on that set up (2x08 dark magic Callum's rune cube displaying the Ocean and Moon runes most prominantly, and Callum did dark magic in S5 ocean for his moon gf / doing dark magic again and the emotional journey there let him understand the ocean arcanum)

This is also juxtaposed with Callum's dreams about the dark magic being in confronting what he's done VS Viren's dreams being about confronting what he's done, yes - but mostly about confronting his justifications for what he did, which is an interesting difference, I think.

The drowning / water as danger parallel, only Viren literally sinks through water and is trying to save someone else (Claudia) from drowning vs Callum himself was metaphorically to literally drowning

Being guided by the dead in a lot of ways, since for Callum he has both of his parents (outside of Villads) and Viren is forced to confront people he's driven away (Kpp'Ar / Soren), versions of people that no longer exist (young Soren and Harrow) if they ever did, and Claudia carrying on his path to become a walking corpse (because dark magic in a lot of ways equals death)

The keys vs doors, for sure, although Callum is more overtly tethered to freedom through the keys / Harrow's chains, whereas with Viren it's a bit more metaphorical (he clasps his wrist in 5x03 in a similar manner that Callum does later to mimic chains in 5x08) and through dialogue mostly than dialogue and symbolism

This is super random but the tree when Viren is having his nice scene with young Soren always stands out to me as well, mostly cause it doesn't need to be there, and makes me think of the tree Claudia nearly walks into in 1x01 / the tree on the star chart map but like. Super vague and probably nothing? Still a thought though <3

If you're interested in more Callum-Viren post-S5 thoughts, I'd recommend these posts: What did Viren and what does Callum want?, How Callum and Viren sacrifice (written post-S4 but updated with S5 screencaps), Why ramp up the foiling? and general celebration that they are, indeed, switching foils, which is exactly what I was hoping for / banking on

[bucky-thebae-barnes]

TRYING TO FIND ZOSAN FIC

hey if anyone could help me out i'd appreciate it, just throwing this into the void, but i read a zosan fic and i can't find it again. the premise was basically that zoro suddenly felt like he was in debt to sanji because sanji did so much for the crew (and he found out the other crew members sort of did little things for sanji in exchange as well) but zoro realized he never did anything for sanji and it really bothered him because he didn't like feeling "in debt" to sanji because he realized how much sanji did for him (and also feelings, y'know?)

at one point he talks to robin and then he starts to do (maybe kind of awkward) but nice things for sanji too

but i remember one scene specifically in the fic was that sanji and chopper were going through some old clothes together and sanji was sorting them and figuring out what to make of them for everyone else (like some of his old shirts could be made into shirts for luffy etc) and then maybe zoro interrupts them while they're doing that and tries to like throw some flowers at him or something idk 😅