#(it was the 2000s come the fuck on that's not even that long ago why do you have to be so racist. ugh)

[mamawasatesttube]

kancer should've joined kon's rogues gallery tbh

[anshelsgendercrisis]

something that's fucked me up over the last three weeks is the constant barrage of non palestinian goyim saying "why should we have to condemn hamas???????? why do we have to focus on jews or israelis when palestinians are dying??????????" and i know ppl who have already decided i'm guilty by virtue of being a jew won't give a shit, but i'm hoping people who still have a bit of humanity left in them will.

i've gotten so many anons chiding me and demanding to know why they should give a shit about the people killed by hamas (not all of whom were jewish or even israeli), and the answer i keep wanting to give is that. honestly you don't fucking have to. quite honestly, i wouldn't have cared if no one talked about it. i would be hurt to see people didn't see the loss of (assumed to be jewish) life as a tragedy, but i would have much preferred silence to the utterly horrific things i have had to see over the past three weeks.

bc that's the thing. we as jews are so fucking jaded when it comes to gentile reactions to violence against us. we're used to you saying it doesn't matter or even that we deserved it. gentile apathy has so thoroughly broken us that we consider it a win when y'all don't actively celebrate instances of antisemitism. and you had the opportunity to disrupt that pattern, to either take a single moment to offer condolences for the loss of so many lives (not all of whom were jewish or even israeli) or just simply back off and give us space to grieve.

but instead, i witnessed people, who just over a month ago had been wishing their jewish followers a happy rosh hashanah, post or repost some of the most appalling displays of antisemitism i have seen since may of 2021. i have watched you post about the "zionist media" ("jews control the media"), tell jewish israelis to just use their dual citizenship to go back to their third beach house on long island ("all jews are rich"), that jews israelis are bloodthirsty monsters who get pleasure from killing children (modern day blood libel), that jews are the "new nazis" (holocaust inversion), that jews in the diaspora are responsible for the actions of the israeli government (dual loyalty), and that every single israeli should die (literally genocide???????????)

i witnessed people who call themselves antizionist gleefully become tools of political zionism, bolstering the claims that the diaspora is not safe for us and therefore we must support israel when the countries we currently live in turn on us like they have without fail for the last 2000 years. and when i point this out, instead of taking this to heart, people double down. they insist if i'm pointing this out it must mean i believe it.

you all had the opportunity to do nothing, to prioritize the safety and liberation of palestinians over your own hatred of jews, and yet you still chose antisemitism. and i will never forgive you for it.

[grimsonandclover]

Next Last

Sympathy is a knife.1

or; Broken bones hurt less than broken girls

Stanford!Tashi x tennis player!reader

Song of the post 'Limp - Fiona Apple'

You didn't respect tennis, so why should she respect you? She hated you. The spoiled nepo-baby who's never had to work a day in her life, and yet somehow you've managed to pay your way into NYU and play on the team. Somehow, you managed to beat her last year when Stanford played NYU, and now she's scheduled to play you again at the French Open. You're a goddamnned mess, everyone knows that.

So how are you still so good?

You're a trainwreck self sabotaging in front of the world.

So why does she feel so terrible when you're on the ground, crying like that, clutching your knee? She should be celebrating. But she's not.

SFW

6k words

angst, rivals to ...something? more in part 2 whenever that is, reader's got issues, death of a parent, mommy AND daddy issues, substance abuse by the reader and possible addiction/dependancy, injury, early 2000s NYC socialite treatment, reader is very irresponsible with a DUI (ewww don't do that please), some vomit, panic attacks, some trauma post-parent death, pre-established relationship, cheating, art follows tashi like a lost puppy, suicidal thoughts/depressions, thats a weird order to put those warnings in but oh well, just overall sad times, big sister tashi, reader should get a therapist but instead she parties and plays tennis, best friend patrick

"You're fucking joking." Are the first words Tashi Duncan says when she's told that she's going to compete against you next week. They come out venom-laced and shoot from her lips like daggers. Then, she says them again. "You're fucking joking."

You, the prodigy of NYU that should've been kicked out long ago if not for your pure, unbridled talent (if unbridled talent meant daddy's money, too). You, the daughter of a late, hot-shot Hollywood producer father and triple-divorcee restauranteur mother. You, the younger sister to B-list nepo-baby actress Seline, the older sister to teenage heartthrob boyband member Jonah. You, the tennis star with her name known by people who've never even seen a single match of tennis in their life during the day, and hot-mess socialite with her DUI mugshot from last year plastered on TMZ by night, your name sprinkled over several blind items on Crazy Days And Nights despite your big-name boyfriend. You, the only person comparable in skill to Tashi Duncan. You, who had already beat her once the same week you got that DUI.

Tashi Duncan hated you.

No, hate was too simple of a word. Hate couldn't begin to describe what she felt. It was more akin to revulsion. You were revolting to her. She felt physically sick when she was in the same room as you, which wasn't often. Until now. Now she had to once again share a court with you at the French Open.

For a split second, she considered pulling out. Then, she got her shit together and remembered that she's Tashi Nicole Duncan, and she wouldn't let a mess of a person like you with no respect for the sport make her think like that.

"Art, could you call my coach?"

Her pet-- I mean, her friend did as she asked, handing the phone to her. "What's the earliest you're available tomorrow?"

"You're fucking joking..." Are the first words you say when you're told that you're going to compete against Tashi next week. They come out quiet and tired, slow and disappointed. "She hates me. She hates me and she's going to kill me.

Tashi, the prodigy of Stanford with better grades than you could ever dream of achieving. Tashi, the daughter of a very much alive working-class father and happily married once mother, oldest sister to twins Nathalie and Renee, who are very normal teenage girls still living their normal lives in high school. Tashi, the tennis star every coach wants to get their hands on, with sponsors creaming their pants for her name on their products. Tashi, who's never once been arrested because that's just not a thing well-rounded people do. TMZ has barely ever even heard of her, and nobody's ever anonymously speculated who she's sleeping with. Tashi, the only person comparable in skill to you. Tashi, who looked like she'd rather she was pronounced dead the day before than hear your name announced by the umpire last year.

Tashi Duncan hated you.

It wasn't just your insecure mind making that up, either. She made it blatantly obvious that she did when you went to shake her hand after winning against her. You could still see the laser-hot glare she gave you if you closed your eyes. Feel the iron grip of her soft hands on yours, like she was restraining herself from snapping your wrist. You didn't look forward to seeing those eyes stare holes into your skull until you got a headache, again, next week.

"Maybe I shouldn't go this year. I don't know... I mean, I just recovered from my ankle, and-"

"Don't be ridiculous." Your best friend, Patrick, cut you off, rolling his eyes. "You're not a pussy bitch, you're a tennis player. Act like one."

Despite his choice of words, you knew it came from a good place. The reassuring smile on him reaffirmed that. Patrick seemingly knew what you were capable of better than you did. "You're going to do fine."

Charlie, your boyfriend, patted your shoulder as he passed you to grab a bottle of water, offering no words of comfort past that. He never tried much in that department. Or most departments, it seemed. It's like he thought relationships were like modeling: show up and look pretty, that's all. You were there showering him with praise and words of affirmation when he had a stomach bug during fashion week and was scared he couldn't walk. Charlie reciprocated by patting you on the shoulder while you paced your living room.

Turning to your mom, who was sitting in a chair nearby, didn't do much to help ease your anxiety like Patrick's words did, though. She was on her phone, texting and calling the dozens of people she kept in contact with a day. It took her a minute to realize you were trying to get her attention.

"Oh, Christ, Y/N, you'll be fine." She waved her hand nonchalantly. "You'll win and it'll all be fine. And if you don't, well... maybe she'll feel like you're even. How's that?"

God, your feet were killing you in these chunky platforms. Is that wet patch on your skinny jeans from a spilled drink or are you so drunk you wet yourself on the dancefloor? Where are you, what's the name of this place? Patrick doesn't seem to know, either. You're pretty sure Paris is about two shots away from making out with him, based on the way she's staring at him. Why the fuck did you choose to wear skinny jeans, these are miserable. The sequin dress was right there. Is the music louder than usual? The brights are too light right now-- wait, shit, no, the lights are too bright. Where's Patrick?

You feel bile rise in your throat and shove a girl out of the way so you throw up into the club toilet. It tastes like strawberry and tequila and shit. Someone's banging their fist on the stall door begging to piss, and you can hear moaning and skin slapping in the other stall. Fifty-fifty chance it's Patrick. Twenty-eighty chance it's Patrick and Paris.

You flush, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and stumble out the stall to the sinks. God, you're a mess. You know you started the night with two hoop earrings, where did the other one go? The couple in the stall are so loud, and you can definitely recognize the sound of Patrick now. Mascara is smudgeding and it's making your eyes irritated and water, but you didn't think to use anything waterproof.

You almost trip over yourself and have a repeat of last time (the time you sprained your ankle at 1OAK and couldn't play properly for three weeks) as you approach the stall, knocking on the door. "Patrick," you gag a little as bile threatens to resurface, "Pat we gotta... gotta go. It's..." you pull your phone from your bra, "Fuck, it's three. Amber's gon' fuckin' killllllllll me." Amber being your coach. You wonder how not-hungover you'll be able to act when you see her in three hours.

It takes a couple more bangs on the door for him to stop. You can hear clothes shuffling, some giggling and whispers, and the zip of his fly before the stall door opens. Paris stumbles out with a giggle, adjusting her skirt before announcing that she's gonna go find Kim, and 'good luck with Amber.'

You're barely standing and conscious, but you're not so out of it to not notice how he looks. White residue on his nostril tells all. "You've got coke?"

Patrick steps out of the stall, eyeing a girl at the sink throwing him dirty looks in the mirror before he looks back to you. "You know what I'm going to say to that, Y/N."

"Come on, just enough to keep me up. I'm gonna crash by four."

"No."

"Patrick."

"No."

You huff, leaning back on the counter and crossing your arms. "Fuck you. Since when did you join the morals police?"

"Since last week."

That's not a pleasant reminder. You want to slap him in that moment, even if it was a perfectly reasonable excuse for his sudden reluctance to feed your craving. You were a nightmare to everyone you knew last week. And the week before. You wonder how far back this could go. "Fuck you."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, wiping his nose again and checking himself out in the mirror, adjusting his jacket.

TMZ, oh how you loathe them, has pictures of you leaving the club by the time you're meeting Amber on the rooftop court of your residence. She's livid, as she always seems to be. Like someone shoved a lemon in her mouth and no one told her she could just spit it out. "You're late. You've got the Open in four days and you're fucking late. And hungover."

"It's only two hours."

Your voice is tired and croaking, and you haven't slept longer than two since yesterday. Hungover is a generous diagnosis. You're still drunk. Charlie, who was absent from your all-nighter club hopping, makes sure you don't trip over yourself going up the stairs to the roof before leaving your side to lounge on the pool chairs. Someone texted you "Hey girl, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but..." around the time you made it out of bed, but you deleted the text before you saw any more of it. Your mind wanders to that text when you look at him.

"Two hours, my ass. Christ, I should quit."

Amber threatens leaving you as much as you promise it won't happen again. Like 'yes', 'no', and 'You do this one more time and so help me God I will make sure you can never find a coach again,' are all the basis of her vocabulary. You play and pay too well for her to ever commit to those threats.

Practice goes on until your bones ache and cry for a break. Charlie's fallen asleep with a magazine tucked under his chin. Amber leaves for the poolside cabana and calls her girlfriend while you just lay on the ground, staring at the clouds. The adrenaline starts to wear off, meaning you feel like shit. Your mouth is incredibly dry, the sun is blinding. It's like your body remembered that you're meant to be hungover and is only now catching up. At least it's after practice. Not that you did all that well. You can hear Amber argue with her girlfriend over the phone and it only makes you feel worse about being such a horrible player by showing up late and half-shitfaced. You knew they were going through a rough patch. Least you could do is make her job easier.

Closing your eyes is only temporary relief. You can still hear the cars from the streets below and Amber whisper-yell into the receiver. "I told you already... Wednesday's no good, no... well then tell them to reschedule... Rebecca, it's not like you didn't know what kind of schedule I've got when we started dating..."

It feels like your legs are going to snap when you roll over, hands planted on the hard court ground and you silently beg your muscles to push you up. You're dizzy, the doubled, now tripled vision bringing back the bile from last night/this morning to the base of your throat, but you swallow it down. Over your shoulder, you look at the pool, the sunlight bouncing from the cold water. Amber's on the other side of it, brows furrowed. She sees you watching her and turns around, back facing you.

She turns back around when she hears a splash. You fell face-first into the pool. On purpose. The cool water feels amazing, the sting from hitting the water nothing compared to the ache in your bones that has been there since childhood. You open your eyes, watching your hair billow around you like smoke, the way the sun glimmers on the surface like sparkles, the shadow peering over the ledge. "Oh, god. I'll call you later, Becca. I love you."

When was the last time Charlie said he loved you?

It's so quiet under the water. You wish the bubbles that escape your lips and float above you would carry out everything you hold in your chest. Then you could float like they do.

Like all moments of perfect peace, it doesn't last long. Babies must leave the safety of their mother's womb. People wake up every morning despite wishing to stay in bed and fall back into nothing. Amber reaches into the water and grabs your arm to tug you out and you feel like you could cry. The first wail, the sign of life. Opening your eyes to the sun leaking through blinds, signaling to you it's morning.

Is death truly the only time we have? When you ask Amber, she just frowns and tells you to stop drinking as she dries your hair with a towel.

"Come on, Y/N. Put your back into it!"

The ball barely makes it over the net, bounce, bounce, bouncing down the other side of the court. The racket is heavy in your small hands, but he won't let you put it down yet. "Dad, I can't." You whine.

"What did I say about can'ts?"

You should bite your tongue. Can't's for quitters. "Maybe I am a quitter!"

He stomps across the court, grabbing the collar of your little tennis whites. Despite the action, there's no violence behind it. "No daughter of mine is a quitter."

His voice is low, like he's whispering a secret to you. "You can."

Your collar is let go and your father stands straight. "And you will. Now, do it again like Ronald taught you."

It's Renaud. Grabbing another ball from the basket behind you, you try again. And again. And again. By the time you're done, your arms are sore for days to come and you've got blisters on your feet. He makes you drop out of your preschool Mother's Day dance to practice with Renaud instead. You had the dance down pat, practicing it for weeks.

You only ever started playing because he wanted you to. Maybe five-year-old you should've held your ground more.

Tashi bit the inner skin of her lips, her mother talking casually into her ear through the phone. "And Nathalie, well, you know how she felt about it all. Cried the whole way home."

"Is she alright? Well, clearly not, but..." She zips up the final suitcase on her bed, taking a breath. They were flying out tomorrow, the Open being the day after.

Her mother sighs, nodding her head even though her daughter can't see. "She will be, in time. First heartbreak's going to be pretty tough, poor girl."

A knock on her dorm door pulls Tashi's attention from the call. Looking up, she sees Art peeking in. She holds her finger up, asking him to wait. "Well, let Beetle know that she can call or text me about it anytime. She forgets to check my texts."

"You forget to call."

Tashi huffs. Her mother's right, of course. It's not on purpose, it's just she's constantly go, go, going, her phone often goes forgotten. "Still. I'll pick up whenever she wants me."

Her eyes trail a bird outside her window. It hops across the little ledge, pecking at something on the brick. She wished she had wings. Tashi would just up and fly to her family right now. It's been two months since she last hugged her sisters. Did they forget how she felt? Sometimes, when she can't sleep, Tashi thinks about when they were just little soft fleshy things in bassinets, waking her up at night as they cried in her parent's bedroom. Now, Nathalie was going through her first breakup and Renee was going through some rebellious phase back home.

"You've got your hotel booked for tomorrow?" Tashi asks after a moment, biting her lip again. She can't help it, her worries jump from one subject to another.

"Yes, Tash. I love you, we all love you. We're booked, we're packed, we're ready. I've gotta go finish dinner, have you eaten?"

Tashi hums a response, smiling to herself. "I miss your cooking, mom."

"I miss you. Now, get some rest and I'll see you tomorrow."

When the call ends, Art steps in fully. "Everything with Nat alright?"

She frowns in response, shaking her head and sitting at the edge of the small single in her dorm. The old mattress creaks under her, the weight of dozens like her over the years taking its toll on the springs. "Brodie and her broke up last night at some party. Nat's taking it kinda hard."

He frowns with her and sighs. "I do not miss high school..."

"What'd you come in here for?" Tashi asks after a moment, turning to face him better. She tucks a leg under the other thigh, and Art's eyes catch on the flexing muscle under the warm toffee skin for a moment. Blinking hard, he sits beside her, grabbing one of her pillows to play with. It's a nervous habit of Art's. "It's about her."

When Seline sees the news, she doesn't call. Just sends a text asking if you're alright. Jonah does call, but you don't pick up. You know if you do it'll be like pouring your feelings to a brick wall. And then, when you're done, the brick wall will recite some line from his therapist and ask you for your new dealer's number, and that will be that. Your mother has stopped trying all-together.

Tashi feels a strange sense of pity when Art shows her the headlines, an emotion she doesn't associate with you.

Charlie, mid-grind at the club, decided he no longer liked playing your boyfriend. He forgot to relay that information to you, though. Honest mistake, he assumed you'd gather that when he turned around and stuck his tongue down another girl's throat. Oh, you should've seen the look on your face.

All those unrequited 'I love you's coming back to hit you in the face in a single moment. You had even tossed one on the way here. One that he let hit his turned shoulder and slide off the curve of it like bird shit. Now, here you were, frozen on the dance floor as you watched your boyfriend of a year make it painfully clear how much it all meant to him. Charlie Maddox was known for his looks, never his brain or heart. You tried so desperately to make up for it. You'd rip the beating muscle in your chest out for him and for what?

You've never been good at holding in your emotions. You were the 'wear your heart on your sleeve' kind of gal, much to your dismay. Meaning, you slapped him in the middle of the crowd, screaming something about love and his small dick (it was average), and stormed out of the club only to be met with dozens of paparazzi who were always there waiting for someone to leave. Patrick was just getting another drink at the bar when you left, missing the whole thing. You barely made it five steps out the door, tears streaming down your face, ankles twisting with every step, before taking a detour and puking in the alley behind a dumpster. Pictures were taken of every moment. One guy even ran up and took a picture of the puddle.

Sure he wasn't the best boyfriend, and it was a long time coming, but you weren't exactly in the mental state for such a sudden change in relationship status. You flew to France tomorrow. Amber said no distractions. Here Charlie was, throwing a wrench in everything with his stupid model face and his stupid model lips and his stupid model ego. You think you would've married him if he asked. Have his stupid model babies. Not like he ever would want that with you. How pathetic are you?

You're a hiccuping, sobbing mess. Why'd you take the train here? That club was hardly worth the trip.

It's embarrassing to be sitting on the subway seats, slumped down as you stare at the floor. Not because of your status or who you are, but because... well, just look at the state of you. Your hair is a mess from partying for hours on end, you ripped your heels off your feet the moment you sat down (and they've already been stolen), mascara is running down your cheeks and frankly, you haven't stopped crying. You try to cover your face when you see camera phones curiously life up, some obvious and some not so obvious. The guy next to you gives you the side eye, squinting like he's trying to tell if he recognizes you.

You just want to curl up and die. That girl, the one Charlie practically impregnated through a kiss with his tongue so far down her throat he could probably taste her lunch, looked like Mila Kunis. It wasn't, of course, but she looked like her. Why didn't you look like her? Maybe then he'd stay. He'd try and taste your lunch. Or maybe it wasn't looks. Something that you felt like you had even less control over. You cry a little harder.

If your dad was here he'd have something to say. He'd have some schpiel about life and relationships that you probably wouldn't want to hear anyway, but at least you'd be hearing him. You'd take just about anything. Your phone rings with Patrick's number and you don't pick up. The guy next to you snaps a picture. You wonder if your dealer has anything available. Amber's going to murder you in cold blood. You'd welcome it just about now. The P.A. announces the next stop, and it's not yours, and it would be an hour of walking barefoot across New York to get to your place, but you leave the subway anyway when it comes to a stop. Because that guy kind of stank, and a kid was crying too loudly, and you could hear someone calling someone else to talk about who they just saw on the train, and you just wanted to go home.

The walk was miserable. Your feet hurt and you had to put too much attention for your liking on where you were stepping so you wouldn't get some uncurable disease from the sidewalk. Less people noticed you on the streets, but someone had clearly let the press know what train you were on and they knew if you'd left by foot, they could probably catch up. They did. Now, they had pictures of you crying leaving the club, crying on the New York City subway, and crying walking home. Fantastic. By now you were known more for your tears than your tennis. You'd hail a cab but it was rush hour, and there's no point in even trying then.

You knew it was a fruitless effort asking for them to stop taking picture of you, but you tried anyway. All requests were drowned out by the snapping clicks of the cameras. You were still drunk, and the flashes made your eyes burn and head spin. Your name was being called all around you.

"Need a ride home?" "What happened with Charlie?" "Any news you can share about your sister's latest project?" "Chin up, darling, I can't get your face." "Excited for your match with Tashi Duncan, Y/N?" "Hey, you need some shoes?"

You look over to the guy who just offered you shoes, stopping in your miserable and painful tracks. He's at least wearing socks when he pulls his sneakers off. They're a size or so too big, like clown shoes, but they get the job done. You thank him, and then go back to keeping your head down as you walk. You can already see the headlines.

Your head was spinning so much you didn't know if you could play. You're on the stationary bike to warm up, an hour or so until your match. An hour or so until you face her. You already spent last night with Amber on the practice courts, getting re-used to how the clay changes the speed of the ball, perfecting your strikes as best you can. She offered to take you again, but you were too nauseous to go. That seems to be a constant for you.

Patrick's back in New York. He's got his own tennis career to take care of, but he's sending you texts here and there. Words of encouragement.

"picture her naked or smething"

"actually no dont do that. that wouldnt even work for me"

"make chuck realize what hes missing by winning"

"i just took the fattest shit!!!! oooooh I wanna send you the pic soooo bad. thatll take ur mind off of it"

You had to block his number for a good fifteen minutes just in case. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd done that. That did almost get a laugh out of you if you weren't still so nervous.

Someone was watching on the small TV in the corner of the room, you think it was Rebecca. They're saying it's going to rain tomorrow, but that's all you can understand. So much for those French classes you took for five years straight. You tried to focus on the blurring syllables you once knew as you cycled.

Seline sends you a bouquet of good-luck flowers, but she forgets you're allergic. Jonah forgot altogether that the Open was today, and you don't have it in you to remind your little brother. He's on tour anyway, what could he really do?

Tashi's pacing the practice courts with her coach, Art in the corner talking with her mom as they half-watch her. She's stressed out of her mind. She played and won the Australian Open earlier last year. To win this would already take her halfway to a career Grand Slam. Tashi needed this. To have anyone like you get in the way of that would be unacceptable.

Her coach is doing his best to assure her she'll win. Forget last time, this was it.

"I mean, have you seen her lately?" He said with a scoffed laugh. "Nobody wins an Open like that."

You have. You won the Australian Open, too, a few years ago at 16, and you were equally off the rocks back then. It didn't do much to quell her nerves. "You've put in the work, Tash. You've been training for years, harder than she could ever imagine doing. It's in the bag. All you need to be worrying about is where you're gonna put your Suzanne Lenglin cup."

"It's only the first round. Once you get through the initial nerves, the rest will go by like nothing."

"Right." You said with no real believability. Amber was leaning over the front of the stationary bike and you slowed down your cycling, nearing the end of the warm-up. "Except it's not just the first round."

It's Tashi. It's Charlie. It's Seline, and Jonah, and your mom. It's the first major tournament you've played since...

Since him.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Amber could hear all of it just by looking at you, and she had nothing left to offer but a pitying sigh and a pat on your shoulder. Even Patrick, now unblocked again, had nothing left to offer through the phone.

Nathalie is crying on the couch and Renee is doing her best to console her twin when Tashi returns to the player room, their mother and Art following behind. She starts doing stretches in the middle of the room as she addresses her weeping sister. "Beetle, he isn't worth your tears. You know that."

Tashi's mother wraps warm arms around her twins. "Baby, heartbreak heals. You're left only with the unconditional love you hold for yourself. Let it out."

It was her mantra. Words she'd repeat after all three of the sister's occasional breakups. Time heals all wounds.

Tired legs climb off the bike. You overdid it, and Amber silently panics that the overexertion will affect your playing. The couch facing the door connected to the player's tunnel is plush enough. Thoughts trail off to your family, all of which aren't here to watch you play.

Your mother was in France, too. You asked her to come but she was busy meeting with vendors for her new restaurant. Seline was on set for some blockbuster horror film back home. Jonah, well... maybe you should text him a quick 'hey, just letting you know im about to play one of the biggest tournaments a tennis player can, against the scariest woman I know. wish me luck!' But you don't. And your father. Oh, your father. He might've been the only one out of all of them willing to show up.

That doesn't matter now, though. He won't.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

He won't.

Breathing gets a little harder to do, even though you're sitting.

He won't, he won't, he won't, he can't.

The words are falling out of your mouth now like sand seeping through the cracks in fingers. "He's not here. My dad's not here."

Your wild eyes look up to Amber, whose head whips to you. Her heart drops. Rebecca stops watching the TV. You've been here before.

"Amber, he's not here. He's not here. I can't play, he's not--"

A knock on the door, your name being called by two voices. One tells you to breathe, the other tells you that "they're ready for you."

You can only assume what comes from who as tears blur in your waterline. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

He's not here. The one person in your life that always would be. The one person who promised not to leave.

Tashi threw up after she played you and lost. Tashi Duncan lost.

Stanford Vs. NYU. She should've had it in the bag. It should've been nothing.

Top players lost all the time. It's a fact. Human error, lucky streak for the opponent, off-days. Not for Tashi. Losing to you was a slap in the face. It shook her confidence in herself so bad she didn't know how she'd recover. It was only when she played and won the Australian Open later that year, with you nowhere to be seen, that she got it back.

She spent a weekend learning everything she could about you. A weak moment in her own eyes, but she had to know more about the person who made her crumble. It wasn't hard to do-- researching you. You were in the press constantly, along with the rest of your family.

Your DUI and countless failed relationships, your sister getting thrown out of galas for fighting with other actresses, your brother sleeping with groupies and their tall tales about the ordeal, your mother's countless failed business ventures post-modeling career, and your father. Life and death.

Tashi had found an old interview of yours, done right after your own Australian Open win at 16. You mentioned how he's responsible for it all, pushing you to play since as long as you could remember. How despite his crazy career as one of the big producers in Hollywood, he'd still make time in his schedule to be there for all your games. He was your biggest critic and biggest fan, you said. That you didn't know where you'd be without him in any sense of the word.

When she checked the date of the interview, her heart stopped for a moment. A week before his accident. She even remembers seeing it on the news. How Tashi looked over to her dad as he folded laundry on the couch, watching it with her. "Hollywood producer found dead in major collision in L.A. A break malfunction is the suspected cause."

Maybe that moment, reading that interview on her bed with her father knocking on the door to offer tea, was the first time she saw you more than a mess. More as a hurt, teenage girl. Maybe she forgot it all, though, looking at you now.

You couldn't sit in a car for three months without having a panic attack after it happened. The mere mention of them could even make you spiral. It was after the funeral that you started your infamous 'spiral down the drain'. There was so much paparazzi outside the cemetery gates.

It's the only reason you didn't try to compete in any of the Grand Slam tournaments after winning the Australian at 16. Every time you picked up a racket for the next four years, you heard his nagging voice in your head.

"Come on. Not good enough. Put your goddamn all into it!"

"You're not getting a Grand Slam with this attitude. Do it again."

It was too much to do anything bigger than challengers or school tournaments. Every single one left you teary-eyed in the locker rooms before and after. Amber suggested a therapist several times, but nothing came of it.

You can still see the look of pride on his face after you won the Open. Every time you close your fucking eyes, he's there. Such a rare treat to see him smile, and you did it.

You thought you'd be ready now. You told Amber you're ready. It's been four years, damn it. You're supposed to be over it. What happened to time heals all wounds?

All this time, you thought you were scared of seeing Tashi again after beating her in '06. It's only now, the crowd in your ears as your name is announced, that you realize how wrong you were. He's still there, in the back of your heart. Oh, how that bit of flesh has been carved out over the years of your brief life. How it still beats, after all the shit you've put it through, only to make him proud. Could you ever make him proud again?

The only thing you could hear was your heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

A tennis ball soars over the polyethylene net in a perfect arch. Long-loved Chanel tennis sneakers skid across the clay ground, arm slicing through the tension and humidity in the air. Thwack! The ball is launched back to Tashi Duncan. "Come on. Not good enough."

Then, the hitch of your breath; a sharp intake like more air in your lungs would be the thing to save you.

Sweat drips from your brow to your cheekbone, sliding down like a tear. From the back of your neck down your spine like a chill. Even from this distance, you can see the drops slide down her temples and the slope of her chin. Another crack emanates from her racket. You brace for impact. You see your father behind the net.

The court ground under your feet scraping. The sound of skin ripping open in thousands of tiny cuts, the cccccrrrrrrrrack! of bone. Bone. The gasps of the crowd. The crack of bone. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Then, the only thing anyone can hear is the shriek of your cry.

Next Last

[emphistic]

Deja Vu

A/N: Bury Me at Makeout Creek

<- series m.list

And autumn comes when you’re not yet done

With the summer passing by, but

I don’t think I could stand to be

Where you don't see me

Sukuna had fallen in love with a war, when nobody told him it had ended.

Broken bottles and fallen chairs and shredded papers decorated the already messy floor. Sukuna’s apartment was a battlefield, and so was his mind. He simply just didn’t get it. . . Sukuna was the moon, when you wanted the stars. And for that very reason, he had lost everything.

He had no other reason to stay, no ulterior motive. And he certainly wasn’t wrong when he said there was no reason for the two of you to continue the fake relationship.

Sukuna was hurt. He had come to terms with it long ago. You didn’t love him, for he was merely a “token of luck” for you, and that was all there was to it. But, at the same time, he wanted you to be happy. And if he needed to leave for that to happen, he would. Still, he couldn’t help the thought that came into his mind, that he hoped—no, wanted—you to be happier with him, rather than with Naoki Ito. 

Was he foolish for thinking he was more of the man you needed, compared to Naoki?

Fuck. He was hurt, and he was far from coming to terms with it.

Sukuna often found himself asking why he loved you. And every single time, he was left with no answer. Why? Why did he love you? Even after you tore his heart out, and ripped it to shreds, without even knowing it yourself, he still loved you.

Vulnerability. A noun, as said by Oxford Languages, meaning “the quality or state of being exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally.” It was an emotion Sukuna showed once every blue moon. Yet, with you, it seemed the opposite. You were a special girl to Sukuna. One which he had known since childhood. The thought of him having to let your memories merely fade away to the past was unbearable.

Sukuna hated you so much. But in his world, love and hate were so similar, that he knew not the line which crossed between them. It was blurry. It was foggy. But it definitely couldn’t be non-existent, right?

That fateful day, after Sukuna exited your kitchen, he walked back into the living room, told the two cousins on the couch he was called into work, and simply left. You only knew this, because, when you came back into the living room, soon after wiping away stray tears on the sleeve of your sweater and splashing your face with cold water, Naoki and Eileen were quick to question you.

“Why did it take so long?”

“Does microwaving popcorn really take almost ten minutes?”

You had missed the beginning of White Chicks, but it didn’t matter much to you, you had already seen the movie quite a few times before. And, taking everything into account, an American 2000s comedy film probably wasn’t enough to get rid of the prominent tear stains on your pillow that very night.

Naoki had asked you if he could stay the night, using traffic as an argument, and even going as far as to suggest the idea of using your spare bedroom, but you outright rejected him. Saying the traffic near you wasn’t usually as bad on Saturdays as on other days.

Of course, that was a lie. Your street was busier than most locations, and still, you didn’t feel an ounce bad for making up a mere fib. You just couldn’t bear the thought of another man taking up the bed previously used by a notorious man with pink hair. Your heart wasn’t taken by Naoki, and your bed wouldn’t be, either.

Eileen exited your apartment after the movie ended, followed suit by her male cousin. The blonde left without a word to you, save for a small mumble of “Good night”, but that was it.

You didn’t know why you felt so empty inside. Everything that happened, happened because of you. You said yes to being Naoki’s girlfriend, and you told Sukuna that you two should end the fake relationship; you were the sole puppeteer. And yet, you felt like a doll attached to the strings.

Everything played out the way you made it, but none of it played out how you wanted it.

Confusion. Guilt. Regret.

Three emotions that hung heavy in your heart.

The whole two weeks you spent with Sukuna, you spent making a grave mistake. You thought of no one but yourself. The arranged relationship? Was for your benefit: to lift the curse. Sukuna? Was your pawn: did everything you suggested. Naoki? Was your opportunity to experience making macaroni with someone.

Was I always this selfish? you asked yourself, while laying in bed one night. It was quiet in the apartment, save for the distant grumble of your fridge, and the wind blowing against your curtains, and the sheets rustling every time you shifted in bed, unable to fall victim to Hypnos.

The thought process behind your poorly executed actions was simply that you had too much on your plate. You were in two relationships at once. But your heart was in one spot. And that confused you. What you’ve always wanted since childhood now seemed dull and insignificant. Was this what you really wanted?

You couldn’t continue the relationship with Sukuna because you had to end the one with Naoki first. And, speaking of which, you had no clue why you took up being Naoki’s girlfriend. Maybe you couldn’t bring yourself to decline someone who seemed so innocent. It just didn’t feel right.

But, at the same time, as you laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling with an arm beneath your head, you couldn’t help feeling sick to your stomach. These weren’t butterflies, this feeling wasn’t love. You were wrong. You were so, so wrong. You should’ve never even gotten yourself into this mess in the first place. And now, instead of only hurting yourself, you were hurting not one, but two other people. Two people who didn’t deserve what you were putting them through.

-

When Naoki grabbed your hand, you almost instinctively pulled it away, clearly not used to another man’s touch other than . . . Sukuna’s. . . Fuck.

It was the weekend, and you were ice skating with Naoki. It was a simple outing, an activity you found yourself having taken a liking to, and you should’ve been enjoying it. But . . . you weren’t. You couldn’t help yourself drifting off to the thought of Sukuna. He promised to teach you hockey when winter came; the weather would be colder, and the only warmth you could gather was from his hand intertwined with your own.

But winter seemed so far, and so impossible, that you almost threw away any dream you previously dreamt, and simply bit your tongue.

Your gloved hand shakingly took up Naoki’s, as the two of you glided across the ice at a moderate pace. Your bottom lip trembled, and you clumsily skated, nearly knocking into other couples on the ice as the both of you went on and on and on.

��I’m not really good at this, as you can probably tell,” Naoki began, “but you seem to know what you’re doing.”

“My . . . friend taught me; I told you, remember? He is—he was a good teacher,” you mumbled, turning your head away from Naoki’s.

A friend. That’s what Sukuna was to you for two decades. A companion, a neighbor, a comeade, someone you could trust. Sukuna was a friend. And now, he was but a stranger, whose face you could only hold on to in your dreams.

In the past, mainly when you were a little younger, you had dreams about people that didn’t exist (Well, that’s what you concluded). You could never remember their faces when you woke up, it was always a blur; a fuzzy, distinct memory that often seemed like a mere figment of your imagination.

That’s how the name Sukuna Ryomen felt to you now. Hearing it made your heart drop to your stomach, and you always looked around your surroundings to see if you could spot his unruly, pink hair, that you loved so much—yet not enough to keep—so that you could bring him back, and tell him how stupid, and how much of an idiot you were back there.

You knew Sukuna wouldn’t like it if you did that, he wouldn’t want you to pull him back into the tide. But fuck, you were a selfish person, who wanted nothing more than to do just that.

Naoki smiled, “Right. I forgot. . . Anyway, let’s go sit down somewhere. I heard there’s ice cream here, y’know.”

You turned back to Naoki. “Oh, really? That sounds nice, we should try it.”

“We should.”

“I didn’t take you for a chocolate person.”

You laughed. “Really? How do you mean?”

Naoki shrugged, a subtle smile on his lips. “. . .The reason Sukuna left that night . . . surely wasn’t just because of work, right?”

Did he know? Did Sukuna tell him? Did you accidentally tell him at one point? There was no way he could’ve found out on his own. You’ve never told a soul other than Sukuna about the “curse” and you certainly never told anyone about the arranged relationship. So then, how. . ?

Before you could ask any questions, Naoki beat you to it. “You don’t have to lie. Lying too much is . . . a bad habit to have. I’m sure you would know.” Naoki’s smile wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold. It was a smile of acceptance; he had learned everything he needed to learn.

You weren’t going to outright confess everything in a shopping mall to a man you didn’t know as well as you thought you did, and you sure as hell weren’t going to talk about how you felt about Sukuna, but you didn’t see the point in trying to hide the fact that you and Naoki shouldn’t be together anymore. You had lied for so long. To Sukuna. To Naoki. And to yourself.

Furrowing your brows, you sighed a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I’m sorry. You’ve been so nice and such a great listener, and I’ve. . . I’ve been . . . just me,” you shakily inhaled before continuing. “Naoki, I’m sorry. You’re great, you’re a wonderful guy, and I’m glad I got to spend the time I spent with you. I’m just—I. . . Everything is moving so fast for me, and I’ve been nothing but a huge dick to everyone around. It’s just. . . It’s complicated, and I. . .” Your voice trailed off, as you felt your eyes get wet. Crying in public was definitely a first for you. And today would not be the day.

“Look, I may not understand everything that’s going on, but I see everything going on. And I know, if we stay together any longer, you’ll spend the rest of your time as my girlfriend searching for another person in me that . . . doesn’t exist,” Naoki sighed. “I can assure you of that much.”

“Nao. . .” Your eyes softened as you peered into the copper-haired man’s face, but his head was casted downwards, and his bangs covered his eyes. You could barely see his mouth move as he spoke to you with a quiet voice.

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry. I . . . feel sorry for you, actually, that you had to bury your feelings for so long. That’s probably the only part I can sympathize with you on. But. . . I tried, I really tried. But ‘like’ and ‘love’ are very different things. And the difference between what we feel for each other is very prominent,” Naoki added, saying your name with a dull tone.

“. . .Naoki, I really, really wish we could’ve met when I was more mature. When I was a lot less confused, and a lot more . . . together, composed, I’m not sure. But, it’s been . . . a time. A ride. A chapter. But maybe, it was the wrong chapter. The wrong book, even,” you tried joking; “. . .I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Naoki Ito. You deserve so much better, but I can’t give you much better, and I will always be forever regretful of that.”

Naoki nodded. “I know. I know you’re full of regrets. But we’re in our twenties, and we have the rest of our lives to live. As much I miss this, as much as I miss you, I know there’s more for me out there. And there’s more for you out there, if you put your mind to it. It’s . . . embarrassing to spend the rest of your life hung up on heartbreak. I’ll tell you that.

“You’re a beautiful, exceptional girl. Being with someone you don’t love, and putting on a mask all day, isn’t your fate. I’m not going to hold you back from what you really want. So, this is goodbye.”

You walked home, soon after. With a heavy heart in your hand, that still beat for someone miles away. Huh, being selfish was so strange.

-

It’s a quarter after one, I’m a little drunk, and I need you now. 

Said I wouldn’t call, but I’ve lost all control and I need you now

And I don’t know how I can do without, I just need you now

You weren’t planning on spending the rest of your night drunk out of your mind, but being spontaneous was pretty much your thing at this point.

Alcohol is known to affect your brain. According to an article you read: It’s a depressant, which can disrupt the balance of neurotransmitters in your brain, affecting your feelings, thoughts, and behavior. In summary, alcohol affects the part of your brain that controls inhibition, so feeling relaxed, less anxious, or more confident after a drink is always a definite possibility.

In your apartment, you had a classy collection of drinks to choose from. But, maybe it was a mistake for Sukuna to supply you with his favorite bottle of beer, because that’s all you wanted now. You didn’t drink beer very often, but it burned especially good when it was accompanied by the feeling of longing for a man so far away.

Blinking back tears, your shaking fingers clumsily dialed a number you could only manage to remember when you were half-asleep and in need of comfort. You usually held the phone up to your ear, but this time, you put the call on speaker. You had nothing to lose, after all. You were alone, with the stars and moon, and your dignity.

The call was answered within two rings, and you wasted no time in saying, “Sukuna, I—I. . . I don’t know what to—hic—do. I need—”

You would’ve gone on and on about how sorry you were, and how much you needed him, but the drunk version of you had an incredibly flexible mind. And when Sukuna cut you off before you could say those three formidable words, and asked, “What did you have to drink?” you immediately forgot about what you were going to say before.

Your excitement for hearing Sukuna’s voice after what seemed like a millenium couldn’t be contained, and your heart felt ten times lighter. Blinking, your reply came almost instantly. “Just—just a few beers. Why . . . do you ask?”

Sukuna hummed from the other line. “Not in a mood for Chardonnay, I take it?”

“N-no,” you furrowed your brows, chewing on your bottom lip. “I wanted something that reminded me of you. I wanted to drink your favorite drink. . . And, when I opened the bottle, it felt like I could feel your hands on it from the last time you opened it for me. I wish—”

“Those things are tough. Why didn’t you just use a bottle opener?”

“I don’t like bottle openers. I like when you used to open bottles for me,” you nearly burst out sobbing, which was just utterly insane, considering the bittersweet smile you had on your face. “I . . . miss y—”

“I know you do, and, to be frank, that just makes me feel a lot better about everything. I mean, why wouldn’t you miss me? I gave you what you’ve always wanted, I lifted your stupid fuckin’ curse, I’m—I’m basically your Lord and Savior, now,” joked a laughing Sukuna. He was frustrated, so frustrated. Because, despite it all, he still fucking loved you. Even after you broke his heart. Even after you unconsciously made him relapse. None of that mattered, because you were you, and Sukuna would always love that.

Drunk You didn’t understand any of what Sukuna was saying, and so you ultimately dismissed his words. Your voice softened as you added, “I’m—I’m worried. I . . . don’t want other memories to replace ours. I miss our cooking nights together, Sukuna. I really miss—”

“Do you miss having someone to make macaroni and cheese with, or do you miss me?”

“. . .Is there a right answer to that?” You laughed mindlessly, taking another swig from your glass.

“There’s a right answer to everything, if you put your heart to it. Go to sleep, sweetheart. There’ll be alka-seltzer in your cabinet when you wake up.”

-

You awoke the next morning with an empty bottle in your hand, prominent eye bags, and a bad back, because you had slept on the couch that night before. Your first thought was to go back to sleep, but you decided against that, and stalked around the apartment like a zombie in search of brains, until you found a box of hangover relief in your cabinet. I didn’t put that there, you thought, but you took the tablets anyway.

Hangovers didn’t wait for anyone, and you definitely weren’t going to question a miracle from God.

“So, what’s up? We haven’t hung at your place in a while; it looks nice.” Yuuji had arrived at your door fifteen minutes after you told him you needed someone to confide in. He was a naturally very nosy person, but something told you his speed was because he wanted to help a friend out.

“I need advice,” you said, setting two cups of coffee on the table. You clearly hadn’t learned your lesson on the harm in inviting a friend over to your apartment for drinks, except this time, you would finally be sober.

“Yeah, you look like you need advice. Sorry, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but, you look like shit.”

“Uh huh. I feel like shit, too. It’s been a rough two weeks since I last heard from you. There’s a lot we need to catch up on,” you laughed, taking a sip from your mug.

“Spill.”

“I fucked your brother.”

There was a pregnant pause. Yuuji couldn’t even look you in the face, not because he was surprised—spoiler alert: he wasn’t—but because he simply wasn’t expecting you to be so frank. You? Sukuna? Why did no one tell him anything? Were you asking for advice about getting into a real relationship with Sukuna? Or were you two past that, and looking to get married?

“. . .Deadass. . ?”

“. . .No, I’m just kidding. But, we did . . . kiss. And, we did date, but it wasn’t. . . It was casual, it was just—I don’t know. It was fake. Okay, it was fake. That’s—that’s what it was.”

“And I take it, you wanted it to be real?”

Yuuji could be so smart sometimes, you mentally laughed.

“That’s the thing, Yuuji. I do, but I also don’t. But I do, but. . . I need advice, okay.”

“Duh. Tell me from the beginning.” Yuuji situated himself in a comfortable position, with his legs crossed on your table, and his arms resting on the back of the couch. He had a feeling he was going to be here for a long time.

You hesitantly started by explaining your curse. And how it’s been a dream of yours since forever to be able to make macaroni and cheese with someone you loved. But, you just never had an opportunity to do that, because you couldn’t get a partner who liked macaroni and cheese like you did.

“So, one day, when I was especially bored, and Sukuna was over at my place, I told him all of what I just told you. And, I brought up my idea on how I could get rid of my ‘curse’ and, surprisingly, he agreed to it. We would get into a fake relationship—because he liked macaroni and cheese—and cross our fingers and pray that the gods above would lift my curse and grant me a boyfriend who fit my rubric.”

Yuuji looked conflicted. “But Sukuna doesn’t like. . . Never mind, continue.”

“Later that night, we went out for drinks at a bar. I ran into a friend of mine, Eileen Mifune, and coincidentally, she was with her cousin, Naoki Ito. He’s, like, this super adorably dorky guy. Copper hair, super shy when we first met, you get the vision. But, yeah. We exchanged numbers, since I thought he was a nice guy, y’know?”

Yuuji nodded, completely engaged in your story.

“The next day, Sukuna and I watched Pride and Prejudice—”

“Let me guess, Sukuna was being a dick about the movie and everything in it?”

“Bingo. So, we watched Pride and Prejudice. Or, at least, we tried to. Uhm. . . Some things came up, and we may or may not have gotten a bit carried away and started. . . We kissed. Like, a lot. And I liked it. I really liked it.”

“Is that the conflict?”

“No, there’s more. We were interrupted by Naoki calling me, and he was asking to see me. Wanted me to show him around the city, or something. Did I mention he was looking for a place to stay? Sorry. But, anyway, I agreed.

“We were walking to a restaurant I knew, since he doesn’t have a car, when out of the blue, it started raining. We agreed to walk back to my place, since the restaurant was still a lot farther, and we ended up making macaroni and cheese together.”

“Like you’ve always wanted? Isn’t that a good thing, then?”

“. . .It should’ve been. Moving on, the next day, I invited Sukuna over, and I proposed that we should start seeing other people, since, at the time, I thought Naoki was interested in me, and that I was interested in him. Sukuna ended up agreeing.

“We told the cousins we had simply lost interest in each other, and I started going on dates with Naoki. We hung out pretty often. And, from what I’ve assumed, Sukuna did the same with Eileen.

“Some time later, I invited Sukuna over, and we made macaroni and cheese while he told me the story of that catastrophic Thanksgiving dinner you guys had. My condolences to Choso, by the way,” you added.

“Ohh, yeah, that.” Yuuji scratched the back of his neck. “I still feel bad about that.”

“Uh huh. Anyway. . . Oh! I found out he watched Sausage Party!”

“For real? I’ve been nagging him for years, though, so can’t say I’m surprised.”

“We kissed . . . after eating the mac n’ cheese, and he stayed the night.

“The next day, I invited Naoki over. He asked me to be his girlfriend, and. . . I said yes, because I didn’t know what else to say, to be honest. And, it did feel like I was obligated to. I’m just. . . I’m really confused, Yuuji.”

“Would you have said ‘yes’ if Sukuna wasn’t part of the story?”

“. . .I wouldn’t have met Naoki if Sukuna wasn’t part of the story.”

“Don’t be like that. I mean in general.”

“No, I wouldn’t have said ‘yes’ because . . . I don’t love Naoki like I thought I did.”

Yuuji sighed, “Well, there’s your answer. This Naoki guy just isn’t the one for you.”

“So. . . Sukuna came over—I didn’t invite him, by the way—and he was . . . with Eileen.”

“That one blondie?”

You nodded, looking at your lap.

“What a bitch,” Yuuji shook his head.

“We decided to have a double-date? I don’t know. A movie was put on, and I went to go make popcorn. Sukuna came with; one thing led to another, and we kissed. . . I loved it. But, I felt guilty, because. . . I was in a relationship with another guy. Fuck, of course I felt guilty! I was cheating for God’s sake!” You groaned, holding your head in your hands.

Yuuji hummed, “That’s kind of a dick move on your part, not gonna lie.”

Your head snapped to Yuuji’s. “I know! That’s the whole point. I know, and I still did it. And, if time was rewound, I probably would have done the same thing. God. And you know the worst part? We broke up right after. I told Sukuna about how we shouldn’t have been . . . y’know, kissing, and he just. . . We broke up. The arrangement’s off.

“I lost a fake boyfriend, and I lost a real friend. All in the same day.”

“That’s. . . I don’t even know what to say to you. So, as for Naoki?”

“I broke up with him yesterday. I got deja vu being with Naoki. I felt like he wasn’t the first boyfriend I had that liked macaroni and cheese. It was as if I was reliving something I had already gone through. It just didn’t sit right with me.”

“And you did something about that?”

You paused. “Well . . . yeah. I broke up with him.”

“Sheesh, that’s the shortest lasting relationship you’ve ever had. And probably the shortest one in history, too.”

“Yuuji,” you deadpanned, “be serious.”

“Okay, okay,” he raised his hands in defense. “You couldn’t, like, explain everything to him or something? You guys could just get back together. For real, this time.”

“Not exactly. . . I mean, just look at me, I’m currently a fucking mess. I’m more confused than I’ve ever been. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Sukuna how I really felt, because . . . I just don’t think . . . I would be good for him.”

“Are you telling me? Or are you trying to tell yourself that?” 

“. . .” You didn’t know.

Yuuji said your name with full confidence, “I know my brother. I’ve known him my whole life. And I know, that, you were the best and the worst thing to happen to him. (That’s a compliment.) There will never ever be another girl like you. Not in this lifetime. Not in this universe. Not ever. So be rational, goddamnit. Sukuna won’t settle for less. And he’s as stubborn as a mule. What you did was wrong, but you can always change the ending of a story if you really put your mind to it.

“Call him. Text him. But whatever you do, do the apologizing and explaining in person. I will personally help you and abduct him, if that’s what it will take.

“I really like you and my brother together; I’m selfish, I know. But everyone is a little self-seeking every once in a while, and I’m sure Sukuna would at least hear you out. So don’t sweat it, kid.” Yuuji patted you on the shoulder encouragingly, before sitting up and cracking his back after sitting for what seemed like forever.

-

You ended up passing up Yuuji on his ingenious idea of kidnapping Sukuna. If you were going to fix things, you were going to do it unaided. There have been too many people involved by now; you just wanted it to be Sukuna and you and the stars in the night sky. Uninterrupted by any phone calls, and any other thoughts that snaked their way into your brain.

“What . . . is this?” Sukuna raised a brow, inspecting the plate of food in your hands.

“You cooked for me . . . a lot, back then. I just . . . wanted to repay the favor?” You tried.

“So why is the ketchup on the omurice spelling out the word ‘sorry’? I’m not a mind reader, y’know. Explain,” Sukuna crossed his arms.

“It’s an apology. For you. I’m apologizing to you, Sukuna, for being so utterly stupid these two weeks. Please, let me explain. So I can sound like less of a dick.”

“Be my guest.”

Despite Yuuji’s assurance, you still feared Sukuna would hang up your call or leave your texts on read. So, you did the next best thing. You had shown up to Sukuna’s door completely unannounced. With a plate of a traditional Japanese dish—omurice—in your grasps, which you knew Sukuna had a soft spot for. People usually do a design with the ketchup, and you . . . decided to write the word sorry.

You followed Sukuna inside, and the both of you walked onto the balcony, where you could have some peace and quiet to explain yourself with no interruptions. There was the occasional flutter of the wind, and the sounds of birds having fun in the sky, but that was it. And that was enough.

Clearing your throat, you began—with the plate of food still in your hands. “I’ve been really stupid. And ignorant. And. . . I’m sorry.

“I don’t know why, but, I’ve always pushed away the idea that I loved you. And, that was dumb. Because I really loved you. Love, I mean. I know that’s kind of frank, and maybe even a little cheesy to hear and say, but, I don’t regret saying it. To you, at least.

“We got into this relationship for my benefit. And I never batted an eye to how you felt. That was egotistical of me. A dick move. And I’ve realized that.

“I’ve been stupid since the beginning of this. I mean, what type of person comes up with the idea that they’re cursed to never date someone interested in macaroni and cheese?” you joked.

Sukuna sighed. “You know, I agreed to your ‘curse removal’ thing because I never experienced true romantic love. But, in the end, you only gave me my first experience of true romantic heartbreak.”

“Uhm, yeah, I’m—I’m really, really sorry, Sukuna. Feelings always confuse me, and—and I didn’t say yes to being Naoki’s girlfriend because I loved him. It’s you who I feel that way towards. . .” you cringed at yourself. “I dragged you into this mess; and I fucked up. I just want you to know, that, me agreeing to be Naoki’s girlfriend was only because I didn’t know how to say otherwise. I felt . . . obligated? to say ‘yes’ and so I did. But, love isn’t really my strong suit. And, I know it sounds cheesy to say this, but, taking everything into account, this kind of reminds me of what Plato wrote about soulmates. 

“That, humans used to originally have four arms, four legs, and two faces. Until, as a punishment for our pride, Zeus split humans in half. And now, we’re left destined to walk the earth searching for our other half.” 

You sighed, exhausted with guilt.

“Yeah, I messed up, really bad, and you may hate me forever now—I wouldn’t blame you—but, I think I’ll always be drawn back to you. And,” you paused, looking up at the moon above, “I can’t say I’m complaining. As long as it’s you I’m destined to.”

Sukuna remained silent throughout the whole time you explained yourself. He felt . . . conflicted, to say the least. He knew he shouldn’t forgive you, but his heart ached, and longed. Sukuna had spent the days apart from you reflecting and going over everything that happened. And, in conclusion, he still loved you. Honestly, if you stabbed him and removed the blade before doing the same thing, Sukuna would probably still love you.

His stomach churned, and his eyebrows furrowed, as his turmoil consumed most of him.

“This might be a bad time to say this, but,” Sukuna turned to you, whispering, “I only liked macaroni and cheese because I ate it with you. You made the meal enjoyable, because we ate it together. As a couple, as friends, whatever. And, in full honesty. . . I fucking hate macaroni and cheese.”

Sukuna expected you to respond in shock, maybe even curse him out a bit, but you didn’t. At least, you didn’t let any emotion show on your face. Instead, you merely continued staring at the stars and the moon in the inky, dark night sky. Silent, eyes unblinking, and body unmoving.

The curse was never about macaroni and cheese. It was about true love. Those relationships with other people who liked macaroni and cheese weren’t successful because they were all with the wrong person. You weren’t cursed. You were in love, without knowing it.

“Look up, Sukuna,” you whispered, entirely focused on the stars. “Don’t you think. . .” 

Your voice trailed off, but Sukuna finished your sentence for you.

“The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

“. . .Yes. Yes, it is.”

Love truly was the most twisted curse of all.

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒

A/N: ngl, i feel like i kinda rushed this ending, but im glad its done so whatever. here are some details you might've missed <3

[lilybug-02]

The HK comic was very sweet and wholesome and I loved every second of reading it! :3

Also does Dewi give hornet back her thread? Im pretty sure she needs that for silksong when that eventually releases lol

Also to go off on an unrelated tangent/rant, people have been supposedly like up in arms about how "Silksong will never release!" and how "Its taking FORVEVER to come out!" But like.... First of all, its and indie studio. Secondly It was only announced in 2019, which, yeah, was 5 years ago, but with the way people were describing it I thought it was announced like way earlier. And hollow knight was released in 2017, but the way people talk about it makes me think its like a classic from early 2000's or something. Sure, its a good game, but why are people so stuck on the Silksong thing? Like at least you're pretty sure you're probably gonna get a full game when it releases. With other communities/fandoms you'd be lucky to get even an announcement. Like Deltarune for example. Not even Toby Fox was sure he was gonna be able to do it in the first place lol. And if you think 5 years is bad of a wait, imagine waiting for a new LITERALLY ANYTHING WHATSOEVER from Bethesda that isnt the 100th re-re-release gold ultra plus edition of fucking Skyrim again but now on the fucking smart watch or whatever. I'm 90% sure that most of Bethesda's existance as a company has been spent making something for Skyrim instead of working on anything new or original.

Sorry for the random rant btw

Anyways love your art, have a nice day, kay bye imma go die of awkwardness in the corner :)

First off thank you very very much. I am so glad to hear how much you like the Hollow Knight comic. And to answer your question, Hornet allowed Dewi to keep that thread. She gave it to him as a peace offering for helping the bugs get back home and to lead Dewi through the maze like cave. Don't worry, she has PLENTY of thread back in Hallownest.

And regarding the impatience of Silksong. I get it. I am the very lucky few to get into the game NOW. I haven't had to wait as long as the many other people waiting for Silksong to release, and in that regard I am quite spoiled. Yeah, Deltarune won't fully release in at least another 5 years, but I wouldn't want to say I'm morally better for my "patience". Waiting for a game or any kind of media SUCKS. The fandom keeps it alive, but even those can grow stagnant. As long as you aren't harassing the creators or fans of the project, you can be as angry or frustrated or sad as you want. I think it's normal and can help others feel less alone in their feelings as well.

Not to say your points of contention above aren't relevant!!! Patience and kindness are always important to keep in mind with artistic projects. Art is HARD and can be very taxing. I hope I'm not dampening your message. ❤️ Thanks for sharing

[frank1nsaint]

Franklin Part 3

Warnings: Use of curse words and N-word

“Why you been dodging me?” Franklin asks you as soon as you open the door to your house 

You step out “I have no idea what you’re talking about” 

“Oh so those pages and calls to your phone?” he points towards the inside of your house “They didn't happen?” 

You shrug “I don't know maybe you dialed the wrong number” you had no plan to explain to him why you hoped he would just take the hint and let you be, it had been 3 weeks since your first date

He throws his hands up “Come on Y/N what happened? We were just good not too long ago I was gonna take you on another date’n shit” 

“I don’t think we would be good for each other Franklin” 

“Why you say that? we just talked about you not sabotaging” he points between both of you “this” 

“Im not” 

He leans in “You are” he argues 

“Franklin we aren’t good for each other just accept that” you state matter of factly before you turn to go in

He grabs your arm gently “Nah you owe me an explanation” 

“I don’t!” you answer defiantly snatching your arm away

“Yes the fuck you do. I’m puttin’ my best foot forward and you fuckin’ it up on purpose cuz of what? you fucking scared of the shit I do? Aint nobody gon touch you Y/N they dont touch Wanda  and her dope head ass what make you think they gon fuck withchu?”

You sigh “Franklin” 

“Nah fuck that Y/N” 

“You really wanna know?”

He nods “Yes I do, enlighten me” 

You pause “I can’t trust you Franklin”  

His face holds a confused look “What are you even...?” 

“After our date, some of your henchmen came up to me. Guess what they said to me?”

Franklin held his breath he feels his heart beat start to increase. You start to mock the mannerisms and voice of the men “shit I heard you and my boy Saint had a date last night” He shrugs “So i told them we went on a date big deal”  praying that's where the story ends 

You continue “Men I lost my $200 and my boy came up on a smooth couple grand” you pause and look at him “ha-ha my man Saint he a G tho” you return to a normal voice “then he proceeds to tell me that there was a bet between you and your fucking crew, you got two grand if i actually went on a date with you?” you scoff “if you were that hard up for money Saint all you had to do was ask I could have given you that and we wouldn’t be having this conversation” 

“Y/N let me explain” this was not as it seemed 

“Not even 24 hours passed after our date and I’m hearing you went rounding up your niggas so they could pay you!" you paused "And OH! if I fucked you it would have been an additional $3000”  you say sarcastically

“Y/N” he calls

You start mocking another guy “My girl Y/N, my sunshiiinneee yo yo yo shit if i had known all i had to do was ask you all proper and shit you would be my girl now. May I take you to dinner Y/N, miss congeniality” you tilt your head “they said you looked pretty in that green dress last night wish it was me instead of that nigga!” 

“Who approached you?” he asked with a deep scowl on his face.  

“I’ll give you that Saint. You played me good. You played a good game” you begin to walk away 

“Hold up, hold up, hold up,  who came up to you?” He asked again You return his mug “I’m not telling you Franklin! It doesn’t matter anyway you up 1 grand right?” 

“Y/N listen I will explain later but who told you that? They are a liability to my shit!” 

You shrug “what that got to do with me?” 

“Tell me their fuckin’ names Y/N!” he demands

You sigh “you betted on me” 

“Y/N” 

In a soft tone you say “$2000 for the date, additional $3000 if we fucked, had people follow us, Big Saint, The Man, The Myth, The Legend show you lil niggas how its done” you pause “right?...... Saint?” 

He looks up and runs his hand down his face feeling like his heart was going to explode word for word you quote what he had that night (“show you lil niggas how its done”) “Y/N please just tell me who told you that and I will explain everything” he begs 

“If you wanted the money all you had to do was ask Franklin” 

“Y/N, I don’t care about the money” “But you still made sure to collect, right?” you pause “Then you got the nerve to get annoyed at the fact that I was sabotaging the date!”  you scoff in disbelief and begin to walk into your house 

Franklin grabs your arm “Y/N listen!”

“Don’t Franklin!”  you warn removing yourself from his grip 

He blocks the door with his body “Y/N This aint a fucking game who approached you?! I need to know!” 

You shook your head, you look him in the eye “I’m not gonna tell you Saint” 

He tilted his head and pauses with an offended tone he says “Don’t call me that, I'm not Saint to you it’s either Franklin or any other fucking thing else but I’m not Saint to you!” 

You go to say something else but decide not “Fucking Asshole!” you mutter looking down at your sweater pulling small knots that had formed

He released a deep sigh “Fine I’ll take that but you need to tell me who approached you.” he moves his head trying to get you to look up at him. You remain silent. “Tell me Y/N” 

You shake your head “I’m not gonna tell you Franklin”

“WHY?!” he pauses to gather himself “You know how serious this shit is?” “SO YOU CAN GO KILL THEM?!” “OH MY GOD AINT NOBODY THINKIN’ ABOUT KILLING THEM NIGGAS!” he looks around  and moves closer to you  “keep your fucking voice down!” he whispers harshly You scoff “It’s all good Saint” Almost immediately he sizes you up and with gritted teeth he says “What the fuck did I just say?”  

You feel shiver run down, it shocked you so much that you instinctively jump move away slightly, but you hold your ground still glaring at him before you step away and snicker and nod a few of times with tears in your eyes 

With instant regrets he breaks his stance and takes a step back to show that his anger isn't’ aimed at you. “Just tell me” he says in a significantly softer tone 

“I’m not gonna tell you Franklin, I don’t want their deaths on me because you decided to be an asshole all over $5000?” 

He steps towards “Y/N please”

You step away with your hand up “It’s all good Franklin, I hope you put that $1000 to good use” a tear drops from your eyes “Y/N” “No hard feelings really Franklin, but you know this can’t work ever, doesn’t matter your explanation.” another tear from your right eye begins to roll down “wish you the best in your business stay safe out there” 

“Y/N! No no no no please please please!” he begs gently grabbing your hand trying to stop you but also making sure to not scare you away 

You pull your hand away “Goodnight Franklin” you speak before closing the door. 

He looks at the door for a moment before turning and walking away towards his car. He turns on the car and begins to drive away “FFFUUUCCCKKKK!” he screams feeling the rage course through him as he speeds on the freeway

Franklin walks in and slams the door causing Jerome to jump up from his seat gun drawn “MOTHAFUCKA I ALMOST SHOT YOU WHAT THE HELL WRONG WITCHU?!” 

They hear footsteps before Louie is stand ny the door “JEROME? WHO THE FUCK IS THAT? FRANKLIN!?” she comments frantically looking around for the threat “Not now” he grits out

“NIGGA WHO YOU THINK YOU TALKIN’ TO?!  WALKIN’ UP IN MY HOUSE SLAMMIN’ MY SHIT. I'll FUCK YOU UP!” Jerome bellows 

The phone rings and Franklin picks up “Hello?! meet me at Jerome house, now nigga, YES NOW! Bring Sean witchu!”

“WHAT THE HELL GOING ON FRANKLIN WHAT HAPPENED?” Louie asks “THEM LITTLE MOTHAFUCKAS DONE WENT AND TOLD Y/N ABOUT THE BET!” “WHAT? WHAT BET?” Louie asks

Jerome looks at Franklin like he has three heads “NIGGA WHAT??? YOU MAD OVER THAT STUPID ASS BET?” Franklin took major offence to Jeromes accusations, tilting his head to the side “You laughing but if I can't trust them to not tell a bitch about a stupid ass bet I can’t trust them in my shit!! They gone blow up our spot and fuck up our shit.” he points to his head  “You not thinking Unc” Jerome paused and realised the gravity of the situation 

“What is this bet? And what it got to do with that lil girl?” Louie asked as she looked between the two 

Jerome gently waved her away “I’ll explain it to you later baby just let us be” 

Louie scoffed “Shit mothafucka walkin’ in here slamming doors”

“Louie” Franklin commented 

“Nigga fuck you!”  

Franklin squared up Louie “AYE! AYE! AYE! WE DON'T NEED ALL THAT NOW!” 

Franklin huffed and turned to continue his pace 

In 10 minutes Leon and Sean arrived

“Nigga what happened” Leon asked gun already out 

“We got some rat ass mothafuckas in our crew look how they got Franklin!”  Jerome pokes fun at him “Nigga pacing around and shit over a bitch!” he jokes 

“UNC!”  Franklin warns

“What... happened?” Sean asked confused 

“Y/N told me that niggas from our crew approached her telling her about the bet”

“Soooo...” Leon looked at Franklin confused 

“So?” Franklin returned the expression “You niggas not thinking?” he paused “I GOTTA DO ALL THE THINKIN’ AROUND HERE??!!” 

“We don’t” Sean speaks trying to rationalise their confusion 

“If they running to tell her about a bet, a bet made between everyone in that room, what makes you think they not blowing up our spot?”

The men looked between each other the reality finally setting in for everyone that they could be completely exposed for anything at any moment. 

“Our competitors, our opps, our product,  our recipe, our schedule, our plug, our money, our peoples” Franklin states 

“We got it Nephew” Jerome comments wanting him to not continue hating the feeling of being vulnerable 

Franklin chuckled and looked around at them and in a whisper he sneers “and you niggas think I’m mad over a bitch when I got some snake ass mothafuckas in my crew??!! I GOT BIGGER PROBLEMS NIGGA!!” “My bad” Sean says throwing his hands up 

“FFFUUUCK! Round all them niggas up now” 

Leon puts his hand up “Now hold on its 2am we ain't bout to be meeting without cops spotting us”

“SHIT!”

“Look lets come up with a solution to figure out who them niggas are we start rounding people up they might start snitching even more” Leon strategizes 

Franklin nodded in agreeance “We gonna act like shit aint happen and take them niggas out one by one!” 

Jerome nods “Yea I like that plan!” 

Franklin sighs and sits down releasing the tension in his body

“We got a plan nephew unless you got something better?”

“No I don't.” 

Its silent for awhile with the 3 men (Jerome, Sean, Leon) talking to each other catching up on what they heard or whats going with their product

“Nigga what wrong withchu we have a solution” 

Franklin waves him off “Not now Unc,I’m trying to figure out how to fix this shit with Y/N” 

“Oh shit,” Leon comments forgetting that you were involved 

“Yea nigga, Y/N! they told Y/N!” 

“HA-HA you losing your mind over this girl boy! Now you know niggas talk worse than bitches sometimes. Gossipping mothafuckas”

“NOT NOW UNC” Leon shrugs “just go get another bitch, she aint the only fine girl that we know”

Franklin shot him an incredulous look “I don't want another bitch Leon I want that one!” 

“She not special her stuck up ass I bet if you called Tasha now she’ll literally hop the fuck out her bed and come fuck you” Leon wasn’t really a big fan of you, he thought that you acted too good

“I dont want Tasha, I want Y/N and that thing was a fucking mistake i told you that” “Hell no don’t call that crazy girl up here! Her bat shit ass bout got herself killed trying to sneak in my damn house talking about she just wanna see Frankie”  Louie comments 

Jerome chortles “BOY YOU HAD THAT GIRL GOING CRAZY BOUT LOST HER FUCKIN’ MIND. DICK HAD HER STUCK NEPHEW!!” he blares out a laugh 

Leon, Sean, and Louie join in on the laugh

Franklin ran his hands down his face “We gotta find them or this shit is not gonna last. If they can go run and tell Y/N what else are they doing? Product been going missing lets start there whoever them mothafuckas are they fuckin’ dead!” he grumbled. 

Authors Note: Feedback is much appreciated. Please reblog, comment, and like just don't plagiarize

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Hyacinth + lemon ice :)

Mihawk is so dreamy I'd forgive him too tbh. Reader gets mad at her mysterious boyfriend for leaving and he *somehow* convinces her to forgive him... wink wonk

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x Female Reader

WC: 2000

Prompt: “You know I’m sorry…” 

— —

You push through the doors to the lavish dining room wearing a ruby colored dressing gown and dramatically fling yourself into a chair at the end of the massively long dining table. You groan. Head in your hands, you were distraught. 

Your lover had left you almost 2 weeks ago. Not permanently of course… or so you assumed. Nearly 2 weeks ago Mihawk left the safety of your remote castle on some sort of business he promised would only take a day or two. And yet? Here you were. Alone. 

You were want for nothing, the castle was always filled with any amenities or food you might need, but you couldn’t help but long for a warm body next to you in bed and the firm touch of your warlord lover. Although you tried to push it aside, but you also worried for his safety. There was always an aspect of danger when he left even though he was beyond competent in both combat and negotiations, but you always tried to ignore it. 

He would always tell you, “There’s no use in worrying my dear. I’d slaughter every being on the seas if it was stopping me from coming home to you. Now get that thought out of your head.” 

And although he would tell you time and time again not to worry, you couldn’t help it. Why would he still be gone? You ran through hundreds of make-believe scenarios where Mihawk suffered a horrific death or is still enduring immeasurable horrors at the hands of some monster or maybe even-

“HELLOOO! You look like you need a drink bitch.” 

Suddenly, your biggest headache and current housemate materialized through the wall and laid out on the table in front of you. She mimics your position with her head in her hands and taunts you. 

“So your weird sword daddy hasn’t come back yet. He always shows up eventually, and you always forgive him like you weren’t wailing around these halls like a victorian widow for days beforehand. He’ll turn up and he’ll rip your clothes off faster than you can even tell him you’re mad. Come on, lighten up you old broad! Have a drink with me!” 

Perona suddenly has two ghosts bringing a bottle of whiskey and two glasses up from behind her and on to the table in between the two of you. You pick up your head and make a face. 

“I wish you’d stop calling me that, I’m only 5 years older than you.” You huff out. You roll your eyes but you grab the glass in front of you and gesture to one of Perona’s summoned ghosts for it to pour you a glass of whiskey. 

“Yeah but you’re the one stalking around a castle alone with your cats in floor length robes. You’re like, mentally, ancient.” 

“I take offense to that. So what? I like gothic architecture and solitude, is that a crime?” You take a heavy gulp of alcohol and grimace. 

“Okay, whatever. You’re the one fucking a vampire.” Perona takes her drink and chuckles. 

You motion for another drink. 

“He isn’t a vampire, Perona.” You take your drink and lean back in your chair. “He just likes hats.” 

You both make eye contact, Perona furrows her brow at you. You burst out in laughter, with Perona quickly to follow. 

— —

You wake up the next morning to the sunlight streaming through the lace curtains of your luxurious master bedroom. Your eyelids flutter open and you stretch and turn over to face the opposite side of the bed. Undisturbed. He still wasn’t home. You shoot up in bed. The whiskey Perona insisted you drink had helped you drift off to sleep without the worries about the fate of your lover. But now it was morning and he still wasn’t home. You groan and fall back into your bed. 

Where the hell was he? He had never been this late before… Was this finally the time he never comes back?

*whooooosh* *thump*

You hear the massive stone double doors to the castle open and close. You practically jump out of bed.

You toss the covers off your naked form and you go to your dressing curtain to put on a long emerald green robe with dyed feathers on the edges of the sleeves and the bottom. You didn’t even bother putting on slippers as you tear your way out of the master bedroom and down the hallways to the main staircase. You halt yourself at the top of the staircase and look down at the entrance to the castle. 

There stood your lover, Mihawk, looking a bit worse for wear, but all together fine. Once your brain registered that he was alive and well, the anger returned. 

“DRACULE MIHAWK…” 

You bellow from the top of the stairs. You swiftly begin to descend the staircase, your bare feet gliding across the stone. “Fourteen days? Not a call? Nothing?” Your robe flies behind you as you slink down the stairs towards Mihawk, not giving him a moment to reply. “I was convinced your smart mouth had finally done you in! You say you’ll be gone for a night and you show up at my door 2 weeks later? You could have called me you-“ Tears are streaming down your face. You finally reach Mihawk and throw your fists up to try to hit his shoulders.

Mihawk grabs your wrists before you could strike. He was tired, but you were distraught, you were no match for him. 

“My love… I am so sorry… Oh, how I’ve missed you…” Mihawk brings your wrists back down to your sides and embraces you fully. You pull back. “No! You can’t keep doing this!” You take several steps backwards once he releases you. “All I do is worry! You leave me here alone and don’t tell me where you are! I’m tired of this! I won’t do it! I love you, Mihawk!” You cry out and drop to your knees, overcome with emotion. 

Mihawk immediately drops to his knees in front of you, trying to stay on your level. He grabs the sides of your face with his hands. 

“I know, my love, I know. Something came up and I couldn’t find a way to tell you. Please forgive me, darling.” Mihawk tilts your face up to meet his above you. “You know I’m sorry…” 

As Perona predicted, you folded. 

He leaned in and captured your lips in a deep kiss. 

Mihawk swiftly swoops you up under your ass and carries you all the way to your shared bedroom, away from any unwanted voyeurs. He throws you back onto the bed with a gentle thud. 

“You may not believe me now, love, but I promise I won’t leave you worrying again…” Mihawk whispered into your calf as he kissed up your leg towards your aching center. He had already discarded his hat and jacket, making quick work of his pants with the other hand. Once shed of his clothing, he pulls your robe apart and settles his body between your legs and spreads them forcefully with his rough palms. 

“Mihawk I just got up, I haven’t bathed or-“ You grab his hair to pull him back, he shakes your grip off. 

“Let me enjoy you, my precious girl, you know I like it better this way anyway.” He smirks and begins kissing and biting your inner things. You sigh and relax into the sensation of finally having his touch on you again. After teasing for a few minutes, Mihawk finally reaches your now soaking center and dives in with his skilled tongue. You moan loudly as he sucks and slurps at your clit lewdly, driving you mad. He pulls away to watch your face as he slips two fingers into your clenching hole. 

“You taste so sweet, love, as always.” You whimper at his praises and the feeling of his fingers working your insides. He returns to your clit with his mouth and you feel yourself quickly being brought to the precipice of pleasure. You arch your back and bring your hands to your breasts to pinch your nipples, pushing you into the throws of a powerful orgasm. You cry out loudly in pure bliss. 

Your handsome lover pulls his face from between your legs and peppers your stomach and the valley of your breasts with wet kisses as he moves up your body. Your chest heaves as you are truly at Mihawk’s mercy. You were soft and pliant under his addictive touch. He whispers into your neck as he begins pushing his hardened member into your tight entrance. 

“Let me show you how much I missed you, let me make love to you.” You moan as he bottoms out inside of you and throw up your hands to tangle them in his dark hair. He pulls back and presses his mouth onto yours in a passionate kiss as he deeply grinds his hips into yours. He uses his hands to push your knees further back and spread towards your shoulders and you gasp into his mouth at the new angle at which he was able to penetrate you. 

“Shit, there!” You cry out. You felt your muscles start to tighten and that familiar warmth was building in your abdomen again. You slam your eyes shut and turn your head to try to bury your face in the pillow, but failing since you were on your back. 

“Already darling? I’m not done yet, you’re going to have to hold it.” Mihawk pulls back to get a better look at your fucked out expression. 

“I-I-, shit! I can’t!” You moan as he continues to deeply thrust into you. 

“No cumming. Not until I say.” Mihawk uses one of his hands to grip your cheeks and force you to look up at him. You were so caught up in trying to hold back your orgasm you couldn’t form words anymore, only whimpers and grunts. 

“Hold it a bit longer, my love, I know you can do it. You’re going to cum when I fill you. I promise it will feel so good.” Your lover picks up his pace and you could tell he was getting closer to his own peak by his ragged breathing. 

“Mi-hawwwkk! Please! Need to cum! Can’t hold it!” Tears started spilling from your lash line and down your cheeks. 

“Cum now.” He says sternly as he applies firm pressure on your clit with his hand. 

“Ah!” You scream out loudly as your sticky release spurts out around Mihawk’s cock that was deep inside of you. Your twitching walls trigger Mihawk’s orgasm and he lurches forward and spills his hot seed, coating your walls that were milking his cock so deliciously. 

Your lover pulls out of you and lays next to you on the silk sheets. He pulls you into his broad chest and you cuddle into him with a heavy exhale. 

“So, are you still upset with me?” Mihawk finally asks, stroking the back of your head. 

“Yes, but significantly less so.” You nuzzle your nose into his skin. 

“I promise I’ll call next time, alright love? I hate having you worry.” 

“You better, or next time I won’t forgive you as easily.” You retort. 

Mihawk smiles. 

“I’m not so certain about that.”

— — 

xx Mo

[babayagakeanu]

it’s not living (if it’s not with you)

pairing: John Constantine/reader

Summary: John realizes there’s nothing more in life that he wants more than you.

**this gif sent me into a short spiral so I had to use it. Like how dare you look at me like that sir?**

You’ve know John since you were in the hospital he stayed at when he attempted to take his life, and since you had a medical background, you have been his person to go to when he needed stitching up. Ever since, you two’ve grown closer over the years, and you harbored a serious crush on John. Something about the way his deep eyes bore into you as you speak, always throwing you off balance. Maybe it was because he was older, ten years older and somehow you go off on that.

Or maybe it was because two weeks ago, he stopped at your doorstep liquored up and gave you the best night of your life. Since that heated, drunken night, he hasn’t come around much, and he was in here every other night. You knew you couldn’t trust him with your feelings. Since when do we trust men with gorgeous eyes, who are tall and charismatic, and tease you endlessly? It was ten o’clock at night, you were fresh out of the shower after a long day and ready to relax for the remainder of your evening in front of your tv. Heating up and eating a microwave dinner, you scroll through the channels before settling on some old 2000s rom-com. Finishing your dinner, you set it on the cheap coffee table in front of you, and just as the movie is getting good, John knocks on your door.

Sighing, you know it’s John because he came up with specific knock to use when he needed somewhere safe to land, or close a hole in his flesh. You swing open the door to find John, bloodied and beaten.

“Oh my fucking God, John!” your gasp comes out as a whisper, being mindful of your other neighbors. “What the fuck happened to you?” You help him inside, half of his weight leaning on you as you guide him to the chair in your kitchen.

“Just a coupla’ really strong demons,” he mutters, “got an whiskey?” Another sigh from you. Always drinking, thinking it’s going to heal his inside problems. You slam a glass down in front of him and pour hima few fingers of whiskey. This will also help manage his pain once you start threading through his skin. Walking to the cabinet in the hallway, you grab the first aid kit, along with a suture and needle, and a pair of slightly rusty scissors.

Sitting down in front of him, you open your kit. “Just keep sipping on your drink, John. I’m gonna start, now.” Wiping down your needle with alcohol, you thread the suture through and the first piercing of the needle is enough to make John wince. He gulps his drink greedily, slamming it down on the table.

“Jesus, you never hold back, do you?” He cracks, exhaling shortly as the second pierce happens. You give him a muttered affirmation and he notices your silence. “Why are you so quiet, y/n?”

You sighs rolling your eyes at him. “ ‘Cause, John, I just am today. I’m not really in the mood for your antics tonight. I lost a patient today, seventeen years old.” John groans a final time as you tie the suture, holding it in place.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, reaching for your hand but you recoil, causing John to look at you weird. “Seriously? What’s going on with you, y/n?” He begs you, and you almost give in, ready to tell him to forget about it, but you’ve reached your boiling point.

“You really don’t get anything, do you, John?” You whirl around, anger seeping through your pores. “Do you remember what happened two weeks ago? Or were you just too fucking drunk to remember?” You spit, venom lacing your words.

He looks at you incredulously. “Me? Remember two weeks ago? Y/n, I can barely remember what I had for lunch yesterday. What has got you all wound up?” He defends himself so easily.

“You wanna know what happened?” You shout, getting closer to him, challenging him to see who could shout the loudest.

“Yeah, I think I do!” John barks back, hands on his hips as he leans closer to your face. You could see the anger swirling in his eyes, and this fight is probably not what he needs right now, but it’s what you need.

“Fine!” You shout, “Two weeks ago, you show up here drunk as a skunk, telling me how much you love me, how much you care about me, and then we fuck!” His eyes are widened, and a small flush is making it’s way to his cheeks. You continue, because you’re not quite finished yet. “And the best part about this is that I can’t stop thinking about you, and how I will never feel like that with anyone else but you! That’s the real fucking reason, John!”

Your rant rings through the halls, and the silence makes itself present. John shakes his head, sits back down, and lights a cigarette. “Y/n, I remember.” Is all he says. You give him a look that’s teetering on ‘I’m gonna fucking kill you’ and ‘you’re dead meat’. “Let me finish,” he warns you, “I remember because I woke up in your bed naked, and with the most gorgeous woman lying next to me. You didn’t see me because I left.” He takes a drag of his cigarette and you ask him why.

“I left thinking that I am not worthy of your love, y/n. I’m a bad person with an even worse conscience. I left thinking there is no way in hell, that someone like you chooses to be with me. Y/n, as soon as I met you, it was over for me. Gone were the days of enjoying my solitude, enjoying my loneliness and misery, because there was you. I am not gonna live anymore if it’s not gonna be with you.” Standing up, he takes your hand and lifts you from your chair. Grabbing your face between his hands, he kisses you sweetly. The smell of a freshly smoked cigarette lingers on his lips and you breath him in. Leather and smoke.

“So does that mean?” You ask him, and he laughs.

“Yeah, I love you, kid.” You squeal, smiling through a kiss as you lead him towards your bedroom, where John shows just how much he can’t live without you.

————————————————————

Just a short one today as I scheme up some new drafts here! I cannot tell you guys how happy I’m back to be in my blog. I deleted the backup before realizing that it would delete my work that I wrote over there, but it’s fine, I wasn’t too happy with that plot for John wick and felt I could do better! Anyways, here’s a Constantine one, because we all love our sexy smart-ass. hugs and kisses!

[utilitycaster]

I kinda felt disappointed and kinda disheartening in the discussion surrounded taash being non-binary and people just framing their gender identity discussion as just baby first queer meetup it just I've been out for several years as non-binary and I still don't have access to these kind of outlets I don't know but I guess people forget that everyone journey is different.

and also like it does make sense for taash experience to be like that since its literally their first time exploring new gender identities?

Hey anon! I think that's exactly it - this isn't at all limited to people talking about Taash or the Veilguard fandom (or people who played and didn't like it) but on some level Taash actually seems to me to exactly play out the (explicitly canon scenario) of "what if you felt like something was weird or off about how you experience yourself but didn't know what and it had been going on so long that you'd internalized it and thought it was normal for everyone and this also got caught up with your complicated relationship with your mother and you blew up at your coworker for walking around in a kinda low cut shirt on her own personal time and instead of being like WELL FUCK YOU TOO she was like 'interesting. why are you doing this because I don't think I'm the problem.' " Like, I was on a lot of feminist websites aimed at young women in the early 2000s as a teen and so lesbianism and bisexuality were both talked about a lot but no one was like, bringing up Kate Bornstein and Leslie Feinberg and actual THEORY until college. Like, truly, until maybe 15 years ago, when social media with an anonymous angle started blowing up? You had your gender and sexuality discovery through doing and living and talking to other queer people irl or by finding a library or bookstore that had what you needed, if you even knew what you needed beyond "I'm weird and feel wrong." You had to go to a group. You can literally read Alison Bechdel's account of doing this for lesbianism in the 80s. Taash is actually just acting like someone who can't privately learn all of this from a carrd and has to actually talk to people and take notes. And as for the actual term...you know how people always mock historians for being like "these two people were close friends" and they're like OH MY GOD THEY WERE FRIENDS WHO WANTED TO BE BURIED TOGETHER? Well, have you considered Taash is referred to as nonbinary and has the whole pronouns discussion because if you go with more euphemistic language, again, someone will be like "no this is just representative of gender nonconformity" and call Taash a tomboy.

I don't want to derail the above but I do feel a lot of people online, especially who have been on social media from a very young age, just...struggle to comprehend the following three things to a degree I find worrying.

perspectives, opinions, and experiences that are different than yours are good things to experience regularly; you should expand your mind and comfort zone

representation does not mean "people who had the same exact experience with the same exact outcomes as you for the same exact gender/sexuality/race/ethnicity/gender" and is just as much to show people not of those demographics the inner life of characters who are

You do not need to like a character as a person to find them interesting or well-written/acted.

and i feel a lot of weirdness towards Taash coming from people who are nb or queer themselves lands in those categories.

[whatshehassaid]

The fact that they keep bringing in characters that are from later in the books (Bruce, Dr. Fareed, Raglan James) makes me think Dubai is farther along in the books than we realize. I feel like some stuff (akasha) hasn’t happened yet… but finding Claudia’s diary in New Orleans, and Louis being suicidal etc are from later in the book series. Has parts of Merrick already happened? Louis said in season 1 that he hadn’t killed since the year 2000. The book Merrick was released in 2000. Armand (as Rashid) “You’re chronicling a suicide.” The fact that they even HAVE Claudia’s diaries in the first place is farther along in the books.

Now why bring Raglan James in so early? I already have a feeling they aren’t bringing David in (they didn’t for Mayfair Witches and he was a big part of that) so why Raglan James SPECIFICALLY? Why not just some random Talamasca member? They’re trying to hint at what’s to come. Daniel being in his 70s and not having David in Mayfair Witches (or IWTV I’m assuming cause it wouldn’t make sense to have David in one but not the other) makes me think they’ve merged Daniel and David into one character.

If you know anything about what happens to David in Tale of the Body Thief you’ll understand where I’m going with this - I’ll put a spoiler warning for the books here.

At the end of Tale of the Body Thief, David gets a new body and Lestat changes him into a vampire without his consent.

If Daniel and David ARE being merged into one character (which makes sense considering David is the one who listens to Armand’s story in The Vampire Armand and the fact David was a main character in the Mayfair Witches book series but was merged with Rowan’s love interest to make Ciprien in the TV adaptation) then that means that something similar could happen to Daniel.

Armand in the books (after 10-12 years of a romantic - albeit it started off fucked up - relationship which includes Daniel being addicted to Armand’s blood and a mutual obsession between the two of them and then they fall in love) turns Daniel in 1985 I think the same night of Lestat’s concert and the awakening of Akasha if I’m remembering correctly. In the TV adaptation since the San Fransisco interview already happened that also means (quite obviously from the new promo) that Devils Minion already happened. Which means young Daniel tried everything on Earth to get Armand to change him into a Vampire. Probably bringing himself super close to death because he wanted to be with Armand forever. Armand has a major trauma from Marius (grooming, child slavery, sex slavery- but also Marius telling him over and over that every fledgling grows to hate their maker- lol ok dude, you literally groomed your first two fledglings from childhood and abandoned them both but yeah, that must be a every maker and fledgling thing). It affects Armand to the point that he vows never to turn ANYONE into a Vampire EVER. But then he meets Daniel and falls in love with him and can’t stand the thought of existing without him. So he turns him.

It seems like Armand in the show didn’t truly believe Daniel loved him. (They have a really wild relationship where Daniel will run away and come back begging for him back and Armand welcoming him with open arms over and over until Daniel finally accepts that he’s in love with Armand too). But Daniel DID love him. Just as much as Armand loved (and STILL loves- because he always will) Daniel. So instead of watching him be chronically suicidal and trying everything to get Armand to turn him he wiped Daniel’s memories thinking they wouldn’t come back. Thinking Daniel could live a normal human life without him.

From what I can see of the preview it seems like Armand and Louis had broken up long ago. Most likely after the first interview in the 70s (I’m pretty sure it’s similar in the book - Louis ends up leaving Armand once Armand tells him Lestat is still alive and he didn’t die in the theatre fire). Hence, Armand saying “I know where he is.” in the promo for 2x05.

That’s when Daniel and Armand fully happen. But in the show instead of turning Daniel he wipes his memories and tries to let him live a normal life because he loves him.

Now Lestat and Louis break up and get back together like ten fucking times in the books and Louis when he isn’t with Lestat always goes off alone or he goes to Armand. Lestat and Armand eventually come to love each other and have a mutual understanding and respect for one another - it takes a while, believe me. Lestat KNOWS he can trust Armand with Louis. That Armand loves Louis too.

What I’m thinking is going on… is some of the events of Merrick have already happened where Louis seeks out Claudia’s diaries and her spirit to try to bring peace to himself. Instead it makes it MUCH MUCH worse. To the point that Louis goes forward with killing himself by burning himself to ashes (Lestat does bring him back don’t worry). But since I think the full Akasha storyline hasn’t happened yet I feel like humans would’ve noticed that (hence the great conversion cause she ends up killing like 90% of the Vamp population…) I think what is actually happening is Louis is trying to kill himself. He’s actively trying by getting Daniel to write this book for vampires to come after him and kill him (hence the “you’re chronicling a suicide”). His depression and despair is getting worse and worse as season 2 goes on, outwardly crying to Daniel thanking him for helping him remember.

I’m not sure if Louis in Dubai knows that Lestat is alive… he certainly doesn’t during the first interview.

Armand is a complicated character and he means well (yes he does do some fucked up shit in the books- some to do with Claudia- I don’t know if they’ll have THAT part in the show). But Armand does love Louis. He feels guilt for what happened with Claudia and he will do ANYTHING to make it up to Louis. To the point of letting Louis walk all over him (he’s had a fucked up human life and vampire life, let my boy live). I have a feeling, since Lestat’s lawyer in Paris mentioned it to Louis that Lestat has gone to sleep. They do that sometimes. Bury themselves underground and sleep- sometimes for decades. If that is the case I’m not exactly sure what happened between them for Lestat to do that but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

What I think happened after the first interview? Armand was trying to protect Louis from himself. There are obvious signs of schizophrenia in Louis and they’ve been hinting at it since season one with the Paul/Bird symbolism. Louis has blackouts. He’s had them even before he and Claudia tried to kill Lestat- that’s why I think we’re getting a revisit to the fight in 1x05 and to Claudia’s turning into a vampire. Either that or we are going to get it from Lestat himself at the trial in Paris (cause yes, the real Lestat is there).

Armand was not lying when he said he protects Louis from himself. That Louis acts out sometimes. The photos of all the men I believe some of them are Louis’ victims from his blackouts. We’ve already seen a glimpse of one incident in season 2 with the man in the park and Louis leaving his dead body there. Armand has suppressed Louis’ memories of what happened in Paris. What happened with Claudia. Probably half because he doesn’t want Louis to run off without Lestat able to care for him and partly because he’s trying to prevent Louis from hurting more people viciously and then going into a guilt spiral.

Louis did know what happened to Claudia at one point… but I think it was making him so suicidal that maybe Armand and Lestat together decided it was best to have his memories suppressed so that he wouldn’t hurt himself. But now? Now Lestat is god knows where and Armand is barely holding onto control. Louis is lashing out at him. He’s lashing out at Daniel. The memories are flooding back and Louis is slowly remembering… not just what happened to Claudia… not just what Armand did… but the probably hundreds or thousands of gruesome deaths he’s caused during his blackout episodes. Including the blackout episode he had with Daniel in 1973.

Now speaking of 1973, Armand was trying even then to keep Louis’ schizophrenia and blackouts at bay. He was suppressing memories that triggered Louis - half because he didn’t want to lose Louis but I also think he genuinely was doing it for Louis’ own sanity. But then Louis goes seeking out someone who will let him speak about it and help bring those memories back - Daniel.

Armand may just think Daniel is another fuck and run, I have a feeling ever since Paris - even though Louis barely remembers it - honestly, probably before then going by the fuckboi tendencies Louis was displaying toward Armand in the last episode, he probably fucks around a lot and Armand lets him. Mostly because he’s trying desperately to make it up to Louis. As I said, he’s desperate to make it up to Louis.

So Armand says okay fine, have your fun. And Louis goes with Daniel. But what Armand DOESN’T know is that Louis isn’t going with Daniel for (or JUST for) sex. He wants him to help him remember. That’s the WHOLE POINT of the interview. Armand doesn’t know about it. The first interview happens…. And then? Daniel pisses Louis off. He triggers him off by asking him to turn him. And Louis blacks out and attacks.

Armand shows up mid attack to find Louis with the boy he spent ALL NIGHT WITH doing GOD KNOWS WHAT and he immediately thinks Louis is trying to replace him with someone else. He gets jealous. Again, he doesn’t know about the interview yet.

Louis blacked out and by that time its morning. Armand probably walked in on him (trying to be like - you’re going to get hurt if you don’t find a safe spot it’s morning!) feeding on Daniel and being burned through the sunlight coming in the window. Armand has jealousy issues. I can’t blame the guy he has a huge amount of abandonment issues and being hurt… so of course he immediately jumps to why is Louis spending all night with this boy? What is so special about this boy that he’ll spend time with him all night but he won’t even look at me the same anymore (since Claudia).

Louis has to hide from the sun… And that’s when Armand jealously curious about this human boy and why Louis is apparently so open with him from what he seen at the bar. He tries to get inside Daniel’s head. “Is that what makes you so FASCINATING?” “Leave him be Armand!”

At some point - with all this mind fuckery which of course is essentially torture and poor Daniel is probably half horny half scared to death - iykyk - Armand sees the tape. He plays it. This isn’t about the boy at all. It’s about LESTAT.

It’s always been about Lestat.

Upset (and rightly so - imagine being with someone for that long thinking they loved you and meanwhile they were still pining for their ex) he has a bit of a meltdown…. And when he calms down enough… he’s defeated and tells Louis the truth. That Lestat is alive and “I know where he is.”

Now… Armand… who is a stickler for the vampire laws… knows he’s tortured this boy… knows this boy can’t living knowing that vampires exist. Because he’s seen into his head he knows there’s pain there. Daniel is an addict for a reason though I don’t think Armand knows the reason at that point… but since he knows the boy MUST DIE because you cannot tell a human about vampires and let them live… he offers him a peaceful death. “I’m the quiet you’ve been longing for”

Daniel agrees. The kid is tired, he probably has childhood trauma hence the drug addiction. He was just attacked by one Vampire and tortured by the other.

Armand starts to drain him… and then?

I think Armand sees himself in Daniel. Whatever it is (I’m not 100% sure - maybe abuse of some kind) stops Armand from killing him. He’s found someone who understands.

He gets Louis (partly burned from the sun) to help him carry Daniel out. Not sure if they take him to a hospital or where they take him but afterwards Louis leaves Armand and goes looking for Lestat.

That’s when Devils Minion happens.

Armand and Daniel somehow fall in love. And a decade later he has to wipe Daniel’s memories because Daniel will not stop until he’s either dead literally or a vampire so he can be with Armand. Or so he says, Armand thinks.

Now fast forward and we have Louis self destructing. Armand trying to hold the pieces together… Louis brings Daniel in not remembering he almost killed the guy and thinking, “Well he can help me get these memories back… i know he’s Armand’s ex and he (Daniel) is missing memories too. maybe if I get his memories back we can help each other”

That’s why Louis keeps bringing things up. Daniel’s mind has filled in a decade of his life with a wife and daughter that probably don’t even exist. (I know, I know Alice is Armand theory… but the farther we get the more it makes sense). Louis is PURPOSEFULLY triggering memories to come back in Daniel so he can help HIM remember too. Armand (until last episode I think) was so focused on keeping Louis together and trying to protect him that he doesn’t even realize that Daniel is remembering him.

Until 2x04.

Daniel brings up the fire.

Armand tries to read his mind to see where he got the information from.

And he sees a flash of himself watching TV in the 70s. And that’s when he realizes Daniel DID love him. If Daniel didn’t why would he be getting flashes of Armand. Not of Louis and the first interview… not of Louis attacking him… no, he’s getting flashes of Armand.

Then he remembers that he suppressed Louis’ memory of everything to do with Claudia’s death (Louis’ main trigger). Louis confused: “the fire?”

As Daniel’s memories come back… so do Louis’. However the more Louis remembers the more unstable he’ll become. I think at a certain point when he remembers everything the suicidal part of him with reach a climax… he’ll snap. Blackout with Daniel in a parallel of what happened in 1973. And Armand is going to have no choice but to save Daniel. I feel like Lestat will sense this happening and I feel like it’ll be the PERFECT segue for present time Lestat. Now will Daniel be hurt badly? I’m not sure. Will Armand have no choice but to change him because Louis hurt him too much, maybe tried to drain him to “get back” at Armand after realizing what was happening?

Is that why Jacob is scared we may hate Louis by the end of the season? I feel like if it was just Louis trying to walk into the sun that comment wouldn’t make sense.

If he tries to hurt Daniel though…..

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

Chipped Nails

Pairing: Dude Ranch Era!Tom Delonge x Fem!Reader

A/N: I’ve never written for a real person before and now just characters so it was definitely new! Please lmk if you think I wrote Tom badly - other fics I’ve seen write their whole personality as ‘haha 2000s skater boy make sex joke’ which I get but I don’t love. Like they’re real people even with their childishness. I have a part two coming to this and more blink stuff!

Summary: Y/N won’t let Tom go out with his nail polish chipped while Tom struggles to keep his feelings under wraps! Read part 2 here

Tom could hear the sound of the hairdryer going in Y/N’s room, catching a glimpse of her shadow moving around through the crack in the door. He laid on her bed, throwing a ball up and down in the air as he waited for his friend to get ready.

“The guys will be here soon you know?” he whined, kicking his feet off the end of the bed as he threw the ball higher, almost dropping it on his face when he looked up at the sound of the door opening.

“Would you stop complaining,” Y/N laughed at her friend, as she made her way to her vanity to do her makeup, dumping her products on the table and sitting down, “I’ve literally taken 5 seconds.”

“Ugh that’s too long,” Tom cries out exasperated, waving one hand around as the other keeps throwing the ball higher and higher each time.

“Damn remind me never to sleep with you then,” she laughs, turning around to look at Tom who’s face has gone bright red at his friend mentioning sleeping with him. Regardless of the thick layer of sarcasm Tom can’t help the flustered feeling that seeps into his chest at the mere mention of sex coming from Y/N. The butterflies that start to spasm in his stomach are by no means a new development in their friendship, they’ve been happening for years now, seeming to get both more intense as more impossible to act on as the years go on.

It’s been like this for as long as they’ve known each other, Tom’s been infatuated with Y/N since he first saw her, but as he found himself getting to know her more and becoming closer friends, he found himself completely lost as to how to get those feelings out of him.

Mark talked him out of his depressive rambles of how deep in the friend zone a while ago, but even as his 18-year-old angst passes for his slightly less cliché 21-year-old angst, he just can’t bring himself to say anything.

As he finds his mind wandering he brings his hand up subconsciously and starts twisting his lip piercing around, too in his own head to notice Y/N’s dreamy gaze locked on his face until he puts his hand up and she gags.

“Ew Tom,” she sits down on the bed in front of him and grabs his hand, “your nail polish is gross!”

Tom pulls his hand away in a vain attempt to dampen the heat he feels rushing to his cheeks again, “dude what the fuck? They look fine.”

“They’re chipped as fuck,” Y/N laughs, taking his hand again gently, “how do you plan on getting the girls with chipped nails Tommy?” She scolds playfully, eyebrow raised.

“The girls don’t care what they look like,” Tom smirks as he holds his hand up and wiggles his fingers, “just how they feel.”

She lets out a noise of shock, pushing his shoulder as he flops back onto the bed, “that’s gross! You kiss your mother with that mouth do you?”

He leans up on his arm to look at her, shaking his head, “nah, just yours.”

“Wow Tom. Such a charmer you are, remind me again why you don’t have a girlfriend” she rolls her eyes smiling at him, grabbing his arm to pull him back up again and closer to her, “come on then gimme your hand.”

She leans over to her vanity and grabs a bottle of black nail polish, opening it and placing the bottle in one of Tom’s hand as she holds the other. As she begins to paint his nails Tom stares in awe at his friend. His heart races at the feeling of her hand in his, soft and small compared to his large, calloused hand, his skin tingles where her fingers are each time she pulls away to move his hand slightly.

She looks so beautiful like this, hair falling in front of her face as she leans over slightly to look down at his hands; he imagines pushing it back behind her ear, letting his hand linger on her cheek as he leans in to kiss her. She’s got the prettiest lips, painted in lipstick that he so badly wants to let her leave all over his everywhere.

He’s got it bad, he knows that, but for the first time since they’ve met he wants to do something about it. Feeling bold, he moves his hand to hold hers, making her stop and look up at him through her hair.

He goes to say something but can’t, nothing charming or smooth or even stupid is coming to mind as he stares blankly at her lips. He feels her hand squeeze down on his gently as her eyes flutter closed almost in slow-motion, and together they’re leaning in.

“HEY HO! LETS GO!” violently shakes the pair from their moment as Y/N gets up startled and fumbles around on the bed to find her phone where the ringtone is blasting from, hands shaking as she tries to act casually.

“Hey hoe,” Mark’s voice sounds at the other end of the phone, Y/N barely hearing it over the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, “what the fuck are you guys doing? We’ve been calling you both for ages.”

“Ya’ll really have a warped perception of ages,” she mumbles bending down to put on her shoes as she puts the phone on speaker, “we were just getting ready.”

“Y/N was just doing my nails,” Tom yells as he grabs his jacket and quickly walks towards the door, “can’t be jacking you off without a fresh mani can I?”

[jadeyarts]

two years ago i drew art to ... "celebrate" (if you can call it that) the release of fairly odder, and i was asked this question:

truth was i hadn't actually watched it so i couldn't actually answer the question fairly. but now that i've actually watched it: apparently, yeah.

i wouldn't call it a masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination - it's a relatively mundane nickcom that just happens to feature cosmo and wanda. its not as funny as drake and josh or icarly, but not as terrible as sam and kat or... the... superhero nickcom? i definitely like it much better than i liked victorious. and i do think it's a lot more creative than it was initially given credit for when it first released. it doesn't come across as trying to devalue animation as a medium but rather an experiment in blending the two mediums. though the 2d animation in the series is a little wonk when it's more than just cosmo and wanda.

some jokes are really, really miss for me - but a lot do make me laugh. the acting is decent - they're certainly no emmy or oscar winners with these performances. but i really do think they're fine. campy and hammy and perfect for a nickcom. if this had come out around in the early 2000s, 2010s maybe, i could see it doing well - doing better than it did in 2022, at least. it's absurd in all the ways i personally find entertaining in a series. despite everything i see wrong with it and the ways i think it's not good, i'm liking it.

i love the way the plot is introduced adds to timmy's character - emphasizing that empathy and kindness he's always shown in the original series that i loved so much. that he wanted cosmo and wanda to look after his younger cousin he knew would struggle to adjust to a new environment, with her entire life being flipped upside down - wanting them to comfort her and be there for her during this period of her life... it reminds me why i've always loved timmy so much as a character. i love that they establish he's still a good-hearted person.

yes, timmy suddenly having a cousin is a little jarring but i always found it unrealistic that he didn't have any in the original series when he's meant to be an average kid - the average kid has a ton of cousins! - so i think her existence is a good call! sure, i wouldnt call viv or roy (viv maybe, roy definitely not) miserable enough to really need fairies the way timmy ever did, or the way chloe did, but honestly at that point i genuinely believe jorgen would be willing to let the family do what they want as long as they otherwise followed da rules and stayed out of his way. and i like the idea that cosmo and wanda can be godparents in ways that aren't the norm for other godparents anyway.

i'm also liking most of the new characters introduced in fairly odder and i could easily see them fitting into the original series! rachel and zina in particular make me laugh out loud. when they're not making weird jokes about zina's obsession with roy's scent, she cracks me up. i like the way she is confident and charismatic but also a huge obsessive weirdo, but mostly not in a way that made me uncomfortable like tootie. her back and forth with roy is actually entertaining and if she ever actually got together with him i don't think i'd mind at all. in fact maybe i'd even be a fan?

and i like how absolutely inconsiderate and uncaring and truly sick in the head rachel is - she is a bitch in the most literal sense. she barks at people. ty seems a little more considerate considering he realizes he was impulsive and should have told viv about what was going on then apologizes. but rachel is dramatic, describes herself as nuts, and selfish. she's mostly not making much of an effort to bond with viv - it's not like shes a horrible stepmother or anything, she clearly doesn't dislike viv and treats her decently. she's not antagonizing her or going out of her way to be horrible to her - but she is also nuts and rude. and she barks at people constantly. she's fucking weird and self-absorbed and i love her so much.

and roy - i love the way he mirrors timmy's character as someone who is self absorbed and tactless, irresponsible and impulsive... but ultimately extremely caring and loving. he's easy going, and easily accepts the unexpected and strange. the difference is he's exactly as popular as i think timmy realistically would have been, being a charismatic and natural leader. he's not as quick thinking and cunning as i think timmy is, but viv kind of makes up for it, i think.

viv is... a little more... normal than i was hoping for. she's fine, and i think she makes a decent foil for roy in that respect. much like i think chloe made the perfect foil for timmy. but i kind of hoped that viv's neurotic social-awkwardness and people-pleasing would be more exaggerated like chloe's was. not in the same ways, of course, it'd be boring to have an exact duplicate of chloe when roy isn't even an exact duplicate of timmy per say. but i just feel like viv was far more normal than timmy and wanda's conversation about viv being a mess lead me to believe she would be. and while i like the idea that it's cosmo and wanda's influence that helped bring her out of her shell and helped her adjust to dimmsdale, i do wish it could have been shown more.

with their parents' love of dancing and highly dramatic demeanors, combined with the characterization for their children, the whole family kind of has the vibes of a remix of early series timmy's parents, chloe, and timmy - even being in a family set-up similar to what i personally wanted to happen with timmy and chloe - but despite their similarities theyre also different enough to stand apart! i can see them being family because they're similar without being carbon copies. it's fun for me, personally, because exploring extended and blended families and the ways they can be similar and different is something that i like.

i also liked nate buxaplenty! i never liked remy, but nate was funny.

the only real objection i have is the subplot where vicky has a thing for crocker. though i guess honestly thats just because i personally always headcanoned crocker as her uncle but that's not canon so thats not really substantial grounds. the fact theres an age gap would really only be terrible if crocker actually reciprocated but he doesn't so it's weird, but honestly fine. my second instinct is to say it devalues her as a character but she had weird taste in men in the original series and she was repeatedly shown to be exactly like that when infatuated so it fits her character. i still don't like it... but its fine. could do without, though.

[frankenmouse]

Just saw a post about the college graduation rate for folks with ADHD, with the % graduation rate estimated at 5% and a research article with the same figure linked. The post was focused on how that reflects a failure of institutions, not of individuals and I wasn't about to derail the conversation on that post because it is absolutely an accurate point.

However

I do think that statistics like that sometimes discourage disabled folks. People think, "Then why try if my chance of success is so low?"

So I wanted to provide some context for interpreting that number.

TL; DR - The 5% (8%) figure comes from studies that do not have a modern sample and whose participants were likely predominantly white, male, academically impaired, and untreated

This number is cited based on studies headed and/or compiled by the same first author. I believe the 5% figure comes from a study reported as a chapter in an edited book. Full disclosure: I was unable to read the full text of the book and can only evaluate it based on the selections of the text available through Google Books. However, that gave me enough information to immediately identify some things that folks should know about how/where that number was arrived at.

However, another article by the same author was also cited as containing the 5% figure. It does not. The figure that paper reports is 8% (and I'll be talking about that number as well). So we already have a misrepresentation of research going on here.

So the first piece of context you need? Is when the 5% figure came from. What I mean is, during what time period was the data that gives the 5%/8% graduation figures were collected

In the case of the book, it was published in 2016. HOWEVER, the studies reported are longitudinal studies. That means the original cohorts for the studies were recruited and followed for years if not decades. At least one study in the book is reporting on cohorts that were initially recruited as early as the fucking 1970s. As for the article, the latest possible date that the participants could have been recruited from is the year 2000, as the figures reported on come from a 16-year follow-up study (i.e., the participants were recruited in 2000, followed for 16 years, the data was collected and reported on in 2017) but likely several years earlier. Participants' age at recruitment was 12, meaning they would have been college freshmen around the year 2008.

Needless to say, the outcomes for people with ADHD who went through college over a decade ago are likely VERY different from the outcomes for people with ADHD going to college now. There are significantly more support systems, people are getting better treatment, etc.

Additionally, since the people in the studies were recruited as children, it means that 1) they had to be diagnosed as children and 2) their parents had to agree to involve their kids in a decades long research study. This means we have a pretty significant selection bias going on.

Again, remember when these kids were initially recruited. We know diagnosis rates for ADHD have substantially increased in recent years as screening has improved and we've gotten better at diagnosing ADHD in people who are 1) female, 2) non-white, and 3) are getting acceptable grades. And that means that the kids recruited for these studies are going to be predominantly male, white, and struggling academically. This is especially true for the earliest studies, but even for the article published in 2017. I find it very suspicious that the 2017 article doesn't report the sex or race/ethnicity of the participants.

This means that these figures were almost certainly based on white boys with significant academic (and possibly other behavioral) impairments.

We've also got some other "interesting" things going on with the 2017 article. The 8% figure comes from a subgroup of people whose ADHD symptoms "persisted," defined as people who continued having severe symptoms due to ADHD. Almost 50% of the people identified as having ADHD at the beginning of the study were later evaluated to have "symptom desistence," i.e., significantly reduced symptoms of ADHD, and were not included in the analyses that ended with the 8% figure. In fact, the statistics for the people whose symptoms desisted are pretty significantly different from those whose symptoms persisted. Among the ADHD desisters, 17.8% received a college degree, over double the rate of the ADHD persisters.

You know whose ADHD symptoms are significantly reduced? People who are treated. The 2017 article strongly implies that for people who received treatment (which was not measured) the graduation rate was 17.8% (which again has to be assessed in relation to the other contextual information of dates of college attendance and sample bias).

TL; DR - The 5% (8%) figures come from studies that do not have a modern sample and whose participants are likely predominantly white, male, academically impaired, and untreated.

So...not at all accurate for all or even most of the young people with ADHD who are exposed to this figure.

Statistics like this are very useful for giving us information on how (some) folks with ADHD did within historical structures and contexts. They are at least in part why people have gotten a lot louder about demanding accommodations and accommodations have become significantly more accessible and widespread (I teach in a college environment and at least a few of my students in every class have some kind of accommodation for testing). We still have a long way to go, but showing that there was a problem is what gets us policy to improve the future.

However, statistics MUST be reported with the correct context. It isn't good or helpful to shout at today's young people with ADHD that they only have a 5% chance of graduating college. First off it isn't accurate and secondly it may discourage people from trying to attend college or from seeking out accommodations that would support them in a college environment.

I would STRONGLY recommend that any young person with ADHD who thinks they would like to go to college get in contact with a college's current students, disability offices, and professors. That will give you a significantly more accurate understanding of what your experience at a given school will be like than a statistic.

With great affection,

An ADHD-er with a PhD and ADHD-er colleagues

Links to the books and articles referenced:

Hechtman, L. (Ed.). (2016). Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder: Adult outcome and its predictors. Oxford University Press

Hechtman, L., Swanson, J. M., Sibley, M. H., et al. (2016). Functional Adult Outcomes 16 Years After Childhood Diagnosis of Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder: MTA Results. Journal of the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, 55(11), 945–952.e2. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jaac.2016.07.774 (Open Access)

[fatness-galore]

Beginning as someone with ideal figure, you finally decide to let go and enjoy life for one summer.

Eating out, drinking, partying, you’re constantly out there somewhere, having fun, actually enjoying yourself. It’s not long before you realise how much you enjoy not caring at all, at first you may go out a few times per week, spending the other times gardening or working out. In time though you get lazy, why bother with all the extra fuss? You just start waking up eating breakfast, laying down and then going straight to the parties where you drink and eat like there’s no tomorrow, getting back home, only to be pummled in your pussy.

Soon you’ll start showing a bit of pudge in your waist area, not enough to warrant a change of wardrobe, but the sensation turns you on, it’s just… so hot. You feel the tightness of your dress against your now bigger belly, and with every bite, it just gets tighter. You become hooked feeling your pussy wet just from thinking about food. You now have only one thing on your mind. Waking up you gobble up a large plate of over 3000 calories in fatty buttered up pancakes with syrup and a huge 3000 calorie gainer shake on the side. You eat it all up, like the greedy pig you are, ruining your dress you went to sleep in last night, because why bother changing? You’re not going outside now. You get on your sofa waddling your swollen belly onto it, feeling the dress cling onto your body with every little step. It’s risen up now, barely hiding away your growing ass. Laying down you turn on a game, hardly having enough power in you to hold the controller, but more than enough power to order a small “snack” of 5000 calories worth of McDonald’s and over 2000 calories of pure fatty chips. Eating away at your meal, you feel like bursting, but it just - it feels so good… You gobble up the fatty food, enjoying every moment of the sauce dripping down your now bigger than before chin and your fatty large tits. You want even more, you’re not satiated, ordering a large bucket of 2000 calories of KFC just to make sure you’re not hungry for the evening. As you put in the last wing- it pops, the threads bursting open, revealing a large swollen belly hard to the touch. It’s so, so round. You love the feeling of it, but what now? How will you go to the party? It’s no use now, as you call over your friend to come to your house. Why bother going to the party when it can come to you?

As he comes over he sees what a mess you are. Your belly hard as a rock, protruding out over 30 cm away from your waist, and as he comes, he hears you say- “I’m hungry”. He comes closer and massages you, making sure you’re well adjusted, as he pours down another gainer shake into you. As he fills you up with pure calories, he makes sure to fill your pussy up with pure pleasure.

This… this is what you want, you want to be a praised, fed and fucked pig, a huge lard of meat to be taken care of. Months go by and you gain more and more pounds, eating away at more and more food. As you grow your belly becomes jigglier, your boobs bouncier, and your fat spills over your horny pussy. You now jiggle with every step, having difficulty getting from bed to the fridge, as your belly touches your sensitive skin on your tights, your love handles spill over every pair of sweats, and your double chin hiding your before slim neck. You want to be fed more, you want to be fucked and stuffed to the brim, now eating ten times as much as you did just a month ago, you fat 300lb pig.

You enjoy this don’t you? Open up.

[harlequinj94]

Language in Fortuna

Way too much of my time has been spent wondering why the fuck Fortuna has Latin, French, and Italian words all over the place, and my mind eventually settled on “because Corsica is also a place that exists in the real world, so why the fuck not”. So that’s what the Fortunan language is heavily based off of now. There’s still the fact that modern, standardized versions of French and Italian are also present on the island. And then we have to assume they speak English too in some capacity because foreigners.

So now we have this, my awful attempt at justifying these decisions through the power of worldbuilding, wiki deep-diving, and being a linguistics nerd! This is in order of more or less how I expect the language evolution to go. Please keep in mind that I am in no way a language/linguistic expert so please be nice.

Starting off with the first language of the island, Old Fortunan

The real-world analogy here is Corsican because in order to incorporate a language that includes Latin, Italian, and French words, Fortunan pretty much has to be a Romance language.

So basically, Fortuna had its own Vulgar Latin-based language during the time Sparda lived there. It’s actually the first human language he learned and spoke fluently.

Given that this was around 2000 years ago, it was probably still more Latin-sounding than it currently is. I have also decided that this was when a lot of the natural landmarks and locations were named (i.e.: Lamia Peak, Port Caerula, etc.)

A lot of old writings are written in either Old Fortunan or Latin. All of Sparda’s writings are written in Old Fortunan which is something he kept up after leaving, even if he did eventually learn other languages.

Fun fact: Vergil learns Fortunan this way! When he was young and Sparda was still alive, he would have his father read him journals of his old adventures and the places he’d been. Vergil eventually retrieved these books when he started his quest for obtaining Sparda’s power and studied the language from them so he could go to Fortuna and get more information. He was a little sad when he realized the language modernized.

Nero and Sera are shocked as shit when Vergil opens his mouth and starts speaking to them all “Shakespearean-like” one day and quickly start ribbing him for it because he sounds like he’s 800 years old.

Similar to Vulgar Latin, Old Fortunan was never the language of the educated, but it was the language that was spoken so it eventually got standardized enough to have a written version, but spelling is not super consistent. The educated counterpart was Latin, which also served as the official language of the church at the time.

While no one speaks Old Fortunan anymore, it’s still understood in the way that Shakespearean English is to present-day English speakers. This is because Old Fortunan is basically Modern Fortunan without the Italian and French influence so core vocabulary and grammar are the same.

Modern Fortunan

The official language of the island and Order of the Sword.

Naturally evolved from Old Fortunan with occasional Italian influence. Fortuna really only had one invasion attempt on it and was super late in the island’s history so there was next to no effect on the language.

The spelling got standardized; there’s an ongoing debate about whether it’s worth trying to rewrite some old historical text with modern orthography. It wasn’t a huge priority of the Order (because things were constantly being rewritten), but the topic came up again as part of the reconstruction and revitalization.

Vergil is actually super useful in this regard because he’s used to reading Sparda’s old writings (which were already written pre-standardization and may as well be the Wild West when it comes to spelling) so he can breeze through anything as long as it’s legible.

Italian

Italy is the closest mainland country to Fortuna and people have always emigrated from there so there’s a ton of overlap with the languages.

In fact, Italian is mutually intelligible with Fortunan, so a lot of visitors who speak it have an easy time talking to locals. As a result, Italian-speaking foreigners are usually treated a lot better.

This is the language foreigners are recommended to learn if they want to visit even though it’s not as necessary as before.

It’s very much spoken only; the language is not used in any official capacity and never was. However, it is found on some occasional signage in the more touristy areas like the docks and nearby shops.

French

The presence of French on Fortuna is funny in that it exists in church settings only and most of the population pretends it’s not there.

The story goes that a long time ago (we’ll say the early 1700s), some French-speaking missionaries heard of the island of literal devil worshippers and tried to come over and convert them to Catholicism. It didn’t work, not even a little bit.

However, the Order of the Sword liked how the missionaries conducted Mass and adopted that and just replaced all references to God and Jesus with Sparda similar to the practices of the actual Catholic church ironically. So that’s why everything about the religion screams “Catholic” even though it by all rights shouldn’t be.

France later tried to come back with soldiers under the guise of “the island barbarians perverted the word and rites of God”, but soon realized that the Order of the Sword was a) more militantly competent than expected and b) 100% willing to lead the enemy straight to the hell gates that occasionally pop up on the island and let the demons have them and c) dubious scientific practices were a thing even back then and no Fortunans complained as long as it was enemy POWs that went missing.

There was a period when the aristocratic families tried to adopt the language as a way of differentiating themselves from the lower class, but again, it didn’t stick. (It lasted maybe one generation, but definitely not two) The only remnant of this is nobles occasionally having names taken from liturgical rites  (i.e.: Kyrie, Credo)

Foreigners also adopt church names upon being baptized into the Order because it’s usually easier than trying to figure out their name’s equivalent in Fortunan (i.e.: Agnus, Gloria)

English

English is also here because suddenly that’s what all the new foreigners were speaking.

It only came to the island within the last 100 years so really only the young people can speak it competently. Older folks don’t bother.

Foreigners who plan on immigrating are expected to drop English. Like, you cannot fully be considered a Fortunan until you stop using it.

This mentality kicks in if you’ve been on the island longer than two weeks generally. If the locals consistently see you around and it doesn’t look like you’re leaving soon, they’re not speaking English to you anymore. The nice ones may start using Italian but English is done.

Nico is subjected to this really hard, especially once her relationship with Agnus becomes known (also her name throws people off and they assume she’s Italian speaking anyway)

Speaking of Agnus, he came to the island knowing both French and Italian which gave him a huge in with the Order.

Lady was also subjected to this really hard back during her investigation into the Order pre-DMC4 which is one of the reasons why she had Dante take over. She stuck around too long and the locals just stopped speaking to her in English and she didn’t speak or understand Italian well enough at the time to continue.

[theultimatekamehamehavoc]

Trigger Happy Havoc Spoilers Ahead! This One's a Doozey, Folks:

Sometimes, I like to remind myself that the first Danganronpa game was made in the 2010s. And, as of recently, I've been thinking about how, in the early 2000's to the 2010's, a lot of animated movies ended with those goofy ass dance party sequences. Some movies were able to make it work. Think the first Shrek movie or Megamind in the good example department and like, the Emoji Movie as a bad one. And, I dunno why a part of my brain has been trying to converge these two concepts together but it's happening now and I must divulge in this. NOW! My main hypothesis on why I keep thinking this up in my head is just that it's so sad. Not in a depressing way, just in like... the image is just funny sad. Cus, in those dance party endings in those 2000's flicks, they have the whole ensemble cast coming together, dancing away. Even the villains are joining in if they're still alive at the end. The music is something upbeat and corny too. So imagining that but with 6 depressed young adults after Junko just killed herself is just hilariously pitiful. And like, even if one brought all the ghosts of their dead classmates back to boogie it down with the survivors, like, there's only so much one can do before it just gets even sadder. The ghosts can't just stay there forever! The survivors also can't just dance away their sorrows all day long. They got shit to do! There's also the question of what dances they'd be dancing? The freaking macarena? Harlem shake? All while Junko's rotting corpse lies in the background?! And like, a part of me feels a little mean for laughing but it's just so goofy. I can't keep thinking about this borderline shower thought now. Another thing I wanna mention is just the vibe of it all. Not just that there's only 6 of them but it's like that scene of Emo Peter dancing in Spiderman 3 but with the music edited out, making it all just so awkward and goofy. Like, this is what this idea channels in my head. And it is VERY apparent that all of them aren't at the same rhythm or giving it that much effort. Like, Byakuya is SO not dancing, Makoto probably looks like a shuffling middle-aged man, Hiro isn't fairing any better. He probably just naturally dances like a man in his forties in general. Kyoko... I don't even know about her and her dancing skills but she is SO not okay. Like, it's only been so long since she learned that her dad's fucking dead. Doesn't matter how rocky their relationship was. That's gotta sting still. Also, I don't even KNOW if Toko can dance but I'm leaning towards a no, not that she'd be dancing anyway. Feel she'd be in the side lines with Byakuya. And Aoi? I have no clue either. Chapter 4 wasn't that long ago though so there's that to consider. I hope this vision is vision-ing by the way with this. It's so stupid, I swear, but I'm oddly enamored now.