#I just can’t imagine a world without them

[piastrisun]

next in line.

pairings: lando norris + verstappen female reader.

summary: your brother announces his first baby, suddenly everyone’s eyes are on you. the teasing starts as harmless fun, but life has other plans.

faceclaim: lila moss.⠀warning: none.

request: for a smau idea, can you do verstappen!reader that just found out that her brother's gonna be a dad and is just excited maybe a reader x lando? and the grid teases her telling her she's next?

notes: so so happy for max, i’m sure he’s gonna be an amazing dad. and to make clear, i do not support kelly’s actions but i respect her as max’s partner and mother of their kid. also, i’m really sorry this took so long, i didn’t had my laptop :( but i do now!

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and others

ynverstappen i’m going to be an aunt, AGAIN!!! congratulations to the best brother in the world and my sister-in-law for blessing us with a tiny human. can’t wait to meet my future favourite little one. 🤍

tagged maxverstappen1

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username this got me thinking she was expecting as well, the GASP i let out 💀

maxverstappen1 best brother in the world? finally getting the recognition i deserve

username the fact he commented this first, so unserious 😭😭

username1 i was so moved by the caption and now i’m laughing

maxverstappen1 ik houd van je, kleine zus!!! (i love you, little sister)

ynverstappen ik hou altijd van je, you’re going to be an amazing dad!! (i love you too)

username2 FAVES

username3 my most parasocial relationship are them because i feel like they’re my cousins

kellypiquet thank you!! 🥹 baby can’t wait to meet their favourite aunt

ynverstappen stop it i’ll cry

username they’re so sweet with each other

username4 OMG congrats to your family!!! can’t wait to see the cutest baby pics

landonorris i’m next in line to become an uncle

ynverstappen i hope you’re ready for all the babysitting we’ll be doing!!

username5 wait... does this mean lando and yn are next?

username6 imagine the chaos if they had a baby too 😭😭

maxfewtrell chaos? more like pure excellence the world’s not ready

landonorris couldn’t agree more

ynverstappen you’re BANNED from my posts

username7 do you guys think i still have time to reincarnate in that baby?

username8 MOVE, it was my idea first

danielricciardo aunt for now, mum next?

ynverstappen delete this immediately

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

YOUR CHATS: MAMMA’S FAVOURITE GROUP.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

ynverstappen added to their story.

replies to your story

landonorris just say the word babe

ynverstappen STOPPPP

landonorris i meannn, i was already planning our baby names list, but take your time

ynverstappen keep the list, i’m busy trying to decide between napping or rewatch criminal minds

maxverstappen1 we’re just preparing you for the future

ynverstappen future? i was planning on sleeping past 11 AM, thank you very much

ynverstappen but sure, let’s add kids to the list!

victoriaverstappen you’re next! the family is ready for some mini-you

ynverstappen okay that is kinda cute

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

YOUR CHATS: TEAM BABY.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

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landonorris four years with my person, my best friend, and the love of my life. here’s to many more!! i love youuuuu

tagged ynverstappen

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lnfour nice number that one

ynverstappen beyond grateful for you every single day, love you more than anything!! <3 ♥︎ liked by author

landonorris love youUuUu

maxfewtrell you two have made it 4 years and not killed each other? impressive

ynverstappen jerk, we’re literally the best couple

username SPEAK UR TRUTH 🗣️

username2 seeing you two together makes me believe in love and what

carlossainz55 yeah, how’s that baby talk going?

ynverstappen can we just enjoy the anniversary without being bombarded about children

landonorris hey!! it’s a valid question

sophiekumpen watching you grow together has been such a joy ♥︎ liked by author

landonorris we couldn’t have done it without all your support 🩶

username3 this is the cutest thing i’ve seen all day

username4 sooo, where’s the baby update?

georgerussell63 you better be sending out wedding invites soon... you know i’ll be waiting ♥︎ liked by author

username5 lando liked this omg

username6 OH IM SO EXCITED

maxverstappen1 maybe we can get the baby a matching anniversary onesie

landonorris don’t tempt me!!

username6 you’re worse than the actual mother 😭😭

alex_albon he is and we appreciate it

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

landonorris added to their story.

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maxfewtrell she has that pregnancy glow

landonorris she says: fuck off

maxfewtrell so lovely as always 🥰

charles_leclerc is the shrimp carrying a baby shrimp?

landonorris i don’t think so but stay tuned!

charles_leclerc 🫡

ynverstappen shrimp 😭😭 you’re unbelievable

landonorris you’re MY shrimp, tho

ynverstappen i know i love u

landonorris special shrimp

ynverstappen yes

landonorris mama shrimp

ynverstappen too far babe

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

ynverstappen added to their story.

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danielricciardo i’m assuming shrimp is code for ‘future mum’ now?

ynverstappen lando’s been calling me shrimp since FOREVER

danielricciardo for obvious reasons, you kinda look like one

ynverstappen you’re relentless

oscarpiastri you can’t escape forever, you know

ynverstappen i can and i WILL

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

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ynverstappen we <3 new york

tagged landonorris

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alex_albon this feels like a soft launch for a baby announcement

ynverstappen in WHAT world

alex_albon i don’t know, everyone says new york is romantic

ynverstappen no one has EVER said that

carlossainz55 you two look like you’re scouting locations for a babymoon

ynverstappen STOP GIVING HIM IDEAS

landonorris i do like the sound of that ♥︎ liked by author

ynverstappen no you don’t

username she says that and yet likes all the baby related comments 😭😭

landonorris do you think we’ll get a discount if we book the babymoon now? asking for a friend

ynverstappen i’ll throw you in the ocean

username2 LMAOO he’s not even subtle about it

maxfewtrell baby’s first visit to the empire state? 👶🏻

landonorris give us nine months, mate

username3 savannah slow down

username4 y’all are a little too cute and i love it

username5 REAL like those are my parents

oscarpiastri if you name the baby after me i’ll babysit for free. think about it

landonorris oscar norris-verstappen it is!!!

ynverstappen first of all, my last name would go first

ynverstappen second, you were my favourite, oscar

ynverstappen and i remark WERE

oscarpiastri got it miss

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

YOUR CHATS: TEAM BABY.

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

liked by danielricciardo, ynverstappen and others

lando.jpg muse

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username he has called her his muse a million times and it gets me every time 🥹

ynverstappen love love love ♥︎ liked by author

lando.jpg 🖤

danielricciardo your family portraits are coming along nicely. just missing one thing…

lando.jpg i’ll admit that would make a good christmas card ♥︎ liked by ynverstappen

username2 u don’t even TRY to be subtle, huh? lmaooo

username3 someone pls tell him he’s not slick 😭😭

username4 you two are the cutest

username5 okay dad in training, we see you!!

username6 they can’t escape baby talk even online i’m CRYING

username7 husband AND dad material, i don’t make the rules ♥︎ liked by author

username8 him liking this he’s NOT real

username9 this man is ready, someone call yn

charles_leclerc dog dad today, human dad tomorrow 👀

ynverstappen tomorrow’s a bit ambitious, but thanks for the timeline

username she’s not saying no—

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 25’.

[imsofreakingtired]

I am so so so so sorry if this is too close to nsfw (in my head it's very fluff/comfort but I apologise if it makes you uncomfortable bc I'm not sure), but thinking about Sevika w/ a partner who's been pressured by their ex's into doing things like sexually and her just reassuring them that like no baby I wanna hold you what r you talking ab I've been here all of 15 seconds I'm not tryna fuck calm down

And her partner who is so so surprised wdym ??? You just wanna spoon me isn't this the part where you grope my chest and Sevika is like BABY NO

I don't know I'm using her to cope this is so self indulgent I just wanna hear your thoughts on it

i love this idea, thank you for the request anon...and shitt this one was so personally relatable to me 😔

things i wanna say to you

content warning(s): mentions of trauma from past relationships, angst, hurt/comfort

"there's things i wanna say to you, but i'll just let you live like if you hold me without hurting me you'll be the first who ever did."

~~~

“Your beauty…it’s a blessing.”

It’s a sentence that returns and returns to you. It’s a truth you hold in your hands, or wear on your shoulders like a mantle you can’t take off. You have heard it, in one form or another, from the lips of lover to lover. They whispered it to you in the heat of sex, like a special confession only for you, and then vanished like a vapor. 

Your body is like a hotel, you think—a pretty room that people pass through and love only in the moment. When was the last time you were held without the other person’s hands hungrily seeking your breasts? When was the last time you were kissed without their hands roaming your body like an impatient, starved animal? 

Once, you had worked up the courage to confront them. You told them, “hands off.” You don’t exactly remember how the conversation went. But you know that it ended in them laughing in your face, suggesting you work at Babette’s if you wanted compensation for your body. 

When they were gone, you stood in the silent room and wondered if they were right. You wondered if it was your fault. If your body was the only good thing, the only worthy thing about you. If you were nothing more than a pretty face and a blank canvas waiting to be ruined. If you were asking too much when you asked for even just a shadow of respect. 

You stopped speaking after that. 

~~~

Shortly after you began to work for Silco as his record scribe, you met his henchwoman, Sevika. Immediately you knew she was different. She didn’t look at you the way others did—in fact, she barely looked at you at all. When she spoke to you she looked down at you over her hooked nose, her handsome, perfect nose, in a way that made you feel both insignificant and the only woman in the entire world. She didn’t give you flattery about your appearance, spoke bluntly when you made mistakes. 

Still you caught her staring at you from time to time when she thought you were too immersed in work to notice. But her face betrayed nothing. Her brows were always drawn together as if everything in the world annoyed her. You assumed she was only scrutinizing the way you worked. You wondered if Silco had ordered her to monitor you, assess your performance. You worked harder as a result, feeling oddly gratified to be watched for a reason other than your appearance. 

So one could imagine your shock when Sevika strode up to your desk one morning and said, “get your coat. Walk with me.” 

From that day on, you were hers. 

~~~

The first night you moved into her apartment had been a hard day at work. You had been at the desk all day without a single break, trying frantically to keep up with the endless flow of Shimmer shipment records and orders. Sevika had been on her feet from dawn to dusk—you hadn’t seen her for two consecutive minutes even though you worked in the same building. 

The night had deepened, the sky outside dusted with faint stars. You were undressing for bed. If you were tired, how exhausted must Sevika be? You paused in front of the mirror before you slipped the nightshirt over your body. Maybe she would want to let off some steam. Maybe she expected it from you. Hesitantly, you put the nightshirt on. You didn’t want to, but you felt like you owed it to her. Like she deserved it.

Sevika came in, her mechanical arm detached and water glistening on her face from a quick wash. She smiled slightly when she saw you waiting on the bed. “There’s my girl. C’mere.”

She sank into the bed you now shared with her, and obediently you crawled over and folded yourself into her embrace. Her right arm curled around you protectively. Her warmth, her strength, the tautness of her muscles against your skin. It was heavenly. 

She sighed into your neck, and it made you shiver slightly. The question tiptoed to the end of your tongue: can we…can we maybe just stay like this? 

But you feared she would say no. You feared she would be mad. And leave you. 

You waited for her to make the next move, to start pulling the shirt over your head, or turn you around so she could grope between your legs. When several seconds passed and she did nothing, you realized that maybe she was waiting for you. 

Reluctantly, you pulled yourself away and began to take off your shirt. 

Sevika sat up, confused. “What are you doing?”

You freeze in your movements. Your shirt falls back down over your chest. “I—you don’t want to…?”

She shook her head, lips curling in a bemused smile. “Baby, relax. I’ve been here fifteen seconds.”

Slowly, you returned to her, and she pulled you close once more. Sevika felt the shudder of relief that went through your body. Though you didn’t see it, her face creased with concern. She had noticed the apprehension in your eyes, nearly bordering on fear. And she made a mental note to herself to find whatever fucker had hurt you and made you so scared. 

~~~

[meinii]

“I will always find my way back to you”

summary: you and dragon Sylus in the fields, just playing and reassuring each other

content: fluff, ♡dragon sylus♡

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

the fields stretched endlessly before them, golden with wildflowers swaying in the breeze, the scent of earth and blossoms weaving into the crisp afternoon air.

the sky above was a vast, unbroken blue, untouched by the judgment of men or the cruelty of fate

here, in this forgotten place, there were no priests whispering of curses, no warriors sharpening their blades to hunt monsters

here, it was just the two of you.

you laughed as you ran through the flowers, brushing your hands over their soft petals, feeling the sun warm your skin.

the wind played with your hair, and for a moment, it was easy to believe that the world was kind. that you weren’t someone meant to die. that Sylus wasn’t someone meant to be chained in it forever.

behind you, a deep, rumbling chuckle filled the air as Sylus followed at a slower pace—his horns gleaming in the sunlight, his silver hair tousled by the wind, his sharp crimson eyes fixed on you

“you’re enjoying yourself too much” he remarked, his voice carrying amusement

you turned to face him, hands on your hips “you say that like it’s a bad thing”

he arched a brow, a smirk playing on his lips “I suppose not. but you look ridiculous.”

you gasped in mock offense, picking up a handful of petals and tossing them at him “you’re just jealous because I’m faster than you”

his smirk widened, something dangerous glinting in his gaze, “Is that so?”

before you could react, he surged forward, his speed inhuman.

you barely had time to turn before his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you up off the ground

a startled laugh burst from your lips as he spun you around, holding you effortlessly

“say that again” he challenged, his voice low against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine

“I take it back! I take it back!”

you laughed, wriggling in his grasp, but he only held you tighter, his warmth seeping into you

he finally set you down, but his hands lingered at your waist, his touch firm yet careful. when you looked up at him, the mischief in his expression had softened, replaced by something else

something deeper.

the two of you stood there in the field, the wind whispering around you, the world forgotten beyond this moment. his hands traced slow, absent patterns against your sides, and your fingers curled around his wrists, feeling the pulse beneath his skin.

“Sylus…” you murmured his name without thinking, but he hummed in response, his eyes never leaving yours

“I’ve never seen you this happy before” he said quietly

you swallowed, feeling your heart tighten “because I’ve never had a reason to be”

he exhaled through his nose, his hold on you tightening just slightly. his expression darkened—not in anger, but in the way he always did when reminded of what the world had done to you. to him.

“to think,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, “the whole world believes we should be enemies”

you smiled faintly “and yet, I can’t imagine being anywhere else but here with you.”

he stilled at your words, his fingers pressing into your skin just a little harder, as if grounding himself in the moment.

his gaze flickered, something shifting behind his crimson irises—something vulnerable, raw.

a long silence stretched between you, neither of you moving. then, slowly, he lifted a hand, cupping the side of your face. his clawed fingers were careful against your skin, as if afraid you might break

“I used to dream of this,” he admitted, his voice quieter now “not the field. not the sun. just… not being alone”

you leaned into his touch, your eyes searching his

“you’re not alone anymore.”

a slow exhale left him, and his forehead came to rest against yours

“say that again”

you smiled “you’re not alone anymore, Sylus”

his arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest. his heartbeat was steady, deep and strong, and you closed your eyes, breathing him in

no matter what the prophecies said.

no matter what fate was holding for you.

no matter how the world saw him, how they saw you.

you weren’t letting go.

his arms wrapped around you, shielding you from everything beyond this moment.

you felt the sharp points of his claws ghost against your back as he held you tighter.

his voice was almost a whisper when he finally spoke again

“promise me.”

you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your hands resting against his chest

“promise you what?”

his eyes burned into yours, something desperate lingering in the depths of his crimson irises

“that no matter what happens, no matter who tries to keep us apart, you’ll stay with me”

your heart clenched, you knew what he was asking

you knew the weight of those words, the shadows of the prophecy that loomed over you both

and you also knew your answer.

you reached up, threading your fingers into his silver hair, pulling him closer

“I swear it,” you whispered “I will always find my way back to you”

something in him shattered, you saw it in his eyes before he kissed you

it wasn’t rushed, nor was it desperate

it was deep, slow, unbreakable.

his lips moved against yours as if sealing the promise between you, branding it into existence

his arms caged you against him, and your fingers curled against his shirt, holding him just as fiercely.

when he finally pulled away, his breath was heavy, his gaze laced with something tender yet unyielding

“then I swear it too,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours once more

“no matter what, I will always be yours.”

the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the fields in gold and crimson, but you and Sylus remained, wrapped in each other, wrapped in a promise that even fate itself could not break

[luckykiwiii101]

SLEEPING MONSTROSITY

| | IF THIS DOESN’T WAKE YOU UP, NOTHING WILL | |

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

ཐི you might just live this life forever…ouch ཋྀ

And for you extra failure desensitised east siders -> CLICK ME!

Hey Upper East Siders.

Lately i’ve been thinking about how big of failure you are. And how you keep coming up with more stupid questions to ask bloggers because you can’t accept that life is just easy. I’d call you sleeping beauty, but unlike you, she actually woke up.

I want you to ask yourself how it feels knowing that even though you have all the power, you still don’t have the will to save yourself. Yet you think it’s all going to be okay. You still think you’re going to eventually manifest your dream life, and that this nightmare will come to an end.

Pardon my harsh words but that’s pathetic. Why? Because you told yourself the same thing months ago, and look where you are. You haven’t gotten anywhere. You may understand the law better but you haven’t done anything with it. And knowledge is useless when it’s held by…well, you. A lazy, hopeless, pathetic dreamer.

What actually makes you think that you’re going to be living your dream life by the time it hits 2027. You’re just staying still, and you’re going to continue to. You’re not on an escalator, you’re on a treadmill. Getting absolutely nowhere.

And as i’ve said before, leave those Pinterest boards on Pinterest. I can’t imagine how painful it must be to doom fully stare at something you know you’ll never give yourself. And save your dreams for nap time because that’s the closest you’ll ever get to seeing them.

The amount of people that have left this app, without their dream lives…and you’re just going to end up being another one of them. Another day you take to procrastinate turns into a week, then into a month, 6 months, a year, two years, five years…twenty.

“I’ll persist later!!!” Yes. Exactly. You’ll persist “later.” Later as in, next week? next month? next year? Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours, hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn in to years, and years turn into decades, and decades turn into small little segments of your tragic little life, spent doing what? Trying? Procrastinating? Sulking? Or living the life of your dreams? Call it Russian roulette, but YOU’RE the one holding the gun to your head. Nowhere to run.

“I’ll try to enter the void state again tonight.” Yes. Exactly. You’ll TRY again. And you’ll try again the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that. and so on…and so on…

But you know what’s the most shocking of all? The fact that you actually believe that everything is going to be okay. “I know i’ll win in the end.” Are you sure? Because you don’t win by staying the same. And that’s all you’ve been doing since forever.

You’re going to wake up tomorrow and make the same decision you’ve been making all your life. You’re going to deliberately and willingly choose to be someone you don’t want to be. As usual. Because that’s what’s comfortable to you. What can I say. You’re only human. And that’s all you’ll ever be.

But for someone like Blair Waldorf, failure is the end of the world. Because she’s uncomfortable with something she isn’t used to experiencing. But it’s only if she gets used to it, that she gets comfortable, and starts to let it in. And take over her. Sound familiar? Because it’s exactly what you’ve been doing to yourself. You’re so desensitised to failure that you read wake up calls in your sleep. Shrug them off, and move on. As if the words on this screen aren’t literally your reality.

If this doesn’t make your heart sink, i’m not sure what will. For some, the pain of knowing this might be too intense to ignore, for most of you, you’ll feel nothing. Your desensitisation to failure will be the death of you. What have you done to yourself…

Ouch!

- gossip girl

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

[on-wine-dark-seas]

The Invitation

Dedicated to the little Black girl who wanted to be all things when the world told her she was nothing. You are everything. 🍯

🪧 Summary: 1050 AD, Heian Era. One full moon, Sukuna meets a dancing storyteller at the Hida Harvest Festival. But after a tragically violent evening robs her of everything, she winds up in a strange alliance with the King of Curses as his guest. 📚 Series: Sonder 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️️ Warning[s]: Rape/Non-Con [not from Sukuna don't worry], blood, gore, description of wounds and dead bodies, cannibalism, recreational drug use [ganja, psilocybin, opium], slow-ish burn, hurt/comfort, PTSD, revenge, catharsis, eventual romance, eventual smut, Ryōmen Sukuna is his own warning. 💋 Pairing[s]: Sukuna x The Writer [⛩️🍯] 🎧 Playlist: [ the invitation ]

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs ⛩️

🍯 III. 無夢 Without Dreams

     “Smell that, Uraume?” Sukuna asks. “Winter is soon. And look, we’re damn near finished, just as I said we would be.” He glares down the line of one of his arms, weltered with blood and gore. The corpse attached to his massive fist is slumped in death, the face—what’s left of it—slacked in horror and shock. With one sharp jerk, he flings the body away and heaves a long, satisfied sigh. Behind him, ice crackles as Uraume’s footsteps carry them across the ruin of the battlefield.

     “It is as you say, my lord,” they affirm. “Still, we cut it rather close. Did you really need to indulge those performers the other night?”

     Sukuna laughs and stretches, opening all four of his arms toward the cold, muted light of the sun hidden in cloud cover.

     “Ah, are you still miffed about that, Ume? They were entertaining! Aside, there was the girl to consider. You saw what I saw, did you not?”

     “I did,” Uraume agrees. “Still, do you think it wise to invite them to the shrine? If she’s—”

     Sukuna waves his hand. “You worry too much. There is no one in this land who can contend with me, save Sugawara himself, and he’s hiding behind the capital’s forces like the pampered palace brat he is.”

     Sukuna glances over his shoulder down at his companion.

     “It’s going to be a bitter winter, Ume, and our meat stores are low. If they displease me, I’ll just eat them. Will that please you?”

     Uraume huffs an annoyed sigh and shrugs.

     “As always, you will do as you see fit, and I trust your judgement. Perhaps we should head out, now, if we are to meet them at the shrine tonight.”

     Sukuna scratches one of his ears idly, groaning in relief as the itch subsides.

     “You’re right, of course,” he says. “Where’s my horse? Damn beast’s probably wandered off to graze somewhere…though I can’t imagine where.”

     They find his steed, a massive warhorse bred to steel itself in the face of the atrocities Sukuna commits almost daily. Unlike every other living thing, it is happy to see him.

     “Akechi,” Sukuna croons. “Always at the ready, eh?”

     He swings into the saddle with the ease of one born to it. Akechi is a valuable steed, being one of the largest he’s ever seen, and thus able to accommodate him. He pulls Uraume up to sit in front of him. Unfortunately, their own horse was slain in the initial fighting by some lucky bastard with a naginata. Uraume froze the man’s head in a block of ice and tore it off in retaliation.

     Still, they’d liked that horse.

     Leaving a smoldering battlefield in his wake, Sukuna rides south, toward home as if he himself is a war hero, and not the scourge of the Fujiwara in the north. They beat a quick path, his cursed energy spilling over the land like a cloud of sickness. Lesser curses scatter into the shadows, and those not dead shiver in their homes and know not why, only that it is safer to be inside when Ryōmen Sukuna is on the loose.

     The mountains of the north gentle into the hills of the south as they ride, and the moon creeps into the sky by the time the familiar path to his shrine comes into the distance, marked by the thickening crowds of trees and the cawing of ever-present crows, knowing that Sukuna will keep them fed on true carrion. He is a creature of meat, and so too are they. They watch him as he rides through the forest.

     Sukuna sniffs the air, frowning.

     “Something’s burning,” he mutters, and feels the prick of what could only be anticipation in his blood. A potential scrap before home? Ah, he may not have to hunt after all.

     They make their way into the forest path and come upon a shocking discovery.

     “My lord…!” Uraume gasps. Sukuna’s mouth opens and then shuts. He recognizes the wagon, which is now set ablaze. He also recognizes the bodies strewn on the ground. He’s out of the saddle before he realizes it, cursed energy gathering around him like a storm cloud. With a swipe of his hand, he guides the flames of the wagon, starving them of oxygen and snuffing them out. The wagon is a blackened, smoking husk, and Sukuna can tell this fire is recent. He can smell the coppery stench of blood, recently spilled. He can also see residuals of cursed technique usage.

     Their assailants had been sorcerers.

     “My lord!” Uraume calls. “Look!”

     Sukuna is by their side immediately, inspecting what they’ve discovered. His eyes go wide when he sees her, curled in the dirt like some beaten, half-dead creature; a crown of kings bloodied by overthrow. He reaches down, brushes aside the dirt and leaves in her braided hair, barely touching the ugly, swollen bruise on her cheek. He takes in her torn and bloodied clothing, sees the blood and seed slick between her thighs, and knows what has happened here.

     Her throat was cut, he can see the wound, but he can also barely make out her breath. She’s still alive. Barely holding on, but her soul is there.

     “Will you not heal her, my lord?” Uraume asks. Sukuna does not answer. Instead, he keeps his eyes on her, his face as impassive as a god’s. He waits.

     Come on. He thinks, wondering why he feels so desperate. Do it. I know you can. I saw it the night I watched you dance.

A pulse. Faint but deep.

     Sukuna tries not to hold his breath.

     Another pulse, and her fingers move in an imperceptible twitch.

     Sukuna dares to take a deep, steadying breath.

     Šetû’s body convulses and jerks in a pained, desperate gasp. Her cursed energy folds in on itself again and again, doubling over until it shifts. The wound on her throat closes, flesh knitting anew. Her eyes flutter open.

     And she screams once before collapsing, unconscious from the exertion.

     I knew it.

     But Sukuna is pleased with what he’s seen, and Uraume understands now why he chose not to heal her.

     “Salvage what you can,” he tells them, then looks at the other corpses. Her brother, her twin cousins. Sukuna’s eyes narrow. Where is the other? The one with the sour face and terrible beard? He snorts. Like as not he too is dead in the forest somewhere. If the sorcerers who did this didn’t kill him, the curses that linger in these woods certainly will.

     “What of the bodies, my lord?” Uraume asks. Sukuna looks down at Šetû, scooping her into his lower arms. He could take the corpses and butcher them for later. She didn’t have to know, and it would be a damn sight less cumbersome than trying to burn them all and go through the ceremony of a funeral. Hm.

     “Bring them as well,” he says at last. “We’ll store them in the icehouse and figure out what to do with them later.”

     Uraume looks slightly nonplussed at the decision. Normally, Sukuna is so decisive about what to do with a human body. It’s free meat, and it’s his favorite kind of meat. He doesn’t usually waver on decisions concerning food.

     “As you wish, Lord Sukuna,” they affirm and set out to do his bidding. It is not their place to question, although they do prod from time to time. Sukuna sets Šetû atop his horse, lashing her to the saddle. He lashes the corpses of her family as well. Akechi does naught but flick his tail in annoyance at the combined weight but sets into an easy walk as Sukuna leads him by the reins, Uraume joining his side as always.

     The shrine’s massive torii looms like an ill omen as the master returns past its threshold. A pair of hitodama blaze atop the torii like twin lanterns, casting a sickly, violet glow over the entrance. They pass by in silence, and Sukuna’s cursed energy settles over the area, scattering curses that dared creep too close in his absence. The lanterns of the shrine are lit, and attendants are there to greet him. Only a few: a stable hand, and two older priestesses that chose to serve rather than die like their brethren. Sukuna keeps them only because they are useful.

     “Welcome home, Lord Sukuna,” they greet, bowing low. Sukuna tosses the reins to his stable hand, and gestures to Šetû, once more gathered in his arms.

     “Attend to this one,” he says curtly, and they startle when they see her, mindful not to draw his ire. Years of working for him and neither will risk triggering his capricious temperament. They obey with alacrity, taking the girl in their strong arms and heading inside to tend to her. Sukuna watches them go, something agitating his spirit again. Uraume directs the stable hand to assist them in storing the additional bodies in the icehouse. Sukuna catches a glimpse of Amadou’s corpse in his lower eyes. A pity. The boy had been kind and noble hearted.

     He thinks about the residuals he saw at the site, and the bridge of his nose wrinkles like a tiger’s muzzle.

     Not agitation, then. Anger.

     Someone had dared come close to his home and had spilled blood of those he had invited as guests. It is a direct insult, he surmises, it can be naught else. There would have been no reason to harm these foreigners otherwise. That means, it was someone at the harvest festival; someone who had seen them perform, and someone who had seen Sukuna in their camp hours later.

     He exhales through his nose, the heat of his own curses in his belly building.

     They had humiliated and violated Asiri, murdered her family, and burned up their lives all for the crime of showing him idle kindness. They had welcomed him where others would have shunned out of fear and superstition, and their kindness had been repaid like this. Even Sukuna had to admit this was particularly heinous.

     And cowardly. That was what really got under his skin. Someone was too afraid to face him directly, and so they would try to punish him by denying him even the barest crumb of amicable human interaction.

     “Uraume,” Sukuna says as they head inside. Uraume is at their side in an instant.

     “Yes, my lord?”

     “Let me know as soon as the girl wakes up. I would speak with her and get to the truth of who has done this thing.”

     Uraume nods firmly, divining their master’s will as the shrine doors shut behind them.

     The next few days are spent unwinding. Sukuna takes tribute from those seeking his aid and favor, and usually that provides the meat he craves when any who dare cross his threshold displease him, but his mind is distracted.

     He’s thinking of her.

     She’s been in that room since he brought her to the shrine, attended by Okoi and Oboro, who are gifted in the healing arts and medicine pertaining to womenfolk. Sukuna does not ask for the details, but they report to him that Asiri was given a medicinal contraceptive to prevent any seed from taking root and was being kept sedated with a steady supply of opium pellets and valerian root tea. She slept mostly, but the valerian was to keep down the screaming.

     Sukuna is puzzled at this. Screaming?

     He hears it one night, the forlorn and anguished moans of a woman plagued by true nightmares. And then the screams. Twice, he is startled to wakefulness, only to find her in her bed, thrashing, swiping at ghosts that aren’t cold enough to be buried in her psyche yet. Fresh and feeding from her terror and grief.

     Okoi and Oboro do their best to keep her quiet, and Sukuna threatens to eat their fingers if they don’t keep the girl calm.

     The screams stop after a few days, but Sukuna knows it will be some time before her nightmares are well and truly behind her.

     She sleeps.

     And when the first snow of winter begins to fall, she wakes.

     For a stretch of time that feels unending, she is curled in on herself. The darkness around her is amniotic in its warmth and consistency, and she feels buoyed by the viscous shadows around her. She keeps her eyes closed tightly, hugs her knees to her chest, and remains still.

     Something is pulling at her, however, trying to nudge her back to the light.

     Leave me alone. Comes her tired protest, husk-hollow and bone-weary. She flinches when the thing tugs on her again. Had she wings this thing would have pulled them off by now to prevent her escape.

     She wishes she had wings. She would never touch the ground again.

     The darkness begins to recede like a great wave, and she hugs herself tighter, trying not to weep. No more, please. No more.

     And all at once she is shoved into the light, eyes opening wide as she gasps into wakefulness, immediately squinting against the brightness in the room she’s in.

     She blinks, her eyes squinting to adjust to the light. She breathes in, catches a whiff of something earthy and musk-like.

     Sandalwood.

     She sits up, pushing her upper body upright on trembling arms. She feels weaker than a newborn kitten, and there’s a lingering soreness in her face. She reaches up with a trembling hand to touch her cheek. Tender, bruised, almost as if—

     Her stomach roils and she clamps her hand over her mouth to force the bile back down.

     The door to the room she’s in slides open and she startles at the sight of an older woman with graying hair bearing a tray. She’s wearing the robes of a shrine priestess, and Šetû makes the connection that she must in Sukuna’s residence.

     “Oh,” the older woman says, smiling at her with kind and sympathetic eyes. “You’re finally awake and lucid. This is good news. Lord Sukuna will be pleased to hear it.”

     Šetû says nothing, uncertain of what words she can possibly say at this moment. Silence feels safer, and so she remains reticent as the older woman sweeps in on silent footsteps to set the tray on the low bedside table. There is an assortment of food items Šetû recognizes from her travels, and there is hot tea, still steaming in the little tea pot. She pours herself a cup. Her tongue feels dry and swollen in her mouth, her throat feels raw and sore, like she’s been screaming.

     Or weeping.

     She freezes before the cup touches her lips as her memories jerk and flicker before her mind’s eye, reminding her that what happened to her was no nightmare, but real.

     She sets the cup down as her heart races, her hands tremble, and tears blur her vision. The older woman, who is tidying up the modest room, looks over and her brows knit in concern.

     “Please, lady, you must eat,” she says, her voice gentle but insistent. “It is the only way to regain your strength, and Lord Sukuna will not abide weakness in his home.”

     Lord Sukuna. Of course. Šetû stares at the tray. She cannot shun the man’s hospitality. She would have died out there had he not taken her in.

     She wishes she had.

     Šetû regards the thought with subtle horror.

     She forces herself to eat, but the food might as well be ashes in her mouth. Still, it is sustenance, and little by little, in slow drips, she feels her body’s weakness ease into a tired species of despair and exhaustion. She drinks the tea, lets it warm her belly, but she can’t taste that either. She doesn’t care. The older woman waits until she clears her plates before collecting the tray, nodding in approval. Šetû opens her mouth to speak, then closes it. She does not see the point in speaking…or much of anything, really.

     The woman leaves, the door sliding shut behind her, and Šetû is alone.

     Quietly, carefully, she lets herself get out of bed, climbing to her feet. She notices she’s dressed in a plain robe, likely by the older woman charged with her care. She glances around the room, seeking anything familiar. She sees a trunk at the far corner of the room, albeit burned, but she recognizes it. She goes to open it, and sees all of her clothing and jewelry inside, untouched by the flames of her assailants in the wake of her—

     She shuts the trunk abruptly.

     Sunlight pours through the lattice window, and she slides open the door to find a small engawa affording her a view of what should have been a lush, green garden. Right now, it is blanketed in a thick, unblemished carpet of snow. Her breath fogs in front of her face, and the cold nips at her toes. She slides the door shut and turns instead to the other door; the one leading into the shrine itself.

     She glances at her burnt trunk, and then she leaves the room.

     Out in the halls, the shrine is silent, almost serene. There is a contemplative silence about the place that makes her feel as if it is abandoned, and she pads silently on bare feet toward wherever her curiosity draws her.

     All over the shrine are signs of a familiar religion: Buddhism. Šetû remembers the motifs and iconography from her travels on the continent proper. She and her brother had spent a great deal of time in India. It had been warm—

     She whips around when she hears whispers and looks around frantically for somewhere to hide. She finds a door, slides it open, and slips inside. On the other side, the voices pass by, whispering and chattering too fast for her to understand, but they do not notice her. Šetû breathes a sigh of relief.

     The smell of sandalwood is stronger in this room; fresher. She turns, sees an elegantly appointed bedchamber. On a raised dais, a bed much larger than any bed she has ever seen in her life, heaped with pillows and down-stuffed blankets. A large brazier burns in the room, keeping it pleasantly warm. In the far corner there’s a desk, heaped with parchments, scrolls, and bound books. She hesitates, then ventures further in.

     Like her own modest room, there is a sliding door leading to a much larger engawa, only instead of a garden is a sequestered hot spring. Steam curls from the natural spring, surrounded by a picturesque view of the snowy landscape. She wonders if Lord Sukuna would mind if she took a dip. Some springs are said to have healing properties, and her body needs it. The cold nips at her again, and she decides against it, sliding the door shut. If this is his private bedchamber then she should leave before he comes back.

     Back in the hall, she wanders again, seeking other rooms. She follows the scent of cooking, instead, her body—now fully awake—seeking greater sustenance. Something more nourishing and fulfilling than broth.

     She finds the kitchen, of course, and it’s already occupied by Uraume. She remembers them from the night of the festival. Their back is to her, but occasionally they bark out orders to the kitchen staff, strange, masked creatures that leap to do their bidding. Uraume brandishes a large knife, stained with blood.

     Chop!

The heavy thud of steel meeting flesh, shearing through bone to hit the butcher block beneath makes Šetû leap in her own skin, and she suddenly has no appetite, backing away from the kitchens to explore elsewhere.

     Out in the main hall, she finds a large set of double doors, firmly shut. She presses her ear against it, straining to hear any sound from the other side, but the iron-banded wood is thick, and there’s no way she can open these doors in her current state. She sighs and decides she will return to her rooms.

     She realizes after several moments and turns, that she is lost.

     “Fuck,” she croaks out, her first word in what feels like ages.

     Frustration and fear settle in, making her scalp prickle. She’s not sure if she’s allowed to be out of her room, and she isn’t sure what will happen when someone finds her. She can’t linger in the hallway like some dazed, madwoman.

     Are you not a dazed madwoman, though? A voice whispers, and she almost laughs at herself, knifing her hands through her braids and taking a deep, hissing breath in an attempt to calm her suddenly frayed nerves.

     Yes. Yes, she is. A madwoman. Dazed. Lost.

     Wounded beyond what she thought possible.

     Her mind shies from the memories of that night, but she sees them all the same.

     It’s only fair.

Bile rises in her throat, and she claps a hand over her mouth, leaning against the wall as her breathing comes labored, her forehead and temples damp with sweat.

     “Lady Asiri?” Šetû startles at the voice, whirling around to find the older woman from earlier. Her dark eyes are soft with concern, a wrinkle in her straight and proud brows. She calms immediately.

     “You shouldn’t be out and about so soon,” the woman says. “Lord Sukuna would not like you getting sick in his halls. Come with me.”

     Šetû nods, and the woman turns smoothly setting off down the hall at a smooth glide. She follows.

     “What is your name?” She asks, padding after the older woman.

     “Oboro,” the woman replies. “And the other is my sister, Okoi. We are the priestesses of this temple.”

     Šetû’s brows go up. “So, Lord Sukuna really is a deity? I thought…”

     Oboro’s shoulders stiffen slightly at the words, imperceptible, but Šetû sees it. No, not a god then. That is the reaction of resentment.

     “He is a powerful sorcerer of great renown,” Oboro replies and Šetû knows a rehearsed line when she hears it. She is afraid of Lord Sukuna, she resents him, and likely this temple was not his originally. It does not take much to deduce. “It is my pleasure to serve him.”

     Tch. Šetû doubts that, but she nods.

     “I see,” she says. “Thank you, Oboro-san. I think…I would like to speak with Lord Sukuna myself and thank him for his hospitality.”

     Oboro’s shoulders grow tense again, as if she can’t believe anyone would want to thank Sukuna for anything or associate him with hospitality at all. Šetû reserves her judgement. She will speak with Sukuna herself, with no pretense between them.

     They reach her room, and Oboro slides the door open, standing aside as Šetû entered. For some reason, being in the room she woke up in brings her a measure of comfort. She returns to the bed to sit down. She’s about to open her mouth to ask more questions when every fine hair on her body immediately stands on end.

     Oboro folds into an obeisant kneel.

     “My lord,” she greets with reverence that makes Šetû wonder at this woman’s motives for lingering here. Sukuna’s voice is deep and resonant.

     “You are dismissed, Oboro,” he says, his massive frame filling up the doorway. “I would have words with our guest.”

     Šetû pulls her robe tighter and steels her courage as Sukuna steps into the room, ducking to avoid the top of the doorframe as he fills up the space not only physically, but spiritually. Šetû folds herself into a kneel, forehead pressed to the floor. Sukuna gestures for her to rise, seemingly annoyed with the honorifics and frippery. Here, in this private room, he does not care for it.

     The door slides shut behind him.

     Šetû sits back on her heels, trying to keep her breaths even. Sukuna is so much larger than she remembers him being. Seeing him in the cold light of day is different. He is massive and there’s an energy about him that makes her shiver down to the marrow. He can see this, and he does not seem to care. As if it is a common occurrence.

     “Why didn’t you mention you are a sorcerer?” Sukuna asks bluntly.

     She blinks several times, brows raising.

     “I—” She hesitates but Sukuna’s expression is impassive and unyielding. He wants an answer, and he wants the truth.

     “I’m not a sorcerer,” she says. “And quite frankly, I don’t even know what that means! I’m just a…”

     “A what?” Sukuna asks, lip curling. “A dancer? An entertainer? I saw you that night you danced, your cursed energy bloomed like a flower of fire to rival a storm. Everyone felt it. When I sat by the fire with you, it licked at mine like—”

     She stares at him, uncomprehending. Sukuna stares back and for a while there is only silence. Then, the tension in him eases and he shuts his main eyes, chuckling darkly. His lower eyes never leave hers, though.

     “I see,” he says, opening his eyes again. “You didn’t know. Of course.”

     Šetû’s brows furrow. “What…what do you mean I am a sorcerer? The ones who—” She hesitates. “Those men said I was a sorcerer in allegiance with you. As if…”

     Sukuna’s lips curl into a cruel smirk.

     “They thought you were mine, did they? How foolish. You may not be aware of your power, but you are not strong enough to contend with the likes of me.”

     Šetû rises to her feet, her expression hard and indignant.

     “I am not weak,” she says fiercely and doesn’t know why his smug smirk galls her. “I just…I don’t know what all this is about. We were on our way to you before…”

     Sukuna’s eyes narrow. Every time she seems poised to tell him what happened, something stops her. He sees the visible recoil in her, her mind shying away from what was doubtless the worst night of her life. He should be cruel to her, he thinks; cauterize the wound before she lets it fester. But wounds of the soul are not so easily mended, and hers is fresh…and unfathomably deep.

     “Thank you,” she says instead. Sukuna raises a brow. “For healing me.”

     “I didn’t heal you.” He says curtly and then turns to leave. Šetû is even more confused than before. If he hadn’t healed her, who had?

     “Was it Oboro-san?” She asks. “Or her sister? Perhaps I should thank them instead.”

     Sukuna glances over his shoulder, says nothing, and leaves the room. Šetû frowns. What is his problem? Has she offended him somehow? Or was he always like this and she just caught him on a good night? She huffs out a heavy sigh. At least…at least she is safe.

     Until she sleeps.

@queenmimis @thehereticmoon @razrogue

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[loredrinker]

A Letter to Varric from the Inquisitor

Varric,  You are gone, and I am compelled to put my grief in ink, to seek some type of connection with you. Just when I thought there was no more sorrow to wring from my bones, I find there are oceans of it, waiting beneath the surface. And I fear if I give myself to it, I will drown.  I am sorry, Varric.  Cassandra, Dorian - they’ve done what friends do best and tell me not to blame myself – that there was nothing I could have done. But...how can I not?  How many nights have we spoken of this very thing? The weight of our choices. The things we must live with. I still remember what you said to me about getting stuck in the losses, about moving away from the guilt of our choices so that we don’t lose ourselves to them.  But I am lost right now Varric. I only put one foot in front of the other because I refuse to let that ocean pull me under.   And I know what you would say to me now - you would tell me not to carry your death as another barb among all the others buried in my skin. But...allow me this moment of selfish despair before I wear the brave face again, the one that reassures everyone else that I can still hold the line:   You wouldn’t have been looking for him if it weren’t for me. You wouldn’t have been there at that ritual if it weren’t for me. You wouldn’t have sacrificed all these years if it weren’t for the belief that Solas could choose another way, and maybe even be saved from himself. A belief I shared with you. And yes, Varric, I know what you would say to that too - all these years, it was your choice as well.  And I love you for that. I love you for sharing that belief with me, and for being one of the few to do so. But now you have paid for that belief.  I don’t know where this road will lead me. I don’t know if I will have the chance to face Solas, but I hope I do. I hope I have the courage to walk the path you walked, to make sure your sacrifice was not in vain. To see with my own eyes if the man we saw in Solas is still in there somewhere.    The only thing I know is that whatever happens, whether we find a way to stop him or whether he strikes me down as well - this story will finally have its ending - and I hope it’s an ending worthy of one of your stories.   I will miss you, my dearest friend.  At the bottom of the page, there are additional words in different handwriting:  The Stone remembers. It holds him. Warm and strong, carved with care, but never broken. He’s still there, a note in the song, humming low and steady, even when you can’t hear it. 

One of my frustrations with Veilguard has been the inability for the Inquisitor to express grief over Varric’s death specifically (a constant companion in my Inquisition playthroughs). I can overlook many things as my imagination has been cooking for ten years - but this is the one thing I can't quite let go.

For my Inquisitor, for the closure the game never gave, I’ve addressed it through this letter to Varric. While my world state is Solas x Lavellan x Atonement, I wrote this to be Inquisitor neutral while still reflecting the thoughts of my Inky.

I want to thank @lotsofthinkythoughts. Without our recent chats I don't know that I would have finally finished this piece.

[ittlll]

I know it sounds ridiculous but part of me can’t help but think of ghost who loves Lana Del Rey. Without any doubt he is one of the most tough guys in the world and has the most rational mindset humans can have. But does it mean he is lacking in sensibility? Definitely not.

I guess he will read poems and give his own annotations to the emotion between the lines. He takes it as a way to balance his cruel job and his inner self. He tends to always take anything in charge, including his mental health, to make sure his life is always on the right track and run like clockwork, more precisely, Haute Horlogerie. It’s just some kind of his *aesthetic*, he wants a quality life. So he does not reject sensuality.

Back to Lana Del Ray, I would rather believe he started with the great Gatsby and so Young and Beautiful. Of course he watch movies, alone or with his team at those movie nights. They chose action movies forever, but one day Soap changed his mind. He picked the classic movie. Ghost doesn't usually give any comment on his choices and just watches the film quietly .

He was *shocked* when he heard the song, even though he didn't show a hint. Maybe he would judge Gatsby for the way he loved, but he completely understood his feeling through the melody, lyrics, and the voice of Siren. He glanced at the Scotsman next to him, who was so gripped of the film, and moved his eyes back to the screen making no sign. He failed to read what he was thinking, maybe the same as him, maybe not.

He found himself falling in so quickly. He favors the soothing ones like Old Money, Chemtrails Over The Country Club and so on. But will he listen to Lolita or Breaking my heart? He won't initiate it, but he'll usually play the list randomly.

He enjoyed afternoon tea with wired headset. Tea was also part of his life art. Warm 2pm sunlight shone into the lounge. Soap woke up from his nap, looking around and finding ghost in the old single sofa. That had almost been his exclusive seat. Every afternoon, as long as he was in the barrack, he would sit up here on time for a while. Sometimes he read, sometimes he meditated.Today he listened to something.

“What are you listening?” Soap was not so sure that guy can actually hear him.

“Nothing.”Text Book, perfect one for the tea time.

“Imagine Dragons I bet.”

Ghost took off one side, turning to him.

“Really, Johnny?”

Soap eventually found the answer through his in-car music. Summertime Sadness. Soap froze as the song played in the quiet car. Jesus, the big black guy, having killed countless people, even had limited edition CDs of Lana Del Rey to fit his old jeep whose audio was still a CD player. What a world.

“Feels like I never know you, Lt.”

“Never.”

“Don’t be so casual about never or forever , Si.”Soap was on his passenger seat, he looked into the brownie-coloured eyes in the rear-view mirror, “Now I know you’re hiding so much interesting things. Learn a little bit every day, and one day I will get them all.”

“Those words could go into song lyrics.”Ghost smiled under the mask.

Oh my god' I feel it in the air,

Telephone wires above,

Are sizzlin' like a snare,

Honey I'm on fire' I feel it everywhere,

Nothin' scares me anymore.

[gtwscratch]

the bdubs time dilation ask (and subsequent reblog) got me feeling a certain way ngl

cause now im just imagining a scenario where he activates his powers either consciously or subconsciously to try and avoid smth such as getting hurt, but because he is also affected by it he isn’t actually able to avoid it and it just takes much longer than it would have otherwise and thus is even more traumatic

idk if this makes sense but like for example, if they planed to hit him or smth and although he can see it coming he can’t physically move away fast enough to avoid it

(i do think you could maybe have best of both worlds with his movement during his powers episodes though, maybe have it start with him not knowing how to remove himself from the powers effects and have that something he learns to do later)

(…though this does raise the possibility of them using his powers to do endurance “training” on people by having them experience pain for longer without the side effects of actually bleeding out or something 😬)

anyway i am greatly enjoying your torture of the blorbos <3

Oooooo interesting thought!

[gicosmo]

||My Crocodile Theories||

These are just some overall theories I have about Crocodile!! I hope his past gets revealed soon! He’s such an interesting character.

As we all know by now, Crocodile has made it abundantly clear that he places trust in NO ONE. But why?

I have two theories about why he developed trust issues:

||-Marriage Theory-||

I’ve always found it odd that Crocodile wears rings on every finger EXCEPT his ring finger.

My theory is: Crocodile had a partner. A partner he loved dearly. What happened to said partner? Here’s where the two part comes into play:

His partner betrayed him in some way shape or form. Imagine dedicating your love, trust, basically your whole being to your partner just for them to back stab you. How did his partner back stab him? It could be anything, honestly. Maybe his partner was unfaithful? Maybe his partner teamed up with people he was iffy about. In some way, the person he truly trusted betrayed him. What better way to show it than to completely leave that finger alone without a ring.

The other part? His partner was murdered by someone else he trusted. A friend. Why in the world would Crocodile ever trust anybody again when trust got his partner killed. The one person Crocodile trusted enough to dedicate his life to was ripped away from him. His way of showing respect? Leaving his ring finger empty, his ring buried along with his partner in their grave.

Another thing I want to point out about his ring finger and the significance of it: Maybe his finger not having a ring on it is symbolism. Deep down he actually wants to trust someone. To have someone not only to love, but to trust for the rest of his life. A soulmate. His someone.

||-Ivankov Theory-||

I know a great majority of people love the Crocomom theory(I do too lmao) but I have a different take on Iva’s place in Crocodile’s past!

While I do love the Crocomom theory, I can’t shake the fact that it seems very out of character for Iva to hold something like that against someone. Not just being a mom, but switching genders. Ivankov is all for people being themselves. It would be weird for him to not uphold his beliefs just because it’s Crocodile.

On the topic of Ivankov’s character: Ivankov wouldn’t give the time of day to ANYONE as cruel as Crocodile. Iva gravitates towards people who have hope, people who are for community, good hearted people in general.

My theory: When Crocodile was a rookie, he was a naive sweetheart. A pirate just like Luffy, with the dream to be the king of the pirates. A happy go lucky boy with so much hope not only for himself, but for others too.

While I know that theory sounds like a stretch… Just think about it. Any pirate who has branded himself on being a cruel, intimidating person would NOT want that kind of information out. That would be beyond embarrassing for Crocodile and it gives him a good reason not to try anything during Marineford.

||-Whitebeard Theory-||

We all know by now that Crocodile despised Whitebeard. And we know that they’ve fought in the past.

Hopefully someone can correct me on this in case i’m wrong but I have yet to see ANYONE who has fought Whitebeard… Not become his son?

Think back to the first conversation Ace and Marco had. Marco gave Ace two options: Get off the Moby Dick and start his pirate journey all over. Or become Whitebeard’s son.

My theory: When Whitebeard defeated Crocodile, he gave the same options to him. Join him and become his son, or start over. What did Crocodile do? Start over!

Honestly, Crocodile doesn’t seem like the type to work under ANYONE. While we the audience know that Whitebeard treats his crew as his family, Crocodile didn’t know. In his mind, HE wanted to be his own captain, not to serve under one. He wanted to make HIMSELF pirate king, not help someone else become that.

Not only did Crocodile have to start over, but he had to carry the embarrassment of being defeated.

||-Conclusion-||

Overall? I think Crocodile has been through hell and back. But instead of taking that hurt and learning from it, he’s using that to be the cold hearted man that we know now.

[cancerian-woman]

Thoughts on a Elena x Bonnie x Tyler throuple or main trio

Ideally, Elena, Bonnie and Tyler as the main trio (throuple or not too) would’ve been the best option. I say this all the time but Elena, Bonnie and Tyler were never going to have a choice on if they wanted to be involved in the supernatural world. It was destined and ingrained to them without much of a choice. Elena was always going to be a doppelgänger, Tyler was a Lockwood werewolf and Bonnie was a Bennett witch. The writers dropped the ball on many things but these three characters got it worst.

Elena stopped being a fraction of a character when the writers inserted into her and lessened her down to fit Delena. The thing is they could’ve put them together naturally but that just wasn’t an option in the land of Plecverse. She just becomes Damon’s gf. We know she still cares for her career goals but she’s not nearly the same person she was before Damon. Hardly, the same friend she used to be as well. When we were told Elena’s compassion is integral to her characterization.

Tyler couldn’t get an arc outside of enslavement to Klaus or being Caroline’s boyfriend who quote to some fans “treated her terribly”, and we couldn’t even see how he grows throughout his werewolf arc and being a hybrid was great to him until it was just about a sirebond. Then he’s criticized for wanting to kill Hayley&Hope when Klaus & Hayley played a part in ruining his life. I’m sorry why was he supposed to spare Hayley when nobody spared Carol for him? It’s just upsetting knowing that Hayley got a full werewolf centered arc and Tyler couldn’t get half of that. Tyler is the only male I believe truly changed his actions and wanted to keep being the newer version of himself. It wasn’t just for romance.

Imagine a scene of Elena and Tyler discussing their sirebonds! It’s a significant experience that only those two know about. Imagine Tyler and Bonnie talking about how their parents screwed them over.

Bonnie what isn’t wrong with her storylines? I just can’t get with anyone that praises Bonnie for not lashing out when she goes through trauma after trauma. I don’t get why black women are supposed to be emotionless mules while her white counterparts on TVD&TO can have the free will to push their emotions. From romances, to her personal life and her family. Future career goals what are they?!

These three deserved so much better fr and it pisses me off.

[nazarethsprincess]

I just love my sisters

[dontmindmejustdoomscrolling]

Just finished reading Gideon the Ninth.

I’m going to cry what the FUCK

[sillylittlecandlestick]

Sammy pushing away her trauma with that “I've already forgotten” line is so real for a lot of farm kids, like damn.

[icelogged]

WHEN IT’S COLD

AND THE WORLD ENDS

I WANNA BE HIGH [literally straight edge]

[aeide-thea]

still thinking abt the tumblrinx i encountered a while back whose pinned post said they were transmasc… and also demanded that men dni

like—i’m not confused by the convoluted not-like-the-other-boys doublethink that gets you there, i can follow the chain of illogic just fine, but i sure am deeply wearily depressed by it!

[dex-starr]

“Who else would ever stay?

Who else would ever stay?

Who else is going to love someone like me?

Who else is going to love someone like me that’s marked for death?

Who else is going to be with me when I breathe it all?

Who else would take your place and hold and keep me safe?”