#Match moving in Nuke

[wall-eye]

going insane but im normal

[imnotditzy]

Captain Marvel vs. Hypnosis

So this post includes Billy & Marvel being separate minds but share bodies.

Anyways, imagine if some villain tried to put Captain under hypnosis? I have a few ideas on how it would go, but let’s start in order.

Only Billy is mind controlled.

It’s immediately foiled.

It’s so obvious that it just doesn’t work 90% of the time.

Okay, #1. Only Billy is mind controlled. Now, since Billy is the only like somewhat regular dude in the Captain Marvel body, I feel like he’d be the only one vulnerable to mind control. All of the gods, plus Solomon and Marvel are immune. So whenever someone tries to control Captain Marvel, Billy’s the only one affected.

This could turn into the pantheon trying to stop Billy from making any dumb choices while ridding the threat.

It would look so odd from the outside, too. Because Marvel and Billy’s control keeps fluctuating, as they fight to control their body. it would look like Captain was having a seizure or something.

Villain: Hahah! Captain Marvel is now under my control! Think of all the mayhem we will cause!

Captain: (immediately stops moving.)

WW: Captain?

Captain: (starts shaking)

Batman: Captain Marvel?

Captain (still shaking): don’t worry my fellow people this is purely temporary 🙂

Captain (internally):

Billy: Nuke the city, nuke the city! 😈

Marvel: Billy I beg of you, stop this. What even is a nuke?

Billy: Bomb the universe 👹

—

#2, it’s immediately foiled.

Like it doesn’t even last for a second. It doesn’t work on Captain Marvel, or Billy.

Villain: Now, with my miraculous mind control powers, Captain Marvel along with the rest of the Justice League are no match for me! Villain puts hands against their head and does the circular ray thing, aiming for Captain Marvel.

Flash: Watch out, Cap!

Captain (Was busy listening to Atlas get ganged up on): Huh?

Captain gets hit by the ray.

Captain: Yeesh! My brain feels oddly itchy. Villain: You don’t feel…differently? Like the need to destroy the Justice League?

Captain (Perfectly fine): No..? Should I? Villain: But…that’s impossible! He should be under my control!

GL: Doesn’t seem like he is, buddy. Now you’re off to jail.

—

#3, it’s so obvious it’s immediately foiled.

This one is loosely based on the Fawcettoon hc, but it’s just Captain being a bit silly.

What I mean by this is, is whenever Captain’s under mind control they get like the black and white spiral eye thing from the cartoons. The optical illusion? Imagine if each time Captain is hypnotized it’s just that, and it’s so incredibly obvious that villains can’t even pretend to be Captain Marvel because the eyes are a dead giveaway. So now, the only times Captain is mind controlled isn’t to gather intel, but to fight or nab things.

[beemochi-art]

(unless it’s spoilers) I must know more abt this overlord

Yes! So we all know now Overlord is Elita and Op’s bio son.

In the beginning Elita called him Giga. But he started going by his gladiator name.

The thing about cybertronians is they can get stronger depending on their environment even if it’s not necessarily in their genetics. And Kaon was a very brutal place to live. So overlord Giga got big, very fast.

At the beginning of the decepticon war elita was forced to leave him behind. She did try her best to get him to flee with her but he was admitted on not staying with the decepticons. He warned her…

He idolized Megatron. That was something he felt megatron just got about him. Overlord would became like a pupil to Megatron. He was fiercely loyal to him.

Then an incident happened that heavily damaged megatron rendered by the senate. Megatron was never the same after that. Overlord could tell whenever megatron was making his speeches he was mostly just acting. His personality is very different now, and he can’t stand it.

Overlord was assigned to work with a mech that could semi match his power. This was Thunderblast, she is a massive power hungry, bloodthirsty lady (Star is her side piece.) Overlord doesn’t mind her. Her personality is similar to Elita’s. She is a rank higher then him, she likes that he listens to her and that she can boss him around without anything bad happening to her, yet. They sometimes would spend years together in solitude patrolling. So they have gotten pretty used to each other. Thunderblast is attached to him but I wouldn’t say the feeling is mutual.

There’s something him and op have in common. So so many upgrades… he did and yes, he still is a phase sixer (with some twist. 😉)

Much Like his dad he as had many upgrades and a lot of work done. That’s the main thing he had done was the endoskeleton coat which allows him to be a phase sixer. His cog has been heavily modified too.

He’s got his Bot mode, alt tank, alt jet and he can slip in two into a smaller jet and tank. If you notice that’s only five alts and not six. He hasn’t chosen a sixth one yet.

All of these modes and modifications take more power from his spark and takes more energon then your average bot.

So he runs on a enhancer substance called nuke, it allows him to move quick and with a ton of strength. (Cough cough steroids.) all cons take it but only a little. But overlord needs the stuff to function properly, it’s highly addictive and can have horrible side effects. The amount he takes would short circuit any normal bot.

[missmadella]

Unplanned, But Perfectly Played (Kuroo x Reader)

Fluff, Fluff everywhere. Hope you enjoy :3

Summary: While trying to find a bathroom in the massive city arena, you accidentally stumbled right into a certain well-known, black-haired man. What happened next? You impressed him in a way no one ever had—by verbally nuking the rude German representative on the other end of his call like a one-woman diplomatic explosion.

Words: 11485

With wide, sparkling eyes, you stepped into the grand Tokyo arena, heart pounding with excitement. You were finally here—and it couldn’t have been more perfect. Your dream had come true, and honestly, it still didn’t feel real.

Your mouth hung slightly open as you walked further into the massive space, weaving through crowds of people grabbing snacks or heading toward their seats. The atmosphere was electric—buzzing with energy, laughter, and anticipation.

After a long debate, you’d finally made the leap to move to Japan. Everyone had told you how difficult it would be, how risky, how far from home—but you did it anyway. And so far, you hadn’t regretted a single thing.

The city was huge and always alive. You loved volleyball, and Japan had some of the best teams in the world. So once you settled into your new apartment—conveniently close to the arena—you booked yourself a ticket the second you could.

And now here you were.

Excitement was practically buzzing through your bones as you made your way over to the food stands, ready to grab something before finding your seat.

There was just one small problem: You really needed to pee.

So you headed off into the maze-like hallways in search of a bathroom… and quickly realized it was like trying to find a secret boss level in a video game. The signs on the walls weren’t helping at all, and the further you wandered, the more lost you felt.

The big volleyball arena had become a labyrinth—and you were stuck in it, hunting down a toilet like it was your life’s mission.

______________________________________________________________

The big volleyball arena had become a labyrinth—and you were stuck in it, hunting down a toilet like it was your life’s mission.

You paused at another intersection of hallways, still no bathroom sign in sight. You were starting to think you’d accidentally walked into the athlete-only section or a secret underground volleyball society or something.

With a sigh, you muttered under your breath, „Ich schwöre, wenn ich nicht bald ein Klo finde, piss ich einfach in einen Pappbecher.“ (I swear, if I don’t find a bathroom soon, I’m just gonna pee in a paper cup.)

You chuckled to yourself bitterly—what a glamorous international adventure this was turning out to be.

That’s when a voice pulled you out of your spiral. Deep, professional, laced with calm frustration:

“No, Mr. Brandt, I understand your concerns,” the man said in English, polite but clipped. “But three full courts for twelve players isn’t a reasonable request.”

You slowed down instinctively. Not just because someone was speaking English—thank god—but because the voice sounded weirdly familiar.

You peeked around the corner.

There he was. Tall, lean, dressed in black slacks and a crisp white button-up with the Japan Volleyball Association lanyard hanging from his neck. One hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone just slightly away from his ear like he was resisting the urge to chuck it across the building.

Kuroo Tetsurō.

You froze.

No way.

You knew that face. That hair. That presence. You’d seen him in documentaries, on highlight reels—back when he was the iron-willed captain of Nekoma, and even now, working high up in the JVA, organizing events and apparently dealing with international volleyball divas.

“…No, we don’t have luxury warm-up suites either,” Kuroo was saying, his tone still patient, but just barely. “This isn’t the Olympics. It’s an exhibition match.”

A sharp voice crackled on the other end. German. Loud. Angry.

“Das ist ein Witz! Drei Felder sind Standard für unsere Vorbereitung!” (This is a joke! Three courts are standard for our preparation!)

You winced. Yup. German. Definitely German. Definitely rude.

Kuroo pinched the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have the space for that. One court is already reserved—”

More shouting. Even you couldn’t help feeling secondhand frustration at the entitled tone.

You took one hesitant step forward.

Then another.

Then—what the hell—you walked right up to him and tapped his shoulder.

Kuroo turned, startled, eyebrows raised. You suddenly became very aware that you’d just interrupted Kuroo freaking Tetsurō mid-conversation.

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “But, um… I speak German. Do you want help?”

He blinked. Then blinked again. “You speak German?”

You nodded. “Born and raised.”

A flicker of hope crossed his face. “Please. Be my guest.”

You took the phone like it was a sacred relic and brought it to your ear.

You took the phone like it was a weapon forged in the fires of passive-aggressive international diplomacy.

“Guten Tag, Herr Brandt,” you began, voice smooth and saccharine. “Ich bin die Assistentin von Herrn Kuroo. Ab sofort läuft die Kommunikation über mich.” (Good afternoon, Mr. Brandt. I’m Mr. Kuroo’s assistant. From now on, all communication goes through me.)

A scoff came through the speaker. “Assistentin? Davon wusste ich nichts.” (Assistant? I wasn’t informed about that.)

You smiled coldly, your voice sharpening like glass under velvet.

“Kein Wunder. Sie reden ja die ganze Zeit, statt zuzuhören.” (No wonder. You’ve been talking nonstop instead of listening.)

Before he could respond, you launched in—quick, clipped, and absolutely done.

“Sie bekommen ein Feld. Für eine Stunde. Und zwar pünktlich. Keine Sonderwünsche, keine extra Beleuchtung, kein Aromatherapie-Aufwärmraum.” (You get one court. For one hour. On time. No special requests, no extra lighting, no aromatherapy warm-up room.)

He tried to interrupt, but you didn’t stop.

“Wir sind hier bei einem Freundschaftsspiel, nicht bei den Weltmeisterschaften. Reißen Sie sich zusammen.” (This is a friendly match, not the world championships. Get a grip.)

“Und bevor Sie noch mehr Forderungen stellen: Japan ist nicht hier, um Ihnen einen roten Teppich auszurollen. Wir organisieren dieses Event für alle Teams, nicht nur für Ihr Ego.” (And before you make more demands: Japan isn’t here to roll out the red carpet for you. We’re organizing this event for all teams, not just your ego.)

“Wenn Sie mit einem einzigen Feld überfordert sind, empfehle ich ein Kindergarten-Turnier. Vielleicht kommen Sie da besser zurecht.” (If one court is too much for you to handle, I suggest a kindergarten tournament. You might manage better there.)

The silence on the line was deafening. You could almost hear his jaw drop.

You softened your tone slightly, like a final bow after a very polite slap.

“Wenn Sie unter diesen Bedingungen nicht spielen wollen, ist das in Ordnung. Der Park ist groß. Nehmen Sie eine Matte mit.” (If you don’t want to play under these conditions, that’s fine. The park is big. Bring a mat.)

And with that, you hung up. No goodbyes. Just click.

You handed the phone back to Kuroo with the grace of a queen finishing a duel. Kuroo took the phone slowly, like it might still be hot from the fire you just unleashed.

Kuroo stared at you, deadpan. “Assistant?”

You grimaced. “It sounded more official than ‘random German girl who got lost on the way to the bathroom.’”

“…Okay,” he said after a moment, voice low and full of disbelief. “But for real. What the hell was that?”

You raised an eyebrow, arms casually folding over your chest. “German customer service voice. Nuclear edition.”

He stared at you like you’d just grown wings. “I’ve been going back and forth with that guy for three days. You shut him down in three minutes.”

You gave him a look. “You were too polite.”

He blinked, then snorted. “That was polite?”

“I didn’t swear,” you said with a shrug. “That’s polite in Germany.”

He laughed, fully this time. Not the polite, professional chuckle you’d seen earlier—but a real, damn, she’s good kind of laugh.

“Okay, seriously. Who are you?” he asked, still grinning. “Because you just walked out of nowhere, annihilated Herr Bratwurst on the phone—”

“Brandt,” you corrected with a grin.

“Right. Herr Brandtwurst,” he smirked, “—and now he’s probably reevaluating his life choices while drinking a very tense herbal tea.”

You tried not to smile too hard, but it was kind of flattering having Kuroo freaking Tetsurō looking at you like you were some kind of volleyball event superhero.

“So,” he went on, still eyeing you with a mix of curiosity and amusement, “was that a one-time performance or are you open to freelance miracle-working?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering me a job?”

He gestured vaguely to the chaos of the arena behind him. “I’m saying I have a lot of stress, and a very loud German just stopped yelling at me. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But I have conditions.”

“Oh? Lay ’em on me, Assistant-san.”

“First, I want snacks. Like, real snacks. Not that ‘we have rice crackers in the office’ nonsense.”

Kuroo placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I have excellent snack taste.”

You grinned. “Second, I still haven’t found a bathroom.”

His smile widened. “Right. The real emergency.”

He tilted his head toward a hallway to the left. “Come on. I’ll escort you myself. Least I can do.”

You followed him, still buzzing with the leftover adrenaline of the call—and maybe something else, something warm and fluttery that had nothing to do with public restrooms or volleyball.

Kuroo glanced over at you as you walked, a soft smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“You know,” he said, “you really could’ve just walked past and ignored me.”

You shrugged. “I don’t like bullies.”

He nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Neither do I.”

You reached the bathroom sign—finally—and paused.

He leaned against the wall casually. “I’ll wait.”

You raised a brow. “You’re seriously gonna stand here like a lost puppy until I come back?”

“Absolutely. You’re my assistant now. Can’t risk losing you in the wild.”

You laughed, pushing the door open with a smirk.

“Good. Keep that energy. You’ll need it.”

You returned from the bathroom feeling a little lighter—thank God, that was the most important mission of the day accomplished. As you stepped back out into the hallway, Kuroo was still waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall with a half-smile that made you feel like he was just waiting for you to say something.

“So,” he started, his voice teasing, “you’ve survived the most critical part of the event. What’s next, Assistant-san?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the wall too. “Well, seeing as I’m such an excellent assistant, I’m assuming I’ll be getting front-row seats to the match?”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You think I’d let you sit in the crowd with the rest of the peasants?”

“I’m just saying,” you grinned, “you’ve got a very capable assistant now. I think I deserve a little VIP treatment.”

He laughed. “Fair enough. But I do have to keep up appearances, so don’t get too comfortable.”

“Well, since you’re offering,” you shrugged dramatically, “I’ll take a spot with the team. Preferably near the snacks. I am, after all, helping you make this event a success.”

“Oh, you’ll get your snacks,” he said with a wink. “And I’ll personally escort you to the VIP section. Can’t risk my assistant being stuck in the commoner’s zone.”

With that, Kuroo led you down the hallway toward the special entrance, his hand brushing yours ever so slightly as you walked side by side.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Maybe Japan wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

______________________________________________________________

The lights above the arena flickered to life, and the excitement in the air was palpable. The crowd's murmurs grew into excited cheers as the teams began warming up on the court, the atmosphere charged with the intensity of the upcoming game.

You took your place beside Kuroo, who handed you a seat at the edge of the VIP section, just a few rows back from the team. You settled in, your eyes fixed on the court, the anticipation building in your chest. Your fingers drummed on the armrest as you tried not to let your nerves show. It felt surreal to be here, watching some of the best volleyball players in the world in action.

Kuroo sat down next to you, his usual laid-back demeanor still in place, but you could see the focus in his eyes as the game began to unfold. The match was intense, with the crowd cheering every time the ball soared through the air, but your attention wasn’t just on the game. It was on the way Kuroo moved, the way his eyes never left the court, the way he silently coordinated the team from his position.

You couldn’t help but feel a little in awe of him—this was a whole new side of Kuroo you hadn’t seen before.

“Impressive, huh?” Kuroo muttered, catching your eye.

You nodded, unable to keep the admiration out of your voice. “Very. You’re not just a pretty face with good management skills.”

He laughed softly. “I try.”

The match went on for a few more sets, and you found yourself leaning forward, getting caught up in the rhythm and the energy. But just as the tension in the game peaked, Kuroo’s phone buzzed in his pocket, drawing his attention. He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing when he saw the name.

“Ugh,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s him again.”

You gave him a knowing look. “Do you really have to take it?”

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. Let me just—”

Before he could finish, you leaned forward and grabbed the phone from his hand, much to his surprise.

“Hey, no worries. I’ve got this one,” you said confidently, unlocking the phone and answering the call.

Kuroo stared at you, blinking, but didn’t protest.

“Guten Tag,” you said into the phone, your tone warm but firm. “Herr Brandt, I trust you’re doing well?”

There was a slight pause on the other end before Herr Brandt’s voice responded, still somewhat guarded. “Ah, Frau tut mir leid wie ist ihr Name? (I'm sorry, miss, but what is your name?), I wasn’t expecting to hear from you directly.”

You leaned back in your seat, completely at ease. “Well, my name is Y/N L/N. I just figured you’ve had enough of Kuroo’s charm for today. He’s working hard, after all. But now, let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”

“I… see. What is it you wanted to discuss?” Herr Brandt asked cautiously.

“I want you to understand that everything I said to you earlier still stands,” you said, your tone firm. “The date, the location, the conditions. Either you agree to them, or we walk away. There’s no room for negotiation here.”

There was another pause, followed by a sigh on the other end. You could tell he was weighing his options. Finally, he relented.

“…Fine. We accept your terms. The match will be held on the date you mentioned. We’ll be there.”

You smiled, hanging up the phone and turning to Kuroo, who was looking at you with a mix of shock and admiration.

“Well,” you said with a grin, “Herr Brandt has agreed to everything.”

His jaw dropped. “Wait—really?”

“Yep. The German team will be here, and the match is on.” You pulled up your calendar on your phone and typed in the date. “It’s set for two weeks from now. So, you might want to prep your team.”

You could almost see the wheels turning in Kuroo’s mind. He was clearly impressed, but also a little overwhelmed by the sudden whirlwind of events.

He gave you a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“So,” he said, tone casual but his eyes glinting, “is this how you usually make an entrance into a new country?”

You crossed your arms, giving him a mock-serious look. “Only when the situation calls for it. I usually like to keep a low profile. You know—move to Tokyo, find a bathroom, accidentally end up organizing international volleyball matches. The usual.”

Kuroo laughed, the sound low and genuine. “You’re dangerous.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm, I prefer the term ‘effective.’”

There was a pause between you, the buzzing energy of the arena wrapping around you like background music. Kuroo shoved his hands into his pockets, still watching you.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I was actually dreading that call back from Herr Brandt.”

“And now?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

He smiled, looking a little too pleased. “Now I’m thinking I should just hand you my schedule, my inbox, and maybe my entire job.”

You smirked. “Tempting offer. What does the assistant salary include? Free game tickets and unlimited coffee?”

“Snacks,” he said, grinning. “I can throw in matchday snacks. Premium.”

“Ooh, a man of luxury,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and there was a brief flicker of something more—appreciation, interest, maybe even curiosity. “I’m serious though. You were amazing back there. Not just with Brandt, but the way you held your ground. The guys respect that. I respect that.”

You met his gaze, this time letting the humor fall away for just a second. “Thanks. It felt good, you know? Doing something that mattered.”

“I get it,” he said, his voice softer now. “It’s not easy stepping into a new world. Especially one this chaotic.”

You smiled. “I’ve been in worse chaos. This one has better lighting and snacks.”

That made him chuckle again. He rubbed the back of his neck, then gestured toward the court where the players were wrapping up. “You should meet the rest of the team properly. Want to come with me?”

You hesitated for just a beat. “Like… officially?”

Kuroo’s smile was easy, confident. “You said you were my assistant, didn’t you?”

You laughed. “You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

With a small shake of your head and an amused sigh, you followed him toward the court, weaving through the maze of chairs and gear bags. A few of the players gave you curious glances as you approached, but Kuroo waved them over.

“This is Y/N L/N.” he said, placing a hand lightly on your shoulder. “She’ll be helping out with some of the prep for the upcoming match.”

One of the players, a tall blocker with messy hair, raised an eyebrow. “You mean the Germany match?”

You gave a casual little wave. “The very one. You’re welcome, by the way.”

The team collectively blinked. One of them muttered under his breath, “Okay, who is she?”

“She is the person that made Herr Brandt fold like a tourist map.”

Someone else whistled. “Yo, and we thought Kuroo was the smooth talker.”

You shrugged, clearly enjoying the attention. “Years of dealing with German bureaucracy trained me well.”

The guys chuckled, now clearly impressed, though one of them leaned over and stage-whispered to Kuroo, “Is she your actual assistant?”

Before Kuroo could answer, you said smoothly, “Yes. Officially now. Paperwork pending. Also, I want a badge.”

Kuroo turned to you with a mock-serious nod. “Fine. You’ll get a badge. And maybe a hat.”

“Hell yes,” you grinned. “Assistant of the Year hat.”

Kuroo’s eyes lingered on yours a second longer than needed, his smile softening at the edges. “Honestly? You deserve it.”

Something about the way he said it, not teasing or sarcastic this time, made your chest flutter just a little. You blinked and looked back toward the court to avoid showing the grin tugging at your lips.

He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice. “So. You came here… for volleyball and accidentally walked into a job?”

You nodded, eyes still forward. “Technically, I came here to watch a game and find a toilet.”

Kuroo blinked. “Right. The toilet.”

There was a pause, light and easy between you. Kuroo tilted his head, watching you like you were some weird puzzle piece that somehow fit into his world better than expected.

“So… what are you doing in Japan, exactly?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone now.

You glanced back at him, eyes a little softer. “Starting over, I guess. I needed a change. Volleyball’s always been something I love. Felt like the right place to chase that feeling.”

He nodded slowly, a flicker of understanding passing over his face. “Well… for what it’s worth—” he nudged your arm with his elbow, “—Japan’s lucky to have you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean you’re lucky to have me.”

He grinned. “That too.”

And just like that, the assistant role didn’t feel like a joke anymore. It felt like the start of something real—whether that was a new life, a new job, or maybe something even more unexpected.

______________________________________________________________

Three Days Later – 9:42 PM – Japan Volleyball Association HQ

You pushed open the office door with your elbow, balancing two convenience store coffees in one hand and a pack of melon pan under your arm. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and Kuroo was still at his desk, hunched over what looked like a horrifying wall of post-it notes, emails, and scouting reports.

“I bring fuel,” you announced, setting the coffee near his hand like it was a peace offering to the god of volleyball logistics.

Kuroo looked up, glasses slightly askew, eyes ringed with the kind of exhaustion that meant he’d been fighting Excel sheets and match proposals for hours. But the second he saw you—and the coffee—his entire face softened.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know,” you said with a smug grin, flopping into the seat across from him. “You’d probably be chewing on a pencil if I didn’t show up.”

He gave you a deadpan look, then glanced at the pencil already in his hand. “Shut up.”

You snorted. “So, what’s the chaos tonight?”

Kuroo sighed and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Brandt sent over the preliminary roster for the German team. Half of them are fresh, and he wants to do a press day before the match. Which I now have to plan. Tomorrow.”

“Yikes,” you muttered, sipping your coffee. “Want me to handle that?”

He blinked. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “Send me the details. I’ll schedule the press slots, draft the emails, and talk to Brandt if he gets spicy again.”

Kuroo stared at you for a long beat. “You weren’t joking about being my assistant, huh?”

You smirked. “Nope. I’m a menace when caffeinated and given responsibilities.”

“God, don’t let the other departments steal you.”

“Too late,” you said, stretching your legs out under the table. “One of the PR guys asked me if I wanted to help organize the media day for the All-Japan team.”

Kuroo scoffed. “You said no, right?”

You sipped dramatically. “I said, ‘I work exclusively with Kuroo Tetsurō now. Sorry.’”

He froze. And then—blushed. Just faintly, but it was there.

“…That’s dangerously flattering,” he said, trying to play it cool.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why? You getting used to me?”

He looked down at his notes, then back up at you. “Yeah. That’s what scares me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was thick. Charged. Familiar in a way that made your chest feel warm and a little too aware of how close you were sitting now.

You cleared your throat and gestured to his mess of a desk. “Anyway. If you let me organize that, maybe you’ll get to sleep before 2 AM.”

“You say that like you’re not staying up with me,” he replied, already sending you files.

“…Damn it,” you muttered, but you were smiling.

You spent the next hour going over logistics, sending emails, translating German player bios and making jokes about which one looked most likely to start a diplomatic incident. Kuroo didn’t say it out loud, but he leaned a little closer every time you cracked a dry joke, and you noticed how his shoulders slowly relaxed.

Eventually, somewhere around 11 PM, you looked over to see him just watching you.

“…What?”

He shook his head slightly, a quiet kind of smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing. Just realizing I might not survive the next few weeks without you.”

You smirked, trying not to let your heart jump at that. “You’re lucky I have no social life.”

“You’re lucky I know how to make team budget spreadsheets,” he shot back.

You both laughed, and the sound echoed in the quiet room.

And just like that, another night passed—filled with coffee, chaos, and a little more closeness than before. Maybe this job started as a joke, but it was becoming something else. Something real. And you weren’t sure what scared you more: how good you were at it… or how much you didn’t want it to end.

___________________________________________________________________________

After that first late-night coffee-fueled work session, things… kind of just fell into place.

You and Kuroo started meeting almost every day—sometimes officially, sometimes because you both “just happened to be at the office again.” The upcoming Germany match gave you more than enough chaos to deal with: organizing hotel accommodations, making sure the translator team was prepped, confirming the team’s dietary needs, and even dealing with a last-minute allergy email from Herr Brandt (apparently, one of the middle blockers couldn’t have sesame. Who knew?).

And you handled it like a boss. Like his boss, sometimes.

There were calls taken in hushed tones over shared bentos, project plans spread out between you on the floor of the VIP lounge because “the table felt too formal,” and way too many coffees delivered with teasing grins and sarcastic comments. Kuroo stopped even trying to pretend he wasn’t impressed.

You started to notice the way his eyes crinkled when you made a snarky remark. He started noticing that you always rubbed your thumb over your bottom lip when you were deep in thought. It wasn’t flirting—not really—but it was definitely something.

The other staff started raising eyebrows.

“She’s here again?” “Does she even work here?” “Is that… his shirt she’s wearing?”

(No. It wasn’t. It was just a big black hoodie. Probably.)

Kuroo didn’t say anything, though. He just kept sending you tasks with a little “thanks” at the end of every message. He started waiting for you before he left for meetings. And at some point, you started keeping a spare hair tie in your pocket, because he never had one and always forgot his.

One night, around midnight, while sorting out rooming assignments for the teams, he looked over at you—tired, a little disheveled, and still determined—and said:

“I can’t believe I used to do this alone.”

You looked up at him, smirking, but your voice was softer.

“Yeah, well. You’ve got me now.”

And he just… nodded. Like that meant something.

Maybe it did.

______________________________________________________________

The office was unusually quiet for a Thursday night. Most of the association staff had gone home hours ago, but you and Kuroo were still there—naturally—spread out across the couch in the lounge with half-empty drinks and the soft buzz of a heater kicking on in the background.

Kuroo leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, his laptop forgotten on the table in front of him. “I think we’re actually ready,” he said, voice low, tired—but content. “Flights confirmed, hotel confirmed, welcome packages printed, and Brandt hasn’t yelled at me in 48 hours.”

You grinned. “A miracle.”

He turned his head to look at you. “No. That’s your work. You made this so much easier.”

Your heart did a small, weird flip at that. You tried to play it off, even as your gaze lingered on him a second too long. His hair was a mess, his button-up a little rumpled, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked tired. He looked real. And way too good for your nerves.

You shifted slightly to face him more, your voice quieter now. “You’re actually kind of nice when you’re not in full Volleyball Director mode.”

He chuckled. “I could say the same. You’re scary efficient. I think half the staff’s afraid of you.”

“Good,” you said, smirking. “Fear keeps the schedule tight.”

He laughed, eyes closing as his head tilted back again. Then silence settled over you both—comfortable but heavy. Warm, somehow.

And then… he looked at you again. Different this time. Focused.

“You know…” he started, voice even softer, “I really meant what I said. About not wanting to do this alone.”

You swallowed, heart now fully doing gymnastics. “Kuroo…”

But he didn’t look away. He leaned in—just slightly—eyes locked with yours. One of his hands rested near yours on the couch, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure whether he should reach for you.

Your breath hitched.

He leaned in a little closer.

And then—

“Oi, Kuroo! You still here?!”

The door creaked open. One of the younger staffers poked his head in, completely unaware of the moment he had just obliterated.

You and Kuroo both jumped like you’d been electrocuted, jerking back from each other in perfect sync.

The staffer blinked. “Uh… sorry. I’ll come back.”

“No! It’s—fine!” you said way too fast, already grabbing your stuff like it was on fire. “I was just leaving anyway.”

Kuroo stood too, rubbing the back of his neck, not looking at you. “Yeah, it’s getting late.”

You adjusted your bag over your shoulder, suddenly not knowing what to do with your hands or your face. “Tomorrow’s gonna be crazy. German team arrives first thing.”

“Yeah,” he said, still not meeting your eyes. “You’ll be here early?”

“Of course. I’m your assistant, remember?”

You smiled—but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. He nodded.

You both just stood there for a second in awkward silence, like two teenagers who got caught watching a romance scene with their parents.

“…Night, Kuroo.”

“Night.”

And then you walked out, heart racing, mind screaming, and cheeks burning.

Behind you, Kuroo let out a long, frustrated breath and collapsed back on the couch like a man who’d just missed a winning shot.

______________________________________________________________

You were at the arena early—way too early, honestly—but you needed the head start to get your nerves under control. Not because of the team’s arrival, no. That was fine. Easy. You had your checklist, your translator badge, and your best polite-but-firm German-voice locked and loaded.

No. You were nervous because of him.

You hadn’t slept much. Your brain wouldn’t stop replaying that moment from last night, the lean-in, the look, the almost—

Nope.

You shook it off, fixing your shirt and adjusting your assistant lanyard like it gave you emotional armor. This was your job. You were a professional. You’d just… act normal. Like nothing happened. He’d probably do the same.

At 8:13 AM sharp, a cluster of tall men in matching tracksuits and branded duffels stepped through the main entrance, followed by a sharp click of polished shoes—Herr Brandt, clipboard in hand, voice already raised.

“Guten Morgen! Ist jemand hier zuständig?”

(Good morning! Is someone here in charge?)

You stepped forward, smooth smile in place. “Ja, Herr Brandt. Willkommen in Japan. Ich bin Ihre Ansprechpartnerin für den Aufenthalt hier.” (Yes, Herr Brandt. Welcome to Japan. I’m your main contact during your stay.)

He blinked. “Ah, Sie wieder. Sehr gut.” (Ah, you again. Very good.)

Behind him, one of the German players whispered something to another in rapid German. You caught the word hübsch. You raised an eyebrow, making them both shut up instantly. Professional armor? Still on.

You were halfway through organizing luggage tags and giving directions when you felt the shift in the air.

And there he was—Kuroo, walking in behind the German staff, coffee in hand, hair still slightly damp from a rushed morning shower, sleeves rolled, lanyard crooked, eyes scanning—until they landed on you.

Your stomach dropped. His eyes widened just a little, then flicked away too quickly.

“Morning,” he said, directing it to the group, but you felt it like a spotlight on your neck.

You cleared your throat, clipboard held like a shield. “Director Kuroo will be overseeing the training coordination. You’ll have access to Gym A and Gym C as requested.”

Herr Brandt perked up. “Ah, finally. Mister Kuroo! Thank you again for organizing all this. We are very—”

He was interrupted by the shrill ringtone of his own phone. He checked the screen and muttered, “Ach, schon wieder,” before answering.

You and Kuroo were left there, standing awkwardly beside each other while the tall German players loitered around you like friendly skyscrapers.

You glanced sideways at him. “Sleep okay?”

He blinked, then gave you a soft nod. “Barely. You?”

“Not really.”

A pause.

“About last night—”

“We’re fine,” you said too fast. “It was late, we were tired. Nothing weird.”

He gave a tight nod. “Right. Nothing weird.”

Another pause.

“Although,” you added without looking at him, “you leaned first.”

He made a noise in his throat—something between a scoff and a laugh. “You were staring.”

“You were staring harder.”

“Children!” Brandt called out from the side, unaware of the daggers flying in the form of glances. “I have the official schedule now. Shall we?”

You and Kuroo snapped back into business mode instantly.

“Yes, Herr Brandt,” you said, stepping forward smoothly. “Follow me. We’ll go over everything before training starts.”

As you walked ahead, one of the Japanese players from earlier—Kenjirō, you thought—leaned toward Kuroo and whispered, “Is that your assistant?”

Kuroo muttered, “Something like that.”

The player grinned. “She’s scary.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo said, almost fondly. “She’s the best kind of scary.”

______________________________________________________________

The gym was buzzing with energy and tension thick enough to cut with a spike. Two nations’ worth of volleyball players warmed up under bright halogen lights, the air heavy with the scent of resin, sweat, and competition.

The German team had arrived in true dramatic fashion—orderly, tall, and stone-faced in their red-and-black tracksuits. They moved like soldiers. And it made the Japanese players, still stretching in warm light, sit up just a little straighter.

You stood at the sideline, clipboard in hand, earpiece crackling with updates. Kuroo was somewhere behind you, watching silently—but letting you take point. You didn’t need him for this.

“Herr Brandt,” you said sharply in German as he began snapping at one of the players for their delayed reaction. “Das hier ist ein Freundschaftsspiel, kein Militärtraining.” (This is a friendly match, not a military drill.)

He scoffed. “Disziplin ist der Schlüssel zur Effizienz.” (Discipline is the key to efficiency.)

“Und trotzdem sind wir hier nicht auf einem Kasernenhof. Also bitte.” (And yet we're not on a military base. So, please.)

You didn’t yell. You didn’t need to. Your tone alone shut him up. And behind you, one of the German players smirked and whispered, “Die hat Feuer.” ("She’s got fire.")

You turned just in time to catch Kuroo watching you—arms crossed, an impressed tilt to his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You gave him a look that said, Don’t start.

But you saw the way his eyes flicked over you. Saw the way his mouth twitched like he was holding something back.

He didn't say it, but the look read: You’re hot when you’re scary.

The warm-up drills started and you bounced effortlessly between teams—translating, clarifying, even stopping a near-argument over drill order. You smoothed every wrinkle before it creased. The players respected you, not just because of the languages, but because you knew the game. You read the rhythm of it.

Kuroo stayed mostly silent, organizing the timing, making sure equipment was where it needed to be. But you could feel him watching you again. Not like before—he wasn’t just supervising.

He was studying you.

The way your brow furrowed when you translated under pressure. The way you corrected a German middle blocker with a gesture, not words. The way you praised the players in both languages like you were born for it.

And every once in a while, your eyes met his.

Neither of you said anything about the almost-moment last night.

But it hung in the air like the echo of a whistle, waiting for the next point.

______________________________________________________________

You stayed longer than you meant to.

Again.

The last of the German players had returned to their hotel, the gym floor was quiet, and only the hum of the vending machines and the distant clatter of cleaning staff remained.

You were slipping on your jacket outside the training office when you saw him—Kuroo—walking down the hallway with a slow, familiar gait and that look in his eyes again.

Your heart did a weird, slow spin in your chest.

“Hey,” you said, voice light, too casual.

“Hey.”

He stopped in front of you, just far enough that you didn’t have to tilt your head too much, just close enough to feel the weight of the space between you.

Neither of you said anything for a second. The hallway stretched long and empty behind him. The dim light overhead buzzed faintly.

You fidgeted with your zipper. “So… the joint training wasn’t a total disaster.”

Kuroo gave a small smile, his voice lower than usual. “It was better than I expected. You were…” His eyes searched yours. “Kind of a boss.”

You raised a brow. “Kind of?”

He looked amused. “Okay. Full boss mode. I think Brandt flinches when you walk past him.”

You smirked, then looked down at your shoes, just to break eye contact for a second before it made your stomach twist too much.

“Still not weird between us?” you asked quietly, not looking at him yet.

He shrugged. “Not weird.”

You finally met his eyes again, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out with a teasing lilt, trying to mask the nerves humming under your skin.

“Good. So I guess that means I can start dating again, right? Wouldn’t bother you or anything.”

A joke. Clearly. Playful. Light.

But he didn’t laugh.

You looked up, surprised to see the change in his face—his jaw had gone tight. His eyes were dark.

“Don’t,” he said, voice quiet, flat.

You blinked. “Don’t… date?”

“Don’t go on a date.”

Something fluttered in your chest. “Why not?”

He stepped forward. Just a little. But enough that you had to tilt your head to look up at him now. His voice dropped into something softer. Realer.

“Because if some guy gets to do what I should’ve done last night, I’m going to regret it. For a long time.”

Your breath caught.

The teasing was gone now. The air between you had gone still.

“I thought it was just an almost,” you said, voice nearly a whisper.

“It was,” he replied. “But I don’t want it to stay that way.”

You opened your mouth, something half-formed on your lips.

And then he leaned in—not slowly this time. Not cautiously.

He kissed you.

It was soft at first. Hesitant. Testing.

Then your hands found his hoodie, and his settled at your waist, and it deepened. Warm and hungry and entirely too much and not enough at the same time.

When he pulled away, his voice was low against your cheek.

“No more almosts.”

You barely had time to breathe before his lips were on yours again.

This time, it wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t careful.

It was weeks of side-eyes and late-night tension, teasing smiles, almost-kisses and shared coffees finally snapping loose all at once.

Your fingers curled into the front of his hoodie like you needed to hold on, and he responded with a hand at your jaw, the other at your waist, pulling you in like he wasn’t sure he’d ever let go again.

When you broke apart, finally, your heart was racing like you'd just sprinted a full court.

You rested your forehead against his chest, catching your breath. “We should… probably not make out in the hallway of a national arena.”

His laugh rumbled against your skin. “Yeah. Probably.”

A pause.

Then, “Let me walk you home.”

You didn’t say no.

___________________________________________________________________________

“Do you want to come in?”

The words slipped out of your mouth before you even realized you were saying them.

Kuroo looked at you for a second, his eyes unreadable. “Only if you want me to.”

The air between you crackled. Not just with attraction—but with the weight of the almosts, the silence, the sideways glances over coffee cups, and the heat of his hand on your back when he leaned too close at practice. Everything you hadn't said… sitting right there, breathing between you.

You opened the door and stepped inside, heart hammering against your ribs. He followed, slow and deliberate, closing the door behind him with a soft click that felt too loud in the quiet apartment.

You kicked off your shoes. He didn’t move from the entryway.

“So…” you started, trying to sound casual but your voice betrayed you with that slight breathlessness, “do you want a drink? Water? Beer?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Just looked at you.

Then: “No. I want you.”

The words hit like a spike to the chest.

You froze.

Then turned, slowly, eyes searching his face for hesitation. There was none. Just that familiar smirk, now tempered with something rawer—something real.

“You’re terrible,” you breathed, a smile tugging at your lips, voice shaking a little as you stepped closer.

He tilted his head, moving into your space so naturally it was like he’d always belonged there. “You’re the one who invited me in, remember?”

And then you were in his arms.

And he was kissing you like he’d been dying to since the first day you met.

It started slow—his hand cupping the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your jaw, mouth molding perfectly against yours. Like he was learning you with every pass of his lips. Like he didn’t want to rush it.

But you kissed him back like you were making up for lost time. Like you were afraid if you let go, he’d disappear.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, and he followed, pressing into you gently, pinning you there—not forceful, just… certain. Like he was claiming the moment.

He kissed down your jaw, then back up, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathless.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, voice rough and low, “how many times I wanted this.”

Your fingers curled in his hoodie. “Why didn’t you do something?”

“I was trying to be professional,” he growled, his lips brushing your ear.

You laughed, breathless. “You’re terrible at that.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, dragging his lips down your neck, “I really, really am.”

Your hands found their way under the hem of his hoodie, fingers tracing the warm skin of his back. You could feel him shudder a little.

“God, the way that German guy was looking at you,” he muttered suddenly against your throat.

You blinked, breath hitching. “You’re actually serious about that?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark. “I am serious. I saw him eyeing you all practice.”

You couldn’t help the grin that broke through your flushed face. “What, jealous?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Because I saw you first. Because I’ve wanted you first.”

You didn’t reply. You just pulled him back in and kissed him again, harder this time.

And he lost it a little.

His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt like he was trying to memorize you. His mouth moved over yours with more urgency now, your bodies pressed together like there was no space left to give.

It wasn’t rushed. It was slow-burn passion finally let loose.

By the time you both pulled away, breathless and flushed and clinging to each other like idiots, neither of you spoke for a minute.

Then he muttered against your lips, “This is so bad for team diplomacy.”

You laughed, voice raspy. “So bad.”

He grinned. “You going to fire me?”

“I’m your assistant,” you said with a wink. “I outrank you emotionally now.”

He rolled his eyes and kissed you again, softer this time. “That’s not how that works.”

You didn’t care.

Because you were pretty sure if he kept looking at you like that, you were going to forget how anything worked.

___________________________________________________________________________

You barely had time to gasp before Kuroo’s arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the wall like it was the easiest thing he’d ever done. You clung to him instinctively, legs wrapping around his hips, the two of you tangled in heat and friction and teeth grazing lips.

His lips crashed against yours again as he carried you across the apartment, navigating by instinct more than sight. The hallway blurred. Your pulse roared in your ears. Every bump, every shift of his grip on your thighs made your stomach flip and twist with anticipation.

Then—cold.

You gasped as he set you down on the edge of the kitchen island, the marble cool against your thighs through your jeans. Kuroo didn’t waste a second—his hands slid up your sides as he slotted himself between your legs, mouth already finding yours again, deeper, more deliberate this time.

There was no rush now.

Just control.

Just heat.

His tongue brushed yours, and he swallowed the soft sound you made with a low groan that made your entire body tighten. One hand gripped your hip, the other tangled in your hair, tugging gently until your head tilted just right for him to kiss along your throat.

Your legs locked tighter around him, pulling him flush against you—and when his hips ground into yours just right, you both froze for a moment.

Your breath hitched.

His jaw clenched.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your collarbone. “You’re dangerous.”

You smirked, pulling at the hem of his hoodie. “And you like it.”

He kissed you again, slower now. Hotter. Teeth dragging across your lower lip before he sucked it in, gently, making your toes curl against the cabinet behind him. Every time his mouth left yours, he found a new spot to worship—your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—making you tremble and cling.

His hand slid under your shirt, palm warm against your stomach as he pushed the fabric up inch by inch, his touch maddening in how slow it moved.

“I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, kissing the skin just below your ribs. “Since the first day you smarted off at Herr Brandt like it was nothing.”

You laughed, breathless. “That’s what did it for you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, voice low, teasing, full of want. “That mouth of yours is a menace.”

He kissed you again—hungry and possessive now, like he couldn’t get enough. His fingers hooked in the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down just slightly before his lips found yours once more.

Kuroos one hand slipping to your hip, the other sliding into your hair as his mouth found yours with dizzying certainty. He kissed you like he was staking a claim—like he’d been starved and you were the only thing that could satisfy him.

You gasped as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, down the line of your throat, and back again. “Tetsurou—”

He groaned at the sound of his name, lips dragging along your skin. “Say that again.”

You smiled, barely able to catch your breath. “Tetsurou.”

The way he kissed you then—slow and possessive and burning—made your knees buckle.

“God,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours, “you’re going to ruin me.”

You grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him into you again. “You’ve already ruined me.”

He didn’t hold back after that.

The kisses grew hungrier, deeper, messier. Hands tangled in clothes, slipping under fabric, exploring exposed skin like he was trying to memorize the shape of your body. His hoodie ended up half-off, your shirt tugged just enough to reveal warm skin to cool air. You felt his fingers at your waist, smoothing over your stomach like he was still holding back even as his touch burned.

There was no room for words anymore. Just low sounds between kisses, soft gasps, the hum of quiet desperation. Your back hit the wall again and again as he pressed into you, body fitting perfectly against yours.

You couldn’t remember the last time you wanted something like this—with this much ache behind it.

Every time he slowed down, it felt like a tease. Every time he pulled back to look at you—just to look—you felt like you’d drown in the heat of his gaze.

“You’re not making this easy,” you whispered, breath ragged, fingers slipping under the waistband of his sweats just slightly, enough to make him shiver.

“I’m not trying to,” he muttered, his voice low and wrecked. “You drive me fucking insane.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand slipping around to your lower back to keep you against him. You arched into him, hips pressing together, the contact making you both freeze for just a moment.

A beat of stillness.

Eyes locked.

Breath caught.

Then he whispered—dangerously close, voice shaking:

“If we don’t stop now, I’m not going to.”

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you pulled him by the hoodie and crushed your lips back to his.

That was your answer.

And Kuroo responded like he’d been waiting for permission all this time.

The next kiss was fire. Desperate. Unapologetic. He picked you up without warning, and your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he carried you deeper into the apartment—his mouth never leaving yours, not even for a second.

Somehow, he found your bedroom.

Somehow, you were both breathless and laughing and tangled in half-removed clothing, hands roaming, kisses getting deeper and sloppier by the second. You landed on the bed with him above you, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to just him.

His breath tickled your collarbone as he hovered there, taking you in with eyes that looked almost pained.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low, husky.

You nodded slowly. “You?”

He kissed you, soft and slow. “So sure it hurts.”

And then there was no more talking.

Just touch.

Just lips.

Just heat.

___________________________________________________________________________

Kuroo hovered above you, his breathing shallow, his chest rising and falling in quick rhythm as he traced his fingertips down your side, making you shiver. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath his touch, every inch of you trembling in anticipation. His lips brushed over your jaw, then down to your neck, taking his time, savoring the taste of you as though he were memorizing every part.

The world outside that bedroom felt like it had disappeared completely. There was only him. Only you.

He slid one hand up your back, pulling you closer to him, until you could feel the heat of his body pressing against yours. His lips found yours again, slower this time—more purposeful, as if to reassure himself this was real. You returned the kiss, meeting him halfway, your hands threading through his messy hair as your body arched into his.

“You’re killing me,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough with need.

You smirked, your lips teasing the shell of his ear. “That’s the idea.”

His chuckle was low, but it quickly turned into a groan as he kissed you deeper, pushing you back into the mattress. One of his hands slid to your waist, fingers digging into your hips as if to pull you closer. You gasped as his leg slid between yours, the friction sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

You were on fire.

His mouth moved down to your collarbone, tracing the skin with his lips before sinking his teeth gently into the soft flesh. The heat of his body against yours, the pressure of his leg between your thighs, made everything feel like it was closing in on you.

You were drowning in him.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” Kuroo whispered, his voice gravelly as he pulled away to look at you. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide, and his chest was still heaving from the intensity of the kiss. He ran his thumb over your lips, tracing the swollen curve of them, before pressing his forehead to yours. “Are you sure about this?”

You didn’t need to think. You didn’t need words.

“Yes.”

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Kuroo shed his hoodie, tossing it aside, his chest bare and sculpted in the dim light of the room. He took a moment to look at you, his eyes scanning the way you reacted to him, the way your lips parted in anticipation.

His lips returned to yours as his hand found the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, until he pulled it off completely. You shivered at the cool air against your skin, but the heat of his body quickly replaced it, making you forget everything but him. His kisses grew more urgent now, hungry, and you met him every step of the way, your hands finding his pants, pulling at them just as desperately.

Kuroo’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you in for one last kiss that almost made you lose control completely. It was deep, wild, almost frantic—like he needed this. Like he needed you.

And you needed him too.

The clothes you had left seemed to vanish in the heat of the moment, forgotten and discarded, and you found yourself pressed against the cool sheets, the warmth of his skin against yours a constant reminder that this was happening. That it wasn’t a dream.

He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as his breath steadied. “You sure you still want this?”

You kissed him again, forcefully this time, as if to answer for both of you. “Yes, Kuroo. I want this.”

With that, he didn’t hesitate.

He was slow, deliberate, but his pace quickened as the intensity of the moment took over. Every shift of his body against yours sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, and each kiss, each touch, only made the tension between you grow. The feeling of him inside you, of him filling the space that had been empty for so long, was overwhelming—and yet, you both needed more. Needed each other.

The way he moved—so careful, so sure—had you gasping, your nails digging into his back, urging him on. Your name escaped his lips in a whisper, and the sound of it only made you cling to him harder.

“You feel incredible,” he groaned into your ear, his voice so raw, it made your heart race even faster.

The room was spinning now—kisses, gasps, low moans, every touch so close, so intimate, it left you breathless. Time was forgotten. It was just the two of you, and nothing else mattered.

Then, just when you thought you might lose yourself completely, he pulled back slightly, giving you a moment to breathe. His chest was still heaving, his body slick with sweat, but his eyes were locked on yours—dark, intense, and full of something you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, his voice low, possessive.

You couldn’t answer at first. You were too consumed by everything he was making you feel, but you didn’t need to. The kiss you shared next was all the confirmation either of you needed.

And when the world finally came back into focus, you were tangled in each other’s arms, breathless, skin still buzzing from the intensity of it all.

___________________________________________________________________________

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft beams across the room, the quiet hum of the city outside barely breaking the stillness of the apartment. You were awake, but you didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to leave the warmth of Kuroo’s embrace.

His arm was still around you, his body a comforting weight against yours. He hadn’t moved much through the night—just enough for you to stay nestled close to him, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a soft lullaby that kept you grounded.

You listened to the sound of his breathing, deep and even, and for a moment, you could almost pretend like the rest of the world didn’t exist. You could pretend that this was how it was going to be from now on—just you and him, tangled in the quiet of the morning.

But then, the real world had a way of creeping in. You could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the light touch of his fingers still lightly resting on your waist, his thumb idly tracing the curve of your hip.

The softest movement from Kuroo shifted the atmosphere between you, and when you looked up, you found his eyes already on you—dark, warm, a little unsure. His hair was messy, sticking up in all directions, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he looked—so much more relaxed than the usual confident, composed Kuroo you knew.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. It was as though you were both still processing everything from the night before, trying to find your footing in this new space between you.

“Morning,” Kuroo’s voice was low, rough from sleep, but it still had that signature edge that sent a little shiver down your spine.

You smiled sleepily, your lips just barely brushing against his. “Morning.”

He paused, his thumb still drawing lazy circles against your skin as he leaned his head back against the pillow, clearly content to stay in this moment for as long as possible. You could feel his gaze on you as if he was still trying to figure out what exactly to say—what to do with the quiet that had settled between you.

“You okay?” he asked, the words careful, soft—unlike the teasing tone he usually carried.

You nodded slowly, resting your cheek back on his chest. “Yeah. I’m good.” You let out a soft, contented sigh, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on his arm. “Just… this is nice.”

It was simple. Soft. Intimate, in a way that made your chest feel a little fuller. The last few days had been full of chaos and tension, the whirlwind of traveling, new experiences, and—well, everything that had happened between you both. But this? This felt like the calm after the storm.

“I could get used to this,” Kuroo murmured, his hand finding your hair, fingers running through it with a gentleness that made your heart ache. “Waking up next to you, I mean. I think I’m… I think I’m okay with it.”

You felt a warmth spread through you, a smile tugging at your lips. “I could, too,” you admitted, voice quieter than you meant, as you shifted closer to him, the movement so natural that it felt like second nature.

He chuckled softly, clearly amused by the way you seemed to melt into him. “Yeah? I’m not too bad to wake up next to?”

You laughed lightly, rolling your eyes. “You’re pretty tolerable.”

“Pretty tolerable?” His voice was teasing again, but there was an unmistakable softness to it. He tilted his head to look at you more directly, eyes narrowing playfully. “I’ll take it.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face, your eyes softening as you reached up to touch his face, the warmth of your fingers lingering on his skin. “You’re more than pretty tolerable, Kuroo,” you said quietly, your voice full of affection you hadn’t meant to reveal just yet.

He paused, his eyes searching yours, looking for something that wasn’t quite there, but he didn’t push it. He just kissed your forehead instead—softly, tenderly—and for a long while, you stayed like that, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence.

It wasn’t until the smell of coffee wafted from the kitchen that reality started to sneak back in. The game, the training, the whole reason you were here—it was still there, hanging in the air, but it wasn’t pressing yet. Not yet.

You glanced at the clock. “Shit, I should get up,” you said, reluctantly pulling yourself away from him.

But Kuroo’s arms tightened around you. “Mm-mm,” he murmured, his grip possessive, and you felt his lips press against your shoulder. “Stay.”

You laughed softly, unable to help yourself. “Kuroo… we have things to do.”

He groaned, but the sound was more playful than anything. “We have time. It’s still early.”

You glanced at the clock again, then back at him. “It’s almost noon,” you pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” he said with a lazy grin. “Still early.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, okay,” you relented, leaning back into his embrace. “Just a little longer.”

Kuroo grinned like he won some kind of victory, pulling you back against him and resting his chin on your head. “That’s what I thought.”

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes, just enjoying the quiet, letting the sounds of the city and the soft hum of the apartment fill the space around you. You could hear the gentle sound of Kuroo’s heartbeat under your ear, steady and calm—just as steady as the way he held you, like you were something worth keeping.

Eventually, though, the moment had to end. Kuroo reluctantly pulled away, his lips brushing against your forehead as he got up and stretched, his muscles still loose from sleep. “Alright, I guess we should get moving. But after last night, I think I’m gonna need a lot of coffee.”

You smiled, watching as he made his way to the kitchen, his body still relaxed, his posture loose, but there was something different about the way he moved now—something a little less guarded.

You followed him into the kitchen, wrapping your arms around him from behind and resting your chin on his shoulder. “Yeah, me too.”

And as he started brewing the coffee, you leaned against the counter, feeling that strange mix of contentment and excitement bubble inside you—because whatever was going on between you two? It felt like something good. Something worth taking the time for.

“Let’s just make it a good day,” you said softly, more to yourself than anyone else.

Kuroo shot you a look over his shoulder. “Oh, trust me,” he said, voice low and confident, “today’s gonna be great.”

You smiled as you leaned against the counter, just watching him work. There was something about the way he moved, the way his confidence had shifted into something softer but no less magnetic.

And you couldn’t wait to see where this all went.

___________________________________________________________________________

Time Skip: A Few Years Later

It had been a few years since you and Kuroo had gotten married, and life had settled into a rhythm—one that was comfortable, familiar, and, well, a little chaotic, as it always seemed to be when it came to the two of you. You still weren’t the coach of any teams, but you had carved out your own place in the volleyball world. Organizing tournaments, managing schedules, coordinating with different teams, and making sure everything behind the scenes went off without a hitch—that was where you thrived.

Today, you were overseeing yet another event—this time a high-profile international friendly match between a local team and a German squad. Everything was falling into place: the teams were arriving on time, the facilities were prepped, and the sponsors were happy.

And there, in the middle of the buzzing gym, you were orchestrating the whole thing like a well-oiled machine, making sure the logistics were smooth and ensuring every player, coach, and staff member knew exactly where they were supposed to be.

The moment Kuroo walked in, however, everything seemed to shift. You could feel his presence before you even saw him—his energy, that signature confidence that always seemed to draw attention. He was standing at the entrance of the gym, chatting with one of the staff members when his gaze found you across the room. His lips curled into that familiar, teasing grin.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on here?” His voice was loud and clear, cutting through the buzz of the gym as he made his way over, his hands in his pockets and a playful glint in his eyes.

You smiled warmly, glancing up from your clipboard and taking in the sight of him as he approached. Even after all this time, Kuroo still had that effect on you—the easy confidence, the laid-back charisma, the way he never seemed to take anything too seriously, even in the midst of your hectic work.

“Just getting things ready for the match,” you said with a wink, watching as he approached, the crowd parting for him without even realizing it. “Making sure everything runs smoothly.”

He gave you a once-over, eyes sparkling. “Well, well, well,” he said in that teasing tone, “who’s this beautiful woman I see running the show?”

You rolled your eyes with a smirk, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter, clearly enjoying the playful attention. “Oh, I don’t know. She’s just someone who seems to have it all under control.”

He chuckled, stepping closer and leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. “I see,” Kuroo said, voice low and playful as he held you in that effortless, familiar way. “You’re still a genius at keeping everything organized.”

“And you’re still charming as ever,” you teased, your voice soft but amused.

Kuroo gave a dramatic sigh, feigning disappointment. “Is that all you’ve got for me? No, ‘Oh, my wonderful husband is here to save the day’?”

You smirked, shaking your head. “You saved the day by showing up. If you weren’t here, I’d probably be handling the logistics all by myself.” You winked at him, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest as his teasing grin spread wider.

“Well, since I’m here,” Kuroo said, his hands finding their way to your waist, “I guess I could help make sure things go smoothly. I am your husband, after all. Might as well use my influence, right?” His fingers grazed the edge of your shirt, his touch soft, warm.

You chuckled, but there was a sense of affection in your voice. “Oh, I’m sure I can handle it. But if you’re really eager to help, maybe you could go double-check the players’ warm-up area?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “So I’m not just here for moral support? You actually want me to work?”

“Sure,” you said, pushing off the counter and giving him a playful shove. “But only if you promise to do it without causing a scene. We can’t have you too charming today.”

He smirked at that, the corners of his mouth turning up in that mischievous way. “You’re lucky you married me, you know that?”

“Mm-hmm. I’m still wondering why I agreed to it,” you teased, your tone light and full of affection.

But even as you said the words, you knew the truth. You had married him because no one else made you feel the way Kuroo did. The way he made you laugh, the way he could make everything feel effortless even when things were chaotic. And now, as your husband, he had become your greatest partner in crime—helping you navigate the highs and lows of organizing events like this one.

Kuroo looked over his shoulder, catching one of the staff members’ eyes, and with a quick nod, he made his way toward the warm-up area. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave,” he called back, though his voice was laced with mischief. “But if I’m going to help, you’ve got to promise me a dinner date after all this.”

You smiled, already turning back to your work. “It’s a date. But don’t think you’re off the hook yet.”

He winked at you over his shoulder, his voice cutting through the air once more. “Oh, I never am, am I?”

You laughed softly as you returned to organizing the final details of the match. You loved the way Kuroo always knew how to keep things light, even when the pressure was on. And as the crowd in the gym grew louder, and the event began to unfold, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in how far you’d come—both in your career and in your relationship.

The match was about to begin, and while you were busy overseeing everything, Kuroo was there, always by your side, supporting you in ways that went beyond the surface level.

[artbyblastweave]

It's like. The DCAU was not a deliberately progressive endeavor, right, it wasn't sending up signal flares about the political affiliation of the writers, it's exactly as reflexively deferential to the cops and the troops and so on as every other politically-middle-of-the-road childrens cartoon of the late 90s-early 2000s. The ways in which it matches to 2020s progressive stances are largely bundled in with what was just the common-sense zeitgeist of that period- corporations Bad, army Bad. It was often very sexist.

But that still caches out in a continuity where we get a U.S. general casually lobbing a nuke at a Caribbean island nation to kill Superman and justifying the collateral damage on the grounds of all the drug dealers that it'll kill. That's a continuity where we get superheroes from the 1950s who're depicted as well-meaning but nonetheless expressly racist and sexist. That's a continuity where we see a corporation moving its environmentally destructive manufacturing to a third-world country that doesn't have the resources to contest their presence. It's a continuity where Metallo's backstory is that he's a corporate soldier of fortune implicated in overthrowing the governments of unaligned countries in South America, and he's as close to a sex pest as you could plausibly get away with depicting in a children's show. The first episode of Superman involves an under-the-table arms deal to a dictatorship. The first episode of Batman Beyond depicts another under the table arms deal to the same dictatorship. The Justice League stops an alien superweapon and the army immediately carries it off to see if they can get it to work for them instead of against them. On and on like this, and almost always very matter-of-factly. Yeah, the world is awful in these specific ways, and we're putting names to the things. You certainly know where the writers of the modern iterations stand, but so often it feels like they aren't putting the names to the things, or they do so toothlessly. Something changed.

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

contributing to the curse (ask number) and your request for anything persona x reader (whims)

any game goes, but how about the characters with a reader that doesn't seem to mash with the rest of group too well? i'm talking someone who is quiet, the complete opposite of a team player, doesn't get the inside jokes, and doesn't hang out much with the others outside of persona ass-kicking pursuits...

this errs on the platonic side of things :3c just for fun

I had fun putting this together, though I feel it is a tad sloppy in the middle section but I am pretty sure that's just me.

Now! Your Wish Is My Command!

Ren drank his can of soda through a silly straw as he watched you, the hat he received from The Boss for his birthday which matched Sojiro’s own save for Ren’s being black with a red band as opposed to white with a black band sitting snugly upon his head.

Ren had to go through hell to get you out here, he was going to make sure you didn’t slip away when no one was looking.

The sound of billiards cracking against one another rang out.

“ARRRRGH!!! C’mon man!Cut me some slack here!” Ryuji cried as Akechi laughed.

“Hmph, and why should I do that? You’re the one who carries around a blunt instrument all the time, perhaps you should learn a bit of delicacy!” Akechi said as he moved to the sidelines and next to Yusuke who seemed to be pondering something.

“Crow, tell me, have you noticed?” Yusuke asked vaguely.

“I have, our dear Joker has been glaring at them for quite a while. Then again, it quite is rare for them to come out for a “Team Bonding” exercise.” Akechi stated as he briefly turned his gaze onto you from the corner of his eyes.

“I… was talking about the scene we are currently in being perfect to paint…” Yusuke meekly muttered, causing Akechi to sigh.

Was Joker the only one with a brain cell in this group?

He was promptly reminded that his favorite and most powerful Persona was a Jack Frost that can nuke anything and anyone. He chose Jack Frost purely because it was cute.

Joker most definitely did not own any brain cells.

“I am well and truly surrounded by idiots…” Akechi hissed to himself.

How could Joker believe such sacrilege?

Jack-O-Lantern was clearly the cutest.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Haru kept her eyes on you as the Mona-Mobile rattled down the halls of Mementos.

This was the first time she had ever been sent out with you on the same team.

It was proving to be… enlightening.

Especially with your Persona, Robin Goodfellow.

Trickery, illusions, and misdirection to position an enemy in the perfect spot to ensure defeat.

That is what your Persona specializes in.

And when Haru took your weapon into account… It made her think of the tricksters in the old stories she used to read as a child.

A wiley trickster causing mischief and chaos as they pleased to both friend and foe alike.

And to a certain point, that fit.

Except… you were always a bit off to the side.

Watching everything, working with the others for only as long as was needed.

The jokes the thieves made were lost on you and the moment they were done with Mementos or a Palace you were gone on the wind.

Now that she thought about it, that is probably why you were only able to do a Showtime with Joker who seemed to be the only one you listened to.

And it was certainly a mindblowing sight.

A “Midsummer Night's Dream” if she had ever seen one.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“It's Showtime!” Joker shouted with a grin as you walked forward, spear in hand.

“Do you Shadows dream?” you asked as you reached for the mask on your face.

Joker rushed past you, knife in hand and carved through the enemies before them.

You tore the mask from your face and your Persona appeared behind you with a manic laugh and an impish grin upon its face.

“I know that I do.” you declared evenly as you stabbed the tip of your weapon into the ground and the world changed.

A forest at night in the dead of summer with a hundred fireflies flying through the sky and a clearing filled with flowers stunning the thieves and the shadows.

“Unfortunately, dreams are but illusions without the will to make them real.” You stated as you appeared behind the shadows, speartip stained with their black Ichor.

Then, as quickly as it came the illusion shattered and an explosion rained down from above, courtesy of Joker.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Haru continued to be vexed by you.

She was not alone in that if the way the others talked about you was any indication.

“So then Joker, is ya pal gonna be joining us tonight?”

“I am desperate to paint their Persona, its whimsical beauty has truly enraptured me!”

“I got these sweets earlier today! I want to share them with everyone! Wait! They’re not here!? You better not eat their share, Ryuji!”

“C’mon! We can’t have a party discussion about what we’ll do in the next Dungeon if we’re missing our Illusion caster!”

“Joker, shouldn’t we try to get them to show up to at least a few of these to ensure everything runs smoothly?”

“If they bring me pancake mix again I am going to break their fingers.”

Haru was happy to see that everyone was treating you as part of the team despite how distant you were.

But… she just hoped you knew they had your back if they needed it.

They all knew what it felt like to be the odd one out as well as anyone could ever hope to know it.

They were outcasts, misfits, social pariahs, delinquents, and weirdos.

They were the Phantom Thieves Of Hearts, and you were one of them.

[lampridius]

hey so there’s a lot of Boothill comforting reader, but what about a reader who also makes him feel safe? Like they see him alone drinking at a bar looking broody for a change and reader comes over with their own drink and attempts to hang out with him after asking if the seats taken. Don’t explicitly ask whats wrong, but doesn’t shut him down if he talks. It’s just a cozy hangout at a bar. (Reader thinks the icp is bad, but doesn’t know what they did to him and his loved ones. Like someone suggests about going to icp for help and his crush is like “They’ve done a lot of bad things, so you should go to someone else for that. You’re asking What’d they do? I mean, I can list 5 things if you want *they do list them, but the nuking of Boothill’s planet isn’t mentioned*” crush is quite happy if he backs them up. Basically it sounds like crush would be his biggest support if he ever confided in them about trying to get rid of icp)?

⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･ 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘬𝘢𝘪: ꒱ 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭 ✴ ───────── ❝ 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 ❞ －𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘶𝘴 ．．• ♡︎

─ .✦ 𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘀: boothill ─ .✦ 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: @mauserre, @tremendoustragedybard ──── .✦ 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴 | 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 | 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 ──── .✦ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨:

boothill wasn’t used to silence, not in the sense of stillness. the clinking of glass, the lazy whir of fans overhead, the static hum of a busted jukebox in the corner - none of it filled the space that hollowed out in his chest tonight. he sat alone at the bar, elbow propped, metal fingers wrapped around a half-empty glass of something dark that didn’t taste strong enough to match the weight in his gut. usually, he wore his charm like a six-shooter - quick, loud, and hard to dodge. but tonight, it just didn’t sit right. tonight, he didn’t feel like drawlin’ about nothin’.

that’s when you slid onto the stool next to him, casual as could be, your own drink in hand and a smile that wasn’t too bright, wasn’t too forced - just enough to let him know you were there without expectation.

“this seat taken?” you’d asked.

he glanced at you sideways, surprised you hadn’t bolted the second you caught his brooding expression. most folks read the storm brewing behind his eyes and made the smart choice to steer clear. but not you. you sat like the quiet kind of brave, not reckless - just knowing when someone needed company, even if they didn’t ask for it.

he didn’t answer right away, just gave the smallest shrug, and that was enough. you stayed.

you didn’t ask what was wrong. didn’t pry. just leaned your arms on the counter and tapped the rim of your glass thoughtfully. at some point, someone near you two brought up the ipc - talking about how they might be able to help with a shipment issue or bureaucratic mess.

your reaction was immediate.

“i wouldn’t,” you said, tone calm but firm. “they’ve done a lot of bad things. corrupted whole colonies, coerced workers into contracts, broke entire planets with their 'business models.' if you’re looking for justice, they’re not where you go.”

someone challenged you, asked, “what exactly did they do?”

and you listed five things on the spot, clear and sharp. the list didn’t include his tragedy - the obliteration of his planet - but it was enough. your distrust matched his own, even without knowing why his jaw had tensed and his hand gripped his glass like it might crack.

he didn’t say much, but he backed you up with a single, low, “they ain’t wrong.”

you turned and smiled at him - small, knowing, like you were glad he agreed. like you’d fight beside him if he ever needed someone. and that… that did something to him.

he hadn’t realized how much he’d needed that. not someone to fix it. not someone to force him to talk. just someone who got it - who would stand there if he ever opened the vault, but wouldn’t pick the lock.

he didn’t say anything about his past that night. but his knee brushed against yours and didn’t move away. his shoulders dropped an inch. he looked at you fully for the first time and offered a tiny smile - not the cocky kind. the real one. the tired kind of gratitude that didn’t need words.

because sometimes, being seen is more than being known. and with you beside him, he finally didn’t feel like he had to carry the weight alone.

[msbigredmachine]

Well done Dwayne for confirming further what an attention seeker you are.

He didn’t want to get involved with the finish and wanted the spotlight on Cena?

So why the FUCK did you insert yourself into the storyline to begin with?

Why did you nuke creative’s plans from as far back as OCTOBER, for your own benefit and agenda?!

Punk and Drew did not main event Bad Blood because this clown wanted to come out and put up three fingers for NO REASON! 🙄

So one of the reasons the Cody-Cena build AND match was such a mess was because of this attention seeking egomaniac!

He refused to be involved with the finish, but let WWE’s number one babyface lose to a rapper (who is there because of him!) half Cody’s size🤨

Shame on you, Dwayne. Stay in Hollywood. How much more attention do you need?

All these maga men moving crazy and it’s irritating af.

Sorry. Rant over.

[sleepymaven]

HSR Sunday's Boss Fight Theory.

(Spoilers for Penacony Quest Below!)

I feel like people are not talking enough about how Sunday literally almost ascended in his boss fight, as far as I can tell, anyway.

Like, he was the 'Embryo of Philosophy.' He was in the middle of turning into an Aeon following the path of Philosophy and ascending to take the place of Order instead of reviving Ena without his knowledge.

I think it is really sad when you think about how Sunday fully believed he was doing the right thing and tried to revive Ena, only to be tricked into unknowingly starting to ascend into Aeonhood.

I could ramble on and on about how sad of a character Sunday is and all that, but I have to stay on topic for now.

Anyway, back to his ascension.

So, I do want to point out something I noticed during his boss fight that I found rather... interesting.

During his third phase, we all know about his big attack that practically nukes your team, right?

Well, during that attack, we see a hand coming down and reaching towards Sunday, to which he reaches back and they touch fingers, causing the attack to happen.

The attack and scene in question.

Now, most people tend to assume that this is Ena, and I do as well. At least, I did think it was Ena until I stared at the screen a bit too hard and went, "Wait a damn minute–"

Dearest gentlereader, care to take a little looksie at Ena for me?

Ena, the Order.

Do you see that? Their hands?

That's right! Ena's hands don't match the hands during Sunday's boss fight at all.

So, I am going to tell you that this is not Ena and not Xipe either, because that wouldn't make sense at all. Even then, Xipe's hands are a deep blue, so that wouldn't match either.

Now, I know during that move, Sunday speaks as if he is talking to Ena, yes. However! If Sunday is truly oblivious to the fact he is ascending and is under the full belief that he is reviving Ena, he probably also does not realize that who he is talking to. IS. NOT. ENA.

So, who is it? Who is this this mysterious hand coming from the heavens? Well, what if I say it is the Aeons version of Sunday's hand?

Alright, don't scroll or click off, just hear me out!

The hand shares certain similarities to both Ena and Xipe. (The white part with the gold design being reminiscent of Ena. The thumb also shares a bit of Xipes color scheme, albeit with a bit of a stretch.)

You can also see during the scene that there are angel feathers coming down from where the hand comes from, something neither of the other Aeons possess. But you know who has feathers and wings? The handsomest man in Penacony, that's who!

During the build-up to the move, the subtitles were repeating the words from his diary, if I am correct, (which might has well just been a Bible at that point) until you get to the hand scene, as if slowly bridging the gap between his mortal body and his soon-to-be Aeon form.

Am I crazy? Am I right? I have no clue!

I might be totally off the mark with this, but I'm posting this anyway.

Bye ya'll, hope I didn't completely waste your time!

[ilynpilled]

sorry, i know you said you already said why but i cannot really find it, but why do you dislike jc double death?

this is gonna be short and fast sorry and also ig why i personally think it is not all that likely

1. jc delusion narratives are being deconstructed by the books. them dying together, as much as there is functional irony considering they cause each other’s death in some way (more directly or not lol), still cements aspects of it which works less well in my eyes. not moved by “womb to tomb” personally, even if it is just a huge tragedy for jaime. it feels very “telegraphed” and on the nose (as in. jaime and cersei kept outright and clearly saying it) to the point that ppl do view it as a inevitable certainty which i find interesting lol bc ig idk if gurm likes to do this like that, even if i consider it as “things the characters r certain of come to be not as they expected”

2. do not like its impact on jaime’s individuation arc. not even redemption (again. ppl’s lives have meaning not their deaths. view a character holistically) whatever who cares wise but more-so ‘jaime is his own individual with an identity that is cemented as separate from his sister obviously now that he is out of his limbo state’. what is the point of making jaime diverge and confront and take apart this delusion? like the irony doesnt serve his character like it would cers (she believes this still, she wants this still, it happening w him causing her death works w her.) id be more fine w it happening if jaime continued to be absurdly darkly obsessed instead of what i saw happen in the text now. again idk what his character is getting out of this irony atm tbh, other than “it doesnt matter that u confronted that she was the stranger all this time and made a key choice to diverge. it doesnt matter that as cersei wrote the letter thinking its okay if he cant really fight rn we will then simply leave the world as we came into it and we see jaime diverging here, u can still never escape it in the end” which just straight up feels kinda ass to me w jaime’s “whatever he chose” thesis. we already see him make a key choice in that book and it should have meaning instead of just pushing back the “inevitable” slightly

3. asos dream has cersei leave with the dead lans (tywin and joff and they go to the ancestors) with her flame before jaime who remains there w brienne w his own flaming sword. he is left in the dark with something terrifying and then gets his trauma packaged in tln imagery.

3. widow’s wail is in kl rn (plethora of shit there indicating that he will be the one to wield it lol. i mean who else? this is smn the show also confirms ig. he is gonna have to get that damn sword in his hand somehow) https://www.tumblr.com/ilynpilled/760442604179636224/got-the-prophetic-weirwood-dream-of-matching. is he gonna go back and forth? how long is cers gonna live?

4. this is just a funny and silly issue bc i truly dgaf atp but like how is it gonna happen exactly? cersei stabs him at the same time? (silly to me. also not the point of valonqar imo from cersei’s angle esp) a rock falls on him after? he gets dragon fire nuked right after? like the thing is that valonqar shouldnt really be like “oh so u wouldve been fire nuked a second later anyway” to me bc that kinda doesnt hit that hard with that being cerseis doom lol. he gets a heart attack at the same time? he kills himself? (alright this one is funny and kinda sexy) like i just find it difficult to envision a version that i find very solid

5. it could cut things short and make a lot of beats & interactions i wanna see happen and imo been set up to happen not possible

[nerdygoth77]

Songs and bands that I think belong in Fallout

Most of these are heavy metal or rock! So be prepared :)

*"Let's Hang Together" - by Twin Temple. (This band is described as Satanic doo wop and their tune and vibe matches Fallout perfectly. Older sounding music but with a darker vibe.)

*The album called "Hail the Apocalypse" - by the band Avatar. This album has a couple of apocalypse related songs. This album (And the band) really reminds me of the perk Wild Wasteland. The apocalypse is a dangerous and brooding place, but there's a certain level of wackiness and uneasiness to it all. Kind of like a Freak Show.

Smells Like a Freak Show is actually the name of a song on another Avatar album. It also makes me think of Fallout, mainly raiders. The album is called the Black Waltz. The song "Smells Like a Freakshow" Makes me think of The Pack in Nuka World lol

*Every single one of Bon Jovi's songs. Every single one, especially the album "Slippery When Wet."

*Iron Maiden. I really enjoy how they sing about history, war, folklore, stories, etc. All of their songs are incredible, but some of them really fit the Fallout vibes. The song "When The Wild Wind Blows" Is a very emotional and moving song about the end of the world. The world ends in that song by nukes, just like in fallout. Even if you don't like metal I still suggest reading the lyrics, Iron maiden has some incredible story telling.

*Megadeth! They have numerous songs about the apocalypse, how much war sucks, and how the government is terrible. Perfectly fitting for Fallout. Just prepare yourself for the lead singers voice lol

*Black Sabbath - One of the founding fathers of rock. A lot of their songs protest war and the government. Their song "War Pigs" is fitting for fallout's world, along with many others.

*The rest of the "Unholy Trinity" and founding fathers of heavy metal. Led Zepplin and Deep purple.

*Maybe other classic rock bands and singers, like Kansas, Aeorsmith, Heart, Rolling stones, Cheap Trick, and Motley Crue. But these bands are getting awfully close to the divorced dad rock category so always keep that in mind.

*Dangerous Toys (A lot of the rock bands/hairbands that took a more humorous turn really remind me of Fallout. A few Dangerous Toys songs remind me of the radio host "Redeye" from Nuka World's raider radio. Mainly the songs "Gimme' No Lip" and "Teas'n Pleas'n"

*I really want to say Slipknot and Nu metal as a whole. I know Slipknot, Korn, Limp Bizkit, Deftones and System of A Down don't fit Fallout as well as some of the other bands and songs. But the idea of hearing "Break Stuff" While out in the wastes is very entertaining to me.

*Metallica (Just their vibes and sound feel so right for the universe of fallout. Their songs are often about struggles and intense emotions like despair and grief.

*Maybe bands that are nuclear apocalypse and similar themed. Like Nuclear Assault, Municipal Waste, and many more.

*This is more of a headcanon: I love the idea of Pre-bombs Fallout having a large punk/hardcore scene, and lots and lots of Hippies. Just so many people out there doing drugs/chems, living life, protesting war and writing music.

These are just some of the bands that I think would fit into Fallout! If you think I left something out then comment the band/singer! If you have any thoughts/headcanons please share those as well!!

[bearyllovely]

Compiled potential outfits for Leia if she appeared in each installment! I got stumped for BD cuz idk where on the timeline it takes place so default look it is. Info blurbs below!

Postal 1: This is the game she's the least likely to appear in, nevertheless she would've ended up living in Paradise far sooner than in canon and become acquainted with Dude a while before his spiral.

Their relationship could go one of two ways: someone they knew only in passing or a relationship that started as her attempting to reach out and be the support Dude didn't have, but that ultimately left her ensnared by someone extremely unstable and unhealthily attached. If she is lucky, Dude will see her as the only other soul not yet infected by whatever has spread throughout Paradise, but that means she will be in his clutch until the bitter end. Not a pleasant timeline.

Postal 2: Main timeline and her humble beginning, a few years before the events of Postal 2 she moved to Paradise, Arizona in order to start a new life away from her roots and follow her dreams. Only she ended up moving to a hot, hedonistic hellhole with a weird ass population with barely any grasp on normalcy. Dude and Leia had been acquaintances for some time but their relationship only really took off months before Postal 2 takes place, originally she was just a dealer he'd buy from and hook up with, but the two ended up clicking more than they thought. Calling them a couple would be accurate, but they don't really care about labels. She's into him, he's into her, it kinda just works.

Postal 3: Oh jesus. This one I almost skipped but I wanted the whole lineup. It's not clear how she ended up in Catharsis but it most likely had to do with Dude nuking Paradise and giving her a call ahead of time just in case she wanted to skip town. Naturally she isn't too happy with him uprooting her whole life and putting them both out on their asses, but she found some steady ground in Catharsis.

Dude shows back up and the two are inevitably drawn back together. I deviated more from her usual look here to match P3's off-kilter feeling from the rest of the series and due it to all being a coma-induced dream, she can look a little off-model.

Postal 4: Years had past, Leia and dude still keep in contact but it's been some time since they'd physically seen one another. She had rebuilt and made a nice life for herself in Edensin working with local artisans and living off her work with her trusty furball Benny. While it's not as exciting as the old days, it felt secure... Until once again, her old flame walks into town and like a match to a gasoline-soaked bonfire, it's back to their old ways and she welcomes him into town in a very... warming way.

She questions why every time he comes back around her life eventually blows up, but we all know why. She's stuck with him for better or worse and part of her is content with that. She can rebuild, but this time making room for one more. Dude's very okay with that.

Postal Brain Damaged: It's unclear where on the timeline BD takes place, so this is under the assumption it's around Postal 2. In that case, most things from P2 still apply here, Leia and Dude are steady and while they aren't living together, she does spend a good chunk of her time at his trailer. She brings him leftovers and helps clean the place to help him out.

At the end of BD she ends up finding him on the floor of his trailer questioning where the very obvious piss puddle came from. She brushes it off and asks if he wants to watch that German director's movie marathon together, complete with complimentary munchies to snack on.

[valeisaslut]

so im killing myself

im gonna do another couple paragraphs for this part and then part 3 but can i just say val, what the FUCK

you have me here, at one in the morning, REREADING this for the THIRD time, cycling through utter despair, crying and throwing things and falling to the floor, happiness, laughing, cringing hard when reader says ellie during sex, CHEERING WHEN ABBY DIPS, crying more and more and listening to ellies album over and over through these three rereads like i did with readers album for part 1.

i am emotionally destroyed. youre paying for my therapy i dont care.

ive said it a billion times and ill say it again, i need this on my shelf, hard cover, tear stained, written in the margins in pink glittery pen. i would surgically replace my heart with a physical copy because thats how WRECKED I AM.

the writing of the rehab sequence is so fucking good. like, as someone who hasnt been to rehab but has lots of family who have (i dunno if u remember but u had an anon with a relapsed sister. that was me i was just a bit ashamed of sharing that much on the internet)? thats really good representation. the shit i heard from them SOUNDED like what i JUST READ. i think after reading for the first time i stared at the roof for an hour.

you are literally the intro to GOLDWING by Billie Eilish in my eyes right now.

im like actually at a loss for words, i just want you to know that what youve put so much work into making and sharing to people means something. it means a lot me than you think. i dont think collide will ever actually leave me. like tell me why my perspective on life has changed from an ellie x reader fanfic i originally thought was just going to be surface level angst, hasty sex and some taco bell fluff.

i think this was my favourite chapter so far. its so miscom right now. the whole "why didnt she call?" when ellie had tried but her number had been nuked to the "shes with someone else now, why would it matter?" when reader had never fucking moved on, never really loved abby, never appreciated her (i wouldnt either bitch wdym why is the only thing you do give expensive shit and have sex like PLEAAASE lets put on a record, smoke cigs, order fast food and sit and talk on the balcony like real women)

like i am just yabbering on rn and i know that but that is because i am genuinely at such a loss for words. it takes a real woman to take two cliche (rockstar x popstar and fake dating) ships and shape it into something thats literally changed a life. i see a lot of their problems i saw as a kid a lot differently now because i dont think i ever took the time to really understand

collide helped understand.

i think, like ellies 5 songs (KNEW MATCH INTO WATER WAS GONNA BE IN THIS) being in the five stages of grief is literally fucking me revisiting my childhood right now

and also, add on, my favourite book of all time is house of leaves, and tell me why this is actually better. like. im not even fucking joking. YOU BEAT ERGODIC LITERATURE YOU BADASS.

this makes me want to make collide fanart but i think itd just look like a fucking tsunami because of how much ive cried.

when i die, this fic is going to be an heirloom in the williams family for multiple generations to come, im going to pass this down to my adoptive children and theyre gonna read it as a bedtime story to their little ones just as i will for them.

and to the collide nation, ive booked group therapy for all of us. hold hands, seance, prayer circle, mosh pit, booze? everything is supplied.

okok im done now if its too long it might no go through but seriously, val. this fic IS the second coming of Jesus, direct quote. im going tk treat you to a nice, fancy australian dinner and then we're gonna go to mine and watch mash while i cry in your arms and brutally curse you out. i fucking love you, and i love collide, and BEST OF LUCK WITH PART 3 im transferring my period cramps to you right now cause TELL ME WHY THIS RELEASES THE DAY MY ENDOMETRIOSIS ASS GETS MY PERIOD.

fuck you, youre the best, im personally going to book flight tickets to argentina so i can throw my many guitar picks straight at your face as revenge until all you can taste is cigarette smoke, plastic, and the sweet sweet taste of jeff buckleys steel guitar strings.

p.s. genuinely thank you for making this golden child piece of literature, like published books are so tiktokified lately that im so sick of it. so the raw originality of all of this just kills me. like i adore it, i love it so much, i love how much effort and time and research youve put into every little word, every topic, every THOUGHT for gods sake, even in the things that didnt end in the final cut. i aspire to be like you and to write with such purpose one day.

im making collide posters for my wall on canva as we speak

at this point its not even the last of us anymore, its just collide. i cant see ellie without getting flashbacks of zzelysians old 'cocaine' header and or flashbacks of the entire fic playing before my eyes like a damn movie.

this fic made me dissociate for an hour, val, take a fucking bow because im clapping and you deserve it.

xoxo, ILSYMMMRGJS

jazzy :)

jazzy.

JAZZY.

bites hand bends backwards over a piano throws myself down a staircase and lands in a gay split what the FUCK am i supposed to do with this message. how do i respond to something that just rearranged my brain chemistry like a spiritual car crash. how do i respond to someone who just compared collide to HOUSE. OF. LEAVES. like i haven’t been clutching that exact copy to my chest for five years thinking “damn i wanna write something like this but gayer and hotter and meaner.” HOW.

the fact that you read epilogue part two THREE TIMES. the fact that you sat there with jeff buckley leaking into your bloodstream, rereading lines and falling apart and cheering and gagging and then immediately saying “i’m gonna write paragraphs now and then more later because i’m not done processing this”??? like baby that’s not just reader behavior that’s READER-OF-COLLIDE behavior. you’re in the bloodstream. you’ve been infected. and honestly you’re glowing.

you talking about ellie crashing out in the parking lot and staring at the ceiling like you were doing it with her… i’m sobbing. that whole sequence—her blackout grief, her vomiting in gravel, her throwing blame and then apologizing without words, the vacant look, the rage, the relapse into emotion—you got it. every beat. you’ve been there. maybe not in the exact way, but the shape of it, the ache of it—you carried it. and then you let it meet the page. and that’s the highest compliment you could’ve ever given me.

and baby… i remember that anon. i do. i didn’t forget. i remember writing back with a lump in my throat. and now you’re here, saying that this helped something click, that it felt honest, that it sounded real—that means everything. like, literally. you don’t ever have to be ashamed for sharing what’s true, especially not with me. not in this space. you honored your story by bringing it with you. and now it’s in the story, too.

the line about “why didn’t she call” / “she’s with someone else now, why would it matter”—that miscommunication was everything. it’s not just romantic angst, it’s emotional tragedy. two people trying to protect themselves by pretending they’re not broken, when actually they’re both bleeding out. reader never moved on. ellie tried. and the world got in between. and yeah. abby gave sex and diamonds and nothing else. ellie would’ve given silence, ruin, and every part of herself. and it still would’ve meant more.

and that final paragraph?? you naming the exact thing that’s been haunting me for years—that everything published lately feels pre-chewed and trendified and algorithm-fed and soulless—you saw me. you saw what i’ve been trying to claw out of myself this whole time. i wanted to write something unforgettable. something that wasn’t afraid of being ugly. or too long. or too real. or too sad. or too queer. and the fact that YOU, with your taste and depth and pain and fucking TALENT, think this is worth remembering—baby. i’m gonna hold that forever.

you are everything. your words are everything. your chaos is everything. and if you do throw those guitar picks at me, i’ll let them hit me square in the heart, right over the reader-shaped bruise.

watch mash with me. cry in my arms. scream at the moon with me. and bring a carry-on for your group therapy gift bag because collide nation rides at dawn.

i love you i love you i love you. thank you for feeling this with me. 💌

[jackdaw0]

Older TommyInnit- Let's go!

(Sorry that the quality of the picture got nuked)

Let me give you a run down of his personality and his 'escape' from the SMP, so, basically, since this is set in the future, a lot of things have changed, most importantly, people have changed, especially the ones that were affected by the trauma Dream has inflicted on the SMP *cough* Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo *cough*, anyway, Tommy didn't really 'run' away, he actually stayed for a while more after Dream (in this universe) got defeated because of him, SMPs die out though and Tommy knew this, so he got himself ready and left, quite literally the first person to ever leave for good and also being the only one to never go back.

Nonetheless, the discs that Tommy fought for countless of times, he left behind, realising the amount of pain and conflict he had to endure because of them, it wasn't really worth the memories if it meant that he would remember only bad ones when he looked at the cursed things, the last thing he did for them was to put an unbreaking enchantment on them and laying them on his rickety old bed with ratty sheets.

Phil (the absolute menace) was the first to find out that Tommy had left and therefore took the discs under his wing (quite literally), he wanted to make up after everything- which didn't exactly work because Tommy had left already.

Phil being heartbroken, wracked through the dirt shack, trying to find any sign of Tommy, eventually he turns up empty handed and returns to Techno, alarming him of the sudden change (therefore making him the second person to know Tommy has left), both of them set up to leave and find Tommy, making them the second and third people to leave.

Ranboo is notified soon after and then is Tubbo, after Tubbo, Wilbur will get the message and all five set out with Phil and Techno to find Tommy.

The other members left either a year or two years after the quintets move out.

Like- a hundred thousand years pass and Tubbo and Ranboo die- the other members too (other than Phil, Techno and Wilbur ((and Tommy)) )

Tommy is living a lavish life in his Hardcore Server, building complex architecture, enjoying the cold winds of his ridiculously high tower sticking out on a also ridiculously large mountain while drinking hot chocolate and just basically being a very creative guy, at times he leaves his Server to explore the big, wide world and going on a whole lot of adventures- slaying armies and razing Empires down to debris and fire (sorry not sorry Antartica Empire but it was about time you bit the dust) and really just having a thrilling life overall.

Of course, every good thing comes to an end when your estranged family sees you in a town at one of the stands in your very, very thick black coat that sways just above the floor and has white fur lining on the sleeves around the wrist, where the coat opens, around the bottom and around the neck. Plus the added blackish-purplish fabric (that matches Tommys plumage quite well, thank you very much) tied around your waist. Let's just say, it soured his day a great deal.

Rest will be worked out and now his personality!

Tommy has got major trust issues thanks to the Dream SMP now, probably beyond repair. He is stand-offish and rather keeps to himself in fear of getting betrayed once more, he became more and more introverted after staying alone in his Hardcore Server, having noone to talk to and all that, but he actually quite likes the development, it keeps his guard up around people and it taught him to not trust that easily again.

He is skittish and second-guesses everything, or, well, twenty-guesses everything, it saved him his life more times than he could count with his discarded feathers (a whole lot, imagine how much an adult Elytrian looses their feathers through molts and daily preening, it's in the ten thousands or so- depends on how long an Elytrian has been alive since they molt two times a year- basically shedding Winter/Summer plumage), nevertheless, he isn't really that nice either anymore, not exactly hostile but he tolerates a lot of stuff, comes with the age.

Once you get to know him though, he's basically like his old self, maybe a bit duller and calmer than before and maybe, just maybe a bit insane but almost like his younger self, his brash laugh has toned down into a sound that chimes like wind chimes and he has a warm, friendly smile that replaces his mischievous grin (not to say he isn't mischievous anymore, still quite a bit), he's actually a nice person once you break through his walls.

He is also pretty tired all the time, can't blame him, healing is exhausting.

Anyway! That's the end of the concept- I will try to work it out more since I think it has a potential to be a good fanfic, so, yay!

[opal-owl-flight]

7. Do they take part in ink battles? What kind and how often?

Absolutely! Inksport leagues are what most of the NSS do outside of agent duties. Theyre a major part of most Inkfish's lives in my writing, a lot of the themes I explore revolve around uh. Sport Movie kinda dealios BAHAHAH (alongside rhe Horrors but shh. When it comes to ocs outside the NSS, Inksports are the main focus)

3s a turf war legend both topside and underground. They were there when the sport was something only the delinquents did, unregulated and dangerous, matches that moved at a fast pace and where they had to leave IMMEDIATELY after or be caught by the authorities. Squid Force eventually found this sport and started sponsoring a safer, more regulated version of it. 3 rose up the ranks all the same (while complaining abt how EASY it is now). Theyve been here since the start. Their splashtag is whispered in awe ans reverence. They are usually followed around by a gaggle of fans or press (please leave them alone qoskw). They still participate in trench turf to satisfy their desire to turf like the good old days. 4 and 8 and Neo3 have no clue about it. They show up with new light scarring and people think its from agent stuff they do on their own -- nope!!

They also play ranked. Tower Control is their favorite mode! Positioning is critical in all modes, but this one has some very specific spots they can exploit and the battles have a flow thats easily readable to them. Its the same route every time! Opposing teams move in pretty specific ways! Its like chess to them. Massages their brain just right.

4s a rising star in the turf leagues. She was great at it back in her hometown in the highlands (the sport has been established here for awhile), but she feels that people are intentionally throwing their matches against her because shes a clan singer. She wanted to have the Real Deal. Moving to Inkopolis, she had a taste of what real turf matches are like...and saw how much more brutal they are. She grit her beak and learned, explosively, in fact, how to play properly. She rose up the ranks quickly the second she found her main weapon class. Shes only ever played topside turf but she is a force to be reckoned with. 3 complains that the new regulations made the game "easier", but someone who grew with the rules can see that its added more complexity. You cant just brute force everything in here. 4 weaves around these added limitations with ease. One can argue shes just as good as 3, if not better...

Her favorite ranked mode is (obviously) Rainmaker. Sneaking around, getting up close and personal with the carrier or their teammates clumped around them is something she greatly enjoys. Holding the nuke itself also gives her quite the rush!! Literally. Shes so beefy that she can carry it faster than the rest of her team (Judd flags her for that, she has to slow herself down to keep the game fair for everyone else). The Rainmaker mode is also reminiscent of some of the ceremonies she does/participates in back in the highlands. Its her job in those ceremonies to call the rain. It involves moving from place to place, carrying a relic that will make her voice heard to the heavens. Despite her not liking how suffocated she was in her homeland, she admits that she misses it, as well.

8 is relatively new to the turf scene. Shes always yearned to be a part of it, back when she was still underground. Now that shes on the surface, she frankly doesnt understand why its such a big deal anymore. Its just a game?? Why are people sweating over this?? And why is all this violence so revered here?? I think her general dislike for combat/conflict may be due to her being raised in a wartime context. She got out of that life, shes not going to go back to it. Still, bc she adores hanging out with 4 (and later 3), she plays the more casual turf war leagues. She occasionally plays ranked modes (splat zones are a favorite), but she tends to stick to the casual side of things. The high octane action and vigilance of the pro leagues makes her uncomfortable...

Neo3 is very new to the turf scene. She compares it to the sacred salmon runs that shes been a lucky witness to (its her only point of reference, bless her hearts). A fight for honor! A fight to the death! And you get to keep living after them? Its the best of both worlds! She enjoys terrorizing the opposing team in any mode. Shes as tenacious and as stubborn as a salmonid that easily slithers over enemy ink. Hitting from blind spots. Easily overwhelms foes with strength and numbers. As annoying as a flyfish. Occasionally, she claws and bites her opponents...which gets her flagged down by Judd. Its fine!! Shes having fun here!

Her favorite ranked mode is definitely Clam Blitz. In salmonid spawning season, the survivors of the runs gather the dropped eggs around the battleground into the nesting grounds to hatch them. Neo3 is reminded of that time as she gathers clams. She defends them as if they were eggs. (And then you see her trying to crack the clams open so she can eat them after the match....)

[assortedvillainvault]

sorry if someone already asked but which villains are friends with each other? (Or are at least chill with each other?)

Nobody has asked, it’s rare I get any platonic asks so my thanks for doing so!

Ok so you’ve not given me any indication as to which villains in my list you’re referring to and if I’m honest my initial little ‘world’ I intended to write for this blog (mixing villains & heroes of different franchises) has dissolved around my ears due to my terrible memory.

So I’m gonna wing it.

The DV’Cule contains a few partners and friendships between the romantic ones. Oogie and the headless horseman bonded over the thrill of scaring people (Hook.) shitless, meanwhile Ursula and Facilier have a gossip ring going that has dominated many an evening. She also has a girls night every month with the Witches of Morva (the 3 witches from the Black Cauldron) which Madam Mim will sometimes attend - but she mostly hangs around to terrorize the Horned King, who has long since learned to vacate the area and go into hiding as soon as giggles can be heard in the distance.

Maleficent actually LIKES Mim (I suspect because Mim's unhinged, forthright behaviour appeals as a foil to to Mal's elegant rigidity), while Jafar regularly has drinks outside the polycule with Yzma to trauma bond over being advisers to woefully incompetent royalty. Dr Facilier is one of the few that will go outside the disney bubble and chat with Pitch Black – his match in overdramatic shadow magic and banging dance moves.

Lastly: Hook, the Headless Horseman and the Horned King have a duellists respect thing going on, as all three are swordsmen of varying styles and will argue into the night about technique and effectiveness. These arguements are inconclusive and heavily scenario based - and often rely on outer factors they can't possibly prove in the moment (Hook's ship vs a land based skeleton army, anyone?) but these spirited discussions and occasional duels is something they secretly cherish.

Lilo is ‘friends’ with all the Disney villains due to the unrivalled power of neurodivergence and the insurance of her attack dog Stitch. She’s the only hero to have clocked the fact they’re all dating and no matter what she says to her peers, they just think she’s exaggerating, so it’s a hilarious standoff until another hero either figures it out by themselves or somebody choses to believe her.

Among the pirates, Davy Jones and Barbossa get on well for two captains that never actually interacted in their canon source materials – they can commiserate in curses and drama, but Barbossa is Not a gambling man. Jones can’t get too drunk because the Calypso debacle will come up like the event horizon of a relationship-based nuke and Barbossa will have six feet of crying octopus on his very unprepared hands. Regardless, you can find them both smoking together on the docks every other week.

Vulgrim, all sleaze and demonic salesman dealings – has a fantastically backstabby rapport with Hades and Ursula, but its very difficult to become a genuine friend as he approaches literally everything through the lens of ‘business dealings’.

The grumpy undead bastards club consists of Draven, who also runs the underground fight club, the Horned King (who alternately can be found either in the fight club or fucked off into the woods with the Beast & Headless Horseman), and the Chancellor who can be found bitching about most everything in the back with either Imhotep or HK when anyone deigns to listen to him.

I’ll pump the breaks there, thanks again for the ask!