#because recovery is faster and I have the fact that I'm so so grateful he's alive and without head damage to counter act

[boyapologist]

I think the only reason I slept yesterday was cause I was so exhausted from the hospital, because there just no way I'm sleeping tonight

[nanamiscocksleeve]

Hey Ray, how are you? I've read about your flu recently. I'm very sorry and I hope you get better soon. Have a fast recovery, ok?

Regarding confessions, I have nothing much to say. I think other anons already mentioned lots of valid points. Sure- porn fics are obv exaggerated, characters get mischaracterized and ships get pushed down out throats all the time but hey, that's just an average fandom experience, right?

So I'm trying to ignore/filter all the negativity and allow only good, quality content on my dash. Unfortunately, the content is few and not many appreciate writers and artists here on Tumblr. So it's for the best if they'd just change platforms and try their luck somewhere else that offers more positive interaction/involvement. I miss Tumblr reblog culture and nice feedback on dif stories/art. Nothing is the same anymore...

Regarding mischaracterization- it's not a problem to headcanon things, in fact, to each their own. But it's a problem when people openly accept headcanon as canon and unapologetically fight others over inaccurate opinions. It's so beyond me. And the funniest thing- it's mostly minors. Can we get rid of the minors in for-them-inappropriate fandom spaces pls? Tumblr staff where you at?

I noticed that fans of less popular characters are more fun. I'm not that big into Choso you see, but his fans made the whole fandom experience so much more enjoyable. And I don't think that Mahito fans are weird if you compare Toji smut fics (I'm not calling out people but I'm calling out people). Sukuna fans I'm looking at you too...

I'm forever grateful for Nanami, Higuruma, Kusakabe and Shiu quartet. Gege, thank you for feeding us while it lasted. The fics are divine and I understand why Shoko didn't see the appeal in stsg, like girl I get you.

I'll come out and say it- stsg is overrated. And jjk girls deserve more content that isn't ship-oriented.

I think Gege needs to make up his mind because Yuta and Yuji can't exist as two mains at once. Everyone is taking away Yuji's spotlight, but they're dying and dying until nobody's left except Yuji... I don't know how jjk will end.

I miss Yuki and Todo's dynamic and all the funny stuff, I wish jjk was a comedy fr... Gege is writing an idol manga after this one so I can't wait for the things he has in store for us!

Hello! Thank you for your concern about my cold. Honestly, with all of you wishing me to get better, I'm recovering a little faster! 💜💜💜

I agree with mischaracterization, but imo, unless a mangaka explicitly states something, then a fictional character is always subject to having HC's being formed about them depending on the writer. What gets problematic though, is when fans of a writer start looking at those HC's as an actual canon, and now they're picking fights/sending hate to other creators who have different opinions.

Fans of less popular characters tend to be more chill from what I've seen. They just want to talk about their faves and have a good time, and are less bothered with what could be canon or not. They have their HC's and are open to hearing different ones too.

I feel like JJK gave us this genre of 'tired men in suits' which is very appealing, even to us older girlies who are in the same age range as these men.

Stsg being overrated...imo I don't feel that way. I think they had great potential as a couple and I'm filled with sadness at the thought that they didn't catch Suguru's spiral when it happened. I can see them with heterosexual partners too, but I love the concept of Stsg.

The JJK women definitely need content not surrounding ships or smut. Something more action-related or just let her shine in her own right in a fic.

IDK what'll happen going forward...The story is supposed to center on Yuji but it feels like he's constantly being pushed aside. I hope things resolve soon but it looks like Sukuna might win after all this. I'm just sad thinking about it.

I miss the slice of life feel to the story as well but what can ya do...Gege is the mangaka, so he'll do what he wants. But if he brings back Nanami I ain't complaining lol.

Thank you for your confession!

[yourfaveisyanderematic]

I was thinking a fluffy piece with mom bruno just like comforting you when you're down and have no motivation to do anything. It could be cuddly and stuff, like bruno making breakfast and stuff. Like we all need a mom bruno in our lives to like remind us to take care of ourselves sometimes ya know? But I'm really grateful for this opportunity, like thank you again, I'm really touched. But also take your time, I dont wanna take away your sleep or anything!❤❤❤ -anonanon

*checks date this message was sent vs the day I posted this* oh no worries you absolutely didn’t do that.  Anyway, I hope you liked this!  Happy birthday, as embarrassingly overdue as this is!

“Are you there?”

The knock is quiet, genteel, three taps on your door in quick succession.  Your visitor’s voice is polite but confident, the tone of someone who knows they’re imposing but forges ahead anyway.  It’s the absolute last thing you want to hear at this moment, but you don’t have a choice in the matter, do you?

Silence reigns in the several seconds that pass, and you’re debating just not answering the door at all—giving up on today entirely, in fact, crawling back into bed and nestling in your covers until the daylight abandons you, too—but you finally get out of your chair the moment you realize you can’t put this off any longer.  The chair grates as it drags against the kitchen tile, punctuating your movement.  I’m coming, I’m coming, the noise says, as if it’s exasperation that makes your feet drag and not dread.  You studiously avoid every reflective surface you can on your way to answer the door; you know how you look.  Maybe your visitor will get the hint and leave.

Bruno Buccellati, with frustratingly typical grace, doesn’t comment on your haggard features.  If you didn’t know your own face, you’d have no idea he saw dark circles and smudgy eyeliner that hadn’t washed off properly, hair that hung lank and unwashed, but you do, and you don’t even have it in you to flush with shame, confronted with his crisp suit and immaculately styled hair and soft, wide blue eyes that look at you with something that’s gentler than reproach but humiliating all the same.

“Nobody’s heard from you in days.”  Is that a question?  A statement?  An accusation?  Your hand grips the door as if it’s a shield.

“You didn’t have a mission.  I didn’t think it would be a problem.”  

“We were worried about you.”  He tilts his head in what you know to be concern.  Your obstinate ego, however, insists on interpreting it as scorn.  You lower your gaze.

“Well…I’m fine,” you mumble, and the statement is so patently untrue it could almost be a joke, “you don’t have to worry anymore.  I’ll be ready when you need me, I just needed a break.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

It’s like he’s talking to a wounded animal.  You’re gripping the door so hard that your knuckles are turning white, and you don’t realize it until you see Bruno’s gaze flit towards your hand and then back to your face.  He takes a breath as you force your fingers to straighten.

“We don’t have to if you don’t feel like it.  Though…you don’t look like you’ve eaten; at least let me come in so I can make you something.”

The contents of your fridge—a carton of heavy cream, now expired, half an onion, assorted leftovers better classified as biological weapons—flash before your eyes.  Do you really need him to know how far you’ve let things go?

“I don’t have anything to cook.”  The words aren’t even fully out of your mouth and you’re kicking yourself; typical of you to bypass an easy, polite lie in favor of the incredibly pathetic truth.  To your vague surprise, though, Bruno just smiles and holds up a bag that had, until now, been hidden from view.  Even from here, you catch the smell of something tantalizingly fresh, and your watering mouth is quick to remind you that you haven’t eaten in over a day.

“I happened to run by the market on my way here; I figured you hadn’t done your shopping if nobody had heard from you.  How about it?”

You’re still mentally fumbling for a lie, some excuse to ward him off and return to wallowing in the dark of your kitchen, when you step aside and let him step into your apartment.

***

“Do you want mushrooms in your omelette?”  You look up from the coffeemaker—dumping grinds into a filter and waiting is your way of feeling useful—and look at the pan.

“You’re the one who bought the ingredients, so really it’s up to you,” you shrug.  He laughs, a light lilt that mingles with the sizzle of cooking eggs.

“Not an answer, but I’ll take it.  Sit down, sit down; the coffee won’t boil faster if you’re hovering around it.”

He dumps a liberal amount of mushrooms into the pan and then adds the cheese.  You hesitate.  This is your kitchen; shouldn’t you be doing more?

“Maybe—“ you’re cut off as he waves the spatula at you impatiently.

“Sit!  Sit.  We’re off duty, don’t make me order you.”

You make a sullen show of dropping into one of the two seats at the kitchen table—you used to have four, but one got lost in a move and Narancia broke another showing off (and subsequently was banned from your home) and you’d never had a need to replace either of them because you didn’t really have people over, and wow this was just reminding you of how lonely and pathetic you were.  You nudge one of the forks to be more parallel to the plate, bereft of anything to do but sit and stew in your thoughts.

That bastard.  Did he plan this all along?

The coffeemaker gurgles, signaling completion.  Bruno’s already got a hand on the pot, however, before you can even move to get out of your chair, expertly pouring two cups into your mismatched mugs without spilling a drop.

Bastard.

“It’s not wrong, by the way,” Bruno says offhandedly, back to you as he flips the omelette, “to not be okay.  You don’t need a reason.”

You freeze.  It doesn’t make a sound, but Bruno’s tone shifts as if he saw you react.

“It’s hard to bring this kind of thing up, especially when you seem to be doing better.  Not many people understand that it doesn’t stop, that recovery isn’t linear…there are still going to be lows, and they’ll be so extreme that it feels like nothing changed at all.  That’s what you’re afraid of, right?  People thinking you aren’t trying hard enough?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you say in a strangled voice.  Are you okay do you wanna talk can I help you just say something pulses in your ears.  You force yourself to focus on something else, anything else—the enticing smell of cooking food, the shine of the light against your silverware, the sensation of your fingernails cutting into your palms.

“Alright,” Bruno finally comes over with the skillet, tilting the omelette onto your plate, a steaming heap of perfectly-cooked egg stuffed with mushrooms and tomatoes and cheese.  He’s gracious enough to not look at you.  “One more thing and I’ll drop it for good: you can depend on me to take care of you, when you need it.  You don’t even have to ask.  This isn’t a question of weakness; this is what I do for people who are important to me.  You’d do the same if I needed it, wouldn’t you?”

Your throat is closed up, and something hot and needle-sharp is burning at the corners of your eyes.  You just nod.  Bruno smiles, gentle and angelic, and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Then there’s no problem.  You can stop feeling guilty about it, okay?”  He settles into the chair next to you, after bringing the coffee and his own omelette over, and the minutes pass in companionable silence.

It’s the best breakfast you’ve had in a while.