#hope you all will understand my decisions

[dreamsteddie]

Wowza. Part one blew up way more than I thought it would so here! Part two! I do have more thoughts about this so there might be a couple more parts to come. We'll see ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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Eddie takes half a second to consider just not answering. Maybe throwing his phone away and never going back to the restaurant they went to last night so he never has to confront whatever it is that's about to happen. Maybe even fleeing the country and living alone on a sheep farm with no friends and go relationships ever again so something like this never happens again.

But then he thinks of Steve. Kind, funny Steve with the bright eyes and soft skin who looked at Eddie like he could fall in love with him and he knows that whatever comes next, Steve deserves for Eddie to see it through with him.

New Message: Steve H.

Hey

Just that one word sends Eddie's heart into his throat. He can see that Steve is still typing, those little ellipses of doom popping on and off the screen. Realistically, Steve probably doesn't know what happened, right? Eddie's pretty sure Steve wasn't in on it and it's been less than an hour since Eddie himself found out, so probably not.

Steve H: Gareth called me

Fuck.

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.

If Eddie's heart was in his throat at the first text, the second one has it dropping through his body and out of his goddamned ass. It's not that he doesn't want Steve to know. He was always planning to tell him, he was just hoping he could be the one to do it. Gareth being a little shit and calling Steve first was not part of the plan.

Steve H: He told be about the prank. I'm sorry if I wasn't what you expected and you were just being nice. We can pretend it never happened. No hard feelings.

Eddie slams his head into his pillow. This is such a cluster fuck he can hardly bring himself to look at the text but he needs to come up with some kind of response, like, yesterday if he wants any chance of keeping the man of his dreams from running for the hills because apparently, Eddie's friends are trying to destroy his life. He takes a deep breath and starts typing.

Eddie: Hey, I'm so sorry about that. I just found out about what they did an hour ago at practice. I didn't think they would just call you out of the blue like that, I was just about to text you.

Not completely true, but Eddie was going to text him about it, just after screaming into his pillow and making a couple Vudu dolls first.

Eddie: For what it's worth I really do like you and I would love to still take you out on that second date, but I understand if my friends scared you off and you want nothing to do with me. I know it's fucked up.

It takes a minute for Steve to respond, the typing bubbles ebbing and flowing as Steve types and retypes whatever it is he wants to say. Eddie is about ready to call it a wash and start googling sheep farms for sale in Ireland when a new text comes in, dispelling all thoughts of learning to sheer wool.

Steve H: Are you sure?

And fuck if that doesn't hurt his heart. Eddie has spent all of two and a half hours with Steve, he's a virtual stranger, but Eddie can swear he can feel all of Steve's secondhand insecurity through that one lonely sentence. Before he even registers what he's asking, he send a quick reply.

Eddie: Can I Facetime you?

Before Eddie can try to rethink his decision, his screen lights up with a notification. Steve is calling him.

Eddie scrambles to answer, fumbling his phone a little in his haste and almost missing the call completely. He manages to get it on the last ring, breathing heavily in a way he knows can't be flattering.

All thoughts about his lack of dexterity fly out the window when he looks into his screen. On their date, Steve was perfectly put together. Hair meticulously done, clothes freshly pressed, and a light sheen of lipgloss accentuating the perfect curve of his mouth. While Steve is still beautiful through the lens of his camera, it's clear that he's been crying. His eyes are red and a little puffy, hair out of order in a way Eddie thinks is probably unusual for him, and Eddie can see that he's wearing a well-loved beige hoodie.

"Hi," Steve says, waving a shy hand almost the same way he had last night.

"Hey sweetheart," Eddie says, keeping his voice low and gentle, desperate to soothe Steve however he can through the distance of their phones.

For a minute they just look at each other, neither one knowing what to say in a situation like this. Eddie sees Steve gearing up to say something, but he cuts in before he starts. There's something he needs to say while Steve can see him face to face.

"I'm really sorry about what happened!" He says, much lounder than he intended. "My friends were being dicks. I haven't dated in a while and instead of being normal fucking people they set up this whole stupid prank but I swear I wasn't in on it!"

Something about what he says draws a small smile from the corner of Steve's mouth, so Eddie keeps talking. "Besides, if they wanted to prank me they should have picked someone that isn't a literal fucking model in disguise. There wasn't a chance in hell I wasn't going to beg you for that second date."

At that, Steve gives a little chuckle and it lifts Eddie's heart from where it'd fallen onto the floor and puts in back in his chest 10 times lighter than before.

"Jesus, are you always such a flirt Munson?" he says.

"Only when the boys are especially pretty," Eddie responds.

Steve gives another little laugh at that before sobering up. He gives Eddie a long look through the phone, and Eddie lets him.

"Are you sure you don't want to just call it quits here man? Gareth was pretty adamant that I'm not the kind of guy you usually go for. I don't want you to feel like you have to humor me out of kindness." There's a forced flippancy to Steve's words that Eddie knows well from his own Munson Coping Strategies Handbook. Steve is trying to give him an out, but Eddie can tell that he doesn't want to.

For the first time since this all started, Eddie is well and truly mad. Gareth and Jeff had absolutely no business poking around in his love life in the first place, but now they've reached out to the guy Eddie already told them he liked to what? Tell him never mind actually, we don't think you're the right guy for our friend even though he told us very explicitly how into you he is.

Eddie lets all the frustration, anger, and tenuous hope building up in his chest fuel his reply. This one has to count, he can feel it. It's a charisma saving throw with the whole campaign on the line. He can't miss this one.

"Honestly Steve, if you asked me two days ago what I was looking for in a partner, I probably would have said I wanted to date another alternative metalhead or punk who likes playing DnD and getting high on the weekend." Eddie can see Steve's shoulders slump as his eyes dart away, but he pushes on, determined to make his point.

"But, I haven't had as good a time as we had last night in a really long time." Steve looks back up, eyes alight with the same tentative hope Eddie himself is channeling. "I think you're funny and interesting, and you have the absolute worst takes on ice cream flavors, and you're hot as hell. Like, seriously the hottest guy I've ever seen in real life."

Steve smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling.

Critical success.

"So, about that second date."

-------

Tag List

@wheneverfeasible @the-dark-hearts @sofadofax @wrenisfangirling @whatfinestandsfor @lilpomelito @raisedbylibrarians @ollyxar @mugloversonly @xxbottlecapx @hezaaxdexangelous @kimsnooks @that-one-gay-crow

[mambodork]

Hi!!! So sorry to bother but I miss the isekai au and made some doodles for it! Is there possibly any more crumbs?

Either ways I love your aus!! Hope your day goes well!!

AHHH HAZEL OMGG THANK YOU SO MUCH <33 THESE ARE SO CUTEE 😭😭

Grian just looking longingly at his Scar design. Oh my god this guy is such a cringefail loser. How is he supposed to save the world... we are so doomed 💀

I LOVE HOW YOU DRAW SCAR SO MUCH, what a handsome fellar (^.^) and the big jellie is so cute WAUGHHH i love this smn Hazel you dont understand...

Anyways, some crumbs:

Boatem crew is like an RPG team in here... Mumbo is support, Scar is mage/sub DPS/AoE, Pearl is main DPS/fighter, Impy is tank/fighter/defense.

Rn Grian is completely useless, man cannot fight at all and can only help them by giving them hints via his "intuition" (nobody believes him when he says that all his life saving decisions to just be "intuition" they think that he's an oracle or something. There are many running theories).

[lazyturtlehottub]

A breakdown of the Fangirlish interview: an exercise in media literacy

Given that the reaction to Buck and Tommy breaking up has been exacerbated by those interviews, I thought I would look into the one from Fangirlish in order to look at it with my media literacy hat on and see what was actually said. So, here’s a link to a version that doesn’t give the writer clicks because you should make up your own mind before providing revenue to the platform https://archive.ph/fqhlE

We start off with the headline: Lou Ferrigno Jr. on Saying Goodbye to 9-1-1, That Breakup and What’s Next

Right away, as the reader, we’re immediately told that LFJ is saying goodbye to 9-1-1, the implication being that this is the end of the road, no going back. This is, I will say, a choice that the writer made when they created the article: they decide on the headline, no one else. Going in, our mind has already been positioned to believe that this is an exit interview and to understand everything that comes next through that lens.

Supporting this path is this: “Lou Ferrigno Jr.’s time on 9-1-1 has come to an end[...]” but it’s important to note that no one has said this but the author of the article. At no point does she provide a statement from ABC, Tim Minnear, or LFJ to back this statement up.

Another unsubstantiated statement she makes is: “For Ferrigno Jr. it wasn’t exactly the way he envisioned the end of his time on the show [...]” Yet again, at no point in what she quotes from Lou does he say this at all. This is her take on the conversation and she has provided not a scintilla of evidence to support this statement. What she does provide is the following quote from LFJ:

“With the way things were going, and the connection that they had, I was under the impression that it was working, and they were connected,” he shared.

Putting this in the context of the interview, it does make it sound like Lou was blindsided by the break up, which is a very normal thing considering that we all know the actors barely know what’s happening even when they have the script. It’s not surprising that Lou didn’t know about the break-up since even Oliver Stark mentions that he didn’t know about it until they began filming, even though the possibility had been floated some episodes earlier.

So while this quote in the context the writer’s given does seem pretty final, if we remove the exit interview lens from it, it just reads as an actor expressing his surprise at the path his character is going.

Continuing on, the writer then writes the following: Ferrigno Jr. admits he had issues with this ending [...]

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, she doesn’t provide a quote to back this up. What she does right is frame the next quote as [...] but trying to get into the mindset of Tommy [...], which changes the context of the quote that Lou gives.

“If preserving his emotional health and saving himself is the only means to survive, then you can’t shame him for it.” He went on to add, “I honestly don’t believe that the relationship matured well enough that they should have made any type of long-term decision.”

So she makes a statement that says LFJ has issues with the ending and then immediately moves on to talk about the acting choices Lou had to go through in order to understand where Tommy was during the scene.

Perhaps the most direct quote from Lou about the relationship that sounds troubling with regards for the future of Buck and Tommy is this: “I just would have hoped that it would have lasted a little bit more,” he also told us, adding that in the hour we also have Buck “looking at those girls, and that sucks for Tommy, and it sucks for any person that’s looking at their partner looking at someone else.”

Taking this with the fact that this has been positioned as an exit interview, I agree that it does sound damning, but if you remove that filter from it then I believe it reads as an actor expressing mild regret that he didn’t get to play this stage of the character and this relationship more. However, I will admit, that this is open for interpretation given that we don’t know where this came in the interview since we don’t know what prompted this answer.

And for Ferrigno Jr., he admits he knew the two were done for good when he realized his character would call Buck “Buck.” I feel I’m a looping record but where in the interview does he say that? He doesn’t say that at all in the quote that she provides below.

She writes: Instead, Ferrigno Jr. told us that Tommy “only knows the man in front of him, Evan. And I knew it was going to come [the moment he called him Buck] because he’s always saying Evan all the time. I’m looking at a character that I’m playing, and he’s just like Evan, Evan, Evan, and in that line, I was just like… I knew this was going to happen.”

“And he doesn’t have to say that. He still can say Evan. But that is essentially signalling that this is all I know how to do, and it’s too much.”

Linked with what LFJ said earlier about Tommy protecting himself, this quote from him makes sense in the fact that Tommy called him Buck to protect himself from the hurt, to try and create some walls between them. But the writer has made this sweeping statement that he knew it was the end, implying that the relationship is at a permanent end when nothing LFJ has said supports that.

And then we move onto the bit that really highlights the bias that this article has been written around. The writer asks Lou: Could the show have been using Tommy as a roadblock to a possible Buck and Eddie relationship?

Getting into the professionalism of this question is for another time but I’ve added it here so you can see the fact that this is someone who is focused on the Buddie of it all. Evidence that supports this is in the author’s various tweets and the coverage of 9-1-1 on their website.

And I know we’re all worried about LFJ’s scheduling conflicts but I will posit that it was a standard answer from an actor who is just doing his job. In his words: “I would absolutely love to come back, but I do need to continue on my journey here. I have a number of things now that are going on that may or may not happen, and I hope that there’s no conflict if it were to be the case.”

Basically, this article is written from the point of view of it being an exit interview but at no point is evidence provided from official sources to support that statement. Throughout it all, Lou’s answers are framed within the narrative that the break-up is permanent and that he’s gone from the show for good.

I hope that this has been interesting and informative for those of you who have read it, and I hope it serves as a reminder that media literacy is for everyone, not just for an attack from those on social media against fans being publicly disappointed that a queer relationship has broken up, temporarily or otherwise.

[hunter470]

My Feedback to ABC

Well, I submitted my feedback to ABC. Not sure it will do any good, but it felt good to do it. I did try to be as respectful as possible. No sense in acting like a child.

I am writing to express my deep disappointment and sadness regarding the recent decision to end the relationship between Buck and Tommy on 9-1-1. As a 54-year-old gay man and a long-time viewer, I have invested not only my time but also my emotions in this narrative. I feel profoundly betrayed and misled by the writers and producers who have championed this relationship, only to discard it in such a dismissive manner.

From the onset, this relationship was presented as a groundbreaking portrayal of a mature LGBTQ partnership. It was a representation I thought we all craved and deserved. However, the decision to end it, coupled with the reliance on outdated stereotypes about both gay and bisexual individuals, is not only disheartening but damaging. We have fought hard for visibility and acceptance, and perpetuating these harmful stereotypes does nothing but hinder our progress as a community.

Moreover, I am upset by the statements made by the showrunner during his interviews, which now feel like empty promises and blatant lies. The narrative arc that was promised has not only been abandoned but has been replaced with a narrative that feels disrespectful to the complexities of LGBTQ relationships. It is hard to reconcile the excitement I felt about this representation with the reality of how it has unfolded.

Additionally, I must address the recent biphobic comments made by the actor involved in this relationship. Such statements are not only flippant but also contribute to the ongoing stigma that bisexual individuals face. This lack of understanding and sensitivity is disappointing, especially from someone in a position of influence.

As a consequence of these events, I will no longer be watching 9-1-1 or any future spinoffs associated with it. I believe it is crucial to hold creators accountable for their portrayals of our community, and I can no longer trust that the stories being told will reflect the authenticity and respect that LGBTQ relationships deserve.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I hope you will take this feedback seriously and recognize the impact that your decisions have on viewers like myself.

[affableramen]

pantalone x stubbornly poor reader according to this beautiful request

angst with an open ending; romance elements; pathetic old man

dear anon, i hope you like the final result of this beautiful project. hopefully you won’t be angry at me for i altered the idea to my preference.

Pantalone is circling you around with long steps, but despite him wearing heels, his pacing also remains quiet. 

“I take it you did not expect me in your tiny shabby apartment today.”

“No, not at all, sir.”

You can call him ‘sir’ as much as you would like, but the both of you know how much of disgust you harboured to this insignificant rich man, who did everything in order to seem a perfect socialist, but only you knew how fake he truly was. But keeping the faces up you wouldn’t permit yourself simply looking at him in an offensive way, it would be improper. And it would be perilous too, considering the fact this man is right now in your home.

“Tell me, aren’t you tired of being used? Being helpless?” He stops right there, though his voice keeps on raising a tickling sensation against your neck. “Your destitution does no good to you, it’s sickening and makes you look ill. What I offer you…”

Pantalone turns to face you, his eyes half-lidded as he pronounces that:

“I offer you help. Escape your misery with just one simple action.”

“What action?” You ask him bluntly, sensing unevenness.

“One kiss shall it cost.”

“A kiss… to cure my financial issues? I highly doubt that.”

Pantalone leaned slightly closer, his eyes looking up and down your face—going all way from your eyes to you neck, that is covered with a thin, cheaply-looking teal scarf.

“You don’t believe me?” You close your eyes; his breath is found light against your ear.

He finds purchase in your hand.

“So destitute, yet so stubborn.” He takes your hand, and you let him, unwillingly though. He knows it, he sees the bewilderment in your eyes. You don’t know what to do, how to act and what to say. But Pantalone only brings your hand to his lips and kisses the top of it, his dry lips are unbelievably soft on your skin. There’s a light smile tugged on his lips, almost unnoticeable; though you see it, at such proximity how could you not?

“One. Single. Kiss.” His tone becomes quieter with each passing moment. “Just one.”

His eyes are hooded and he looks at you completely relaxed, yet at the same time his aura is uneven, unsteady and disturbing. He sucks on your hand, pressing his lips everywhere he reaches access to on your hand, before he raises his head and speaks with a particularly raspy voice:

“I can’t any longer bear seeing you drown in your tears, caused by financial struggles. All it will cost to get you out of your misery is one shallow kiss.”

Perplexed still, you do not understand the meaning of his decision. 

“Why just one? Pantalone, I don’t understand.”

“Because you are not even close to be fond of me, yet I have been madly in love with you for some time. I would not take the guilt of forcing you into something you’d do so unwillingly.”

“…you are?”

His eyes are deep and dark on you, but the concept of love does not frame within the banker, at least in your opinion.

“Nothing else shall I ask for, except a single kiss. Nothing else, my dear.”

You look down—he doesn’t understand the consequences at all. He must have been too rational of a man.

“You see, if I kiss you with this mood, it will only be a fake kiss. And the both of us will regret it.”

A frown takes over his expression, the usual icy glare returns to his eyes. 

“Believe me, Y/N, I won’t ever regret a kiss with you.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer a kiss from someone who is equally affected by you? What’s the point of kissing someone you don’t love?”

“That is not the question I can answer. Y/N, please, you’re making all of this sound more pathetic than it already is. I’m aware you don’t hold a single ounce of affection towards me, but let me settle your debts, all I ask back is a mere kiss. Doesn’t it make a good trade for you?”

“It makes a hideous trade.”

Yet you take a step closer to him. Pantalone studies your actions carefully, he does not miss a single chance to admire your pristine, unruined beauty. You place your hands onto his cheeks not exactly earnestly, more like this is but a torture to you. Pantalone responds to you, pushing himself slightly forward, his lips parted and his eyes shut. Only now you can notice how long his eyelashes are, and how his skin is imperfect despite all charming rich gentleman claims.

You force yourself to crash onto his lips, and he accepts it willingly, taking your lips first greedily back, and then shifting it more to the softer side. No matter how fake you call it, it makes his being glow of happiness and excitement. It is still a kiss from you, on top of everything else. His arm snakes aroung your waist, the other hand finding purchase in your hair. He doesn’t let a single moment go to waste and keeps kissing you deeply and passionately, you swear to feel his taste on your tongue.

You pull away the first with a confused and pensive look on your face. Pantalone’s expression is read like a book, you don’t need to be an experienced sort of lady to understand what that kiss meant for him and what effect it had on him. On your part, you don’t know anymore whether the kiss was fake or wielded true feelings.

Abruptly, Pantalone adjusts his glasses, pushing them onto his nose firmly and exhales quietly. His breath seems shaky, but his inner world is shattered.

“Money is yours. I shall not postpone my departure any longer. I’ve already abused the generosity of your home.”

He turns away from you and escapes the apartment. Your bank account is found filled with money, but you don’t give it much of your attention right now. With a trembling hand, you touch your lips. A blush spreads over your cheeks.

“It wasn’t so bad.”

Later at night, Pantalone overthinks the happened while smoking a pipe in his garden.

“This was the worst, but the most pleasant kiss in my life. I shall not forget it ever.”

[kinardsevan]

FYI, I'm crowdfunding a retirement plan for Tim and a place for you on the 911 writers team. I'm sure you can help them sort out the rest of the plots too!

I don’t know if this is genuine or sarcastic, so I’m just going to say this:

I don’t claim to know anything about media literacy. What I do understand is intricate plot and telling a compelling story. I also understand that from the end of 806, I said almost immediately “I feel manipulated”. This has deep personal connotations for me, but the point remains, and because of those personal relations, I get an actual “ick” about feeling manipulated. Now again, I have zero clarity one way or the other as to whether the manipulation is based out of them actually fucking this storyline up or if it’s because of the way they’re trying to pitch it to us as an “exit” and “ending”. Either way, that hasn’t left me.

All I know at the end of the day is that if these people don’t understand how to recover from this decision, they don’t belong in writing television. There’s also the point that I’ve made this week, that this is not the first time TM & Co have done something like this. They’ve done it with Madney. They’ve done it with Tarlos. We’ve even seen it to some degree with Bathena. What set us all off was the interviews, which we’ve all stated from day one were …odd. The thing that stays with me though, is the fact that not once has any one of these interviews stated “Tommy Kinard is gone for good”. I’ve read dozens of exit interviews (said this too earlier this week), and the only people CALLING it an exit interview, are the interviewers. Lou said the arc was over. By the very definition of what needs to be shared and said between BuckTommy for the reconciliation, he’s right. They’ve spanned the first arc of their relationship. Further, another thing that sticks out in my mind is his statement towards how he wouldn’t turn down playing Tommy again because, to his knowledge, there’s nothing else similar to their relationship happening on television. Which is SO important for representation. I also keep thinking about his tweet “keep the hope alive”. Obviously that can be read as he just wants more work… or it can be read as, there’s more coming, don’t give up on them yet.

Above all else, it’s the crowd reaction. We know the “other team” thinks this is all to tee them up into their pairing, and here’s my response to that:

One, it’s not. Because we know that’s now what TPTB want. But two, if it is, I hope they’re prepared for the mass exodus that takes place when all the people who DON’T want that pairing stop watching. And of course, those who do but don’t get the version of it that they want because RG and OS don’t want to play it the way the fandom thinks it should.

I’m not above saying that if they made them canon, I don’t think I’d stick around. It doesn’t serve the story, it spits in the face of what RG has been trying to communicate for years about himself and Hispanic men in general, and especially on the heels of this, it would feel dirty.

Anyway, I rambled on on this far longer than I meant to. Oops!

[ray935sworld]

Child of divorce rosquez AU

Based on these pictures:

Marc sees those picture of his baby boy and-

Like at first he is absolutely amused by it. He is happy. On top of the world. He sees his baby being happy and giggling. He looks like a little child and Marc just wants to cuddle him and squish his cheeks.

And he looks so comfortable in what he's doing. It seems to come natural to him and Marc couldn't be more happy. He's watching that video a million times and speed dial DAZN/ Pol/ Izaskun to let David interview him just so he can grin all the way and embarrasse his baby by giving him a little kiss at the end (on camera) and telling he did good.

(David: "PAAAAPAAAA! That's embarrassing!" and he gets red like a tomato. Marc just looks at Pol and smiles sheepishly. "They grow up so fast... Oh my amazing baby. But you did perfectly, David! Best questions of the season." And Pol nods along.)

But then for a moment he wonders what could have been if he (and back then also Vale) hadn't made the decision to introduce David to bikes. Of course they had considered it but decided against it as they didn't want to exclude their child from such a big part of their life. And then as it was time and Marc was on his own, he made the decision to explain bikes to David himself. He was the one who didn't kept his work hidden and even encouraged the boy by sitting him on his bike and strapping him to his chest to ride around the track. He had always put his boy on those bikes.

And he knew what it could mean but he hadn't expected David to be as extraordinary as he was. Of course he had hoped he was good but he could have never think he was THAT good. And now he realizes that he is the reason his son is getting on a death machine on a daily basis.

And of course Marc understands it. Who if not he? He understand why David does it and why he needs it but at the end of the day he is still his little baby, no matter how old he is or how many races he will do. Everytime he put on his helmet, Marc will be afraid.

But as a journalist he wouldn't have had that risk. Marc thinks how save his little boy would be if he were just running around with a microphone, talking, instead of sitting on those death machines himself.

And Marc knows he's the one to blame for that.

[hydrangeapartridge]

My completely biased review and opinion about companions in Veilguard (major spoilers of course)

(Side note : english is not my first langage, I hope I can express myself clearly enough for you all to understand my points)

- Neve

I like Neve, she’s cool. I loved the detail of the noise her metal leg makes when she walks.

Her questline was however a bit bland. We had better portrayals of power hungry blood mages in previous games and Aelia wasn’t that good an antagonist. She lacks charisma and isn’t seen much before the last quest so you don’t really care about her. It could have been more dramatic, like if we had to fight people of Minrathos being controlled, idk. Also not much about slavery.

I get that Bioware tried to make Neve’s quest like detective work, searching for clues and stuff, but for me it wasn’t that exciting, and Venatori are the mobs I like the least, I don’t like the crystals you have to break in order mechanics and stuff.

I chose to make her the hero of Minrathos and it was satisfying.

- Harding

I can’t find it in myself to call her Lace damn it XD

Of course I was happy to see Harding again after Inquisition ! She is a ray of Ferelden sunshine. I really enjoyed her questline with the Titans ; it was mysterious and you really felt the danger in the deep roads, and the potential threat of her newly acquiered magic. I liked the giant oracle and the design of the lyrium caves. It was a nice throwback to the first games.

The end scene of her quest was nicely done, with Rook trying to reach her while the whole cave was collapsing and then a group hug.

I chose the path of compassion.

- Lucanis

His accent was more funny to me than endearing (as is his signature « Mierda ») and I was surprised to find that he was soft instead of suave. I didn’t save Treviso so I feel like I missed a lot of his quest (and the decision at the end) and in the end he was OK but not that interesting to me.

There was also the problem of Illario ; the second he was introduced I smelled the family treason nd so there was no suspense to this quest. It felt like a bad telenovella.

I like that Zara had a literal blood bath in the quest of the same name. It was a cool fight.

I didn’t bring him out much but I enjoyed that he ended up with Neve.

- Bellara

Bellara is adorable. I liked her quirkiness but her dialogues were sometimes terrible. When she talked I felt like she kept repeating the same things phrased differently and sometimes I felt the itch to skip (I usually never skip dialog!).

I had high hopes for her questline because of Anaris and finding that her brother wasn’t dead, but it all flopped in the end when Cyrian got killed by being sent flying away and Anaris didn’t turn out that scary. It felt stupide that Cyrian was not dead and then really dead…

I chose to keep the Archive but that choice felt like the less impactful of all the companion choices.

- Davrin

I didn’t expect Davrin to be so brash ! I enjoyed his banter a lot and the growth of his relationship with Assan. That griffin is an absolute cutie !

His quests were cute for the Arlathan ones and impactful for the one with the Gloom Howler. I enjoyed Isseya’s story and saving the griffins.

I still felt Davrin to be a little too « jock » coded, but his banter with Emmrich and Manfred was perfect ! I enjoyed seeing the wardens again (Antoine and Evka <3) and am glad he was a true Warden this one.

I chose to release the griffin in Arlathan because my Rook was an elven veil jumper.

- Taash

In real life, Taash is the kind of person I would have trouble connecting with. They’re obtuse and a bit rude. I felt like I was intruding during the parts with her mother (it is probably the goal of those moments but it made me uneasy). I wanted to be supportive so I was but I didn’t feel like my Rook and them ended up great friends. The identity crisis wasn’t handled that well I think, but it wasn’t as bad as people make it out to be and maybe I’ll get hate for that but they come out at first more Trans than non binary given their problem is being misgendered as a girl mostly or expected to do girly things? They even say it feels right to be called a man I think I remember? (but I respect whatever pronouns she chose in the end)

I really enjoyed the dragon hunt quests however and their last quest was cool too. Their mother’s death was a sacrifice that made sense and it pained me.

Their romance with Harding was cute (mostly because of Harding’s reactions and that height difference XD)

I chose to push them towards embracing the Rivein life, even if I think they could have made peace with both ?

- Emmrich

Of course my favourite. And not only because he is the handsome older man who swept my Rook off her feet.

To give us a scholar necromancer that was the antithesis of the cliché : a man poised but a tad insecure, nerdy, gentle, kind, a bit posh, extremly elegant and whose favourite colour is lilac ! Genius !

The Necropolis had such a distinct ambiance that every quest there felt special, with amazing details and wonders of finding a wisp, a spirit or hearing a dead’s last words.

To me his personnal quests are the ones with the best handled rythm. The first one in the peace and quiet of the beautiful garden sets the tone : serious but poetic, sad but hopeful, and dares to tackle very real and grave subjects. Death and regret but also life and love are perfectly handled in his story and brought me lots and lots of feels.

There is a great antagonist whose motives are simple but dangerous ; a friend turned rival, similar but so different from dear Emmrich. Johanna is simply iconic (her hand gosh and the fact that you keep her skull in the end, brillant). The fights are well balanced, the cutscenes and dialogues perfect for immersion. And don’t get me started on Manfred… I love this little guy to bits.

I chose to revive Manfred and for Emmrich and Rook to live the rest of his mortality together. In Undying Love

[jesswritesthat]

Sakusa Kiyoomi: Part of the Plan

Fandom: Haikyuu!! — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~0.8k, fluff

• You didn’t think helping a friend would ever lead you to be in demand from elite athlete Sakusa Kiyoomi, yet here you are.

Warnings: Post time skip spoilers.

>>>>——————————>

It was a soothing walk home you'd taken that evening, enjoying the fresh fragrance of the season when a brief interaction outside your apartment building caused you tilt your head and slow you pace.

"Oh here they are now!"

Your neighbour giddily shouted, pointing in your direction as evidence to the tall man beside her who then turned around. You recognised the athlete immediately, even without his signature teams' clothing draping his toned form.

"You made this meal plan?" It was direct, straight to the point, with recognisable scribbles held out before you.

It was apart of the plan you'd tailored for Atsumu, covering various nutritional aspects to help maintain energy and physique during the upcoming volleyball season. That damn blonde must've left it lying around at practice. You’ll get him back next time you hang out together but right now you held the prickly attention of his teammate.

"Oh yeah, I thought I was missing a page." Gratefully, you accepted the parchment with a polite smile whilst Sakusa shoved his hands in his pockets and spoke observantly through his mask.

"It's detailed, you know what you're doing."

"It's nothing overly professional but it does the job."

"It does more than that, I remember you always used to help out the volleyball team in middle school." He'd offhandedly mentioned, tilting his head slightly as if reminiscing - he was right, you were a year below and had volunteered to help the sports clubs when you could but you didn't think it'd be memorable.

Let alone to someone as antisocial and incredible as him, a top 5 Ace of the nation in Itachiyama.

"You recognise me?"

"You used a Hello Kitty plaster for my graze when first aid had run out of proper ones." This was said with what you assumed to be a disgruntled look since you couldn't see beyond his mask.

"It was a proper plaster. Just with more personality." You quipped back rather proudly, the player furrowing his brows slightly and responding with a hint of bemusement (you'd hoped).

"You said something similar back then, and I still disagree."

It was a slightly palpable silence that remained after that, unsure of how to react to Sakusa as a person rather than someone you'd considered out of reach quite yet. Thus he continued with an awkward clearing of his throat.

"Anyway, I was looking for you."

"To return my meal plan?" You instantly questioned, as if trying to aid the situation but he only shook his head before elaborating.

"To ask if you'd personalise one for me."

"Don't you have professionals for that?"

As a MSBY Black Jackals player, you’d expected them to have every amenity available to them in order to maximise performance - so for him to request such expertise from you was rather perplexing.

"I'm a picky eater." It wasn't as forward as answers you'd previously received, suggesting he was a little embarrassed about this disclosure.

"You're really gonna make this easy for me if I accept, aren’t you?" You retorted sarcastically, a raised brow sent his way but he remained unphased.

"I thought you may be looking to do this as a career, become a sport nutritionist?"

"Well I hadn't really thought that far ahead..."

Sakusa studied you thoughtfully, as if you were a new concept to his world that he didn’t understand yet, but he certainly wanted to try.

"Well as I progress, people will be interested in what I'm doing unfortunately. But it'll bring business your way."

It was considerate of him (even if he was repulsed by the idea of attention) to think about how the arrangement would benefit you also, it is an aspiring nutritions dream offer after all. Yet he presented no pressure, waiting patiently even if your casual shrug and acknowledgment wasn’t a conclusive decision.

"I mean as a Division 1 player, you're quite popular already."

"Think about it. Here's my number, give me a call if you change your mind." Sakusa gave you a slip with his contact information, burying his hands deep in his pockets once more and diverted his gaze away from you. "Or even if you don't."

"Thank you Sakusa, it was nice talking to you again."

The Spiker didn't respond verbally, instead nodding softly accompanied by a wave of his hand when walking away.

Your neighbour rejoined your side from where she’d retreated to, previously leaning against the building entrance steps with a joyous skip toward you and girly squeal to match.

"Did you just get Sakusa Kiyoomis' number?!"

"Yeah. For work."

"He came looking for you, he literally asked Miya-san for your address to return your plan himself. Then MSBYs' top spiker Sakusa Kiyoomi gave you his personal number." She reiterated again, adding emphasis and dramatics to the statement as if you'd failed to realise the weight of it.

"..." You glared discreetly, your neighbour far too enthused by such a thing, which was translated through your deadpan tone. "You're too excited about this."

"I don't think you're excited enough about this."

You ran your thumb over his elegant writing as you looked at the slip once again, a gentle smile subconsciously working its way to your lips at the thought.

“Maybe you’re right…”

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

A/N: I have more… if you want…?

[catboymoments]

Going on anon to say this particularly: Why the hell do some of the anons that go to your account seem to like scrutinize everything you repost and the people you follow if it isn't related to the stuff you already do (and sometimes already do since I recall an incident like this with Danganronpa)? I mean last post is evident with the Futurama (I probably spelled that wrong but I also don't care right now) but then there was also the person with the interest in South Park, and while I don't know enough about either series to have a proper stance but Futurama doesn't seem all that bad while South Park is definitely South Park I know enough to know how that is.

Either way point being is why even care so much about stuff like that it's like they think you owe them an answer for the possibility of being interested in something. (South Park I understand just to clarify but it's still how people are wording such things is my problem with it.)

YEAH LIKE. I hope you guys know that im fully capable of making smart decisions about my friends and what they like. Some of yall sound like this

[silenzahra]

Hello! I should've probably made this post earlier just so you all would know, but I've been sick and busy and couldn't find the right moment for the life of me 😅

I just wanted to let you all know that I'm not active on Tumblr on purpose. I'm trying as hard as I can to avoid spoilers from Brothership as I'm afraid I'm way too slow playing it simply because I don't have enough time, and I want to fully enjoy the experience of playing this game at my own pace and keeping the surprise. I know most of you tag your posts which I deeply appreciate, but unfortunately, I've run into some posts that weren't properly tagged and got spoiled... on the same day the game was released 😬

So this is a decision that I've made: I will only check my notifs and DMs until I can finish the game, as long as it takes me. So you'll probably still see me around, only that I won't interact with posts that have to do with the game yet. I obviously want to share my impressions but I'd rather do so once I'm done with it. THEN I'll un-filter the tags and check all your Brothership-related content! 🥰

But as for now... I'd rather not see anything. So please... don't tag me on stuff that has to do with the game as of right now 😅 I know you all mean well but I don't want to take the risk of being accidentally spoiled. I hope you'll understand 😅💖

As for other content, of course, feel free to tag me if you think I'll like it! I'll take my time to get to it but I'm trying to check Tumblr at least once a day. And same about DMs! Anyone can reach out anytime 🥰 Just, if you want to discuss the game with me, please make sure to ask first at what point of the story I am. And please keep in mind that I'm slow responding.

So this is it! I'm also busy in general so that's another reason why you won't see me around much lol. But I'm fine! I was sick but I'm fully recovered now 🥰 I hope you're all doing well and that you're enjoying the game to the fullest! I love you all so so much 💖💖💖

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 22: Small Blade

Content warning: Fighting, broken bones, mention of vomiting, Sukuna's foot (you heard me)

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Oh Well - Snake River Conspiracy A Smaller God - Darling Violetta

* * * * *

Chapter 21 | Chapter 23

* * * * *

You blink away sleep as you stare at the subtle hint of amber treetops surrounding the shrine, watching the sun gradually climb into the sky. The morning is calm, beautiful, with a fine mist clinging to the ground and occasional leaves drifting into your path.

Although the view is pleasant, you had hoped to rest a little longer after returning from a gruelling six-day journey to the north and back. Instead, Ren roused you at some ungodly hour, urging you to dress comfortably and meet Uraume at the back of the shrine.

Confused and exhausted, you complied. When you stepped outside and found them waiting near the treeline—standing on a patch of thinning grass, holding two miniature wooden bokkens in hand—your curiosity grew.

According to the King of Curses, who is gone again—though you suspect, he’s off dealing with mounting troubles within his domain—he has thrust the responsibility of training you with a weapon upon the white-haired monk.

Why the hell would he want to do that? You’ve never considered yourself a fighter, nor have you trained or wielded a weapon. You’ve only observed. The men of the Kasai clan excel with their weaponry, training, killing, and battling—it’s their passion above all else. 

If anything, you almost wish Sukuna knew about your gift and could help nurture that instead, but that isn’t a possibility. The element of surprise remains your greatest advantage over him.

So, at first, you consider refusing but quickly change your mind. If there’s a chance to learn and expand your arsenal, you’ll take it.

However, you regret that decision the moment Uraume sends you crashing onto your back for the fifteenth time—or perhaps even more; you’ve lost count.

Staring up at the soft afternoon blue above, you watch them circle you slowly, their kimono billowing in the slightest breeze.

"Your footwork is all wrong,” they point out, pink eyes narrowing as they look down at you. "Strength alone won’t help. You need to move with intention, not just react. Watch my steps and mimic them—otherwise, you’re merely swinging blindly."

No shit.

Pushing yourself up, you resist the urge to glare at them, brushing dirt off your leather gloves. At least they’ve improved your grip on the bokken, but you feel nervous knowing you'll eventually be handling a real weapon.

“I’ve never done this before,” you say, rising to your feet, legs weary from hours of being tossed to the ground. Despite Uraume’s fair appearance, they are surprisingly adept at laying you out on your ass.

"That doesn’t matter,” they reply, tilting their head slightly, unfazed by your frustration. "You need to learn how to defend yourself. That's what Master Sukuna desires."

What Sukuna desires…

Of course, that man seems to get whatever he desires. One simple glance from the four burning flames that are his eyes can make anyone crumble.

However, your mind drifts back to a month ago when you had accused him of never knowing the denial of something he truly wanted, and the way his expression darkened and his energy threatened to suffocate you made it clear he didn’t take too kindly to that. Still, you can’t help but wonder if he ever truly understands the weight of desire and denial. All he seems to know is taking and consuming.

“What’s his intention, exactly?” you ask, brushing off the dirt that smudges your crumpled hakama. “Why does he suddenly want me to learn to wield a weapon?”

The white-haired monk circles you.

“Sukuna values what’s useful, and trouble seems to follow you.”

They pause. 

You pause, considering.

If anything, trouble finds you because of your association with him, because you’re his wife. But you keep that thought to yourself.

"It’s what he wants," they repeat, as if expecting you to argue—though you don’t.

"All right," you murmur.

Uraume dips their head, shifting their dominant foot back and bending their knees.

"Now, my Lady." They raise one hand in preparation, the other holding the bokken. "Let’s try this again."

You swallow, nod, try again, and fail.

Try again.

Another failure.

And.

Again.

And, the next day, when the sun hasn’t yet crested the horizon, you’re already swinging the bokken like your miserable life depends on it. Uraume side steps on light feet, barely glancing your way as you lunge. You overextend—again—and find yourself face-first in the wet grass.

Great.

Day three, you’re starting to think Uraume enjoys watching you struggle. This time, when they parry your strike, it’s with minimal effort, turning your own momentum against you. At some point, the bokken slips from your grasp, and you tumble forward, catching yourself just before hitting the dirt.

Uraume’s mouth sinks into a frown.

“Don’t drop your weapon. It’s your lifeline. Without it, you have nothing—you’re dead.”

That’s not technically true, but you huff in response, rising to your feet to try again.

And again.

And again.

On day five, you manage to last a bit longer. The sparring is brutal; your muscles throb, and bruises mar every part of you. Uraume doesn’t even break a sweat, but for the first time, you notice they aren’t throwing you down immediately. Instead, they’re letting you hang on, testing your endurance and footwork. Nevertheless, by the end, you find yourself on your knees, panting.

“You’ll never survive if you waste your energy. Conserve your strength.”

Too winded to respond, you say nothing.

That evening, you prepare a bath and linger in it for hours, praying to whatever gods might exist to bring an end to this so-called ”training.”

However, by day seven, something falls into place—somewhat. Even when Uraume sweeps in to knock you off balance, you anticipate the move, sidestepping just in time. Their expression shifts slightly; an eyebrow attempts to rise as if they are nearly impressed. However, the satisfaction is brief because seconds later, they counter, sending you sprawling again.

And.

Again.

When a week passes, and it crawls into the second, you stop questioning why Sukuna requested this and begin to focus solely on surviving Uraume. The day you manage to stand toe-to-toe with them for more than a few seconds will feel like a goddamn miracle.

Eventually, the day before you’re set to leave for the Kasai compound, the routine is etched into your body: wake up before dawn, meet the white-haired monk, and brace yourself for another round of punishment disguised as training.

But that morning, as you step out of the shrine and plod toward the practice area, something feels different. A heaviness cloaks the air, like dark storm clouds burdened with rain. Perhaps it’s because today marks the first day of autumn, the surrounding forest is already decaying, and the skies are growing colder. Or maybe it’s the knowledge that in three days, you’ll be in Kasai territory, at your home, with Sukuna.

There are so many uncertainties that come with that.

As you finally reach the back of the shrine, your feet slow. You expect to see Uraume waiting for you, arms tucked inside their sleeves, pink eyes watchful.

But it’s not them waiting.

You still.

The King of Curses is there.

Leaning against one of the shrine's worn pillars, his massive frame occupies more space than it should. His four arms are folded casually across his chest, dark haori hanging open, revealing his kimono. When his strange eyes land on you, dragging slowly across your body, you can already feel your heart hammering into your ribcage.

"Wife." He stretches the title out in that mocking tone he seems to enjoy, shattering any self-respect you earned in his absence.

Pushing yourself to walk forward, you tip your head back in acknowledgment. 

"Husband." Composed, but your body tingles with every sense of his awareness.

He arches his slitted eyebrow.

"You seem surprised to see me," he rumbles, squinting his four eyes. "Did you think I’d leave all your training to Uraume?"

You say nothing, lifting a shoulder lightly.

His attention drops to the bokken you grip tightly in your leather glove. His teeth peek out from between a smirk, turning vicious as he stares at it.

The last time you saw him, you struck him across the face for insulting your sister, and you can’t shake the feeling that this look has something to do with that. The brute also narrowly confessed to hiding your letters, but you’re not ready to confront him further without slipping into rage.

Not yet, at least.

So, you simply step closer.

The moment you do, his lower hands retrieve a compact scabbard from inside his obi and toss it into the space between you. It lands with a dull thud on the worn patch of grass, which has become little more than dirt from countless footsteps.

You look at it, then to him.

"Well?” His upper lip twitches. There’s a hungry anticipation there. “Are you ready, or are you just going to stand there trembling with that—” Two massive pointed fingers wiggle at you. “—tiny piece of wood?" 

Fight… him?

There’s no way you can survive. Sparring with Uraume had been one thing—brutal, but manageable—but this? This is something else. Your grip tightens around the wooden weapon.

"Where’s Uraume?" Your voice cracks slightly, and you instantly hate how it sounds.

Sukuna pushes off the pillar, taking a step toward you.

You wet your lips.

"They’ve finished their part." His voice lowers. "Now, it's mine."

Shit.

Everyone has heard the tales and nightmares of the devastation the King of Curses leaves behind, not just in the north but far beyond. Yet none of those stories, however wild, can compare to the reality of being scrutinized by him now. You’ve witnessed his abilities while at the shrine and never imagined that engaging in combat with him would become a part of your reality.

You glance around for some sign of Uraume, but it’s clear—they aren’t coming. It’s just you and him. 

Keeping your eyes on the monster, you bend down, place the bokken on the ground and pick up the scabbard.

"Consider it yours." He nudges his chin toward your hands. Your vision jumps down to it.

It’s light. As you unsheathe the blade, you discover a tantō. Carefully, you draw it out.

While the weapon is plain, it’s well crafted, with a smooth metal surface that feels balanced in your hand. The grip is simple, solid, and designed for functionality rather than flair. There are no intricate designs, nothing gaudy—only a few small engravings on the hilt, mirroring the lines of his tattoos. You drag your thumb across them, tracing each mark.

Lovely.

Your mouth opens to say "thank you," but the words don’t come. He does not deserve them, not really.

"Well?" Sukuna smirks, rubbing his upper right hand across his jaw. "Are you ready?"

You swallow.

No.

"I..."

Do this for Yuna.

"... I’m ready."

I’m not ready.

"We’ll see about that," he says arrogantly, not looking away, sending panic into your mind, urging you to heed instinct and run.

But you don’t.

Slowly and with ease, he raises his upper hands and removes his haori, letting it fall to the ground. You watch as he pulls down the front panels of his kimono, allowing them to hang loosely at his obi and revealing his tattooed chest. The muscles along his torso flex slightly, the maw on his abdomen reduced to a mere slit against skin. His four corded arms extend outward, stretching before coming to rest at his sides.

Almost immediately, embarrassment heats into your face. You haven’t seen him like this in what—weeks? A little less than a month? And, you keep forgetting that in all your years, you’ve never encountered a more perfect body. You hate that about him. Worse still, he feels he doesn’t need a weapon against you; he is the weapon.

Pushing the empty scabbard into your obi, you raise your new blade, ignoring how your hand trembles at the hilt.

The King of Curses’ mouth pulls back into an aggressive sneer, teeth and canines flashing, feral and wild.

Oh.

You are so fucked.

Before you have time to blink, let alone breathe, he moves. And god, he’s impossibly fast—faster than Uraume, faster than anything you’ve seen.

You bite down on his name, suppressing a scream that gurgles up in a burst of panic as the flat of one of his hands—you're not sure which—slams into your breastbone. The blow rattles your insides. Unable to block it, you stagger back, lose your footing, and hit the ground hard.

The overcast sky blurs above you. You blink rapidly at it. Pain tightens your diaphragm from the impact, making it impossible to draw breath.

Oh god, oh god, oh god—

After three heartbeats, you drag in a ragged inhale and tilt your head to him.

Sukuna’s face darkens as he steps back as if needing to restrain himself from going further.

He paces, slows, then paces again. The muscles in his back ripple as his two sets of shoulders oscillate, bunching and releasing before bunching once more.

You fucking hate it when they do that.

“I’m holding back,” he states, circling you like a caged animal. “But, if you were like me—” He suddenly stops, and his mouth drops into a rigid line, his whole face becoming a mask of… nothingness. “—I wouldn’t.”

There’s a beat of silence.

You push yourself up and stare at him, breath stuttering.

If I were like you.

You are like him.

Fuck you are like him.

Beneath your gloves, everything stings to be unleashed. Yet, you have no desire to experience firsthand what it would be like to face him unrestrained. He would annihilate you—it's as simple as that.

Unsteady and dizzy, you get to your feet.

What would he do if he knew?—

There’s no time to think. He’s barreling down on you again. Bare feet crashing into the dirt, upper right arm extending, he delivers a blow to your shoulder, heavier than the last.

Hissing in pain, you step away.

Distance.

You need distance to study him, to figure out how to—

Another blow comes at you, but he pulls away at the last second, chuckling manically as he toys with you.

Bastard!

Desperate, you swing the tantō, attempting to create more space, but he effortlessly catches it with his lower left hand. Unfazed by the sharp edge, he yanks it from your grip, blood crawling away as he tosses it aside.

“Try harder, little snake!” he booms, his eyes flashing rabidly while healing the slit across his hand where he caught the blade.

Without your weapon, you’re defenseless, and Sukuna doesn’t relent.

He steps toward you, striking fast. Panicking, you turn, exposing your back. His blow lands squarely between your shoulder blades, sending you crashing to the ground. Soil fills your mouth as you gasp, reaching desperately for the blade. Your fingers barely graze the hilt before Sukuna kicks it away.

“Pathetic,” he spits, standing there looking bored—two arms crossed, the other two resting on his hips, watching, waiting. Even a pout models his lips. “It’s foolish to give your opponent your back. Now. Get up.”

Pathetic…

For a moment, you lie there, annoyed and inhaling deeply before forcing yourself up, every part of your body screaming, begging you to stay down.

“You’re going to—” Struggling to your feet, you can hardly catch your breath. “—kill me if you keep this up.”

Lifting your head, you see a fiendish grin spread across his face, the eyes on his mask nearly rolling back in some kind of pure, malicious ecstasy. Far from the reaction you’d hoped for.

He inclines his head more, crimson orbs peeking down on you.

“If I break you, I can simply heal you,” he coos dangerously. “Then, I can do it again and again.”

Your eyes narrow, and a tremor flickers across your cheek.

Sukuna scoffs.

“Heh, don’t look at me like that.” He lowers himself into a relaxed stance, clearly unimpressed yet no longer poised to attack.

“You're too predictable,” he tuts, tapping his temple. "Always going for the obvious moves. At this rate, you'll never get anywhere if you keep swinging where I can see it coming."

He must realize he’s not a typical opponent, right?

Rolling your shoulder from the previous hit, you wince and step away from him.

“So what? You want me to stab you somewhere unexpected?” you mutter, “what should I aim for? The softer parts?”

There’s double of them, after all.

His eyes thin, and he inhales.

“If you think I’d let you get that close, you’re even more naive than I thought.” There’s a pause. "But if you did, I might consider it worth my attention.”

You huff, wiping the sweat that slithers down your brow, and before you can react, he’s suddenly stepping forward.

You quickly step back.

But one, two, three steps—he closes the distance until he’s standing before you.

“Don't test your luck, wife.” He looks down at you. "If you want to survive, aim for what stops someone faster—the throat, the joints, under the ribs. Or, right—” his fingers press against the side of your neck, “—here. The carotid. You slip the blade in, then keep going. Otherwise, make use of what you have.” He grins. “I saw what you did to Sayuri. Use those little fingers, your teeth, anything you can."

You exhale, remembering the horrible feel of Sayuri's skin peeling back beneath your nails.

Sukuna presses harder against your neck, just shy of where he left that scar, his fingers firm on your pulse, feeling it jump under his touch. You want to shy away from it, but then, with a soft twitch of his mouth, he steps back.

Another exhale.

“So, not the softer parts?” you ask, moving across the grass to retrieve your blade.

All four of his eyes roll.

"Strike where it matters, and your opponent will be too busy bleeding out to retaliate. Strength doesn’t change that. The weak points remain the same for everyone."

During your first meeting, walking together in the forest, you searched for any weakness to exploit but found none. Now, even as you look at him, you’re still left wondering if he has any at all.

“Even for you?” you ask quietly.

He jerks his head to the side, eyes touching you with a challenging look. 

“You’d have to find mine first." 

Ah, so presumably, he does have a weakness. Curious.

“But I doubt you will ever uncover it,” he smirks, moving away again.

He turns.

“Now, again! And try to stay on your feet this time.”

You look at him, taking in every detail.

His arms—his size—they’re your biggest problems. Aiming for his upper body is useless; he’s too fast, too strong. But his legs, knees, ankles, and maybe the maw on his stomach are your only chances.

Veins hammering in your body, you nod.

“Okay.” Fingers tightening at the hilt of the blade, you take the proper stance.

His red eyes flare, wildfire licking at dry tinder.

“Come here, then, girl,” he provokes, lips tipping into a cruel smile, four arms stretching leisurely like a cat ready to play with a mouse.

The sensation from before returns—scuttling at your fingertips, an aching. You ignore it, and, without hesitation, surprisingly, you rush toward him.

But he doesn’t move. He just stands there. Waiting.

That should have been your first warning.

Heart thundering, you run, you don’t stop.

The ground scrapes underneath you as you drop to your knees, arm extended, blade aimed at his right ankle—the circling of black ink your target. 

Almost there.

Sukuna shifts.

He moves.

And before you can do anything. Before you can think. Before you can even strike. His massive leg pulls back and—

Snap!

It’s a horrible sound that rings into your ears.

Everything goes dark for a heartbeat.

The scream doesn’t come as you realize you’re on your back, staring up at the grey clouds overhead, your breath stolen away and your blade gone, scattered somewhere across the ground.

What just…

Cold shock rolls through your body, and your chest aches painfully as if a heavy stone rests upon it.

Something is wrong.

Your eyelids flutter as you push yourself into a sitting position, the world spinning.

Then the pain comes—a hot, searing wave coursing through your right arm and ligaments, followed by an icy numbness. With trembling fingers, you pull up the sleeve of your kimono and look down.

Vomit stings the back of your throat, thick and disgusting.

The angle. The bone. It’s protruding, bent through angry red, swollen skin. You blink. It’s all wrong. The arm hangs uselessly.

You try to envision that bottle—the one in your mind where you store all unwanted emotions—and attempt to shove this feeling inside. But your lip trembles, and your eyes trail up to Sukuna. He used the heel of his left foot, putting enough force behind it—and—

“Y-you’ve… broken my arm,” you whisper, hand falling to the ground, breathing suddenly becoming erratic—quick bursts in and out that you can’t quite control.

Breathe.

I can’t.

Your brow pinches in distress.

Breathe.

I can’t—

“You’ve broken my fucking arm!” The words escape in an ugly, sputtering hiss. Your glare, nothing but hatred.

The King of Curses’ jaw tightens, and he steps closer, crouching before you. Even then, he looms, casting a long, dark shadow. Tears sting your eyes, and instinctively, you look away—but he grabs your chin roughly, yanking it back and forcing you to meet his gaze.

Angry red orbs narrow.

“If you were anything like me, you would carry yourself with greater strength,” he growls into your face, a deep crease carving above his nose. “Yet here you are, fragile, yielding, so easily within my grasp.”

You flinch, growing nervous at those words, unsure why everything turns to hell so quickly whenever you’re with him.

You stare at him, and he stares back.

A huff expels from his chest. 

Tilting his head, he studies you for a heartbeat longer before sliding his fingers carelessly away from your chin.

“But you’re not,” he continues, voice growing low, quieter this time.

There’s pity there. But you don’t want it. He has no idea what you’re keeping hidden.

His upper left hand moves, sliding into the sleeve of your kimono. His fingers hover for a moment before curling around your disfigured arm, brushing gently against your skin. The contact burns, and you want to tug away, but you know he’s beginning to mend it.

Dammit, you’re tired of being told you’re weak, tired of needing his healing, tired of this twisted game where you’re broken only to be pieced back together.

A sharp crack sounds. You suck in a tight gasp.

Every misaligned shard of bone scrapes together with a grinding noise. You bite down while your arm spasms in his grasp, but he doesn’t let go. Each bone segment fuses with a jolt, just as metal is soldered. Muscles and skin knitting over them feel tight and raw.

Once healed, he leans closer to study your face.

“Next time someone hurts you, focus on your breath.” He drags his hand away from your arm, pressing it firmly against your stomach, just above your navel. Your abdomen clenches as he applies more pressure with his fingertips. “Let the pain come, and then let it go—without holding on to it.”

His hand pulls back. He pauses, taking you apart slowly.

“You cling to things too tightly.”

You look away, hating how those words hold truth.

There’s a silence—a silence for too long.

“Look at me,” he demands calmly.

With a slight incline of your head, you glance up at him through wet, curling lashes, which only seem to clump together the more you blink.

On the side of his demonic face, a muscle pulses.

A sudden war wages across his dual features. The jutting lower eye on his mask flickers down, taking you in and falling to your lips. He opens his mouth to say more, but the words never come. Instead, he rises to his full height and looks down at you.

“We’re done here.” Carefully, he pulls the panels of his kimono back into place before turning to retrieve his haori.

You watch him walk toward the shrine, his body heavy and beautifully agile.

You clench your jaw.

Fuck him.

Just before his looming figure disappears inside, he glances back over his shoulder at you, slumped on the ground.

“Be ready by dawn tomorrow. I’d hate to be late for your clan’s festival. Oh, and wife—” There’s a beat as he takes you in. “—remember, when we arrive, I want that name.”

* * * * *

“What is this?” 

Holding up the sleeve of a new, beautiful kimono spread across your futon, you turn to Ren, who is helping you pack for tomorrow’s ride north. The three-day journey will be trying, especially since you’ve learned Uraume won’t be joining you. It will just be you and the King of Curses—riding, eating meals, sleeping under the night sky. Together. Alone. An ache has been steadily building in your stomach; the thought feels far too intimate for your liking.

You’ll need to master every aspect of maintaining distance. However, avoiding someone like him is easier said than done.

Ren’s eyes lift briefly from the travelling trunk, then drop.

“Master Sukuna wants you to wear it for your clan’s festival, my Lady,” she says, attention returning to the cloak she’s folding.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Of course, he does.

Looking down at the garment, your silk-gloved hand travels over the fabric.

The outer layer is a rich, muted purple, trimmed in dark charcoal, complementing the smooth black of the layer beneath. Wide, flowing sleeves are decorated with a scattering of embroidered wisteria flowers, the pattern gradually fading toward the hemline, where the thread deepens into a darker, bruising plum colour.

The inside of the sleeves catches your eye—a burnt umber shade that matches the maru obi, fully patterned on both sides with the same design. Soot-coloured gloves rest beside it. They aren’t silk but soft, buttery leather. You can only assume this choice is deliberate.

The garment is lovely, if somewhat unusual, for such an event. Its style and dark colours suggest a mourning aesthetic—an odd thing. However, you can’t deny that the monster possesses a strange sense of taste, even if you are well aware that this is merely another way for him to stake his claim over you.

“He’s going to match with me, isn’t he?” you call over your shoulder as you place the scabbard with the tantō blade sheathed next to the garment.

Ren is quiet for a moment before she responds.

“I’m not sure, my Lady, but it’s likely. Uraume is with him now, preparing what he needs.”

You huff and walk gingerly to the door, body still aching from the earlier beating. Although you spent a few hours soaking your muscles in a bath, you can still feel their stiffness.

Sliding open the door, you peer into the dim passage—a flame spills from behind the massive doors of his chambers. Your brow furrows at the thought of your clan seeing you dressed to match Sukuna. You did so at your wedding, but this will be in front of the entire Kasai clan.

Closing the door, you grumble wordlessly to yourself before rejoining your attendant. Her eyes lift briefly, then flicker away. Since that night in the stables when Sukuna threatened her and Uraume, she has been quiet. Quieter than usual, and this feels different.

"Is everything all right, Ren?" you ask, picking up the new kimono and rolling it tightly before packing it into the trunk.

"Yes, my Lady. I’m fine,” she says, while suddenly becoming very interested in the garment she’s folding.

Well, that’s a lie.

"Are you sure? You seem... distant lately."

She glances up.

"I’m fine, my Lady, truly," she urges.

You don’t believe her, but you aren’t about to dissect every mannerism and word she speaks.

"All right," you say, letting it slip into the background.

Once your trunk is sufficiently packed and dusk settles, you climb into the futon. The intention is to sleep, but rest eludes you. Your body hums with a terrible anticipation for the days ahead—the ride, the festival, your father—the daunting task of providing Sukuna with Onishi’s name. At least you’ll see Yuna again, though, for some reason, even that brings little comfort. You toss and turn throughout the night, and soon enough, morning arrives, with dawn shyly pushing through the narrow window, urging you to rise.

The shrine is still asleep as you slide open the door and slip out, dressed in your riding clothes. A warm cloak wraps around your shoulders, fending off the chill. Trunk in hand, leather gloves on, you make your way through the hollow corridors and out to the stables.

The cool, dull grey morning greets you, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, your pulse grows unsteady as you step inside.

The stables smell of hay and leather, with dust stirring in whatever light filters in.

At the sound of your entrance, a gaze of fire snaps up to meet yours. The King of Curses is already busy with his mount, adjusting the last of his saddle. Like you, he’s dressed for warmth. His dark kataginu parts over a charcoal kimono, with matching hakama beneath. His pink, spiky hair swept back in the style he favours. It practically glows against the dim fabric of his attire.

You cross the space and dip your chin.

"Good morning, my Lord," you say, forcing your mouth to twitch into something resembling an amicable smile.

He says nothing, directing his body away from you.

Asshole.

You fight the urge to scoff. After all, he deserves the unkind greeting after breaking your arm yesterday.

Instead, his four eyes drop, focusing on Uraume, whom you hadn’t noticed standing nearby. The two speak in hushed tones, their conversation too quiet for you to make out. The white-haired monk’s eyes dart back and forth while Sukuna’s brow wrinkles, the tension in his body growing tauter with each moment.

It gives you pause.

How is he already this agitated when the journey hasn’t even begun? This trip will be exhausting, and you won’t be surprised if one of you ends up killing the other by the end of it.

At least then, everything would be over.

Your fingers brush the scabbard tucked securely into your obi, and its feel brings a small measure of comfort. Coupled with your gift, it’s a reminder that you aren’t, for the most part, completely powerless.

Dragging your attention away from Sukuna, you make your way to Ayana’s stall.

The mare lets out a soft whicker to greet you, her dappled grey coat gleaming in the gentle light. You run your hand along her strong neck, and she nudges you affectionately. While she’s still skittish, her nervousness has lessened over the past two weeks as you’ve spent more time together. Working your fingers through her mane, you notice Ren stepping into the stables. She joins you, helping to fasten your trunk to the saddle while you focus on your mare’s bridle.

Once she is fully tacked, you mount her and guide her outside, where Sukuna is already waiting.

Sitting motionless atop his enormous horse, he rests two arms lightly on his thighs—one on the saddle and the other holding the reins.

He stares at you with a stern, guarded expression.

“Ready?” He raises his eyebrow in question.

Are you?

Saying nothing, you shift and glance back over your shoulder. Uraume and Ren stand at the entrance of the stables. You can’t quite read their faces, but something wavers there—a knowing of some kind. You give a brief nod, though an undercurrent of dread trembles through you.

There and back, and you’ll gain your extra month.

That’s all this is. 

Or there, and… neither of you returns.

You turn to the man who is your husband in name only. Not once does his crimson eyes leave yours. Not once does his expression change.

Briefly, you recall how you felt when you left the Kasai compound weeks ago, when your chest felt incredibly heavy, clutching the red jasper stone in your hand.

Not knowing what awaits is its own form of torture.

Sitting up in your saddle, you blink.

"Yes, my Lord." On an exhale, you look away from him. "I'm ready."

With your gloves gripping the reins, you nudge Ayana forward, cantering past Sukuna and onto the dirt-packed road, leaving the shrine and everything else behind.

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 23

[mewkwota]

Kid Ica- sorry, Pit.

Oh neat. Finally we end this long session with this sweet boy. :>

Send Me a Character

And I will tell you my:

First impression

I am one of the millions of people who only knew Pit from Smash. When Brawl's reveal trailer showed its face on Youtube, I recognized every single character. Every single one. Including Snake, especially Snake. But when I saw this kid I thought he was Roy for a second because of the sunset lighting on the Halberd. It took me a couple of seconds to register the name that popped up as someone I briefly saw in Melee. I think Mr. Sakurai knew what he was doing here.

Pit is, like, one of my most favorite characters. His design and character hit about all the right spots for me on my mental checklist. I had a huge thing for angels has a cringy tween, plus he had brown hair in this look which I preferred more, and the outfit certainly does say "this one can kick butt". Also ooh that weapon, how versatile!

But yeah, it was bad. I had an OC who I paired with Pit. And also who wouldn't wanna try on that look (I never did, but the wings would do, and the many times I'd spin sticks like he did his bow, bwaghh).

Even with all that, there was so little to him. I'd scrape around the Internet looking for whatever I could about the kid. And that's where I learned what Captain N was. So you can thank/blame Pit for getting me into Castlevania and (even more into Classic) Mega Man.

With whatever I could gather, along with Uprising's release, I had a reasonable idea as to who Pit was. He's cheery, adorable, and selfless. And I feel some of the other layers to his character that I've picked up also stem from his background as an overlooked retro character. I've discussed this aspect in a comic between him and Sora's addition to Smash. I can tell Mr. Sakurai wanted to give Pit something he didn't quite have, and I chose to translate this as the kiddo having quite the journey in making himself known. Very little by little, until that point in Smash where we know him now.

I'm not surprised if people also saw this like an "ugly swan" path.

Impression now

I may be focusing more on his friends now, but Pit holds a very-very special place in my heart. Especially now that Uprising is a thing, and I have actually grown a li~ttle sour towards it.

I know some of the humor in that game can be itty witty silly banter, but sometimes the jokes at Pit's expense can get a little, uhh, old. I get it, he's a brainless chicken who only thinks about food whatever.

It isn't like he can't be a competent character and still be silly, but sometimes the general fanbase can conflate one side. A lot. Because it's funny, sure I understand. Even I like to give Pit his silly moments, but I'd hope it's seen as him being allowed to let loose with his friends, who don't see him as someone lesser-- despite being very prolific representatives in their homelands.

This part of Pit is such an interesting thing to explore. Pit is the captain of a goddess' army. I don't think it matters the size of the army themselves, as everything is dependent on the decisions of their leader. And he's quite skilled with a variety of weapons now that Uprising has implemented that to his person.

There are so many impressive little things that Pit can call his own, but then why would he still feel inferior. Maybe it's because that's how he grew up. I can see it in the context of his place as a random retro character, but also as "that tiny angel who can't fly". (And maybe also the near-constant belittling he gets from the ones above). So as much as he's shown to be so positive, there are definitely moments where those weaknesses are seen or implied.

Long story short, it's the little things here-n-there that I like about him. It also makes for interesting prompts to write about.

Favorite moment

Am I able to pick one? Uhh, Pit randomly singing at the start of that one chapter is always gonna be cute. He does a lot of cute things. ^^;

Idea for a story

Something about Pit and Rock's relationship in Captain N clicks with me. On the outside it doesn't seem like much aside from "the two little kids hanging around each other", but perhaps that's just me picking at the words they say while mixing in the biases I already have. As a result, I see it that Rock follows after Pit in everything, but Pit also views Rock highly. They both found something in each other.

See this super ancient comic about it here.

One comic I had simmering for decades was looking at the between the two's connection after the events of Captain N and reuniting in Smash 4. It would have been in Pit's perspective and done through several letters-- that he needed help writing.

Unpopular opinion

I don't know what is unpopular.

I'm not a part of the KI fandom. I am a part of the Pit fandom, wah.

Favorite relationship

*Shoves Captain N in your face once again*

Favorite headcanon

Pit is concerningly humble. He has a lot of little talents up his sleeve, a lot of which were picked up with the various part-time things he'd volunteer to do, but he doesn't really make a big deal of them. Some were simply picked up from the duties he was expected to do, or of course, they're just things he can do (so why is that really important).

[tysonfurybattlepass]

lancer hot take GO

1. CRIMINALLY underrated as a key player in the narrative. so often in fan content, he’s relegated to comic relief when in reality his character arc is the fucking CO-FOCAL POINT of ch1 (alongside susie’s)

but where susie learns that opposition isn’t always the answer, and it can lead to her hurting people she loves, lancer learns that the authority figure in his life isn’t omnipotent and perfect and he can stand up for what he knows is just. he can question the adult in his life he can BE HIS OWN PERSON and he doesn’t have to feel like he’s not good enough. fuck. not personal or anything prommy (lying)

2. i think he should be allowed to KILL. queen will livestream it. shit would be funny as fuck

[bunnihearted]

🕸🎀˚.⁺⊹

[ctrl-lupin]

Yes, I would be very interested hearing your head canon (@tim-ribbert-56) (in response to this post)

I have decided for my personal entertainment that Clarisse de Cagliostro is related to Lupin III, and here's why.

-pulls out Arsène Lupin's Wikipedia page-

In the novel La Comtesse de Cagliostro, a young Arsène Lupin (at the time going by the name Raoul d'Andrésy) was courting Clarisse d'Etigues, a young lady of a well-to-do family, and trying to win her hand, despite her father's disapproval.

Throughout the course of the novel, Lupin meets and falls in love with Joséphine Balsamo, aka the Countess of Cagliostro, and abandons Clarisse in favour of her. To clarify, Joséphine is not actually countess of anything, she is (or claims to be) a descendant of Giuseppe Balsamo aka the Count of Cagliostro (who was also count of jack shit), a famous conman from the 18th century.

Shenanigans ensue, which I will not go into in details on, but oh my god I am insane about Raoul and Joséphine, I want to dissect them and study them under a microscope. It turns out Joséphine aka Cagliostro is evil as fuck, Raoul/Lupin realizes that and goes back to Clarisse (whom he had previously abandoned like an old sock, I fucking hate this guy), marries her, and a few years later has her kid.

Unfortunately Clarisse dies in childbirth, and Joséphine, who was still around and very very pissed at Lupin (and jealous as hell of Clarisse whom, may I mention, had never personally antagonized her in any way whatsoever, Joséphine is just fucking bonkers). Joséphine also kidnaps Lupin and Clarisse's son, Jean, and raises him as her own son. (I have not yet read the following novel The revenge of Cagliostro so I don't really know what Jean's deal is, I just know he's an antagonist).

The following is my headcanon, based on these events. In the universe of Lupin III, Joséphine Balsamo was actually countess of the small kingdom of Cagliostro (maybe Giuseppe was count, maybe he conned his way into becoming count, maybe he bought the land and built a fake kingdom with a fake history, who knows).

After the events of The revenge of Cagliostro, Jean settles down in the country of Cagliostro, gets married, has a child, and that child will later have a daughter of their own, who they name Clarisse, after their late grandmother. Clarisse de Cagliostro, of Lupin III: The Castle of Cagliostro fame, would thus be the great-grand-daughter of Arsène Lupin, making her Lupin III's cousin/niece/whatever you call this specific degree of separation.

I am choosing to make Clarisse de Cagliostro a great-granddaughter of Arsène Lupin, rather than a granddaughter, because Arsène Lupin was very young when the events I described unfolded: he is 20 years old when he meets Clarisse d'Etigues and the whole Cagliostro debacle happens, and 25 by the time Jean is born. I'm assuming he had Lupin II much later in his life. So Jean and Lupin II (half-brothers) would have a significant difference in age, and so Jean's hypothetical child (grandchild of Arsène Lupin, so of the same generation of Lupin III) would be much older than Lupin III. Clarisse de Cagliostro is younger than him, maybe around the same age if you stretch it, so she's have to be a great-grandchild.

Now I need to read The revenge of Cagliostro and study Arsène Lupin's wikipedia page in more detail to determine when exactly Lupin II was born and who his mother was. And also where Albert's family branched out, because the fact that he's called D'Andrésy should theoretically place him as a descendant of Arsène Lupin's mother but not of Arsène Lupin himself; but Jean was also going by that last name, so who fucking knows.

No I am not insane I promise, I am just a gigantic nerd.