#i guess???? just gonna tag it just in case

[quixotickoi]

Knockout Round!!

boxer!sukuna x drummer!reader

Synopsis: You and Ryomen have never had the most cordial of relationships; however, something deep, deep inside your heart burned with a carnal desire to learn the landscape of his body. Your band sets you up for a dangerous rendezvous, and you learned a lot more than you thought you would.

Warnings: Implied sex, hickeys, biting, fingering

word count: 3.7k

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The amps buzzed angrily, a deafening hornets’ nest of rage and defiance. The sound crackled out, leaving the faint rumble of inactive electricity. Yuji set his guitar against his amp, wringing his hands out. Maki rolled her shoulders out, and you set down your drumsticks. In front of you three, on the couch in the basement of Gojo Hall, Choso had set up a camcorder; Nobara was typing away intently on her phone, and Megumi was playing something on his raggedy PC. Even with his disgustingly loaded godfather, he never let that go. 

“Kamo, cut that,” said Maki. She tweaked her tuning pegs, frowning slightly.

“I thought you sounded good.” shrugged Choso. “Guess I don’t have the ear.” Megumi frowned at the computer, then at the man next to him.

“They sounded like a swamp. I couldn’t hear the bass from the guitar.”

“Hey!” Yuji shouted indignantly. “If Soundgarden did it, why can’t we?”

“You think you’re Chris Cornell?” 

“I assume you think you’re Pharrell; even your producer tag does the beat thing.” 

You and Maki exchanged glances at their bickering. Exasperatedly, you threw a drumstick at Yuji’s head; it bounced off before hitting the ground with a thunk. Nobara looked up, giggling behind her phone as Yuji threw it back ferociously. Catching it, you twirl it in your limber fingers. “We have to get our shit together, guys. It’s not our first gig, but it’s gonna be our last if Yuji won’t start singing worth a damn.”

“I’d like to see you try playing an instrument and singing at the same time.”

“Drums are actually hard, Yuji. Ya gotta use a thing called skill.”

“Didn’t know you used it. Our drumlines are so impossibly easy a million monkeys could do them by accident.” He messed with his dials, strumming over any retaliation. “Besides, we play in a week or so. We’ll have it down by then.”

“We could always play something old,” volunteered Maki. “It’s not like we’re popular enough to get people wanting more.”

“I’ll have you know a girl stopped me to tell me she knows our band!” said Yuji indignantly. 

“Likely from the ear-shattering music under the basement. I doubt she can tell us from the other bands that practice here.” Maki unplugged her bass, packing it into her coffin case, along with her pedal and wire. “I have to go now. Phys project in the works.” She shuffled up the stairs, strong-arming her bass on the way up. The door creaked behind her slightly. You stuffed your drumsticks in a ridiculously large pocket, stretching out your back. Yuji looked mildly disappointed. Smiling sympathetically, you help Nobara off the couch, and Choso turns off the camcorder.

“It’s, like, 2 A.M. right now,” Nobara mentioned callously. She had come with a full face and now was leaving fresh-faced, if you don’t count the smudging on her cheeks. “We should turn in anyway. Lord knows the dark circles I’m getting from these late nights.” She faked a yawn before resting her cheek on your shoulder, stroking your waist tenderly.

“You don’t even have to be here,” Megumi blurted, still working furiously. “All you do is use your TikTok and eat our DoorDash.” He slammed his computer down, to which it protested.

“I’m just here to steal some fame for when you guys get popular or whatever,” she smirked. “And it’s worth it for a chance to see Papa Fushiguro.” Megumi groaned. “Ain’t that right?” She tapped your cheek. Grinning, you look away.

“He is double our age. And then some.”

“Speak for yourself,” you snark.

“You’re barely a year older than us.” Megumi stuffed his computer in his backpack, stalking toward the door. “You guys comin’?” You shake your head at him. Grabbing your keys from your jacket pocket, you dangle them off your middle finger while Nobara follows you out. Choso and Yuji hang back, getting ready to go home on their own.

“If you’re going to be in a bitch mood,” The three of you walk toward your SUV. “At least get your license. Nothing more pathetic than waiting for the person you’re mad at.” You drive off-campus and into town, the path to Megumi’s shared apartment with his father clear in your mind. You park down the street, accompanying him, along with Nobara, to Room 408. 

Knocking on the door, Mr. Toji Fushiguro scans the three college kids at his doorstep. He had no shirt on and looked like he could barely keep his eyes open. “There’s my son,” he says groggily, yanking Megumi by the shoulder back into his apartment. Grunting his gratitude, he closes the door. On the way back to the car, Nobara is fully awake, fully excited. 

“Ugh, he wears being a hobo so well. It’s kinda insane he’s still single. Guess he still loves his wife,” she blurts when you start the engine. “All that man gotta be in there somewhere, waiting for me to find it. Do you think Megumi would be mad if I hooked up with his dad?”

You chuckled, gazing at the blurry lights in front of you. Blinking again, you persevere through the tiredness. Nobara’s now talking on the phone, tapping your shoulder. “Huh?”

“Choso’s car got towed. D��you think we can give them a ride?” she said. Apologetically, she added, “I know you’re tired, but I doubt you want them paying a 60 dollar Über at 3 A.M.” 

“It’s fine, I guess. But they owe me big time.” Turning around, you return to the barren parking lot by Gojo Hall. Choso and Yuji ran toward your car; more accurately, to your headlights. Inside they squeezed next to Nobara, and Yuji began his yammering about the towing.

“I swear Choso parked right! We don’t even know why it was towed. Sure, he sucks at parallel parking,” Choso coughed indignantly. “But that can’t be illegal, right? He didn’t even park in disabled parking or anything, they just took it!” He peered through the gap between the passenger seat and its headrest. “By the way, we need to get Ryomen.”

“Is his car towed too?”

“Nah, in the shop.” Yuji shrugged. “He loves his fender benders. Shocking, for a guy who loves his car more than his family.”

“I think he moonlights as a drag racer,” Choso added. You smiled despite the tiredness. “Also, I’ve sent you the address for where he told me he’d be. Chances are it’s a seedy ass place.” You followed the GPS instructions, passing by a handful of smoke shops, a nightclub, and a crowd of foul-smelling people, all clad in thick clothes, however unidentifiable they were from the darkness and the smog surrounding them. The GPS stopped in front of a stairwell, leading to whatever Sukuna partook in at night.

“Where is he?” you scanned the front, but no hulking, pink-haired man showed. “Can’t you text him or something?”

“Sukuna responds half a year later; we gotta find him ourselves.” 

“Nose goes!” shouted Yuji; he and Nobara held their nose, Choso following suit. You frowned at him. “Sorry babe, too slow.” he jested. You turned to Choso directly behind you, pleading silently.

“I’ll go with you, don’t worry about it.” Smiling gratefully, you hopped out of the car, with the help of Choso, who trailed behind you when you trodded down the stairwell. 

Inside, a rudimentary boxing ring surrounded by all kinds of people carrying drinks or doobies overwhelmed your senses. In the ring, a fight was well on its way to its conclusion; in one corner, a man with a zigzagging pattern in his hair sat, receiving water and getting patted down by an older man you assumed to be his coach. The other corner, the one facing the entrance, facing you, held Ryomen, or “Sukuna” in the circles he ran in. His onyx irises locked onto you, but by the time they had, you were talking to Choso. You didn’t particularly care for boxing, preferring the equally, if not more, chaotic world of underground music.

Choso bent his head down to your ear. “I think I see some friends; get me back when Ryomen’s all done.” Your eyes widened in response.

“The fuck? Choso, no. I don’t know anyone here!” But by then, he had moseyed his way toward a group of men, all tattooed and pierced. You were no stranger to the hardcore, but you preferred the stage, where the distance felt safer. While as a teen, you indulged in the scene, you never liked the people that it came with. You watched the people around you talk, receiving a couple inquisitive looks in response. No doubt you looked out of place; the conservative manner in which you bundled yourself up lended no air of confidence. 

Tentatively, you stepped through the crowd to sidle up to the boxing ring, where Ryomen and his opponent had resumed their fight. A rivulet of blood carved its way down his temple, and his opponent had a bruise blossoming on his eye. Next to you, a wave of men chanted, “S’kuna! S’kuna! S’kuna!” while booing at the other man’s jabs. Fascinated, you watched the men tussle, before you felt a hand slither around your shoulder. A man, sporting a hockey jersey and a row of ear piercings, leered at you.

“Have I seen you here before?” he smiled, barely concealing his sliminess. Stiffly, you tried to escape his grasp, which only became more vicelike the more you struggled. “Aw, hey, don’t be like that,” His scolding read like a veiled threat. A woman in front of you looked at you, sparing a glance at the man who closely resembled a deshelled hermit crab. Turning around, she pulled the man off you.

“I’m gonna need you to let her go, kid.” she warned. In the ring, meanwhile, Ryomen had totaled his opponent, earning a shout of glee from the supporting crowd. The harasser scampered off, and the woman smiled at you before turning to cheer at Ryomen.

 After the ref had confirmed the K.O, he raised Ryomen’s arm in triumph. Cajoling filled the stuffy room, and you scanned the state his body was in. His thick waist and chest heaved, bare and glistening. He tied his boxer shorts low, leaving the slightest prick of hair visible. His meaty thighs and calves flexed to support the sheer mass Ryomen boasted. When you had quite finished ogling the body of your bandmate’s older brother, his handsome, fear-inducing face was the dessert that crowned your eyes’ meal. His long, surprisingly straight nose and furrowed, bushy eyebrows gave him the appearance of a bird of prey. His cheekbones, while high-set, were still filled out with fat, preventing a skeletal appearance. His lips, while not plump, were full and parted by his maroon mouthguard, glistening with sweat. His eyes glowed in the flickering light, while still absorbing the energy around them, as if his gaze was an inescapable black hole.

You barely registered that those eyes were boring into you while you essentially feasted upon him with a desirous gaze. His head tilted up, and then you saw the warlike mind which consumed his being, which was reaching toward you with a need to conquer, to take. Even when he stopped to be led to the locker room, you felt his want burn your stomach, and you felt the unquestionable desire to vomit. But still, you trailed after him, along with his other fans. You fiddled with your phone, when Yuji had called you, asking when he would finish up. You sighed, told him five more minutes, and waited for Ryomen’s reemergence. 

When he came back, he clutched an envelope and towel around his neck, along with a duffle bag. He stopped in front of you, surveying you with an unreadable expression. “All alone, are we?” he grinned, and his oddly sharp canines winked at you. Your mouth immediately felt like it was stuffed with cotton.  “It’s rare to see you so scared, girl.” he teased. “You my driver?”

Behind you, Choso leaned an arm on your head. “Hey…Ryomen.” He gave him a dap before steering you to the exit/entrance. “We’re taking you home.”

“Sweet.” He pushed past you, dragging his shoulder deliberately. This somehow shook you out of your trance, and you tramped in front of them, trying not to appear as vulnerable as you felt.

In the car, Ryomen had parked his ass in the passenger seat before you could say a word about it. “Smelly hoes stay in the back, Ryomen.”

“Sukuna to you, baby.”

“Suck-on-a my dick.” you bit. Swerving off the avenue, you stopped at the Itadori brothers’ complex. All three hopped out; rather, Choso dragged a sleeping Yuji and hoisted him over his shoulder along with his guitar, and Ryomen hauled his gear and gloves to their home. With a parting grin, he slammed the car door shut. Nobara had fallen asleep in the backseat as well, and you silently drove home, snapping her awake to get inside.

***

We’re meeting at my house for a band meeting today :DD show up by 5pm pls and thank youuu.  Your phone buzzed as Yuji texted. It was Saturday morning, and you had barely opened your crusted-over eyes a quarter past two. Rays of late winter sunshine seared into your eyes; you didn’t even get under your covers, opting instead to scrunch the neatly laid out blankets between your fingers. Groggily, you peeled your eyes open and clambered to the kitchen, where Nobara had written a note: At mall. You toss it back on the counter and make yourself a late breakfast: two eggs and a slice of gouda in a bread roll. Squinting again, you checked your microwave clock.

 As you blinked, the two morphed into a five. It was 5:30? Shit! You cursed as you ran to your bathroom, quickly rubbing your full-body deodorant over yourself. You splashed your face with water before tugging on a bra you didn’t even look at and the first pair of panties you found in your drawers. A slip of your jeans past your hips, a tug of your shirt over your neck, and a slide into your slides led you out the door and speeding toward the Itadori brothers’ (and Choso’s) apartment. You chewed gum ravenously on your way there; you’d be damned if you let morning breath near your bandmates. You reached under the cactus that had the spare key for the home. Barging in, you braced yourself for the welcoming, although teasing yells. 

Instead, you saw a vacant couch, loveseat, and ottoman. The kitchen held no rumble of life, and everything was less sloppy than usual. Furiously, you text the group. Sorry!! Went to get food, hope you dont mind :P -Yuji. It’s not OUR fault you were late -Maki. Muttering indignancies under your breath, you plop onto the couch, picking at your nail beds. You felt bad for missing the time, but you were so tired from last night. Who’s even up that late, anyway? The 15-hour nap was well-needed. During the weekdays, you spent late nights trying to squeeze in band practice and the elephant-sized pile of work that graced your cheap IKEA desk. A lady needs her sleep, after all, and moonlighting (daylighting?) as a raccoon did nothing to help your confidence.

Sighing, you traipsed to the kitchen, doubting if the gang would bring you something to eat. While Nobara was usually your saving grace, she was off spending her next findom scheme victim’s couple grand. The fridge was unsurprisingly chock-full of leftovers; an old box of half-eaten chow mein, a lone bag of fries, cold pizza…a bum’s heaven. You doubted any actual ingredients existed in the house. The brothers cooked on occasion, likely so infrequently that they could run out of flour and not bat an eye. You settle for the chow mein, knowing you didn’t give a rat’s ass if it was Choso’s or Yuji’s. They frequently raided your fridge anyway. No, it was Ryomen you were worried about. However, a 66% chance of it not being his was all you cared about. Tossing it in the microwave for half a minute, you poured yourself a glass of water before standing at the counter, twirling the saucy noodles between the fork prongs. The chow mein wasn’t particularly hot, but it was suitable.

Behind you, a man loomed in the kitchen entryway. All six and a half feet of him. You ate happily, until you turned to see the presence you dreaded most. Swallowing thickly, you set the takeout down, hiding it from view. Ryomen stared you down, his heartstopping eyes pierced straight through yours and slid their effect through your body, straight to your stomach. You felt it drop, and your grip on the floor slid. His lip curled when he saw your eyebrows knit together in cowardice, before you shakily regain your composure. “You surprised me,” you blurted. 

“Likewise.” He motioned to the living room behind him. “Where’re your little friends?” Ryomen stepped closer; you stepped away. You tried not to gaze at the strong arm that pushed an island chair out of his way; the loose tee he wore did next to nothing to hide the contours of his bicep. He looked past you, at the opened chow mein container.

“They’re on their way here,” you bluffed; in actuality, you had no idea when they’d end their little excursion. Ryomen tilted his head in mockery. He had been inching closer every second, and he had finally gotten within arm’s reach. You, on the other hand, had nowhere else to go, unless you desired to become one with the countertop. “They’re getting food,” you muttered. The enclosing space made your stomach fall to the floor, surprisingly managing to be more anxious than you thought the human body could survive. Ryomen’s eyes gleamed predatorily; he had dreamt of cornering your cowering body. In a swift motion, he hooked a thick-knuckled finger through your belt loop, whisking you into his body. With an oomph! you felt your brow ridge hit his collarbone.

“Is that so?” Ryomen leered. His smooth rumble let you know you were so fucked. “Then you’d care to explain where my food went, I assume.” His hand snaked around your waist, sliding up and feeling the curve of your spine. It reached your jaw, where he tilted your face up to meet his.

“I only had a bite or two,” you say, wriggling in his grasp. He held your head firm, grinning devilishly when he squeezed your cheeks. 

“I’ll take a ‘bite or two’ outta you.” His hand let your face go. “It’s only fair.”

“Bite my dick, Ryomen,” you sneer, enjoying your burst of egoism. “I doubt an overlarge slob like you knows the first thing about being with women.” For that one, he squeezed your ass hard. You refused to break the stoicism you set yourself to five minutes ago. 

“Oh, woman, you have no clue what's going to happen to you.”

“A dog-and-pony show and a failed orgasm, I suppose.” Your eyes narrow. Ryomen’s expression shifts into something dangerous, a desire so primal, so base.

“Your friends can’t save you now, doll.” With nary a deep breath, Ryomen hoists you over his shoulder, bearing your weight like a sandbag. He opens the door to his bedroom, unceremoniously flinging you onto his messy bed sheets. You land near its edge, and you can’t take a breath before he’s upon you like a whirlwind, ramming his lips into yours and shoving his hands under your shirt. You screwed your eyes shut, trying to keep up with Ryomen’s neediness. You backed up onto the bed, hurriedly followed by Ryomen. Screaming internally, you watch his trail of kisses slide from your lips to your cheek, down your neck, and straight to your collarbone. His eyes lock onto your t-shirt. 

You hear a seam, or four, tear as he wrests it off of you and onto the waiting floor. Ryomen scrutinizes the bra you barely registered choosing; lucky you, the brute liked the lacy detailing on the pearly fabric. However, it comes off, along with half of your dignity. Ryomen kneads your nipple between his fingers slyly, watching them harden from contact. Before you can blink, he returns to sucking on your neck, working an obscene hickey onto your nape. Sharp canines meet your shoulder blade as he bites down. Hard. Your groan of pleasure gives him leeway to taunt you.

“Am I not a slob?” He ruts his clothed, extremely painful boner into your crotch. “Wasn’t I so unskilled? Answer me woman, or are you dumb from a little kiss?” Ryomen’s voice strained. You whimper and grab at his hair, tugging the black roots. Grinding and sucking his way down,  His starving demeanor sent a shot of pleasure through your veins. Oh, you were so fucked.

***

It hadn’t been more than a few hours. Ryomen, who you regrettably called Sukuna (while being fingered into oblivion), was dozing away on top of you, a comforting weight. The analog clock above his door frame read 7:38. Struggling, you push off him and hobble down to the living room, hastily putting on the first pair of pants you saw and your shirt; you had no clue how incredibly disheveled you looked, so covered in blotchy red hickeys and nail marks you appeared to have been pelted with overripe cherries. What a sight it was, then, when you ran into Yuji and Choso lounging in their own home.

“I always took him as a rough guy, but jeez. I’m surprised you got away,” Choso said between bites of his chicken wing. Blearily, you grunt an idea of a retort before stealing a wing. “Glad I didn’t have to hear the…yeah,” he finished lamely as you ate.

“Whuh? Choso,” you mumbled, mouth full. “Y’all knew?”

They both looked incredibly guilty. 

Right then, Ryomen walked in behind you, in his boxers. Before you asked where his pants were, you looked at yours, realizing they were hanging off your hips; you should’ve noticed when the fabric dragged against your ankle as you navigated the apartment. “Got any left for me? I’ve just been,” he glanced your way cheekily. “...exercising.” 

[minasnorma]

"You did your worst, you tried your best, now it's time to rest."

This is my very first oil painting! I'm quite glad with the result. It was based on a Red Dead Redemption 2 screenshot I took (iykyk 💔), hope y'all like it!

[macabresymphonies]

His inherent bitchiness and autistic swag is coming through even in Javascript, I'm crying

[valkavavaart]

been playing hit psp game crisis core. why doesn't the big soldier simply eat the little soldier.

[popfizzles]

[the freak this ask was talking about]

[royaltea000]

Rebirth

[kitcats-1-braincell]

ISAT-OBER: Day 22

Gone

YES YES YES!! THIS WAS SO LOW EFFORT I DONT KNOW WHY IT TOOK ME SO LONG AAAAAA BUT I DO REALLY LIKE HOW IT TURNED OUT!! Isabeau :(

Without text under the cut!!

[weekend-whip]

13 Years of Ninjago (and 3 Years of Legacyverse) and Now Here We Are!

[itscherryterry-again]

rare and sweet as cherry wine

[zenless-zideblog-zero]

[watcheraurora]

Man from the Stars/Cod King

Fully, 100% inspired by This (<-Link) Cod King/Codfather Jimmy design by @goatedgreen (sorry to bother with my sort-of-shipping nonsense but I wanted to give credit) that I was physically incapable about being normal about, apparently. Like I literally dropped everything I was doing to slap this one down and get the brainrot out of my head 2.3k words

—

Tango scrambled through the swamp, barely able to find any purchase on the slick, muddy ground. His heavy boots sunk into the mud. He splashed through some deeper water. Panic and exertion made his breathing heavy. The veritable horde of zombies chasing him groaned, reaching toward him to strike. They didn't seem at all fazed by the environment that Tango was struggling so hard to navigate.

He only managed a quick glimpse behind him to gauge the distance he had between himself and the horde.

Too close. They were too close.

And this damn swamp had fully put his fire out. He couldn't conjure any when he was so soaked. It just fizzled out before it properly sparked to life.

He whipped back around and kept running. His boots were heavy, soaked in mud and waterlogged. He could barely lift his feet. They made disgusting sucking noises as he hauled them out of the mud.

His foot slipped, sending him spilling down into the mud.

"Wah-gak!" he exclaimed.

His hands slid and flailed as he tried to get back to his feet. His boots kicked through mud, gouging it out and flinging it everywhere. But didn't help him get upright again in order to run away.

The zombies groaned and snarled, bearing down. Getting closer. Passing through the water as if there was nothing in their way.

Tango made a noise that he was sure was manly and brave—who was he kidding—and tried again to get out of the mud.

The first zombie reached him, grabbing his ankle.

He shrieked.

"Look out!" a voice shouted. Almost inhumanly loud—and that was in Tango's opinion.

There was a flash of light and what sounded like thunder as a dark shape shot over Tango's head.

Multiple zombies went down in a single bolt of lightning. A trident spun in a pair of strong, tanned hands.

The newcomer destroyed the zombies with the teeth of the trident and more lightning, defeating the last one with a slash that sent him into stillness.

By the light above.

The newcomer was well over six-feet tall and one of the most muscular people Tango had ever seen. Barefoot in the mud wearing brown trousers that ended just below his knees to reveal there were fins on the sides of his calves. He had on a sleeveless, green jerkin of some sort to leave his muscled arms and fins on his forearms all exposed. There was a simple sash of frayed greenish fabric and fishing net around his waist, acting like a belt.

A strange, fish-shaped hat sat on his head, the tail of it dangling down his spine. Tango had eaten plenty enough cod to recognize its fin shape. Green fins for ears and dark gold hair poked out from beneath the hat, just long enough to brush his shoulders. The trident in his hand slowly lowered from its attack position.

The man turned around, spinning the trident into a holster along his back. "You okay?" he asked, reaching out to offer a hand.

Tango reached to take it—but stopped. "I'm covered in mud," he said.

The newcomer laughed, sucking in sharp breaths as he did so. "I live in the swamp. You think that bothers me? C'mon."

Tango took the hand.

The newcomer hauled him to his feet with ease. "You okay?"

"Well, I wasn't when I was being chased, but I am now. Thank you. I would have been cooked if you hadn't come along." Tango's gaze traveled up, up, up—this guy had to be a foot taller than him. At the very least. Tango's eyes barely came up to this guy's sternum. This guy would have to lean down to put his chin on the top of Tango's head.

Yikes he was tall.

"Oh it's no problem. I protect and rule over these swamps. So. Y'know. Gotta keep the mobs down." He had a bright, nice smile below the cod hat. Which fully covered his eyes.

There were also green scales on his shoulders and gills on his neck.

"What's your name?" the newcomer asked.

Tango blinked, straining his neck a little to look up at him. "Tango."

The newcomer's smile widened. He pulled the hat off. "Nice to meet you, Tango. I'm the Cod King. But you can call me Jimmy."

Be still Tango's beating heart. The Cod King was gorgeous under that hat.

Warm hazel-brown eyes glittered off the stars as he smiled. He had a strong jaw, defining nose, and thick hair.

"Let's get you back to my place. Get you cleaned up and safe before anything else spawns." The Cod King pulled his trident back out and looked around before gesturing toward a lit patch of land in the distance.

He kept vigilant watch as Tango stumbled through the swamp, though the Cod King seemed not to notice how difficult the terrain was to navigate. He just marched over it like he wasn't sinking in the mud or slowed by the water.

Tango slipped again—the Cod King caught him around the chest with one powerful arm. "Whoa there! Watch your step!"

"How are you barefoot?" Tango asked.

The Cod King shrugged. "Too much mud for shoes."

He waved with his trident as they passed through a patch of clearer water, soaking Tango down and rinsing off most of the mud. He began to shiver as steam rose from his head. "Warn a guy next time, maybe?" He screwed his eyes shut and began to stoke his internal fire, trying to warm himself back up. "Some of us can't be spontaneously soaked! We're not all fish, Your Majesty!"

The Cod King gagged. "Please don't call me that. That's horrendous. It's just Jimmy." He cleared his throat. "And I'm sorry."

Tango kept shaking as they continued moving. "It's fine," he muttered.

Eventually, they made it back to a house on stilts in the swamp.

"King, huh?"

"Not all kings want castles. Not all kings know how to build them. Nor live in an environment with a stable enough foundation for a structure like that. You should see my sister's palace," Jimmy remarked, mounting the steps and helping Tango up them. He set his trident against one wall just inside the doorway. "Let's get you warmed up and fed, yeah?"

"P-p-p-p-please," Tango said around his shivering.

Within moments, a fire crackled in the hearth and a pot was put over it to cook something. "Soup?"

"Great."

"So. Tango. How did you come across my lands?"

"I... don't know. I don't remember... anything from before this. I was falling for a long time through darkness. And then I crashed into the mud. I don't remember anything before that. Just my name, my Blaze blood, and my fire. Oh. And redstone. I'd never forget how to do that." He chuckled. "Well. Not the basics. After a warmup."

Jimmy smiled even as his eyes narrowed like he had no idea what Tango meant. "Alright, man from the stars. Well. I'm glad I ran into you. I don't get to host guests often, but better for me to find you than leave you at the mercy of the swamp at night. If those zombies had turned into Drowned, you could have ended up getting skewered if one shifted with a trident." He nodded toward his weapon next to the door as he scooped up a blanket and draped it over Tango's shoulders. "Huddle close to the fire. You said you were Blaze blood, right?"

"Yep."

"Should make you feel better, right? The heat?"

"Should." Tango didn't need to be invited twice. He crouched next to the hearth and plunged his hands directly into the flames.

"Whoa! Hey! Don't—"

"What? Burn myself?" Tango smiled slyly, looking at the Cod King over one shoulder. "I can't burn."

"Oh. Er... right." Jimmy cleared his throat. He waved a hand and the pot suspended over the fire filled with water. He went into a small kitchen and rooted through some barrels on shelves near the ceiling before returning and dumping some vegetables into the water, along with a cooked chicken that chopped itself as it fell in.

"You're very good at magic," Tango said.

Jimmy blushed. "Not really," he said. "It's just instinct for me. Force of will."

"Still good."

He shook his head. "Nah." He went back to the kitchen pulled out bowls. "I, er... I just seem like a natural at magic like that because... never mind."

Tango twisted to watch him as he hung up the cod hat on a hook and started wiping down the counter. "What?" Tango prompted gently. "What were you going to say?"

"Doesn't matter," Jimmy muttered.

"I get it. I'm a stranger. We don't know each other. Keep your secrets." Tango nodded and turned back to the fire. "Y'know, if you used a soul campfire instead of a regular one, you'd cook faster. And keep this place warmer." He shuddered, but he was warming up, with his hands directly in the flames.

"What do you mean?"

"Soul campfires give off less light, but more heat."

"Really?"

Fire finally sparked back to life in Tango's hair, licking up through his messy, gold-blond waves. "I know my way around fire pretty... intimately. Comes with Blaze blood," he replied with an easy shrug.

Jimmy hummed.

He came over with the bowls and some spoons—including a large one to stir the soup in his pot.

Tango fell into silence as he just watched Jimmy stir. For a while at least.

"You're very tall," he said after a bit.

"Six-eight," Jimmy said distractedly, gaze focused on the soup.

Tango whistled. "You got a whole foot on me."

"Have I? Huh."

"Yep. I'm five-eight."

"Huh. Comes with... the rest of it, I guess. Everything else I am. You should see my sister. She's ten-feet tall."

"Wow. Is it... a fish thing?"

"Sure. We can say that."

Tango raised one hand out of the flames, scooping some of the fire up with them. "Let me help." He set his palm on the bottom of the pot.

It grew warm.

"Thanks."

"Only magic I have is fire. Might as well make good use of it to help when I can, right?" Tango smiled.

"S'pose so."

They lapsed back into silence for a bit.

Jimmy cleared his throat. "You're welcome to stay the night here. You're welcome to stay more than one night, if you need to, after that ordeal. Get some rest. I don't have any magic that could restore your memories, but I have a friend I can reach out to. She's a wizard. She might have... something."

"I appreciate it, but one thing at a time, yeah?"

"Right, yeah."

Tango focused on keeping the fire around his hands burning. Barely noticing that Jimmy kept stealing glances at him.

Finally, the soup finished cooking. Jimmy ladled it into the bowls and passed one, with a spoon, to Tango. "Thank you," Tango said, drawing it close to let its warmth seep into him.

Jimmy sat on the floor opposite him. "I, er... I'm technically a god," he admitted quietly. "That's why I'm so tall. That's why magic seems so easy for me. I'm very much a lesser god. But I am still, technically, a god."

Tango looked up at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. "... Huh," he said.

"Don't worry! You're not in danger. I was raised... mostly like a mortal. I'm not... I'm not wrathful or anything. I'm not like... that kind of ocean god. I don't even have that kind of power. I'm... basically just the patron of cod, really. That's kind of it."

"Still impressive," Tango said, slurping a bit on his soup. Not bothering to blow on it to cool it off as Jimmy was doing. He couldn't burn.

"You'd... be the first to think that. The others... mostly think I'm pathetic."

"Have the 'others' seen you take out a whole horde of zombies with just a trident?"

Jimmy blinked several times. In the firelight, Tango realized he had slightly oblong pupils. Fish eyes. "Er... well... no," he admitted. "I don't... show off."

"Well, there you have it." Tango slurped more soup.

Jimmy ate his soup fast, not replying and obviously trying to hide a bit of a blush. Once his bowl was empty, he stood. "I'll... grab a spare bed," he said, shuffling off and disappearing through an archway. After a moment, Tango heard chests opening and shutting.

By the time Jimmy returned, Tango had finished his soup and was putting both bowls in the cauldron that seemed to be doubling as the kitchen sink.

Jimmy brought in a bed and set it down near the fire. "This okay?"

"It's perfect, thank you."

Jimmy waved his hand. The lingering mud and dirt melted off Tango's clothes and boots. "Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you." Tango smiled.

"I'm gonna... go to... bed."

"You do that."

Jimmy retreated.

Tango took off his boots and climbed into the bed, snuggling down next to the fire to try and keep warm.

—

Jimmy flopped onto his bed on his back, staring up at the ceiling with one hand resting on his torso, the other behind his head.

Familiar? Was this Tango, Blaze blood guy... familiar? Had they met before? A brief encounter so long ago that Jimmy couldn't remember where or when, and neither could Tango?

No, whispered the ichor in his veins. Not really.

Jimmy scrunched his brows. Then what is it about him? he thought back at his divine blood.

He will be familiar to you. In the future. He will be as familiar to you as your own name. Bound. To your very soul.

Jimmy's hand moved up to rest over his heart, like he was already searching for the tie that would wrap around his soul.

Before he could figure out where that feeling came from or what it could possibly mean, he dropped into sleep.

[spagheddiesquash]

jawfizz doodles… actually maybe ill work on that ship name idk if i like the name i said.. anyway i mentioned before that my plan was to ship fizz with jawbone and so thats what i did!! never drawn anything like this before but im really liking how it turned out :^DDD

liked this? maybe u want to see more?? i dunno. but anyway if you liked it feel free to reblog!!

tracked time + kinda crappy bonus doodle under the cut

tracked time:

(do keep in mind this is elapsed. it really took me the past 3 days, on and off)

bonus doodle:

(i used up all my good art juices coloring the doodle sheet so unfortunately this one is noticeably not as good of quality. i at least got the idea down tho!!)

[egophiliac]

I always though Mal's mom was meant to be like "Eleanor" but they stuck an M at the start honestly, Sobbing Emoji. But "Maleanor" also makes me feel less insane since in that scene where she's just handed egg Malleus to Lilia and went to battle, it sounds more like Lilia is saying "Maleanor" than "Meleanor" (Japanese accent pending). Mayhaps they went more with what it sounded like the characters were saying :0 (we don't talk about Doodle Suit to Paint The Roses)

the transliteration of her name is Marenoa (マレノア), which is what all the voice lines are saying! all the Draconias' names start with マレ (Malleus' grandma is Maleficia/マレフィシア) as a nod to Maleficent. :D it's almost certainly a take on Eleanor, which is Erenoa (エレノア), but her name is written in English at a couple points, and I was pretty surprised to see it was Mel instead of Mal!

and, like, that's fine, it wouldn't be first Twst romanization that's tripped me up (like Keito for Cater, I know that's something to do with the loanword specific to playing cards(?) but it's just not how my brain wants to read it). but now Eng has given us Maleanor! and someone else said it was spelled inconsistently between Maleanor and Maeleanor??????? so WHO KNOWS it's a SPELLING FREE-FOR-ALL

I AM torn on which I want to use, because Mel just sounds so cute to me (and is what I'm used to now), but...the Mal consistency is kinda too good to pass up. alas, alas, truly these are the most difficult conundrums of our times. 😔

[sexybritishllama]

im so obsessed with faulkner and carpenter's dynamic. this whole argument was so good. i love when characters are at each others throats but they're forced to stick together because of external circumstances but they still have so much contempt for each other and aaaaaa yay yippee ❤️❤️

[governmentmandatedryujinstan420]

I FORGOT TO THROW OUT AFTER THE EPISODE RELEASED NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[angermango]

"Oh, I know very well. How the puzzles beckon so sweetly...

As expected of you, Layton.

Only an honest death will cure you now."

...

expanding on that Lady Maria vibe for Descole from the first Laytonborne post, and that famous boss intro.

Descole would make a hellish boss fight, i know it. i mean have you SEEN how he moved during Eternal Diva and with that big ass sword? now imagine that with Soulsborne-scale strength and possible other additional powers.

plus his theme could be pretty easily adapted into a Bloodborne boss style piece I think, just add more orchestra heavy brass and cellos and some ominous Latin chanting choir and presto. that organ goes so hard too.