#i mean...i was looking forward to it...and it was so underwhelming

[raezlove]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard

I finished it after 90 hours over the last week. I did all quests and side content available to me and was pretty thorough with notes and momentos. I was hooked from the start, definitely saw why the writing got criticized during the middle, and then was continually surprised by the end sequence.

For me this was a solid 7/10 game if looking at it from a linear story game rather than a branching rpg.

Thoughts below. Some spoilers.

Starting with some general categories then moving on to larger issues I had.

I’d say the majority of the voice actor performances were really good. There were moments throughout where they weren’t great but that was combined from the very cringe/generic writing. But when the characters needed the emotion for a moving scene, I felt it. Even characters I, at the time didn’t care for or were biased against, the voice actor’s performance made me hurt for them.

Companion cast had some gems as well as some underwhelming members. For me I was taken by Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve, and Davrin as characters. They still weren’t spared from poor lines throughout though. Bellara came around for me by the end as I had initially been biased hearing she was incredibly annoying but I also didn’t have her in my party very often for gameplay reasons. Taash and Harding I also rarely took out for gameplay reasons nor did they pull me in as companion characters.

Companion arc quest lines I enjoyed them all well enough but I liked Davrin and Harding’s the best for world and lore building,though I admit the actual quests for Harding felt lacking to me. The map locations also didn’t feel utilized as they were only ever seen those couple times. Bellara’s quest was also interesting for lore but other than the ending, which was not unexpected, felt mundane to me. Lucanis’s and Emmrich’s were decent arcs though they didn’t feel like anything groundbreaking, it just helped that I had already found their characters compelling. Neve’s was very underwhelming to me which was disappointing because I initially was quite intrigued by Neve. Taash’s was done as well as they could’ve with the direction they decided paired with their safe writing. I mean no disrespect for them wanting to include a gender queer story but something about this didn’t land. I saw someone else say it but the modern lingo in this fantasy setting made it seem out of place just for the sake of it. I don’t know how they could’ve implemented that aspect of Taash better but their writing and performance came across too stiff at times. ((This is not an issue of including lgbt characters, rather how they are written and if they are pushed to be defined solely by that one sole aspect of their identity))

Art design and world direction was never an issue for me even from the trailers (except for that first one where I thought I was watching a live service mobile trailer). I don’t mind brighter exaggerated designs or flashy colors. Nothing stood out but nothing was bad either, it was just an average design to me. As mentioned above though there were specific locations I felt were underutilized and sometimes felt included just to make the map seem bigger. I liked the character designs but outfit choices were definitely not my favorite and I wished they had an all black outfit for Rook but that’s just an irrelevant personal wish.

The callbacks to Inquisition were something I was incredibly curious to how they would handle and was looking forward to. For transparency, my original Inquisitor romanced Solas and refused to give up on him so I was holding out for my Solavellan heart to be fixed or at least something that dulled the ache. The Inquisitor appearances were about what I expected. Lavellan shows up a couple times, sends some letters, then shows up for the finale. I did get my Solavellan ending and while selfishly I wish it could’ve been more, I think it was adequate (though that kiss animation left something to be desired). It felt like an appropriate end for my Lavellan who was so sad and beaten down for so long after losing someone she loved with her entire being and after having the weight of so many people looking to her for guidance for the last decade when she never asked for the responsibility in the first place. She finally got to save her person and leave the world’s problems to someone else. As for Dorian, I’m not sure if he shows up/is mentioned more if you saved Minrathos but his appearances kind of felt unnecessary. I loved him in Inquisition but he didn’t feel properly utilized in the Minrathos story lines I saw. He could’ve just been a name in letters and he would’ve had the same impact.

Main Story was a trip. Overall I found it intriguing and compelling, though sometimes it dragged or some missions were boring. I enjoyed Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan as villains though Ghilan’nain was more interesting with her molding the blight. Elgar’nan was compelling as a direct comparison to Solas with their pride and arrogance. Their dragons were cool though I really wondered how we were supposed to fight Elgar’nan’s dragon after seeing its size. The end solution did make my jaw drop but also made me chuckle after because I can’t imagine how else they would’ve had the player fight that. Again, I’m biased as I loved Solas as a character for all his complexities and flaws so I enjoyed any of his scenes and appearances. I especially enjoyed the story’s direction in terms of regrets and guilt. Prison sequence was a highlight to be sure. I will also say I really wasn’t expecting them to commit to main companion cast consequences at the end considering how safe they had played it to that point.

Gameplay was a welcome improvement to me over Inquisition. I played Inquisition for the first time about 3 years ago as a mage but I played it again in the last year as a rogue. Both times I played on easy difficulty because I found combat such a nuisance. I am biased as I prefer combat systems more in the realm of Witcher 3 and Breath of the Wild so this fit in with that if a bit busier. I played my Rook as a mage and I tended to use the ability wheel rather than the shortcuts because I needed the time to process and think about what I wanted to do, also the fact I kept switching companions and their abilities depending on the situation I couldn’t remember what abilities were mapped to what buttons. Dodge and parry didn’t feel the best, although I admit that could be fully on me (especially parry). For parry it constantly felt like there was a delay in pressing it though it could very well have been made worse depending on which tv my Xbox was connected to. My issue with dodge was the fact that after a double it basically left you halted with no momentum. Again, very possible it’s just a me thing and I need to “get good” but for how much certain encounters were chaotic enough to be constantly dodging it did become annoying especially if you get hit once and then get caught repeatedly. On normal difficulty as a mage, fights usually felt fair and doable with some more challenging than others depending on wave size or vulnerability paired with specific companions. There was only one fight in a miscellaneous side quest for a haunting that I got too annoyed with and even after trying multiple companion pairings I lowered the difficulty to just get it over with because I couldn’t be bothered. For a random side quest with no real story or likely payoff it didn’t feel worth it.

Now for the largest problem I had with this game: it’s gall to call it an RPG. I don’t expect or need Balder’s Gate level in every RPG game. But this didn’t feel like it even met the level of RPG that Inquisition offered. Whether it was world choices or companion choices very few things felt consequential. For the world, I can only think of 2 or 3 choices that I felt would have any change on the world one of which is literally just a 50/50 of which city is getting destroyed. And of course for the others you never saw or heard and real consequences or reactions aside from initially following the decision. There was nothing that made me second guess myself like deciding to forgive or banish the wardens like in Inquisition, who drinks from the well, the inquisitions fate. And for companion arcs, the choices all felt underwhelming and more a direct effect on gameplay/rewards than any story ramifications. There was never a moment that felt like it mattered to the companion story or their future interactions with me or others. Nothing that felt like it mattered like making Bull choose between his friends and the Qun, encouraging/dissuading Cullen from taking Lyrium, or having a hand in choosing the new Divine. A common thought I had throughout this game was it seemed really hard to get a “so and so disapproves”. There seemed to be more instances in Inquisition where decisions would inevitably be both approved and disapproved by various characters so it was never going to be a case of pleasing everyone. I remember seeing the disapprove notification maybe three times in Veilguard. The critique of the dialogue wheel is also very valid. There is no real choice as all options typically lead to the same outcome just with a different line. You can’t even really be mean or an asshole from what I could tell. Options were sincere, joking/less serious, and stern. None of this I think would’ve mattered as much if it weren’t for the fact this was advertised as a choice based RPG when that just isn’t the case and going in with those expectations is bound for disappointment.

As a last issue it had to do with romance. I liked Lucanis. I like him as a character and I like the voice actor’s delivery. There were lines of his that made me giggle and smile. But the overall writing of the romance and their moments sometimes came across as awkward with the subpar writing. There also wasn’t the same charm I got from Inquisition when at the base. Part of that comes from the lack of actual interactions of being able to talk with your companions in the lighthouse. I hate to keep comparing it but in Inquisition you could still talk to the characters even if they had no new dialogue. In that, you’d have the moments where Solas would call you vhenan or speak Elven or like in my second with Cullen you always had the stealing away for a kiss option. It just felt warmer in a way where in The Veilguard I would get a random one off line when I stood in front of Lucanis and, while some of them were sweet, the lack of player input and interaction caused more disconnect.

So overall as a game I think it’s a good buy assuming you go in with the right framing of what you’re going to be getting. A competent story, some interesting characters, good performance, good gameplay marred by a good helping of juvenile safe writing and lack of choice.

[heavenlyraindrops]

☆ “ɪ’ᴍ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ☆

☆ She said “fuck me like I’m famous”| Chapter one

☆ Warnings: fem!reader, afab!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering, awkward!reader, reader is literally a hermit, no established relationship, not proofread, porn with like a drop of plot, they get slightly awkward after doing it but it’s ok <3 ☆ Word Count: 3.3k | Available on Tumblr & AO3

“Out? For dinner?”

You tore your eyes from your phone to look at Ami, who was watching Chiho roll around on the floor, immersed in whichever new game of pretend she had devised.

“Yes, dinner,” she repeated, then turned to look at you. “I’m meeting a��� friend. Not a close one, but a friend nonetheless. And it would do you some good to meet new people, and to get out more.” She raked her eyes over you, from your baggy clothes to messy updo. 

“What’s that meant to mean? I get out plenty often. I’m out right now with you, aren’t I?”

“‘Chilling out’ at my house twice every week isn’t exactly going out, [name],” she sighed, rolling her eyes as she stood up, stepping towards the kitchen. “You’re like a hermit.”

You furrowed your brows together. “Maybe that’s how I like it.”

You heard water trickling as it filled up her glass, and her voice drift down towards where you were sitting. “I tend to wonder if I’m your only friend.”

At those words you stiffened, eyes opening wide and shooting up, back straight. “What? Friends?” You spluttered. “I have friends. I have plenty of friends. You’re not my only friend.” The words tumbled out of you hastily, and then you paused, flashing her a charming smile, trying to distract her. “You’re just my favourite one!”

She rolled her eyes as she sat back down. “Well, you have awful taste.” She handed you a drinks can. Your favourite.

“Hardly,” you uttered

“Just- you focus on work too much, okay? You need to find balance.” She took your palm, uncurling your fingers and placing the cold can in your hand. “Just come to this dinner.”

“…Fine.” You dug your finger under the tab, trying to get it open. “Who even is this friend, anyways?”

“Kenji Sato.”

You stared at her.

She must have mistaken your silence and blank stare for shock, or stupor instead of a reaction to what you considered to be an underwhelming statement, because she just sat back, letting her words sink in. They did, not that they meant much to you.

“Who?” You said blankly.

She blinked, then leaned forward. “Uh, Ken Sato? The really famous baseball player?”

You took a slow sip of the drink- the carbonation danced on your tongue. “No idea who that is. I don’t follow baseball.”

“You don’t follow anything,” she pointed out. “You’re completely out of the loop.”

You threw your hands in the air, exasperated. “Just- look, is he someone I should be impressed with? Like, am I-“

“I’ve mentioned him once,” Ami cut in. “Played in the States, moved to Japan suddenly? I was wondering why, and mentioned it to you?” She narrowed her eyes. “Unless you weren’t listening.”

“No no, I was,” you said quickly, then frowned, furrowing your brow. “Wait, didn’t you interrogate him, once? Twice?”

“Thrice,” she corrected you. “And it's called an interview, not an interrogation.”

“Same thing,” you said indignantly, with another gulp of ice cold carbonated sugar. “And you’re sure he’s just a friend.” You eyed her, testing her for any telltale signs on her face suggesting otherwise.

She simply stared at you, unimpressed. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you said, stretching out the vowel, rolling it along your tongue. You stopped. “Okay, fine, I’ll come to your dinner thing.”

“Yes!” She said, sounding a bit too relieved. You stared at her. “Sorry, it’s just- I’m so glad you’re finally-“ she cut off with an excited, pleased noise. 

You looked at her, concern for yourself creeping into your expression. “Am I really that-“

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Now, please put some effort into your appearance tomorrow night-“

“Tomorrow night?”

“Yes, do you have plans?” She didn’t wait for an answer, because she already knew it. “No? Thought so. Please put some effort into your appearance tomorrow night, because it’ll be worth it.”

“Uh huh,” you said slowly.

“I wonder if you even remember how to behave in a social setting,” she mused, and you smacked her shoulder. 

That night when you got home and flopped down on your bed, pulling out your phone, your finger hovered over the search bar.

What was his name?

Kenji Sato.

You were typing in the words before you even realized it, and seeing the images, you froze.

Oh. 

Shoving down any sort of deranged thoughts that could have been formulating in your head, you buried your face into your pillow and tried to fall asleep.

-

“[name]!”

“Ami!” You stuttered. Ami came towards you, eyes lighting up as she took in your appearance.

“You look really different,” she said, taking in your appearance. “Really pretty.”

You didn’t often wear clothes that were form-fitting or flattered your figure, but you’d decided that since it was a dinner with basically a celebrity, you might as well have put in some extra effort into your looks. 

“Thanks,” you said, as she led you through the restaurant doors and to your table. Pausing, she turned to look at you. 

“You look sick,” she frowned. “And nervous.” She clicked her tongue. “Maybe this really was a bad idea. I should have know you can’t handle-“

“No!” You almost burst out. “No, I mean, I can do this. It’s not that big a deal. I’m just meeting a new person, right?” 

She nodded hesitantly, still frowning at you.

“Right. So, not a big de-“

“Hey, Ami.”

You froze, shoulders stiffening.

“Kenji.” Ami turned to him. You still hadn’t looked at him yet, eyes fixed desperately on Ami’s face. “This is [name]. Name, this is-“

“Ken Sato.” He held out his hand to you, to shake. You stared at his long fingers, then slowly looked up to his face. He was wearing this easy, charming grin. Your knees almost buckled. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

You grabbed his hand and shook it. “N-nice to meet you.” You both held your stare a few seconds longer than you needed to. 

He raised a dark brow, and you could have sworn his expression had flickered with amusement before he turned back to Ami. “And here I was worried I was late.” He waved you both on towards the table, where you took your seats.

Ami was looking at you, frowning. You gave her a wobbly smile back. 

Oh, fuck this.

-

“So, what did you say you work as, [name]?” 

Kenji’s voice snapped you out of your haze, and you looked up at him, eyes widening. “Oh, I’m an, uh, I’m an author.” You stared hard at your food, then looked back up at him to gauge his reaction. 

He just leaned back against his chair. “Cool.” His eyes were set on yours. You flushed. “What sort of stuff do you write?”

“Uh,” your eyes slid to Ami, who was looking at you expectantly. “Romance, mostly.” The confession made your cheeks burn but you were too much of a mess to lie smoothly, not that it had even occurred to you in the first place- and Ami would have teased you about it later.

But Kenji just formed a small ‘o’ with his mouth, then smirked. “That’s cute.”

“Is it?” You had to fight to not make your voice sound like a squeak. He just nodded, taking a bite of his food like it was nothing. 

He’d said it so casually that Ami hadn’t even noticed, instead pouring herself more of her drink and commenting on how Kenji had healed up. You blinked, confused, and turned as he held his arm out, flexing it.

“Yeah, quicker than I thought,” he said. You could see the faint outline of his muscles through the fabric and were so prepared to just jump out the window, then and there. He must have caught you staring because, without turning his head, he locked eyes with you and fucking winked.

You bit your lip, rubbing your thighs together and trying to ignore every instinct in your body screaming at you to throw yourself across the table. “You got hurt?”

He dropped his arm back to his side, rolling his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s fine now though.”

You didn’t press any farther, just eating your food in flushed silence, trying to ignore the burning you could feel in between your thighs. 

-

“How’d you get here, [name]?” Ami asked. You stared desperately at your phone screen.

“Cab,” you muttered, rubbing your hand on the back of your neck. The app was empty. “But there aren’t any available.”

You checked the time. Half past eleven. You shivered, the night air biting at your skin. Ami looked at you, concerned. “Should I drop you?”

“No. No.” Guilt ate away at your gut. “No, you need to get home to Chiho, and I’m in the completely opposite direction- it’s not worth it.” You stepped back, and you could feel Kenji look over your shoulder at your screen. He leaned down to your level, breath warm on your ear. You shivered again, but not from the cold. “I’ll just wait until something shows up.”

“What’s your address?” He tilted his face slightly towards you, before pulling away. You stared at him, then frowned at him slightly, opening your mouth to reply, but Ami cut in.

“Look, I-“ she glanced at her watch. “I really need to go.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, [name].”

You waved her off. “Don’t be.”

And she was gone, her car rolling off. You looked back at Kenji, and quickly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, mumbling your address.

He tapped something into his phone, and his face twisted into a satisfactory grin. “It’s on the way to mine. So I’ll just drop you.” He started walking down the street.

You stumbled after him. “Oh- are you- are you sure?”

He turned, walking backwards, in the same direction but facing you know as he shrugged, grinning. “Why not? Better than waiting around in the cold for a ride.”

“R-right.” 

He led you to where a motorbike was parked, and you blinked. “You rode here on a motorcycle?”

He shrugged his blue biker’s jacket off, and without warning, draped it over your shoulders. “Yeah. Surprised?”

“I… don’t know.” Your face was burning at the action. “Are you sure…” you fiddled with the hem of his jacket.

He waved his hand at it dismissively. “Take it. You look cold.”

You fell silent. Then: “I don’t have a helmet.”

He reached into a compartment, pulling one out. “Spare. For situations like this, I guess. Comes in handy.”

“Situations like this?” You echoed, as he stepped towards you, setting the helmet down over your head and fastening it tight. Your heart was going a million miles a minute.

“When I have to make sure a pretty girl like you gets home, obviously,” he said casually, but the look on his face betrayed his nonchalant tone. He clambered onto the bike. “Come on, then. Get on.”

You blinked, face burning even harder than before, but did as he told you to. 

-

“Thanks. For taking me home, I mean.” 

He looked up at you as you pulled the helmet off your head, imitating the action himself. A strand of hair fell in front of his forehead. “Don’t think about it,” he shrugged, and your grip on the helmet tightened as you clutched it to your chest. 

“Oh, but I will.” You dropped your voice to a husky whisper, and watched his jaw clench. Oh thank you god, I remember how to flirt. Kind of. 

Now it was his turn to become flustered, as he gave you another grin, shaky this time. “Really?” He asked, voice hoarse. You stepped back, towards your house.

“You should come inside,” you suggested. “It’s not that late.”

He raised his eyebrow. “It’s almost midnight,” he laughed, but didn’t object to your offering, licking his lips nervously. You paused your walk up towards your front door, turning and looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh, fuck this,” he muttered, abandoning the bike and walking towards you. Your stomach exploded into a flurry of butterflies as you both hurried towards your front door. 

-

You bit back a whimper as his lips crashed onto yours, kissing you with a hunger you hadn’t been met with before. The door hadn’t even shut before his hands were on your waist, dragging you close to him- and then it was, and he pinned you against it, your back pressing into the ridges of the wood. 

He pulled away, both of your breathing ragged as he pressed his forehead against yours, eye contact unwavering. He cursed under his breath. “Sorry- I should have- I should have asked.”

You were barely able to move your mouth, shaking your head lightly. “It’s fine,” you breathed, and his eyes flicked back down to your lips, grip on your waist tightening. “You didn’t have to.”

“God, you’re-“ he choked on his own words. “You’re pretty.” 

You didn’t have time to respond before his mouth was capturing yours again, heat burning all over as one of his hands wandered to grip your nape, holding you steady. His teeth grazed your lip and you gasped, but he pulled away, pressing kisses all the way down your jaw and collarbone, leaving a trail of blooming bruises in his wake. His other hand fell from your waist to hip, pressing you close up against him, and heat pooled in your core. 

“Ken,” you managed to whisper weakly through the dizzying haze clouding your mind. He paused, teeth pressed against your skin, and he leaned back up to you, ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear, humming. “Are you sure this is a g-good idea?” Your voice was shaking. He frowned, pulling away, and his fingers dug into your hips. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” His voice was husky with desire, eyes trained on your every movement. You could feel his breath on your skin. You opened your mouth, searching for a reason, but couldn’t find any. He trailed his fingers down your neck, brushing over the marks, to the collar of your top, tugging at it. “Come on.”

You stumbled after him, shedding the jacket, ignoring it as it fell to the floor, and he pulled you down onto the couch with him, hands on your waist. You fell into his lap, straddling him. He grinned. “Still can’t find a reason?”

“…No.”

“Then just relax,” he told you, lips still pressed against your jaw, fingers creeping beneath the hem of your top. “Because I’m about to make you feel really good.”

At his words you bit back a moan, sucking in a harsh breath as you bit your lip, involuntarily rolling your hips against him. He hissed, tipping his head back. You were certain his hands were going to leave marks everywhere they touched, feeling them dig into your hips as you dove onto his neck, suckling and biting, anything to repay the affection he’d shown you earlier.

His hand fisted your hair, gently but firmly tugging you back and away. “Stop it,” he hissed. “Just let me do my thing, okay?”

You looked at him, confused, and slightly hurt, until he quickly pressed a reassuring kiss to your lips. “I said I’d make you feel good, so just sit back and let me, got it?”

You didn’t argue with him, not when he flipped you around so that your back was pressed against the couch, or when he sank to his knees, pushing your legs open, letting out a shaky breath as your skirt hiked right up your thighs. 

He let out a breathless laugh. “You’re wet,” he teased, his hot breath hitting your skin. He pressed a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, making you shiver, then another, each one lasting longer before the one before, leaving marks littering all over your inner thighs. You bit your lip- the mere sight of his face in between your legs was enough to get you dripping, even more than you were before, and he seemed to notice, because he let out an amused chuckle.

“Wh-what?” Your voice was broken, and hitched when he pressed his thumb to your clothed clit, sending a jolt of pleasure into your cunt. He smirked at your reaction. 

“Nothing,” he murmured, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your soaked panties, tugging them slowly down your legs. Your teeth pressed down on your bottom lip harder. His eyes flicked up to meet your expression. “What? Nervous?” 

You didn’t reply, just shaking, and he let out a slow breath, pressing his lips back against your inner thigh as his expression softened. “Don’t be, baby.” His lips curled back into his signature grin. “I told you you could relax, remember?”

You flushed, and nodded.

Without warning, he dove in, lips pressing down on your clit. You whimpered, not even enough time to react before his tongue licked a long strip up your entrance, making you twitch and spasm, throbbing pleasure aching. Your legs instinctively pulled together but he forced them back apart, tongue tracing slow patterns across your bundle of nerves, eyes hooded with lust as he watched your flinch and gasp. 

You let out a broken whimper of his name, and felt him tense under you- but he didn’t stop his movements, slipping his tongue in between your folds, stretching you out with his fingers. You bucked your hips, but he grabbed your hip with his other hand, pinning you down to keep you from moving. “Shhh,” he whispered, his low voice sending vibrations into your core. You let out a desperate moan- it took everything in you to not desperately start grinding against his face. He chuckled slightly at your pitiful state, turning his attention back to your dripping cunt, slipping a finger inside. Your back arched, hand flying to your mouth to clamp over it. A finger slipped inside, curling to hit that sweet spot- you almost saw stars.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped, screwing your eyes shut. “I think I’m gonna cum-“

He simply hummed at your words, the vibrations of his voice sending another shockwave through you, lapping at you like he was hungrier than before, fingers pumping in and out at a steady pace. You knew what he was saying.

Go on. Cum. 

And you did, a broken cry of his name slipping past your lips as the orgasm crashed over you, legs shaking as he drew out your high for as long as possible. And when you finally came down he pushed himself up, towards you, capturing your lips in another feverish kiss. 

You could see the shaky movements of his chest as he breathed heavily, feel his boner pressed up against you, his face flushed and burning to the touch. You pulled away. 

“Are you… shoud I…” You reached for his zipper, despite the fact your voice was heavy with fatigue but he just shook his head, laughing breathlessly.

“No, no, I… don’t worry about me.” He cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I’ll just- where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the corridor, first door on the left,” you mumbled, slumping back. He stood up, adjusting your head on the couch.

“Okay, I’ll- I’ll be right back.”

You heard his footsteps hurry away and the door shut.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed, with you laying on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness, when you heard his footsteps approach you again. You looked up at him drowsily.

“Hey.” Your voice was barely audible. “You should stay here for the night.”

He opened his mouth, but didn’t object, even when you waved him over to lay next to you. You settled on top of him, laying your head on his chest. His arm looped around your waist. 

“[name],” he muttered. You lifted your head. “Is this just a… one time thing?”

You tilted your head. “Do you want it to be?”

He frowned, then shook his head. “No. No, I don’t.”

You smiled. “Me neither.”

☆ A/N: visit either the first tag or the pinned post to find the other chapters!

[augustinewrites]

tsumiki asks the question on a rare, relaxed saturday afternoon. with both the kid’s baseball games canceled due to some heavy morning rain, the four of you were taking the time to do some much needed relaxation. 

“how did you guys end up together?” 

satoru lifts his head from your lap, where you’d been plucking his brows. “isn’t it obvious? it was due to my roguishly handsome good looks and sharp comedic wit.” 

megumi scoffs from his spot on the armchair. “i doubt that.”

you press your cheek against your boyfriend’s shoulder, laughing. “that’s cute, babe, but do you want to tell them how it really happened? or should i?”

“i’ll tell them,” he volunteers. “because i have been in love with you a lot longer than you might think.”

_____

satoru meets you when he’s seventeen years old. (it’s a stupid age. ‘cause when you’re seventeen, you’re all hormones and ego and think the world revolves around you.) 

so he doesn’t pay you much mind when yaga first introduces you to his little class, because honestly? he’d taken one look at you, fresh out of the countryside with your perfectly pressed uniform, not a hair out of place or a battle scar on your body and was extremely underwhelmed. so he’d brushed you off like lint on his sleeve, because he doubted you’d even survive the year. no point in getting to try and know you. 

that same afternoon, you’d unleashed hell on him with your shikigami and almost broken his nose. 

“i’m sorry,” you’d muttered when you’d forcibly accompanied him to the infirmary. 

“you don’t sound sorry,” he’d huffed. his nose (and his ego) were definitely bruised. 

you rolled your eyes and muttered something that was probably really mean under your breath. he’s about to tell you off when he feels blood start to drip again, cursing and pinching the bridge of his nose as he tilts his head back.

“you’re supposed to tilt your head forward,” you sigh, handing him another folded up piece of paper towel. 

he doesn’t take it, glaring down at you. “why would i do that?”

shoko and geto walk behind you both, highly amused by your bickering. “they’d be good together, don’t you think?”

“if they don’t kill each other first.” the latter chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets as he eyes you both. 

“if you tilt your head forward, then the blood drips out and not in–”

“why? that’s where the blood is supposed to be.”

“no, it’s not, and if you’d just let me finish what i was saying instead of interrupting me–”

it’s not the last time he interrupts you. it’s not the last time the two of you bicker or the last time he walks with you through the courtyard. days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months, and even though you’d almost broken his nose that first day, he quickly realizes that he couldn’t imagine you anywhere but with him. 

_____

it’s late when he sneaks out of your room, sunset streaming through the courtyard as he peeks around the corner, on the lookout for any faculty before he dashes back to the boy’s dorm…

…only to run into geto, who’s standing outside. he feels bad for a second, because they haven’t really talked since…well, everything.

but he just flicks his cigarette, grinning in that all too knowing way of his. “what were you doing in the girl’s wing, creeper?”

“nothing,” he lies, but his cheeks are warm, there are butterflies in his stomach, and he can’t seem to stop smiling.

his best friend looks at him. really looks at him. “oh, man. you’re so obvious.”

“i’m not obvious, you’re obvious,” he retorts.

geto takes another drag before holding it out to him. gojo shakes his head. “you’re one of the smartest, yet dumbest people i know. so i’m going to help you now, because i think without guidance, you are capable of making extremely rash romantic decisions.”

“that’s not true–”

“it’s very true. like that fact that you’re in love with…” geto nods his head towards the girl’s dorm, grinning. 

he tucks his chin under the collar of his jacket when he feels heat crawl up his neck, looking away. “that’s ridiculous. i’m not…it’s not like that. we’re just…hanging out.”

“really?” his friend checks. “because the way that you look at her, i mean…wow. we’ve all seen it. you look at her like you hear tiny forest animals singing whenever she walks into a room.” 

satoru bristles slightly, because he’s not entirely off the mark. 

(but seventeen is a stupid age, and at the time he knew he cared for you deeply, but he didn’t know he loved you yet.)

geto knows though, and just shrugs. “i know you’ll see it someday too.”

_____

“do these shoes go with my outfit?” you ask, looking over your shoulder.

gojo shrugs, hardly even glancing up from his phone. “sure.” 

“you didn’t even look!” 

he exhales a harsh breath, tossing his phone onto your bed as he looks up at you. “why are you trying so hard for some guy you don’t even like? i mean– have you even met him?”

“no,” you sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress. “but me meeting him is really important to my father.” 

he leans back against your headboard, folding his hands behind his head. “why?”

“because a proposal from the kamo clan is a really big deal.” you startle when he sits up so fast that his glasses fall from their perch atop his head. “oh my– what’s wrong?!”

“everything about that sentence. a proposal? as in to be wed?”

“yes, gojo,” you confirm, turning back to adjust your earrings in the mirror. “i was born outside of the zen’in clan, but i have their inherited technique. my dad…all these years he’s worked hard to keep me off their radar so i wouldn’t be stuck there. so i wouldn’t be unhappy like he was. if i accept this proposal and join the kamo clan…all his hard work wouldn’t be for nothing.” 

“the kamo clan,” he repeats, shaking his head. he’s not sure why he’s so annoyed. it’s hard to pinpoint the exact reason. “they’re based in kyoto. you’d– you’d have to leave.”

he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but all the unsaid things that he’s been too scared to admit to himself (and especially to you) must be written all over his face, because you hesitate before you step out the door, looking back at him hopefully. 

“have fun,” is all he says instead, pretending not to notice when your expression falls. “i’ll probably be out when you get back, but just text so i know you’re alright and haven’t already been whisked off to kyoto.”

_____

“but you never joined the kamo clan,” tsumiki notes, sending you a questioning look. “why did your dad to change his mind?”

“i…actually still don’t know,” you admit, smiling softly. “he’s never told me.” 

“well, whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter now. ‘cause you’re right where you’re supposed to be,” satoru grins. he presses a soft kiss to your lips, but pulls back with a laugh when the kids groan loudly. “on that note, i’m going to start cleaning up.” 

megumi, who’d been silent the entire story, gets up to help, trailing after him into the kitchen.

“it was you,” he says once you and tsumiki are out of earshot.

satoru sets the stack of plates on the counter, glancing over his shoulder at him. “hm?”

“you made some kind of deal with her family, didn’t you? like you did for me.” 

he doesn’t answer right away, moving leftover vegetables into a container. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

besides, that was then and this was now. he’s older and wiser and he knows that he’s loved you since he was seventeen years old.

_____

your father seems taken aback, and not just because satoru gojo was standing in his study, but because of what he was proposing. “excuse me?”

blue eyes land on a photo of you on your father’s desk. you’re cherished here. loved. letting you go must be hard, even if it’s for your own good. “you want to keep her away from the zen’in’s right? if she joins the gojo clan, we’ll make the idea of even coming near her radioactive.” 

“but the only way to do that is–”

“marriage. to me, specifically,” he finishes with an easy shrug, as if he’s merely speaking about the weather. “quick, easy, simple. now you can reject the kamo clan’s proposal.”

your father is a smart man, that much is obvious. he’s kept you out of the zen’in’s grasp for years, even after news of your inherited technique had spread. there’s no way he’d turn down a deal as good as this.

“i have nothing to offer you,” he says now, expression pinched. “no dowry, or things of the like.”

“i don’t need your money,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “in fact, i only have three conditions.”

gojo’s three conditions

[coraniaid]

I wish that Professor Maggie Walsh had been the true Big Bad of Season 4. And I wish that she hadn't been unceremoniously killed off halfway through the season. And I wish that -- over the whole history of the show -- she wasn't one of only three human women aged over 25 who were allowed more speaking time than the creepy sex robot Warren Mears builds in Season 5 [and note, by the way, that neither of the other two are alive at the end of the show either].

But most of all I wish -- I really, really wish -- that I could persuade myself that Maggie Walsh was even the slightest bit interesting. Because I'm sorry, but she's just not.

Is there any villainous character on the show where the difference between how compelling they could have been and how boring they actually are in canon is this stark? The show has had some pretty underwhelming arc villains, sure, but Adam is about as interesting as a rejected Doctor Who villian with a floppy disk drive in his chest could ever have been and the First Evil was originally created to be a disposable monster of the week to begin with so it's hardly a surprise she doesn't manage to transcend this and Caleb very obviously only exists at all because the writers panicked when they realized the First coudn't offer any sort of personal physical threat.

But Professor Walsh should have been different! This was the start of the post-high school seasons; a start to establish the tone of the whole show going forward. She would have been the first antagonist fully grounded in the world of the real; not a vampire or an immortal man who sold his soul to become a big snake, but a fully human villain who never stops being human. She could have been written as a juxtaposition of Principal Snyder and the Mayor and Gwendolyn Post; or as a more explicit foil of Joyce Summers or Rupert Giles. She could have been a villain who could challenge Buffy in both the supernatural and regular worlds. She was a successful woman in her fifties in academia in the 1990s! Wouldn't a show whose "feminism" was anything but surface deep be even a little bit interested in exploring what that meant?

Professor Walsh could have related to Buffy and her friends in ways no previous villain ever did. What does it mean for Buffy -- who we've seen worry so much about her own future prospects, and her fear of ending up like her mother -- to have a possible role model who managed to combine a sucessful career with knowledge of the supernatural? What if Walsh's attempts to win Buffy over to her side lasted for more than half an episode? Or, failing that, what sort of threat could a smart and capable human who knew about Buffy's secret identity as a Slayer have posed her, given her own pronounced reluctance about hurting ordinary humans? What would it have meant for Buffy's fears of not being fully human if an expert in the supernatural had looked at her and seen a monster? And why is Willow suddenly interested in studying pyschology all of a sudden, and does it have anything to do with the fact her own parents are both succesful academics who work in this field?

The writers aren't interested in even pretending to address any of these questions. [Did they even remember what career they gave Willow's parents?]

Depressingly, the only reason Professor Walsh is actually here is to answer the question "what if your new boyfriend's stuck-up mom didn't like you because she was a jealous bitch and then she immediately got herself killed anticlimatically because she was also really fundamentally stupid about it?".

What a waste. And they hired Lindsay Crouse for this?

(Also: if they were going to make Professor Walsh a "world renowned" pyschologist the writers should maybe have bothered to look into how seriously the field took the ideas of Sigmund Freud in 1999. Although her character's second career of experimenting on and cutting up demonic creatures for fun and profit would have made a lot more sense if they'd set her up as some kind of biologist, right? Or just make her an English literature teacher, if her teaching career is meant to be a front anyway and you want her to deliver themtically relevant monologues about Freud and Jung. At least I'd believe Buffy and Willow wanting to go to her class then.)

[mynameisjag]

Quick Prompt: Wanting What Someone Else Has.

Scott finds out about the new Logan, Wade doesn't care about Scott's problems. Logan isn't even aware.

Wade stared at Scott.

Scott stared at Wade.

At least the mercenary assumed he was, kind of hard to tell, you know…with the glasses…

He’d give him a point for managing to get the drop on him though, showed up late enough not to be any help, early enough were they hadn’t left the mark's disgustingly beige mansion.

It looked better with the splashes of red everywhere.

Even the boring ass, uncomfortable lounges that they were sitting on, looked better with the splatter.

Cyclops was sitting on the less messy one, so maybe he didn’t agree or he just choose that one because then they could just sit and stare at each other face to face.

“Where’s Logan?”

“Better question, how are you alive? This better not be some multiverse MCU bullshit.”

Logan was probably eating his fill in the kitchen, the owners pervert party was catered and why leave and get underwhelming fast food when there was free rich fucks food that was going to go to waste anyway.

Lo had talked about his…hunting trips…sometimes, always on the move, always going from target to target, that at one point it was just sensible to eat what was there, rest, take what was need and move on. Considering how most of the fucks he went after were people of high importance, government jobs or just rich assholes, their was always alcohol, fancy foods, and wallets that no one noticed was gone till it was too late.

So this current hit was just another day for the feral.

Scott’s Logan was more man then his, could easily be mistaken for just another human without powers.

Wade’s though, his had lost himself to the calling of his inner animal and became it as he hunted those that had hurt his family. Body changing to its new needs, becoming the human predator he needed to be.

Logan hated it, hated what his body became, his behavior, his instincts, everything that changed, he hated it all. He spent so long trying to fit the profile others had tried to shove him into that losing himself to what was himself was a failure in his eyes. A shameful failure.

It wasn’t true of course and they were working on that, both supporting each other because they both were so fucked up but at least they were fucked up together.

Wade talked to the air and the millions of eyes that watched them, Logan would snarl and make more animal sounds then use his voice at times.

The merc highly doubted the X-men, at least this version, were going to be able to handle his Wolverine.

“There’s no dog for you to collar here, laser pointer, so why don’t you make your way back to whoever else has found the well of life in that mansion and fuck off.”

Seemed like he might have hit a nerve as that frown somehow got deeper, “I’m here for my friend.”

“You’re a good couple of states away from your Wolverine’s grave, can get you an Uber there if your that directionally challenged.”

“We know he is here, with you-“

“-Nope! Again, you have eye issues not hearing, your-hear that strain on that-your Logan is dead.” Deadpool reached forward to grab a drink he had set on the end table earlier before getting interrupted, “speaking of dead, you still haven’t answered how you’re still kicking around.”

“Your life isn’t the only one that involves time travels.”

“Oh, good, just the normal X-men bullshit then, should we be expecting the other Logan then?”

“No…he is still…gone…his body, or what we can find of it, is now resting back at the mansion…not all of us are back.”

“Oooh, I probably should have put that puzzle back together before jumping…everyone is still on the fence on whether or not old Wolves would have gotten a kick out of me playing Ninja Warrior with his tibias?”

“And what does that mean?”

“Ignore it and my little chats with the “gremlins” as Honey Bunny puts it, now, I’m going to guess you thought if you couldn’t have one, you figured you could take mine? Did Daddy Professor not drill in manners in all of that training, it’s rude to take other people’s stuff.”

“He isn’t your ‘stuff’, you don’t know how to handle him.”

At that precise moment, Logan ran past in the background, on all fours and a chunk of meat in his mouth, the merc was glad that Cyclops couldn’t follow his line of sight because of the mask. Cause all the red head had to do was slightly turn his head and he would see the man he was searching for bounding upstairs like an overly excited puppy with a new toy.

Either the man found fresh grade A steak or he had decided that some one smelled delicious and took a chuck. 50 50 chance on either option really and at least the blood was everywhere here instead of back in the apartment.

Al was less likely to complain when she didn’t slip and slide through puddles of blood.

“Handle him? Scottie too Hottie!”, at this point he lifts his mask enough to sip at the drink in his hand, grimacing at the flavor, how did they make fruit soda taste bad, “ugh, high society tastes are awful,” he wiggles the can at the other man, “want it?”

“No.”

“Don’t blame you, I can how ever blame you for thinking that for some shit reason that Lobunny, wait fuck that’s a Pokémon, Lo Bun Bun, is unable to think for himself and that I somehow can stop him from going wherever he wants to go.”

“He hasn’t came home, yet, if he was able to go-“

“That place isn’t his home, you are not his X-men, he is not a replacement, well, he is an anchor being replacement but not a ‘pick up where the last Logan left off’ replacement. So what ever regrets or amends you wanted to have, they should be aimed at the grave and not the man you wished was the one you lost,” Deadpool threw the can over the others head, before flipping over the couch he was on, landing on his feet and giving double finger guns at the X-man before the can could hit the wall, “well, good chat, but we gotta go!”

Scott was standing up now, face serious and ready to counter argue when flashing lights from outside reflected in the windows, sirens coming closer, “is that the police?”

“Yeah!,” now the mercenary was opening a window, hanging halfway out of it as he made grabby hands at something above him, “hope you got a ride,” blue colored gloves grabbed his red ones and he was yanked out and upward, “tootles!”

Scott took a deep breath, calming himself down before turning and heading toward his own escape.

He’ll try another day.

[elumish]

My Experience With Digital-First Royalty-Only Publishing (Part 2)

Disclaimer: just my experience, may not reflect other people's

Part 1 (What is this sort of publishing; how did I get published; what does the submission, contract, and editing process look like)

Book Release:

My [redacted] book came out in April 2024. It is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and the publisher's own website, where it is listed for a couple dollars less than on Amazon/B&N. It's available both digitally (in multiple different file formats) and for print (paperback).

I can't speak for whether this is standard across these sorts of publishers, but it probably isn't unusual. This does mean that the book can't be available on Kindle Unlimited, given how Kindle Unlimited's requirements work.

The timing for this sort of publishing is extremely fast compared to traditional or even small-press print publishing. I signed the contract in late August 2023 and sent in the final draft to my editor in late October 2023, and the book was released in late April 2024.

Book cover:

For designing my book cover, they pointed me towards where they pull stock images from and asked me to describe the sort of cover I would want, including possible stock images. They also asked for physical characteristics of my characters, which is when I realized that I had no clue what my characters look like.

The stock image website included AI art, as well as regular non-AI stock images. I specifically requested no AI art, including no AI-generated stock images. As far as I am aware, they respected that request.

Once they created one, they sent me a mock-up and asked about minor changes (typography, etc., from what I remember). I didn't have any changes. Overall, my cover looks like what I described to them, and I'm really happy with it.

Marketing:

My marketing experience with my publisher has been decidedly underwhelming. They seem to have started to revamp their marketing process right around when my book came out, so my book didn't receive/hasn't received a huge amount of marketing support from them.

What they gave me marketing-wise: a few marketing images for pre-release/post-release, including Twitter and FB header images, etc.; general marketing guidance for what I could/should be doing; a couple of mentions on their publisher Instagram post-release and a mention in their weekly newsletter

What they didn't give me marketing-wise: connection to reviewers, including sending an ARC or providing a list of reviewers that might be good to work with; marketing materials for sites like TikTok or Instragram; a meaningful amount of airtime/mention on their accounts; a large following of their own

Overall, the marketing is what is probably most like self-publishing--a huge amount of it is on me (and I am terrible at it). It will be interesting to see what their revamp brings, but they are starting from a minimal following and not a lot of previous activity on their accounts, and so they also need to build their reach to make their marketing on their accounts more effective.

Royalties/payment:

I get paid on a monthly basis through PayPal. I also receive a royalty statement that lists days, amount/type sold, etc. so I can reconcile with what they have paid me. From what I have seen this royalty statement is pretty standard.

So far, they've been prompt and haven't had issues with payments.

However, because of (among other things) their general lack of marketing, my royalty statements have been fairly low. So far (and, granted, the book came out less than 2 months ago) I have made very little money on this.

My Path Forward:

I've thought a lot about whether I will continue to do this sort of publishing. I am currently querying my "main" books, and I don't plan to publish them through this sort of publishing, even if the publisher would likely accept them.

My contract stipulates that my publisher has right of first refusal for the rest of the books in this series. I am currently writing book two, and I plan to also write a third, as I had initially discussed with them. Beyond that, I'm not sure. I don't mind working with them as a company, but I don't know if they have the processes in place for me to make money publishing with them.

One thing I will likely do is explore other romance publishers that accept unagented submissions. They have a much lower barrier of entry and they are often willing to accept books that trad publishers might not want to spend money/reputational risk on.

As such, I would likely submit to these publishers stories that I don't think traditional publishers/agents would likely to be willing to publish, including more niche subgenres and less standard lengths that are easier to publish digitally.

Why do I redact the name of my book?

Honestly because I'm a coward and because people are weird about romance, especially certain subgenres of romance. I also plan to use this account for my main agented publishing, if I ever reach that point, and I don't necessarily want those two pen names associated.

Any other questions about this sort of publishing?

[taintandviolent]

Going to a haunted house with my boy Max Cooperman

And even though it's not that great, he still gets scared. (He acts like he isn't to save face-)

Halloween prompt do with this as u will! 💜

warnings: language, reader being kinda' mean, Max being a little bitch, cock grabbing, uhhhhh I think that's it.

You bounce on your heels, excited. You love haunted houses, and everything about the season. Good or bad, you’re there for them. Except this time, you dragged Max with you. He swore up and down that he’s done haunts before, but the way his head sweeps back and forth, perking up in the direction of every little noise tells you otherwise. 

“Are you scared?” You jeer, looking over at Max. 

“What? Fuck no. This thing looks laaaame.” 

It does. Even from where he’s standing – behind you, which is totally a coincidence, by the way – he can see that this haunt looks very low-budget and very underwhelming. So why was his heart racing? 

The line shuffles forward, and in the distance, the jarring hum of chainsaws can be heard, paired with some high-pitched screams from patrons. He looks around, uncomfortably scanning his surroundings. He clocks a weird looking clown a few strides ahead in the line, snorting and snarling in unsuspecting faces. Not today, motherfucker. Max narrows his eyes, and crosses his arms, still watching him. His muscles flex mindlessly. 

“This looks super lame. Waste of ten bucks.” He jerks his chin over your shoulder, his eyes still locked on the ever-approaching clown. You follow his line of sight, and see the haunt clown approaching, toying with people in the line in front of you. 

“Okay, tough guy,” you say, nudging him hard back with your shoulder. He stumbles just slightly, and shoots you a disapproving look. 

Soon, it’s your turn, and you immediately swing him in front of you, not thinking twice about it. Max rights his shoulders, broadening them and marches inside like he’s ready to fight. Spoiler alert: he isn’t. 

As soon as you're inside, it takes a couple of seconds for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, but when they do, you see a pair of feet and smirk. They aren’t very good at hiding themselves, but still, you brace yourself for the oncoming scare. A ghoul girl in the corner emerges from between the curtains, wailing loudly at you two. Her painted hand reaches for Max, and he rears back into you, letting out a high pitched, voice cracking yelp.

“Max!” You scream, laughing. “You can’t be serious!” 

“What! It was a loud noise, okay? Chill out, don’t make a big deal.” 

You snort and shake your head and shove him forward. Strobe lights flash in front of you and thick strips of black plastic, probably industrial trash bags, line the hallways. Max takes an apprehensive step, and cranes his neck around the corner. 

“Are you seriously scared?!” You shout, over the sounds of the haunt. 

“No I’m – AAAAHH FUCK!” A chainsaw revs, cutting him off as a knockoff Leatherface rounds the corner, holding the de-bladed chainsaw above his head before thrusting it in Max’s general direction. Again, Max rears back, knocking into you and you catch him at the shoulders, practically howling with laughter. 

“Fight or flight and you choose flight? Really? That’s a shocker.”

He huffs, embarrassed as he shuffles past the actor. “I was about to fucking hit him, I swear to god!” 

“Right, yeah, that’s why you screamed like a bitch?” 

Max has nothing to say to this, but if you could see his face, you’d see that he was totally tough and absolutely was gonna’ clock Leatherface. 

As you round a particularly dark corner, you urge him forward, pressing your stomach against his back. Your hands reach around his torso and cup his flaccid cock from outside his jeans. He jerks, but keeps it quiet. Shockingly. 

“Keep this up, and I’ll really give you something to scream about later.” 

With that, you shove him forward into the darkness towards the howls and screams. There was something kinda' cute about how scared and pathetic he was being, something that ignited a fire deep within your belly.

"Fresh meat!" You yelled, cupping your hands around your mouth.

"Shut up, shut up!"

[stripedstarsblueflags]

i didn't win the wheel: episode 8

(i made a post earlier as a preface as to what to expect in this IDWTW, check it out if you missed it)

Alex [leading the intro of the video]: "....Logan and I, we're here in honor of Wimbledon to play *turns to a detached and uninterested Logan* table tennis. Because nothing says Wimbledon like table tennis."

Logan [finally looking up right at him, starting to laugh]: "I think that's like... disrespectful..."

[they both laugh]

oh, alex. alex albon. you beautiful human being you. something i've mentioned earlier that i'm going to get into now: their dynamic is fluid and compatible and gentle, but it's hard to exactly fit them into roles because they switch back and forth. there might be two primary positions, but they flip back and forth between them easily depending on what the other needs. so Role A might have this sort of gentle leadership and reassuring presence, guiding the other through the task and getting them to engage with the game even as they're unfocused and overstimulated. Role B is a little lost, too in their head, unable to focus and unable to engage until they find themselves prompted by the reminder that oh, it's not just a game, it's a game with him. but it's impossible to put either of them down as always A or always B because earlier in the series we've seen logan help alex stabilize and recenter himself through his hyperactivity and now, more and more often, we're seeing alex coax logan out of his little shadowy corner. and alex does it in a way that even though it's an unspoken but obvious instruction (get your head in the game etc.) it's so personal it actually looks intimate, even on camera. the way he waits til the end of the sentence (while logan tries to pretend he isn't there) and then turns to face logan, lifting his arm to make a point but also opening up his shoulders toward logan and straight up leaning forward with that smile. he's tilting his entire face away from the camera so he can smile it logan, so he can say with his eyes "i know we're just doing this stupid challenge but i want you to know i'm not trying to drag you through it, i know you they're making you jump through these hoops and it's not fun and it's condescending and insulting, but i'm here and we're gonna do it and i'm gonna make this fun for you." and logan looks up and meets alex's eyes and they're so on each others' levels that these connections happen within a split second, almost easy to miss but when you catch a glimpse of it i feel like i'm intruding through the lens of the camera...

no reason to include this other than i felt like citing my sources (it's written all over their faces)

generally underwhelmed by william's admin choices for these videos. not only are the challenges really unoriginal, but they're also really simple. there's not a whole lot of challenge and there's also not a whole lot to go off. even ferrari adding a blindfold to everything ends up with better content than this. it should be obvious– mclaren admin has this down– but what makes the content popular isn't the score of the stupid table tennis game, it's the interaction. it's the dynamic. one of the reasons we're seeing alex go so obviously out of his way to bring logan into the picture is because admin has given them basically nothing to work with, so there isn't a backtrack of this is fun! this is interesting! this is amusing! to distract us. there's just alex wanting logan to have fun with him and logan not being in a situation to want or even be able to have fun.

[Pretty uneventful game over, Alex wins]

Alex: "5-3, to the champion, it's the– uh, this was a great victory for me and I'm, I'm very happy, I–"

Logan 😊😊: "Does that mean you could win Wimbledon?"

sorry if you ever thought you were babygirl for alex albon, logan sargeant has blown you out of the water. this is the cutest thing i have ever seen. this is how my dog looks at me when i come home from college.

ahhh this is nice to see. these are the roles i was talking about earlier. this is a pretty good callback to episode 5, but once again vice versa– then alex was still feeling hyper and silly from the game and logan was the one both guiding the activity and kind of letting alex calm down on his own time and still engaging him, now we've swapped. logan is almost looking at the camera now– he's almost doing the actual media presentation part of his job as opposed to the cap covering his face, head down, body language less expressive than a statue. only he can't make himself look at the camera for more than a few seconds because he's looking at alex.

he isn't even moving the video along. he's just straight up interrupting. alex has to due some mental and verbal gymnastics later on to get the activity back to the wheel-spinning part but still makes a point to segue from what logan's yapping about to the wheel instead of cutting him off completely.

also, round of applause for whatever moment between this video and last video where they've both become totally at one with the "awkward slanted shoulder one arm on the table so they can inconspicuously face each other" pose because unless they're actively swinging a paddle that's pretty much their default for this video. because that's the game for them. the fact that they're with each other.

i think i have one more episode to do. i'm still going to do it, because leaving this unfinished would somehow feel worse, as if none of this ever happened. but it fucking did. it was here and it's on video and alex fucking remembers and i'm not going to give up on immortalizing these moments and what they might have meant just because james consonants somebody wants to erase them.

[whatevertheweather]

Hellooooo on this somewhat dreary Sunday. I have been almost completely incapable of writing lately, but this day is more than half over and I'd like to manage at least one (1) thing, so I'm going to throw together a few snippets from the backburner projects that I don't usually share things from. I have a notion that switching it up this way will...realign my brain. Or something.

So here we go, each from a different WIP, in order of how much they've pulled me away from the things I should actually be working on. You'll get three that are reasonably comparable moods and then we're going to switch the tone in rather a jarring way.

Under the cut because not a one of them will be under six sentences.

ONE

“Don’t give me that,” Baz tosses his head. “We talk about this at least weekly.” “We actually talk very deliberately around it,” Agatha corrects with a smirk. “Yes, well, we both know what it is we’re not talking about,” he snaps. It goes very loudly unspoken. No one named, just a tacit understanding that Baz is gone for someone, casual mention of highly specific hypotheticals, and an uptick in the conversation about it when Simon leaves the room. “I’m obsessed with your ex-boyfriend, are you happy? Does it bring you joy to hear me say it?” Agatha heaves a long sigh, her mouth pursed in thought. “It’s actually not as fulfilling as I thought it would be,” she muses, stopping once more while her dog pretends it has any pee left to gift to the local shrubbery. “I’m kind of underwhelmed.” Baz looks up to the sky. “Ever so sorry my problems don’t entertain.” “What problems?” she says. “My ex-boyfriend just sent you a musical love confession. I will bet actual money that you’ve had dreams like this.” “I don’t know what he meant by sending it!”

TWO

As Simon is returning from loitering in the copy room for a change of scenery, he sees on Penny's screen that she's in the middle of responding to an email from Baz.  Simon flips her paper tray off the desk. “Oh, rotten luck!” “Simon!” Penny yelps as she futilely lurches to catch her scattered papers. “Why would you do that?” “Me? I’m over here,” Simon says from her other side, reaching across her station and deleting the drafted email. Penny’s head pops up with another indignant sound for the click of her mouse, but Simon is dropping into his own chair while she’s still bent at the waist in hers, apparently unable to decide whether to figure out what he’s done on her computer or to collect her paperwork. Simon leaves her to it and opens Baz’s email at his station.

THREE

“Snow—” “It’s not—look, it’s not a big deal, we can just ignore it—” “Ignore—?” “It doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t even mean anything, it’s fine, like, what’s it even matter, really?” Simon made the mistake of glancing up at Baz again after finally pulling his eyes away. He looked like someone had smacked him in the face with a fly swatter. Or a bolt of lightning. “Nothing has to change.” Baz’s mouth pulled into a snarl as he charged forward a step, but he stopped. His back snapped into position, spine straight and rigid. Simon could see it play out on his face as he drew a line between them, pulled himself back in. “Are you messing with me?” he whispered. “What?” “If you’re messing with me, I will disembowel you.” “Jesus Christ, Baz—” “I will eviscerate you,” he hissed. “Are you messing with me?” Maybe he should say yes.

FOUR

Baz didn’t open his eyes. He kept his hand over his mouth and turned his face into his pillow, tried to choke down the sound building in his chest as Snow knelt beside his bed. Snow’s heart had kicked up to a quicker beat, but his breath was steady. The weight of his hand settled on the blanket, just shy of Baz’s elbow. “What can I do?” he asked. It knocked into something already crooked in Baz’s chest. “You’re—you’re shivering, are you cold?” Baz screwed his eyes up tighter and nodded. “Okay, okay, here—” Simon stood, stepped away, stepped again, shifted beside the bed with a heavy rustle of fabric. “Here.” Baz opened his eyes and shook his head, a breath stuck in his throat as he jerked back from Simon’s blanket, pushed it away. “Okay, hey, okay,” Simon said softly, twisting the blanket around his hand and throwing it to the floor. “There, okay? Okay. Do you—can I—hey, okay, can I just—?” Simon did it slowly, leaning over Baz’s bed with a hand poised between them like he was ready for Baz to lash out, ready to retreat. Baz didn’t, and Simon kept going. Baz didn’t lift his eyes past Simon’s chin when Simon laid down beside him.

That last one is the last one because we're ranking by things that have taken up time recently. If we're going all-time, it should be number one. It is in fact in a WIP sub-folder called "the labyrinth is growing," where it lives in perpetual limbo with five other documents.

Now tags <3

@monbons @forabeatofadrum @artsyunderstudy thank you for the tags today!

@fatalfangirl @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @moodandmist @mooncello @whogaveyoupermission

@cutestkilla @run-for-chamo-miles @iamamythologicalcreature @thewholelemon @rimeswithpurple

@alexalexinii @martsonmars @facewithoutheart @aristocratic-otter @youarenevertooold

@bookish-bogwitch @noblecorgi @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ileadacharmedlife

[nipuni]

Some various lighthearted life updates 🏃‍♀️

It's been a very busy last few months! in a good way mostly. We had a friend visiting us from overseas so we showed him around the city and took him to all our favourite places. We also met new people and were invited to a bunch of events so it's been very fun! We are all out of social battery tho so now we are slowing down a bit and getting back to work. Nicolas is on a short work trip to Berlin and I'm back to painting. We also started running! aaand we are also back to watching a bunch of shows and to me talking about it here to like five people 😌

Under the cut cause it's a lot as usual!

We finished watching S13 of Doctor Who! (we still have the specials to go but after that we are all caught up!) I haven't updated in ages so here are lot of opinions!

We really did not enjoy S11 😞 I was aware it wasn't very popular but we were hoping it was for all the wrong reasons, sadly we found many to be valid. Some of the episodes were baffling, Rosa? Kerblam?! the writing of the whole season in general felt like a rushed school assignment. The first part of Spyfall was a strong start for the next season but that ending in the second part was really not it. We did love Sacha Dhawan's Master tho!! and we really love Jodie too, 13th is adorable and reminded us of Ten at times! Jodie is such a fantastic actress that it makes the quality of the writing and everything else around her even more frustrating 😫 S12 was an improvement in general. In the last few episodes It felt like the writing team suddenly remembered the companions could have a personality and agency lmao. Highlights for us were Spyfall one, Fugitive of the Judoon and Haunting of villa Diodati, tho we did also enjoy most other episodes of the season despite their issues.

The timeless child plot reveal felt a bit underwhelming? The idea on itself has potential but it felt mishandled (and it had a bit of a Moffat flavour to it? and not in a good way). I think it was meant to add more depth to the Doctor's lore but in a way it ends up having the opposite effect. Then the flux was just a complete mess. It read like a Marvel sort of plot, very comic book like which is alright I suppose if that is something you enjoy but it felt out of place. But mostly it was just way too much, it got out of hand. Anyway we still have the specials to watch! and I think the Master is in them so we are looking forward to it 🥰

We also watched Broadchurch!! and we LOVED it. We ended up binging all three seasons. Chibnall's writing on this is surprisingly great and Jodie's acting is spectacular she really shines here. Olivia and David are always brilliant!! honestly everyone's acting was amazing. This series had us both tearing up every five scenes. The direction and the music are outstanding. I could watch Hardy and Miller solve crimes forever I really love their chemistry and dynamic. We went into it expecting the usual detective fiction but it ended up being a whole study on grief with such a focus on family and community and trauma and a ton of touching interconnected character arcs, just really really good!!

Then we also watched Taking over the Asylum!! MAN we were not expecting to have our hearts wrung out like laundry by this!! We thought it was a lighthearted show!! GOD we are still not over it, what the fuck!! It was so good we loved it!! but we were not prepared lmao what do you mean 'the end'?? we'll be thinking of this for months, I was expecting an extra scene after the credits or something. Excellent characters, refreshing depictions of mental illness and trauma and so crushingly realistic. Every character is so loveable I really wish this was longer 😭

And our quest to watch everything with David Tennant on it continues. We watched Decoy Bride on Valentines day too and it was terrible but such a hilarious fever dream kind of bad that it was fun, it has David on it and he never disappoints. I feel so lucky that Nicolas and I are both in love with him, get yourself a man who shares your celebrity crushes lmao it's so fun!! We feel like teens again chatting about him and drawing little hearts next to his pictures haha 🥰 We watched the BAFTAs just for him and speaking of the baftas!! I was not expecting that last drawing of his outfits to get that much attention oh my god 😭 thank you!! you are all insane and I appreciate it so much!! and thank you for all the support in general, about my art and photos and just everything. I feel very lucky and grateful 😭 anyway I'll end this before I get sappy, that is all for now! I hope this week is kind to you all, I'll be sharing some more art soon 😊

[lovelybarnes]

Sadistic- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader, other characters make an appearance but it’s mainly natasha romanoff Warnings: mean bucky kind of, mutual pining, teasing, reader being flustered, super projection of my obsession with peanuts right now About: request! Bucky and reader didn’t get along and then bucky discovers she has a sensitive neck and basically uses it against her.

​​Bucky notices you before he sees you.

You’re hidden behind the kitchen island with your legs crossed beneath you and your fingertips grazing the tiles, the few stray strands of hair peeking past the granite of the counter giving you away.

He contemplates turning back nearly immediately, your presence pushing him out of a room as much as it is pulling him in, but it’s sheer greed that makes him lean on his feet, standing at a subtle angle to get even a brief look at you.

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused when he meets them, puckering aimlessly with the arrival of a crease between your brows. He shifts awkwardly in the entrance of the common room, watching you cautiously.

You don’t seem to notice his attention at all, eerily still and uncharacteristically distracted. Bucky should clear his throat, ask if you’re okay, but he hasn’t said something so kind to you in a while, and he’s unwilling to do so now.

What he should do, grounded in stupid values and teenage pride, is set his shoulders, stop squinting to see the outline of your lashes, and push past you to get to the fridge. You’re the one on the ground. He’s an innocent, thirsty bystander who has been looking forward to the cucumber water in the fridge all day.

He pauses, moves his limbs a little to see if you notice. If you do, maybe you’ll push yourself away from smack-dab middle, or maybe your eyes will widen in that sweet, apologetic way they do, where your lashes pinch at the corners in guilt, voice starting in an excuse he’ll scowl at, forcing yours to twist down wrongly at his reaction.

He can admit he’s selfish when you don’t waver and he stays put. Crassly, he leans against the wall and lets his pupils drag down your profile. He flushes immediately with heat and wishes you would rise to your feet and scold him for staring. He isn’t sure what sick part of him would like that most.

But you stay like that for a while, and when you do notice him, it’s an entirely underwhelming consequence. Your shoulders jump only barely and you offer him a vacant blink.

“Hey, Bucky.”

Your voice is quieter than usual but just as sordidly kind.

He grunts in response, setting his attention away from you and pretending like it was never there to start. You shift away when he steps in front of you, narrowly missing your nail. You frown down at your hands, glancing up at Bucky’s back.

He hears you stand, the soft sound your fingers make against the cupboard and the inhale you take. You twist your mouth and squeeze your fingers, eyes on him from your distance. He doesn’t turn to you.

“What’re you looking for?” you ask after a few seconds.

“Water.”

“Water,” you repeat. “The cucumber one? I’m so sorry, I just grabbed the last bit.”

He makes a low noise, shutting the refrigerator. “It’s fine.”

“No, no,” you argue, turning around to pull a mug from behind the fruit bowl. It’s chipped at the rim, with a pale yellow handle and thin vertical indents around its body. A bumpy orange mushroom is embossed over green blades of grass. You hook your middle and index fingers through the handle and hold it out to him expectantly. “You can have it.”

Bucky shifts on his feet, hands down at his sides. He wants to start kindly. “No.”

You blink at him. “Are… are you sure? I don’t think you’ve had very much. I haven’t drank from it at all, I promise. I just poured it before I…”

Bucky thinks he should ask. “‘M sure.”

You nod slowly, setting the mug down. There’s something hesitant and wanting over your features, a small crease back between your brows. “Okay then.” You offer him a smile, a little awkward but nonetheless pretty. He needs to go. “I can bring you some more? I usually buy it from this little vendor on Saturday, but I can make an early stop.”

“That’s okay.”

You chew on your cheek. “Maybe you want to go with me?”

He freezes. “What?”

You take in a big gulp of air, shoulders pushed back gently. “I feel like…” You chew your lip, mulling. Your eyes twinkle sadly. “We don’t really spend too much time together. And I’d like to.”

Bucky can feel heat creep awfully up his neck, a stabbing warmth in his chest. He needs to reject you right now.

You seem to read his mind, stepping backward and bumping into the counter. “You don’t have to—” You stumble over your feet in your efforts to give him space.

His hands shoot out to wrap around your forearms, pulling you upright. Your eyes are rounded, mouth still caught in an assurance, warm fingers twisted below his wrists to hook loosely on the hill of his pisiform.

He swallows, stepping back like your touch burned him. “No thanks.”

You frown, not wanting to push but feeling like you need to. You swallow the step he’d put between you. “Please? I promise I’ll make it fun. There are a lot of things there, maybe you could find Steve’s birthday gift.”

Bucky inhales shortly. “I got it already.”

He begins to sidestep you, a scorching buzzing he never realized was prickling beneath his skin finally beginning to ease. You grasp his arm and it peaks so high, he stops breathing for a second. The twinkle has come back, more melancholy than he remembered. Your lips pucker, eyebrows edging down. “Do you not like me?”

Bucky pauses, overwhelmed by the heat of your fingers. “What?”

Your teeth dig into your lip, thumb beginning to rap against the flat edge of his palm. He blinks. “You don’t seem to like me very much. Which is fine—I just… did I do something wrong?” Your voice closes on a mournful crest, features already sorry as your fingers continue their frantic dance on his skin. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No. Why would you think that?”

You frown. “You never talk to me unless you have to, you leave the room the moment I come in.”

“That’s not true.”

You cock your head at him, a little exasperated. “Bucky.”

“Fine.” He sighs, meeting eyes with your concern again. A beat passes. “Let’s go,” he says.

Your face lights up, although hesitant. “Really? Honest, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Really. Maybe I’ll get something else for Steve.”

You bounce gently on the balls of your feet, fingers looping tightly around his wrist. “Thank you. We’ll have fun, I promise.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing the slope of his nose when you finally step back with a pretty smile. His wrist burns delightfully; he has to hold himself back from prodding at it with his fingers.

You stare at him for another second, eyes crinkling at their edges. “I’ll be right back. We’ll leave in ten minutes, is that okay?”

“Sure,” he repeats, watching you bound toward the elevator. Your lips are pinched tightly when you turn around, the bubbled highs of your cheeks betraying what you try to smother. 

When the elevator doors shut, he lets his eyes fall closed, dropping his head onto one hand. His pointer finger brushes against the skin you’d held, eliciting a lovely glittering where you’d rubbed the pads of your fingers.

His elbow bumps into something cold and fragile, which he looks down to see is your mug, quietly inched closer to him. Hesitantly, he loops a finger around the handle, lifting the smooth edge up to his mouth. You were right, the water is fresh and sweet.

He falls into the couch disappointedly to wait for you, letting his head tilt back and attention rest on the ceiling. His index strokes the handle with wobbly, hesitant lines, running over the movements of your own fingers in the bumps and ridges of the mug. Your ownership is painfully present, predictably foreign on Bucky’s tongue, yet not at all wrong where he has felt it most.

It’s not what Bucky expected.

He puts it down on the table, hoping the delicate circular teetering grounds him. It doesn’t.

-

You’re frantic when you push the door to your room open, entirely crammed with worries.

Your hair has refused to cooperate all morning, the shirt you’d pulled on has a tiny hole you hope Bucky didn’t notice, and your pants are a size too big, the stretchy bottom part of the left leg pulled up to the thick of your calf.

You try to remember whether or not you washed your nice jeans the day before, fingers deftly pushing away hangers and leaving only an ugly screeching sound that you can’t bother to notice. 

You don’t think Bucky likes you. In the decent amount of time you’d known him—a fraction of it with a word count—you had, at the very least, been reassured that he didn’t hate you. Bucky doesn’t seem to spend too much time hating in the icky, false sense of the word, not when he has so many possible receptors with real and raw reasoning.

You hold a shirt up to the light like it’ll help determine Bucky’s thoughts about it. Would he have any?

You shove the shirt back inside your closet and pull another off the hanger, stretching out the collar irresponsibly. Bucky seems to wear a lot of red. Is it because he likes it or has someone commented on how much it brings out his eyes?

You don’t think Bucky likes you. You’re determined to get him to.

He was wearing something red today. You pull on a pretty vermillion blouse with wide sleeves and a high neckline and try not to feel silly. Your foot taps nervously against the floor as you try to decide on earrings, taking a glance along the rows you have before you crouch down to pull on your shoes, browsing the image you’d caught in your mind. 

When you straighten, it feels as if entirely too much time has passed by, your head leady, vision thinned briefly. You decide on the Snoopy earrings you’d bought last week. Tiny, crescent-eyed Woodstock goes on your left ear and tiny, lovesick Snoopy goes on your right. He must know them, right?

You don’t look in the mirror before you leave, too confident that your reflection would send you tumbling back into your closet, slipping your choice off your earlobes. Your forefinger hooks on the bottom of your shirt, tugging down as you watch yourself in the closed doors of the elevator.

Slowly, you inhale. Exhale. Realize you’d closed your eyes and the doors are now open.

The pads of your fingers meet Snoopy’s small clay-lump-legs and you remember that you’re being ridiculous.

Calmer now, you prance over to Bucky, blinking at his shut eyes, body leant against the couch.

“Bucky?” you call. You bend at the waist, searching for a sign of life until your nose is very, very close to his. “Are you okay?” you whisper, unsure why.

Bucky startles anyway, meeting your fresher face. He has thoughts on the shirt.

He clears his throat. “Fine.”

You pull back, crossing your arms. “Did I make you wait long?” you stress, watching him get to his feet.

“No.”

You want to make a joke. You know what Sam would do—poke at his age, ask if the century was finally catching up. You contemplate it too long.

Bucky eyes the bag hanging from the crook of your elbow. You tilt it inconspicuously, flashing stupid buttons and silly pins. Bucky clears his throat. “Should we go?”

“Yes,” you say hurriedly, following after him as he heads to the elevator. It’s silent inside and all the way to the car, where you exchange a stilted smile for a glance when you plug in your phone with the address.

Your thigh shakes the entire ride, slowing momentarily for awkward, brief conversations when the silence gets too unbearable. You think about comfortable silence and how this is not it, icky regret crawling up your throat. You feel sticky and stupid.

“I like your earrings,” Bucky says unprompted. You’re too surprised to do much else than stare, thanking him after too long.

“You like Snoopy?”

He nods. You contemplate more questions, but he seems satisfied with his contribution.

You stare down at your bag the rest of the time, a finger tracing a big, glittery button from a goose race you never went to.

Bucky’s presence is too professional at the stands. He handles himself overly bodyguard-like around you, watching you pick things up with care and interact with vendors from just next to the tents. Rarely does he touch something himself.

You fiddle with a small notebook, catching his eye. You smile when he reads your mind, stepping over to your side to see over your shoulder. Half of his body is close enough to pull sparks from your opposite side. You try your best to concentrate.

“Steve,” you explain, twisting the little sketchbook around. He hums, the noise accompanied by a warm puff of air against the thin skin of your neck. You still completely, goosebumps rising immediately. You pray he doesn’t notice.

Of course Bucky does. He watches your chest still and can’t help the rise of the left edge of his lip. Experimentally, he blows a soft line along your neck.

You flinch, fingers going slack. Bucky reaches for the book before it can thump on the table, his eyes crinkled. You’re too distracted to notice the amusement on his face.

He hums. “That’s a good choice for Stevie.”

“Y-yeah.” You clear your throat, taking a step back but bumping into him. Your skin is delightfully warm even through his jacket, sharp tingles only tendered by your sweet chagrin.

Graciously, he steps aside, meeting your eyes and raising the book between his index and middle fingers. The buttons of the bag hanging off his wrist sparkle in the sunlight. He smiles, suddenly a lot less hesitant than this morning. “Found my present.”

You nod, leaving him to pay as you raise your hand to your collarbone, the pads of your fingers brushing over the goosebumps above the collar of your shirt.

You shiver again and wonder.

-

You’re anxious for more.

Bucky’s interactions with you are usually dismally brief. He says hi when you prompt him, returns tight smiles, and indulges your questions using as few words as possible. Last time, it was ten. The time before, five. Your peak is sixteen.

On the next movie night, you come downstairs half an hour before and claim a doughy two-person couch, sprawling a silky blanket over one side. You pop two bags of popcorn and stress that you made them too early, overcompensating with a variety of candy. It’s spread out with great care, the cushions adjusted, the furniture itself repositioned.

You sit on your side and pretend you’ve only just come when Sam heads into the living room, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What’s all this?” he asks, stealing a handful of popcorn. 

“Nothing,” you say, shifting as he pokes around your stash. Footsteps. “Go over there,”

“What?”

“Bucky won’t come over here if you’re standing there.”

Sam cocks his head. “Ohh, Bucky huh?”

“Go!” you urge, heat up to your ears when he satiates you, hands up in surrender as he walks away.

More Avengers filter in, at the very end Bucky. Your friends have decided to appease you today, occupying every space except the one by your side. Your leg bounces with anticipation.

Bucky looks at you, noticing everything you’ve done, and blinks away when you smile at him. Your shoulders sag, lips pursed achingly.

“You can sit here. If you want,” you say. “I got you some candy. I’ve seen you eating it before, and I thought you… you might like it.”

It’s a slim moment—but a moment nonetheless—before he answers. “Okay. Thank you. I’m gonna get a drink before the movie.”

“I’ll go with you,” you pipe up, a few of the others joining you to pour sodas and chips into bowls.

You’re reaching for a glass when you feel him behind you, stretching for another.

You shiver when you feel air against the nape of your neck, knee knocking loudly into the counter.

He’s away from you before you can process it was him, innocuously pulling open a drawer.

Everyone meets your eye questioningly. “You okay?” Natasha asks.

You nod, pupils flickering to Bucky, who would seem entirely innocent if his irises weren’t so glittered with mirth.

You frown at him, confused when he’s completely unchanged, simply walking beside you back to his seat.

You split your attention between the movie and Bucky’s face for the first hour, realizing you should never have let it stray when he reaches for his glass of water and brushes a very warm finger right below your jaw.

You stare at him perplexedly, his features outlined by the flickering light of the television.

“Butter,” he lies, shrugging. Then, he turns back to the movie and ignores you for the rest of the night. You can’t remember the name of the movie by the next day.

-

The round tip of your little finger aches with a small papercut.

The paperwork piled up at the edge of your desk mocks your wound, edged paper corners peeking out as if a warning.

You watch wine bubble, a fat drop beginning to edge closer to the crevice between nail and skin. Holding back an urge to shove your finger into your mouth, you clasp a tissue with your other hand, wrapping it tightly around your wounded finger.

You blow a gentle raspberry and lean back in your seat; a silent resignation: the paperwork wins.

Natasha meets your eye from the couch across the hall, appearing to read your mind in the sharp way she can do. She frowns, an exaggerated pull to her lips, falsely thinned eyes glaring. She crosses her arms and puffs her chest out, shaking her head in a distinct disappointment.

You stifle a laugh and present your injury to her.

Her lips part in overt understanding, nodding slowly. Poor baby, she mouths.

Poor baby, you agree, cradling your hand.

She laughs, standing up to walk toward you. When she gets to you, she picks up a pen off your desk, squinting at the words peeking out beneath the covers.

“This is from two months ago,” she says unhelpfully, tapping it with your pen.

“That’s not even the oldest one there,” you deplore, letting your head drop on your desk with a mournful sigh.

“Why do you insist on falling behind?” she tuts.

“I’m hurt!” you insist, pushing your finger toward her. She cocks her head at you but cradles your hand. “Every time I try, it’s like it fights back!”

“If you need help…” Natasha mutters something in Russian and brushes her lips against your pinky, making you smile.

You simper. “Did you just heal me?”

“No. I cursed you for being lazy.”

You frown, taking back your hand to hold it against your chest. “I’m good,” you say, responding to her earlier offer. You heave a big sigh. “Thank you, though. Evil woman.”

She smiles at you, shaking her head when she sees your opposite fingers wrapping around your injured one. “You like to suffer.”

“How dare you,” you mumble, urging another bloody bead to form.

“Deviant,” she claims, walking away.

You don’t look up to blow a raspberry at her, dragging your nail up your skin until a thicker drop forms.

It’s a fairly challenging game you have going on, making your bead grow while trying to keep it plump and steady on the tip of your little finger.

If you breathe a little too hard, it wobbles, and you clamp your lips closed, holding your breath and freezing entirely for a few seconds until it’s still again.

It’s a concentration game. And Bucky takes advantage of it.

You press the indent between your bones gently, immersed enough to only recognize his presence when he begins to speak.

“Don’t do that,” he condemns, suddenly right behind you. He must be bent over, lips a millimeter away from the curve of your neck for you to feel every intricate vibration of each word he says. You flinch immediately, an already hot cheekbone bumping against his chin.

When you catch sight of him, he’s already straightened, perfectly calm.

“What?” you croak, warm fingers against the warmer skin below your earlobe.

“You cut yourself,” he says.

“Uh huh.”

“Why are you making it worse?”

“I… I’m not.”

His face stains only lightly in dissent, dissolving like a single droplet of color in an ocean of clear.

He doesn’t respond audibly, only shrugging and walking away. You only realize he’d pressed a clean, colorful band-aid on your desk after he’s out of the office.

There’s a streak of cherry red along your finger when you finally look down, only observing its head create a fat scarlet stain on your sleeve. You curse Bucky and the goosebumps still high on your skin.

-

You suspect Bucky to be somewhat of a sadist.

He doesn’t seem to mind the effect he’s carved into you, nearly reveling in it as if your embarrassment were some sort of thrill. You find yourself shivering prematurely the moment he steps foot in a room, the sight of him accompanied by the imminent line of ice along sensitive skin.

He’ll embarrass you wherever. Make you choke on your tea right before a meeting, burn yourself on a fresh tray of cookies, trip over shoes, and crash into walls. And he’ll watch you, lousily stifling a smile before tending to whatever he’d caused as if he wasn’t at fault for it.

Guiltily, you yearn for the roles to reverse. Or for yours to lessen. 

Slumped on the couch in the living room with a bowl of oily popcorn, you contemplate your situation with Snoopy.

All you had wanted was a sign further than acknowledgement. Something realer than his bitter, thin smile, maybe one of the laughs you’d been so eager to hear in real life. At the most, a purposeful touch; still kind, still real, probably brief. But what you’ve gotten surpasses what you’d initially desired in delightfully awful ways.

When you think about it, your situation doesn’t seem too fat with issue. You can’t recall a substantial conversation with Bucky, but you can remember with perfect clarity how warm his lips are from a millimeter away. It brings up the contemplation on whether or not it’s an actual issue to begin with.

You’re tempted to ignore it. You’re very, very tempted to let him continue his cruel attentions and let yourself become further putty in his presence.

What would you even do? You can’t see yourself pulling him forward by the collar—to make a point, of course, not to brush your fingers against his own neck to see him shudder—to look him in the eyes while telling him that you know what he’s doing. Especially when you don’t. Primarily when you aren’t sure what the point of the conversation would be—to tell him to stop? You aren’t sure you want him to.

It’s easier to push it aside and let him torture you. Maybe you’ll become impervious to Bucky Barnes’ bullying.

You push yourself straighter and let your head fall back, listening to Charlie Brown’s mournful voiceover.

“What if everyone was like you? What if we all ran away from our problems? Huh? What then? What if everyone in the whole world suddenly decided to run away from his problems?”

Your eyes pop open with a startled frown, watching his cartoon throw his little arms up and sigh.

Linus appears, but you don’t listen to his words, letting the fleshy part of your palm support your chin. The pads of your fingers float up to the space behind your ears, and you feel yourself flush immediately with recognition. Bucky is a sadist, sure. But you’re a masochist. 

With a dejected huff, you let your hands drop to the popcorn. 

It’s not even a full episode past when something shifts. You frown, covertly examining your surroundings with edged brows.

Two hands form deep clefts in cushions on either side of you, body heat sticky against the skin it can touch.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks quietly, lips so close to your ear you can feel the echo of their movements. His breath prickles your neck.

“Um…” You struggle to respond, your tongue suddenly too dry. In the background, Lucy shouts something. It sends the dumbest feeling into your chest. Charlie Brown is right.

You gather up all the courage inside of you, rolling it up into the tightest and biggest little ball you can, and snap your neck to the side, catching his gaze before he can move in surprise.

You’re closer than you thought you’d be. You can see all the pretty little details of his face, the way his pupils eat the lovely blue of his irises and how high his Adam's apple bobs.

“What’s wrong?” you echo gently, sweetly mocking.

He stammers, charcoal lashes fluttering.

You hum, examining his face one last time before hopping off the couch to go to the kitchen, leaving him slumped over the couch, dazed.

[formula1fanfiction]

Max Verstappen / George Russell

Title: It started pretty slowly

Pairing: Max Verstappen / George Russell

Characters: Max Verstappen, George Russell, Lewis Hamilton

Prompt: Please could I have alpha Max finding venerable omega George in heat in the paddock and max really wants him, but he asks Lewis permission first? Thnx

It's the end of another underwhelming race weekend for Max, Lando has closed in a fair chunk of points, it's not really worrying him, not yet anyway. The twenty second penalty just means he had to stay way later than everyone else for a debrief and telling off, what a joke. The paddock is practically empty now, it's dark outside. There's a few stray people cleaning things up, but that's about it.

He's about to get into a car and drive home, when he hears a distressed whine coming from behind the bins, at first he thinks it's a lost cat until he smells it, the unmistakable scent of an unmated omega in heat. The omega must be pretty far gone, judging by how strong the scent is. Despite what people think, he's not as heartless as they make him out to be, so he goes to help. It puts him on edge a little bit, there's a handful of omega drivers in the paddock, he hopes it's not one of them in a dangerous vulnerable position.  

It is one of his fellow drivers, he finds George Russell curled up besides a mess of broken carbon fibre, still in his race suit, looking worse for wear. "George?" He doesn't know to approach, he wants to help but he doesn't want startle to omega into a panic. He closes the distance, with one step at a time.

"Alpha." George crawls forward, his pupils dilating completely. This is much worse than the thought. "Let's help you up, okay?" George stares blankly, as Max wraps an arm around his waist and helps him up. The back of his hand, makes contact with George's ass and it's dripping wet with slick. This is torture! George mewls at that and Max's own cock takes an interest, fuck sake.

"Max, my max? Alpha?" George purrs cat like and rubs his face into Max's neck. He wants George so badly, but how can he say yes, he's quite sure George doesn't even know where he is right now. "I'm going to call Lewis, okay? He's a fellow omega, he's safe okay" George ignores him, and keeps nuzzling.

Lewis picks up on the first ring, he must know it's something important because he's never had to phone Lewis in his life. "Please help, I found George in the paddock behind the bins, he's pretty far gone in heat-" Lewis doesn't let him finish. "Don't touch him, he can't consent." Well obviously, does Lewis think he's just going to take George behind the bins? "I just want to know what to do, what the fuck?"

"Sorry, he disappeared after the race, we knew his heat had come early and thought he had gone home to take care of it. Can you take him back to your hotel, and i'll pick him up from there?" Max agrees, but he can't help but feel a bit pissed about it, don't Mercedes take care of their omega's? He quickly gives Lewis his address, George has now climbed into his lap and is happily purring there. This isn't going to be easy, the scent is so overwhelming his cock is twitching uncontrollably in his pants.

"Come on let's get into my car, i'll get you to safety okay?" George blinks, his eyes turning fully black, fuck his heat riddled brain has interrupted that as something else.  "Yes alpha, knot? Max's knot yes?" The fact he can't form any kind of sentence is slightly worrying but George gets into the car easily, however the drive back can't be described as easy, George is whining at the loss of contact and Max has to mouth breathe the entire way home to stop him crashing the car.   

Infuriatingly Lewis isn't waiting for them, so Max has to take George back into his room, to keep him safe, which sends the omega crazy. Max is a messy person, there are various items of clothing strewn around the room. George seems to be delighted by this and collects all the clothing, scenting it and making it into what seems to be some kind of nest. It's so adorable, Max really wants him. It's going to break his heart to say no, he's trying so hard and he's going to have to turn him down.

"Alpha, nest?" George pats the place beside him as he struggles with the zip on his race suit. "Do you want me to help you take it off?" There's fire proofs under there it's fine, he tells himself  as he pulls down the zipper. He knows he's made a mistake, the smell of George's slick becomes overwhelming. "Want you, alpha." George pulls him into the nest and starts scenting him. It feels so nice.

George hisses at the knock of the door. "No, no Max, my Max no." George cries as Max climbs out of the nest, and goes to open the door. Lewis shoots him a disapproving glance at the obvious erection in his sweat pants. Lewis collects George's race suit from the floor and makes his way to the nest.

"Why did you let him nest with your clothes? And let him scent you, what the fuck Max? This heat is going to be horrible for him now." Max wants to cry, he didn't want to make this any worse, he loves George and just wanted to do right by him. Max is close to tears when Lewis climbs into the nest, there seems to be some kind of omega communication, Max can't understand a word, it's obviously not English.

"Hurry up Lewis, this is torture for the both of us." Lewis looks him up and down an unreadable expression on his face. "Do you want him or do you want him?"

"Obviously I want him, I want to take care of him. Do you think I would have done all this if I had just wanted to fuck him?" He knows he's being irrationally angry but when there is an omega in a nest of your clothes, begging for you it's hard, especially when you want to wrap your arms around said omega and make him feel loved and cared for, both in heat and not in heat.

"Okay." Lewis nuzzles George's nose. "I'm confident he wants this too, just take care of him. He's sensitive, don't be too rough with him or anything." Max nods, feeling relieved, Lewis wishes his fellow omega and safe heat and leaves, not without threatening Max on the way out. "Look after him and call me if you need anything."

"Alpha?" George's scent has turned sour, his alpha abandoning him to talk to another omega will be the cause of that. "What do you want my sweet little omega?" George pats his nest, and Max climbs in obediently.

"Aww sweetheart, are you sure you want this?" George responds by pressing his nose into Max's hoodie and breathes in, purring happily. "I take that as a yes." George's skin is burning hot, his heat must be borderline painful for him now. "Come on sweetheart, let's take this top off you, you're too hot." George lets Max undress him, down to his boxer shorts, they are so wet the fabric has turned from light grey to dark. Max's cock is screaming at him with interest, but he wants to take this at George's pace.

"Alpha, cold." Max chuckles, there is no way, he's sweating so badly that his hair is stuck to his forehead, he's quite sure George just wants to cuddle and if that's what he wants that's what he'll get. "Shall we take this to the bed? I don't want to ruin your pretty little nest." George purrs in delight, with the compliment of the nest. He lets Max take him from the nest and onto the bed.

They cuddle on top of the covers, Max doesn't want George to overheat, his head is buried inside of Max's neck. It's almost intoxicating for Max, the smell of the omega in heat, is just so overwhelming it's taking every ounce of his self control not to jump  him right now, but if George needs cuddles first, that's exactly what Max will give to him.

"Alpha wants?" George giggles like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard, he's not even sure what George is trying to say, Max's knuckles are white from how hard he's gripping onto the covers, not wanting to take advantage of the omega. George whines, he was clearly asking some kind of question.

"Knot?" He tries again, rolling off Max and presenting himself, fuck. "Do you want my knot baby?" George nods. "Alpha, please." Max helps George out of his dripping wet boxer shorts and presses three fingers inside, he's never had an omega so wet before.

Max can start to feel his instincts kick in, his own brain going fuzzy at this. "George? Are you really sure you want this?" George whines again, leaning forward onto his elbows to push his ass up even higher. "Alpha." Max chuckles. "Okay, I understand, you needy little thing."

"let me take care of you, sweet heart." George yelps in delight as his legs are pulled backwards and practically wrapped around Max's neck. George is dripping wet, Max licks a swipe across his hole and tastes that sweet slick. George moans in pleasure, Max keeps licking up the slick around his wet entrance, then lets his tongue slip inside. What he really wants is to, suck George completely dry but there's just too much of it. George shudders below him as he comes all over the bed sheets. Max pulls away, the slick glistening on his chain.   

"Poor baby, you're a mess aren't you?" George is a withering mess now, Max has pulled away from him. That orgasm has clearly done absolutely nothing to help  him. "Does my little omega, need more?" George just nods, and presents himself for a second time "What do you need baby?"

"Knot, knot, knot." His whole body is trembling, he needs this badly. Max doesn't want to make him wait any longer. "I'll give you my knot, my sweet little omega." George purrs in delight. "Please."

Max takes off his own clothes, George is in a vulnerable state already, so out of respect he wants to be fully naked too. "Are you ready, sweet omega?" Max can't quite resist the kiss on the back of his sweaty head. George moans. "Alpha." Max holds his hips very gently and sinks inside.

George moans and presses his face into the soft pillow, as Max pushes into him inch by inch. He's so wet, it's like a knife through warm butter as he bottoms out inside of him. Sparks fly, it feels like George's body was made to accept his cock. His teeth ache, from the overwhelming need to bite the omega.  

Max doesn't bother to stall, George doesn't need him to do so, all he wants is a knot, he covers George's body with his own and starts slowly thrusting into him, letting George feel every inch of his thick cock. He can't bite down, instead he sucks a nice purple bruises onto George' neck, that will have to do for now.

"More, more." George writhers underneath him, pushing his hips up to meet Max's thrust, who had slowed down a little too much when sucking the mark onto his neck. "Sorry my little love." Max doesn't need to be told twice, he pulls himself out of George's neck and starts to thrust into him harder and deeper. George mewls in delight at finally getting what he wants, sinking deeper and deeper with every thrust looking for that little bundles of nerves, that he knows will fill George full of pleasure.  

"Yes, alpha, yes, yes." George throws his head back, his mating gland popping alarmingly, torturing Max. He's loving the moans of pleasure falling from George's lips, loving that he's the one giving the omega this much pleasure as he continues to hit his prostate with every thrust.

"Does this cute little omega, want to cum?" Max wraps his fist around George's leaking cock and strokes him to the same pace as his thrusts. George buckles and withers underneath him, with the pleasure. It doesn't take much longer, with the constant slamming onto his prostate and the skill of Max's hand. He cums for the second time, spraying the bed sheets below him. This orgasm does nothing, his cock stays hard and twitches furiously in his hand.

"Knot, hurts alpha, knot." George looks like he's on the verge of tears. "Do you want my knot baby?" George nods and rests his head on the pillow. Max knows it won't be much longer, his knot has already swelled alarmingly, he just needs it to catch now. He squeezes down on George's tiny waist and speeds up his thrusts.

Max's instincts fully take over as the knot starts to catch. "Going to claim you baby, you're my little omega, he's still got enough senses to not bite George where it matters, instead he bites down on George's shoulder, who yelps in pleasured pain as he cums again. Max's knot is almost there now, he thrusts into George a few more times and soon they are fully locked together.

George lets out a content little sigh, Max's mind comes back to him, he swipes away the blood from George's shoulder and pulls him into a sort of spooning position. His heart is pounding with fear, George hasn't said a word yet.

"Blimey Max, i'm so sorry." He sniffs, going stiff in Max's arms. Something's wrong, there's a change in his scent and he's trying to shuffle as far as can from Max, while still being attached to him. "What are you sorry for?"

"For forcing you to knot me, I get really clingy and embarrassing when i'm in heat. As soon as this pops, i'll be out of your hair don't worry, i'll spend the rest of my heat with toys." Max growls, it's so loud George jumps a little. "Look if you don't want me and you would rather have your toys that's fine, but i'm happy to help you out, I really like you."

Max's knot chooses that exact moment to pop, and he's able to take George into his arms, they are face to face now, his big blue eyes are watery from unshed tears. "I've wanted you for so long Max, i'm sorry for this, i'm on birth control." Max swipes George's tears away with his thumbs. "I had to bite your shoulder, my instincts were screaming at me to mate you, I want you too."

George looks confused, his lashes are clumped together with tears. "You want me? Why?" The look of confusion, hurts a little bit, he looks genuinely shocked that anyone would want him. "I like you, you don't let your status rule you. I hate soppy little omega's who just roll over for alpha's." George giggles at this, his skin is starting to get hot again. "I don't think i'd get very far as an omega in motor sports with that attitude."

The smell of slick starts filling up the room again. "I'm- Are you sure Max?" Max pins George down onto the mattress and growls. "Do you think i'm going to miss the chance to ruin this little omega for the second time? No and after all of this we'll talk about making this a regular thing."

"Bite me alpha." Fuck, this heat is going to be much harder than he thought.      

[maximumqueer]

Chapter 1117 Spoilers

Ya know, the second the broadcast started, I knew it was going to cut off at some point, and leave us with a giant cliffhanger. But this

This is just evil. What the Will of D could possibly be has been teased starting all the way back in Drum Island, with the only real info we have about it being that it's important *somehow* and that those with D in their name were used as a sort of boogeyman story for young Celestial Dragons. That's it. So to have this info dangled like a carrot on a string only to be yanked away last second is so incredibly frustrating. Its great writing, and a great way to even further build suspense (and to be honest i do think if we were given this info now it would have been a bit underwhelming) but frustrating nonetheless.

But hopefully the fact that we were so close to finding out more about the Will of D will means we are close to actually getting more info? (Probably not, knowing how Oda writes it'll probably be at MINIMUM another 6 months, but hey, a guy can dream).

Great chapter as aways, looking forward to the next one.

[vicsy]

something something something about how max’s hair is completely brown now…when daniel closes his eyes all he sees is blonde

ohhh. ohh anon. you should not have gone there.... but I am glad you did. this is also something very up @mysticalbreadcollective 's alley since blonde Max is on her daily agenda BUT

anon. idk what floats your boat but let me take you somewhere rancid under the cut (let the record show that I am a maxiel truther but my god do I enjoy making them suffer with other people)

it's current season and maxiel aren't together due to Reasons with capital R of course. Daniel's "i can't fuck my teammate i am not into guys or am I but maybe that's just Max oh no you can't be with Max" and Max's general understanding of his own worth and needs. they can't escape the tension, the lingering touches, the double entendre running through their relationship like a river in flood. one step forward, two steps back etc etc

so things aren't going exactly as planned for Daniel and, naturally, he's fighting the pull towards Max and the best next thing his brain chooses to do is find someone to hook up with, get it out of his system. since his dick is very much attuned to Max after years of imagining that's its gonna find itself parked in Max's ass (which never happened), Daniel's looking for someone particular to scratch the itch and, apparently, to spite the fate, his choice falls to YOU GUESSED IT – Liam.

very convenient, since they're both gunning for the same thing. exploring some healthy alternatives to their impromptu rivalry or whatever the media says. Daniel's pretty charming and Liam's easy. done and done.

and it's bad. capital "b" Bad. the sex comes pretty fast and Daniel's checking all of his boxes - rookie, blonde, tiny waist, looks at him with wide eyes etc etc and Liam is surprisingly down to fuck cause maybe that is also convenient for him, too. but he's mean about it. He's heard legends about Big Dick Ric and the dick is very big but the prowess? lacking. he says that to Daniel's face after, like, the third time it happens. which should be incredibly insulting but–

Daniel's pining and trying to trick himself which works exactly for three seconds but Liam isn't what he wants. wrong kind of blonde hair that Daniel's gripping tight while he fucks Liam from the back, never face to face, because that would prompt Daniel to THINK and RUMINATE and he doesn't want that. he wants Max the way he sees him when he closes his eyes but it's gone when he opens them and finishes another underwhelming sexcapade. it's never the right color, it's never the right person' it's always a bad time.

"do you think I'm not getting what you're doing here?" Liam says to him one day, grinning meanly, and Daniel truly doesn't know the answer to that question. he's hella confused himself. Liam seems to get off on the situation more than when he's riding Daniel's dick, so he calls Daniel Danny in the garage and he suddenly glues himself to Daniel's side, which is. weird. manipulative? Daniel's plan to get over himself backfires when he sees Liam talking to Max one day and Max's easy smile slowly dissipates as Liam's yapping but Daniel can't hear a word.

he doesn't really need to. he knows Liam cashed in on Daniel's sorry excuse of a reason to hook up. all Daniel can do is add to the history of horrendous decisions he's made in his life and live with the knowledge that he's probably never going to wake up next to Max's mostly-not-blonde hair getting in his face where they're tangled in bed, that Daniel's dabbled in something he should not have touched with a ten foot pole, that he'd tarnished all of his chanced, basically set them on fire when max had been there and never turning him down all the way.

Daniel got some, Liam got some. after all, it's Max who, unfairly, walks out it hurt the most, because of Daniel's choice, because of him thinking he was chasing something else while in reality he was running. and Daniel never fucking stopped.

[cs-blank-au-official]

So hi guys

I've been inactive lately despite me saying that im going out of hiatus, but as it turns out i'm gonna need more time thanks to school 💥

Funny story, Back in the early stages of this au, Player x Blank was supposed to be fluff and soft. i ended up finding that boring in 2024 and was about to scrap Player x Blank entirely because I couldn't pick a good trope for them that really stuck to me.

Until RECENTLY.

I have a knack for basing my au on irl relationship dynamics i have with people, and this new dynamic between Player and Blank is definitely going to be spicy

@rositasnowie has been seeing the whole situation unfold, and she'll KNOW what i mean (ROSITA, VOUCH FOR MEEE)

In other words, Expect something new between Player and Blank unlike how i've been interpreting them in the past ^^

oh and the whole cs2019 is gonna get a huge change in character and theme after s4. because the current plot was a little underwhelming for me.

---

And to the curious ones who decided to look more into this, hallow :3

Let's just say, there's gonna be allot of individualism, cooperation issues, a shit ton of miscommunication, and a ton of allies you'd never expect to ever be possible

I'm pretty sure you'd expect some of these changes, but i assure you that i have more up my sleeve than what i tell people ^^

I have a knack of straying away from predictable tropes and scenarios, and having direct copies of other franchises themes and other aspects as compared to what i've seen from other written works, not that it's a bad thing but i just prefer my au to be unique in a way that makes it canonically connected and realistic (with a few tweaks here and there)

i've been very discreet about it lately as i've noticed how people have been taking a lil too much inspiration from my work :') i'm happy that people are moved by what i make ^^ but i hope you understand that i don't wanna end up like Hazbin Hotel with a whole season being leaked 😭

---

Overall, my au has been super delayed in writing progress thanks to stress 👍

But that ain't gon stop me bitchess

There were moments in my life that could've made this au unachievable, but while i'm still breathing and my heart is still beating, i ain't giving up on this passion of mine.

This au had been my drive in life when i felt lost. and now with something to hold onto, when i feel lost, i can just retrace my steps back here ^^

I've met so many wonderful people in this community throughout my time around. their words kept encouraging me to continue. This post isn't just to announce that Blank x Player is gonna have something new, this is also a very big appreciation post.

I've vented my struggles and hardships to the people i know in this community. (IYKYK) and they've seen me grow from what i've told them. I've been inactive but that doesn't mean i'm out just yet.

I just wanted to say, thank you for being what kept me moving forward. if it weren't for this and everything that came along with, i wouldn't have made it far enough without getting lost.

Thank you, Dearest CS Community.

[cursedvibes]

I love Sukuna so much but the levels of invincibility that Gege is giving him is sooo confusing. Like I get he’s a very powerful sorcerer, he’s very intelligent, but how in the world did Judgeman confiscate the cursed tool?

Did Gege ever say Judgeman could do that? The cursed tool isn’t on trial, Sukuna is- can Judgeman tell when an object is owned by someone? Like 😭

A fight starts to lose tension and hype when the antagonist finds every loophole imaginable to the point where the writer is just creating new loopholes we weren’t even aware of!?

Yeah, and it wasn't even due to some master plan on Sukuna's side. It didn't take any skill of his own to get out of that trial, just luck. He was like "fingers crossed it takes my new shiny cursed tool and not one of my cursed techniques 🤞☺️". And then it's a cursed tool that wasn't doing anything for him anyway. Why even introduce it then? It looks nice, great aesthetic and symbolism, but that's it?

Higuruma also seemed surprised by that. He has killed nearly 100 people and none of the sorcerers ever had a cursed tool before that got confiscated? At least it says that Sukuna maybe probably lost 10 Shadows with his reincarnation, but who knows if that's true. Also how does losing the cursed tool count as a death sentence? With losing a cursed technique or your cursed energy it makes sense. That alone could kill you even without the executioner's sword or at the very least it exposes you dramatically. Losing a cursed tool is a disadvantage, but unless you staked your life on it, most sorcerers won't be seriously affected by it. That's like Kashimo losing the staff. Pretty inconsequential if you consider what else they are capable of. Barely an inconvenience. I could see this making some sort of sense if it was the murder weapon, but Kamutoke has done 0 zero damage to anyone so far.

I'm mostly disappointed that the court trial led to absolutely nothing. I was looking forward to what Sukuna could do outside a battlefield, how he'd use his wits to turn the situation around on Yuuji instead (there was so much he could've said to make Yuuji the culprit here, they were taking a big risk by bringing up this case), but we got nothing. He didn't even try. I wouldn't have a problem with it if he had escape the domain due to his skill and proving his innocence. I also don't think this necessarily means it's game over for the protagonists, it's just very underwhelming.

At least Hakari and Uraume are having fun. Not gonna lie, their fight seems more interesting right now.