#it's a battle ground on twitter

[reylo]

Okay, nice things about the Acolyte, this may be slightly too soon after the cancellation. But I'm basically numb to the whole star wars cancellation/ retcon etc after TROS. Like it didn't surprise me at all. Anyways, Episode 5. That was my favourite one. Reason 1) you got to know who the stranger was . That intro was well done. 2) the lightsaber battles !!!! That was awesome! EVERYONE looked soo good! . Their movements were so fluid. 3) people died ( I was super sad about Jecki and yord because I wanted to see them more in screen. Especially with Osha .Speaking of Jecki I like that she was the one who knocked his mask off. ) 4) The way they were introducing both the Sith, the dark side and could slowly hint at the grey Jedi. 5) the fact that Qimir said specifically he wanted his freedom to exist because the Jedi told him he couldn't exist. It doesn't absolve him of killing people but it highlighted the two forces trying to fight for dominance. 6) Master Sol's desire to protect the girls and his Jedi padawans but also holding a darker secret that hinders him was prevalent. I really liked his character.7) Osha and Qimir , I mean it was great. I like that she put her droid on his back to attract the creatures lol. And despite not wanting to be in his side, he for whatever reason healed her and brought her back with him. A connection, a very interesting and intriguing one that neither at the time understood.

I'm loving the positivity for The Acolyte Anon!!!

[inhonoredglory]

Aziraphale’s Choice, the Job Connection, and Michael Sheen’s Morality

Update: Michael Sheen liked this post on Twitter, so I'm fairly certain there is a lot of validity to it.

I’ve had time to process Aziraphale’s choice at the end of Season 2. And I think only blaming the religious trauma misses something important in Aziraphale’s character. I think what happened was also Aziraphale’s own conscious choice––as a growth from his trauma, in fact. Hear me out.

Since November 2022 I’ve been haunted by something Michael Sheen said at the MCM London Comic Con. At the Q&A, someone asked him about which fantasy creature he enjoyed playing most and Michael (bless him, truly) veered on a tangent about angels and goodness and how, specifically,

We as a society tend to sort of undervalue goodness. It’s sort of seen as sort of somehow weak and a bit nimby and “oh it’s nice.” And I think to be good takes enormous reserves of courage and stamina. I mean, you have to look the dark in the face to be truly good and to be truly of the light…. The idea that goodness is somehow lesser and less interesting and not as kind of muscular and as passionate and as fierce as evil somehow and darkness, I think is nonsense. The idea of being able to portray an angel, a being of love. I love seeing the things people have put online about angels being ferocious creatures, and I love that. I think that’s a really good representation of what goodness can be, what it should be, I suppose.

I was looking forward to BAMF!Aziraphale all season long, and I think that’s what we got in the end. Remember Neil said that the Job minisode was important for Aziraphale’s story. Remember how Aziraphale sat on that rock and reconciled to himself that he MUST go to Hell, because he lied and thwarted the will of God. He believed that––truly, honestly, with the faith of a child, but the bravery of a soldier.

Aziraphale, a being of love with more goodness than all of Heaven combined, believed he needed to walk through the Gates of Hell because it was the Right Thing to do. (Like Job, he didn’t understand his sin but believed he needed to sacrifice his happiness to do the Right Thing.)

That’s why we saw Aziraphale as a soldier this season: the bookshop battle, the halo. But yes, the ending as well.

Because Aziraphale never wanted to go to Heaven, and he never wanted to go there without Crowley.

But it was Crowley who taught him that he could, even SHOULD, act when his moral heart told him something was wrong. While Crowley was willing to run away and let the world burn, it was Aziraphale (in that bandstand at the end of the world) who stood his ground and said No. We can make a difference. We can save everyone.

And Aziraphale knew he could not give up the ace up his sleeve (his position as an angel) to talk to God and make them see the truth in his heart.

I was messed up by Ineffable Bureaucracy (Boxfly) getting their happy ending when our Ineffable Husbands didn’t, but I see now that them running away served to prove something to Aziraphale. (And I am fully convinced that Gabriel and Beelzebub saw the example of the Ineffables at the Not-pocalypse and took inspiration from them for choosing to ditch their respective sides)

But my point is that Aziraphale saw them, and in some ways, they looked like him and Crowley. And he saw how Gabriel, the biggest bully in Heaven, was also like him in a way (a being capable of love) and also just a child when he wasn’t influenced by the poison of Heaven. Muriel, too, wasn’t a bad person. The Metatron also seemed to have grown more flexible with his morality (from Aziraphale's perspective). Like Earth, Heaven was shades of (light?) gray.

Aziraphale is too good an angel not to believe in hope. Or forgiveness (something he’s very good at it).

Aziraphale has been scarred by Heaven all his life. But with the cracks in Heaven’s armor (cracks he and Crowley helped create), Aziraphale is seeing something else. A chance to change them. They did terrible things to him, but he is better than them, and because of Crowley, he feels ready to face them.

(Will it work? Can Heaven change, institutionally? Probably not, but I can't blame Aziraphale for trying.)

At the cafe, the Metatron said something big was coming in the Great Plan. Aziraphale knows how trapped he had felt when he didn’t have God’s ear the first time something huge happened in the Big Plan. He can’t take a chance again to risk the world by not having a foot in the door of Heaven. That’s why we saw individual human deaths (or the threat of death) so much more this season: Elspeth, Wee Morag, Job’s children, the 1940s magician. Aziraphale almost killed a child when he couldn’t get through to God, and he’s not going through that again.

“We could make a difference.” We could save everyone.

Remember what Michael Sheen said about courage and doing good––and having to “look the dark in the face to be truly good.” That’s what happened when Aziraphale was willing to go to Hell for his actions. That’s what happened when he decided he had to go to Heaven, where he had been abused and belittled and made to feel small. He decided to willingly go into the Lion’s Den, to face his abusers and his anxiety, to make them better so that they would not try to destroy the world again.

Him, just one angel. He needed Crowley to be there with him, to help him be brave, to ask the questions that Heaven needed to hear, to tell them God was wrong. Crowley is the inspiration that drives Aziraphale’s change, Crowley is the engine that fuels Aziraphale’s courage.

But then Crowley tells him that going to Heaven is stupid. That they don’t need Heaven. And he’s right. Aziraphale knows he’s right.

Aziraphale doesn’t need Heaven; Heaven needs him. They just don’t know how much they need him, or how much humanity needs him there, too. (If everyone who ran for office was corrupt, how can the system change?)

Terry Pratchett (in the Discworld book, Small Gods) is scathing of God, organized religion, and the corrupt people religion empowers, but he is sympathetic to the individual who has real, pure faith and a good heart. In fact, the everyman protagonist of Small Gods is a better person than the god he serves, and in the end, he ends up changing the church to be better, more open-minded, and more humanist than god could ever do alone.

Aziraphale is willing to go to the darkest places to do the Right Thing, and Heaven is no exception. When Crowley says that Heaven is toxic, that’s exactly why Aziraphale knows he needs to go there. “You’re exactly is different from my exactly.”

____

In the aftermath of Trump's election in the US, Brexit happened in 2018. Michael Sheen felt compelled to figure out what was going on in his country after this shock. But he was living in Los Angeles with Sarah Silverman at the time, and she also wanted to become more politically active in the US.

Sheen: “I felt a responsibility to do something, but it [meant] coming back [to Britain] – which was difficult for us, because we were very important to each other. But we both acknowledge that each of us had to do what we needed to do.” In the end, they split up and Michael moved back to the UK.

Sometimes doing the Right Thing means sacrificing your own happiness. Sometimes it means going to Hell. Sometimes it means going to Heaven. Sometimes it means losing a relationship.

And that’s why what happened in the end was so difficult for Aziraphale. Because he loves Crowley desperately. He wants to be together. He wanted that kiss for thousands of years. He knows that taking command of Heaven means they would never again have to bow to the demands of a God they couldn’t understand, or run from a Hell who still came after them. They could change the rules of the game.

And he’s still going to do that. But it hurts him that he has to do that alone.

[libraryofbaxobab]

December 20, 2020:

This is the Infinity War of books. #WhatsKenyaReading

[suppermariobroth]

Top: during the Phantamanta boss battle in Super Mario Sunshine, if Mario sprays the last Phantamanta and then loses his last point of health on the same frame as the victory cutscene of the hotel rising from the ground starts, a glitch will occur.

Bottom: after the Shine Sprite spawns, Mario will be in front of the hotel (the same position he would be moved to normally after the battle), but instead of standing, he will be sitting on the ground, already dead. The death animation will play immediately after.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source

[bucketbueckers]

I'D RATHER PRETEND

CHAPTER ONE

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff | lmk if you want to be added! wc: 7.1k notes: see masterlist for content warnings. buckle up, here we go 🙂‍↕️

'South Carolina Basketball Star Tess Kennedy Hits Rock Bottom'

On March 31, the South Carolina Gamecocks went head to head with the Iowa Hawkeyes in the heavily anticipated Final Four match-up. For South Carolina, this was their two-peat season, coming off of an electric championship win back in April 2022 against the formidable Connecticut Huskies. For Iowa, this was their underdog season. Their last Final Four appearance was back in 1993. With powerhouses such as Kamilla Cardoso, Aliyah Boston, and Tess Kennedy, South Carolina was a fan favorite to win, but Caitlin Clark and the Hawkeyes would prove to be a wrench in the plans.

Late in the third quarter, Tess Kennedy fell to the ground clutching her knee as Clark drove past her. To those on court, the injury was obvious. She was carried off in a stretcher. We would later receive the news that Kennedy had officially tore the anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) in her left knee and would undergo surgery within the week. Kennedy would have the entire offseason and most of the regular season to rehab and hopefully return for the 2023-2024 season, but onlookers quickly found that would not be the case.

April 9 marked the beginning of what was taunted as the "Tess Kennedy Destruction Tour." It had simple beginnings - a Twitter reply here, a heated Instagram argument there.

[IMAGE TRANSCRIPTION: USER GAMECOCKS4LIFE33: "TESS KENNEDY YOU SUCK, THANKS FOR THROWING OUR BACK TO BACK SEASON, I HOPE YOUR ACL NEVER HEALS!!!" | USER TESSKENNEDY25: "I'M PRAYING THAT YOUR WIFE HAS AN ABORTION. I'D STRANGLE MYSELF WITH MY OWN UMBILICAL CORD IF I CAME OUT OF THE WOMB AND YOUR FACE WAS THE FIRST THING I SAW." END TRANSCRIPTION.]

As recovery progressed, Kennedy soon frequented a local bar nearby the University of South Carolina campus. Kennedy would spend nights there, often inebriated and starting arguments outside. Her nights out would only end when other members of the South Carolina women's basketball team came to rescue her. They have all declined to comment at this time.

Kennedy's supporters have gone online with desperate cries for anyone at all to get Tess Kennedy the help and recovery she needs. South Carolina has been unnaturally quiet regarding their star player's self-destruction. Kennedy has expressed that she wishes to enter the WNBA draft after her senior year, and considering that an ACL tear often makes or breaks an athlete's career, it does not surprise us in the least that Kennedy is having a difficult time with her injury. The only question remaining is if someone will pick her up, or if Tess Kennedy will be left to her own devices and continue to sink.

-Penelope Lancaster, Bleacher Report

MAY 3, 2023

“You can’t be fucking serious.”

The silence in the conference room is palpable. Tess is currently battling a migraine, though she’s not sure if it’s from her hangover or the absolute bullshit her manager just subjected her ears to. She’s surrounded by Amaya, the aforementioned manager, Diana, her publicist, Coach Staley, a counselor from the university’s counseling and wellness center (though she’s already forgotten her name), Paige Bueckers, for whatever fucking reason, and two other unfamiliar people.

When Amaya called her to schedule a meeting, Tess didn’t know what it was for. Amaya didn’t say and Tess was too shitfaced to argue, especially when Amaya was yelling at her bright and early at 7 am. The regret pools low in her belly and she tells herself for the millionth time that she should have skipped this meeting.

“Tess, we’ve brought you in today because everyone is worried for you,” Amaya states. “Frankly, we should have done it earlier. That has been a critical error on our end. Your teammates have told us that you either lock yourself in your room for hours on end or go out and get plastered. I’m sure you’re familiar with what the media is calling the ‘Tess Kennedy Destruction Tour?’”

Paige, quiet from the other end of the table, raises a brow while Tess scoffs. “I feel like that’s a little excessive,” Tess says.

Diana frowns. “Since your ACL injury, you’ve been in several arguments online. You frequent bars and are at risk of a severe alcohol addiction. We know you’re not rehabbing nor are you taking your medication.”

And, at the heart of it, Amaya and Diana aren’t wrong. Maybe when Tess is a few drinks in and she opens Twitter and sees what all the trolls are saying, constant repeats and barrages of Tess Kennedy sold South Carolina’s game – she deserves so much worse than an ACL tear and South Carolina made a mistake in recruiting her, maybe she responds to them, because why wouldn’t she? She’s a college athlete, she understands trash talk and competitiveness, but everything that is said about her is downright cruel. She loses all of her inhibitions when the tequila flows through her veins – making the trolls feel just as bad as she does is one of the simplest remedies she could offer. The alcohol makes her forget about her injury, about the guilt of costing her team the game and the championship. It’s simple. So what if she drinks a little more lately? She’s not addicted. She’s just trying to forget.

Her avoiding rehab and her medication were just unfortunate casualties of war. Her injury was too fresh on her mind for her to fully commit to attending, even though Kamilla tried her best to get her to the physio’s office. Her medication was a different story – she had to be weaned off of her lexapro for a couple days before her surgery so she could safely be anesthetized for it. Then she wasn’t allowed to take her medication for a few days post-surgery given the nature of her painkillers. It all spiraled from there. She was off of her rhythm in multiple ways, and the last thing on her mind was her anxiety medication.

“We know you won’t listen, so we are not giving you options,” Amaya says firmly, forcing Tess back into the moment. She resists an eyeroll. “You’re at risk of killing yourself, Tess. You’re at risk of losing your basketball scholarship because your grades have slipped after finals – you’re lucky enough that your GPA was high enough from the past two years to cushion straight C’s this semester. Your brand deals are inches away from dropping you entirely. So, we are going to fix that. Three times weekly, you will meet with a trainer for mandatory physical therapy. Once a week, you will meet with a psychologist for your mental health and alcohol dependence. And during this off-season, we’ve made the decision that you and Paige Bueckers will be in a fake relationship so you can repair your images.”

Which brings us to where we are now.

“You can’t be fucking serious.”

Tess’s eyes nearly fall out of her head. Paige seems equally as shocked from across the table, jaw slack, though her expression hardens with indignance as Tess demands, “Why her? What is fake dating going to do about any of this?”

“Your brand deals are at risk of pulling away from you because you are destroying your image,” Amaya says again. “You’re too volatile. Paige’s brand deals are at risk of pulling away from her because…” Amaya struggles to find the words.

“I’m not ‘family friendly’ enough,” Paige supplies, fingers raised in air quotes.

At that, Tess snickers. “And by that, she means she sleeps around too much, people are noticing, and her conquests are bitter.”

“Why the attitude? Jealous I ain’t sleepin’ with you?”

“Oh, sure, because I’ve always wanted an STD.”

“At the rate you’re destroying yourself, you might be closer than you think.”

“Enough,” Amaya snaps. Tess and Paige close their mouths. Paige at least has the decency to look a little ashamed while Tess glares. “But yes. Paige’s brand deals feel as though she’s too… all over the place. Having a fake girlfriend will placate her brands and consumers who are upset with them for not taking action. The two of you together will show that Paige is not a womanizer and that Tess is not a flight risk.”

“I don’t agree with this,” Tess states.

Amaya hums. “I’ll take your grievances into consideration.” She pauses for a moment, tapping her chin dramatically as if thinking hard, before smiling. “Okay, I’ve considered. You and Paige will fake date. You’re going to go to all of your appointments and you are going to try to get better. Your doctors said you would be able to play again depending on your recovery. Why are you trying to destroy yourself? Why are you making this harder on yourself than it needs to be?”

Tess doesn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one she’s going to admit in front of her Coach or Paige Bueckers. Paige got lucky – she tore her ACL and she’s almost fully healed now. The chance that Tess might not be able to, no matter how slim, fills her with indescribable envy. Taking her destruction into her own hands gives her some semblance of control that she otherwise doesn’t have. She wasn’t in control when her ligament tore. She wasn’t in control when she was in surgery for hours and the doctors were meticulously replacing it.

When she doesn’t respond, Amaya sighs. “Paige flies back to Connecticut on Saturday. I want you two to take this week to get to know each other and soft launch – how you do that, I don’t care. We just want the public to know you’re seeing each other currently.”

After some more fine-tuning between Amaya, Diana, and Paige’s manager and publicist, the meeting concludes. Tess doesn’t waste any time before she’s hauling herself to her feet. She grunts as the pain shoots through her leg, gripping the table to stabilize herself. “Tess, hold on,” Coach Staley calls. “I need a word with you.”

Tess resists a sigh. No matter how fucked up she might be, she’s not going to be the one to test Coach Staley. The conference room filters out, though Tess doesn’t notice Paige’s lingering gaze as she leaves. “I know you probably feel a little trapped right now,” Coach says. “That we’re forcing you into this. Which we are – I mean, I won’t sugarcoat it. I know basketball is your dream and you feel like it’s all slipping away because of your injury. Let me be the first to say that the Tess Kennedy I know wouldn’t let this stop her. I don’t know what’s going on with you. I don’t know why you’re spiraling, but I do know that our team is a family and we are always here to support you if you’d just let us in. You are an amazing player, an asset on and off the court. Please give this your all, if not for me, if not for your teammates, but for yourself.”

Tess can feel the tightness in her throat and the slight sting in her eyes. Part of her knows that Coach is right – she always is. The other part of her is so overwhelmed by her grief that it’s hard to fully absorb it. “I’ll try, Coach,” she says softly, feeling more sober than she has in weeks. Coach Staley squeezes her shoulder, walking out of the room. After wiping the tears pooling in her eyes and taking deep breaths, she walks out, too.

“Hey –”

Tess nearly jumps out of her skin, a hand over her chest. “Jesus fucking Christ, Paige.” The blonde guard can’t help but snicker, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not funny, dude. You’re an asshole. I can’t believe people line up to sleep with you.”

“They do that?” she asks, smiling smugly. “Didn’t know.”

Tess rolls her eyes in annoyance. “Do you have a reason to be talking to me or are you just trying to make me start drinking at 9 am?”

Paige shoves her hands in her pockets. “Amaya told me your first PT appointment is in an hour. She wants me to go with you, help you out and shit.” Paige must recognize the look on Tess’s face because she huffs. “Look, I wanna be doing this as much as you do. But work with me a little. I wasn’t this insufferable when I tore my ACL.”

At that, Tess’s gaze turns into a hard glare. “Fuck off. You don’t know shit about my injury.”

She scoffs. “I know more than you think I do, and I think that’s why you’re all pissed,” she says, voice low. “Yeah, you’re in pain 24/7, but it’s the mentality that fucks you up. You’re scared you’re never going to play ball again and you’re taking it out on other people. You’re taking it out on yourself, Tess; you’re literally killing yourself over an injury you can bounce back from. It’s hard and it’s scary and it’s fucked up. And as shitty as it sounds, tearing your ACL is something that only happens to other people, right? It wasn’t supposed to happen to you.” Tess’s mouth morphs into a guilty frown, watching as Paige shifts her weight to her healthy leg unconsciously. “So, face it. You tore your ACL. You trashed your reputation to cope with it and now we gotta dig each other out of the mud. But your recovery is up to you. Commit to it, follow the PT, do what you gotta do – or you’re never playing on that court again.”

Despite her harsh words, Paige’s eyes are soft with understanding, not pity. Tess was used to seeing the commiseration on her teammates' faces. They didn’t understand; understanding an ACL tear came with the fact of having one, and as mad as she was at the world right now, Tess would never wish something like that upon her teammates. Do what you gotta do – or you’re never playing on that court again. Paige’s words run around her head on repeat. Tess isn’t surprised that it makes her angry. She is surprised to find that the anger isn’t directed at the blonde herself, who she’s about to be stuck with for months on end. Tess is pissed at herself. Her actions may have just cost her weeks, if not months of extra recovery time. She was so lost in what-ifs that she didn’t focus on the things that were actually around her.

Tess would work on it. That is as much as she could promise herself.

Unable to fully process the genuine culture shock of Paige’s rant, Tess swallows thickly and looks anywhere but the blonde’s blue eyes. “Do you, um, wanna grab coffee before PT?” she asks forlornly.

Paige’s jaw ticks, but she seems to recognize the invitation for what it is – an olive branch. “Yeah. Sure. You should swing by your apartment and grab your crutches, though.”

Tess almost rolls her eyes at the mother-hen tone of Paige’s voice. “I don’t need them anymore,” she retorts. “Doctor said 2 to 3 weeks post-surgery. I’m very much 2 to 3 weeks post-surgery.”

“Pretty sure 2 to 3 weeks depended on good behavior,” Paige states. “You did literally the opposite of that. Plus, I saw you wince when you stood up. Go get your crutches, Tessa.”

“Okay, first of all, Tess isn’t a nickname,” she gripes, but she leads Paige towards the athlete apartments. “Tessa is not on my birth certificate. Second of all, don’t boss me around.”

Paige hums. “Okay,” she concedes, which shocks Tess enough that she turns around. Paige has a solemn look on her face, but the look in her eye tells Tess all she needs to know. “According to Amaya, we’re girlfriends now. That means I gotta look out for you. So lighten up, ma. Get your crutches and let me buy you a coffee so you don’t get cranky in PT.”

Tess wrinkles her nose. “Do not call me that either.”

“Okay, Tessa.”

“You’re actually so fucking annoying, it’s unreal.” Tess turns around again, leaning on her right foot to take the pressure off her left knee. She clasps her hands together, trying to distract herself from the way Paige smiles smugly at her, eyes bright. Tess suddenly feels stupid for not realizing any sooner that Paige was just fucking with her. The worst part about this whole situation was how Paige’s banter did manage to chip away some of the guilt and anguish that slowly frosted over her heart. She’d never admit that much to the blonde, though – her ego is already the size of Jupiter. “Don’t call me ma. Don’t call me Tessa.”

“So what’s actually on your birth certificate?” Paige asks when Tess starts walking again.

“Tess Kennedy.”

“Middle name?”

“Why do you care?”

Paige scrunches up her face. “We’re girlfriends –”

“We are not girlfriends,” Tess interrupts.

“Okay, what the fuck ever,” Paige gripes. “Middle name. We need to know stuff about each other. Mine’s Madison. You might as well just tell me anyways ‘cause I’m pretty sure it’s on your Wikipedia.”

Tess heaves a sigh. Paige has to get off on being an annoying fuck – there’s no other reason why she’d be harassing her right now. “It’s Alessandra. Tess Alessandra Kennedy. I was named after my mom.”

“Tess Alessandra,” Paige repeats. Her name sounds far too good rolling off her tongue and Tess gets mad all over again. Paige is a woman of many talents it seems, although it’s unfortunate that shutting up is not one of them. “Cute. Is that Italian?”

Tess softens at the genuine interest in her tone, realizing she's being an asshole. “Yeah. We moved here from Italy when I was seven. I grew up in New York, came down here for ball…the rest is history, I guess.”

“Can you say the thing?” Paige asks with too much glee.

Tess glances at her warily. “What thing?”

“You know, the ‘Ay, I’m walkin’ here!’”

“Jesus Christ,” Tess mutters. She and Paige exit the athletic facility, and the South Carolinian guard leads her on the short path back to the athlete apartments. “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met. It’s impressive.” 

“I like setting the standard.” Tess glances at her. Paige looks comfortable – too comfortable – sporting an easy-going smile, as if being perpetually on Tess’s nerves is enjoyable for her. Tess isn’t sure what to make of her. “So, what was coming to the States like?”

The shorter of the two shrugs. “It was an adjustment. My English was decent, but I struggled to make friends. Basketball made me feel like I belonged here, although it reminded me of home, too.”

“You still consider Italy home?” Paige asks softly.

Tess mulls it over, humming. “Home is a feeling,” she states. “I never had to second guess myself in Italy – whether or not I was using the right words or doing things the ‘American way.’ I feel at home when I play ball. I never doubted myself there, either; it’s what my brain is wired for.”

“And now that you can’t play, it feels like leaving everything you’ve ever known?”

Tess’s lips curl into a half-smile. “Something like that.”

Paige makes a noise in the back of her throat that sounds vaguely like understanding. “No wonder you went on a destruction tour.”

Tess rolls her eyes. “And the moment’s over.”

“Nah, I was being for real!” Paige defends. “I’m just sayin’ – I get it. Basketball means something different to everyone, right?”

Tess softens. “Yeah. Guess so.” She opens the door to the athlete apartments, leading Paige to the elevators. She pushes the number three and the elevator closes. She sighs, leaning against the wall, and lifting her leg slightly. “So what about you?”

Paige glances at her. “What about me?”

“Your ACL. What was different for you?”

Paige wiggles her leg. “Well, I’m still recovering. Want to be 110% before I’m on the court again.” She stares at her reflection in the elevator mirror before her eyes look anywhere else. “It was tough. It is tough. I felt useless for a long time but my teammates and family pulled me out of my slump before I let myself sink. It just took me a while to let them in.” At that, Tess feels hot all over, looking down at her feet and not at the blonde next to her. “I just wanna play,” Paige admits. “But it just feels like every time I get into a groove, there’s something that benches me. I don’t like letting my teammates down.”

“You’re not,” Tess states, surprising herself.

Paige looks up, meeting Tess’s eyes, lips curling into a solemn smile. “Aren’t I?”

The ding of the elevator saves Tess from having to answer. She frowns, but heads in the direction of her apartment. She hopes that Kamilla and Bree are out. Walking in with Paige Bueckers attached to her hip would be an uncomfortable conversation. Tess sticks her key in the door, opens it, and nearly drops her lanyard in surprise at the sight in front of her.

“Tess, what the fuck? I woke up this morning and you weren’t here. I thought –” Kamilla’s rant slows to a stop as Tess walks in, Paige in tow, who suddenly looks like she wants to be anywhere but Tess’s apartment.

“Good morning, Kamilla,” Tess says guiltily. “Say hi, Paige.”

The blonde waves. “What’s up, Kamilla?” Kamilla blinks at the two of them. “Uh, I can just wait outside.”

“Stay,” Tess says, her words coming out like a demand. Paige nods, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Um, I had a meeting with Amaya. I’ll tell you about it later, Kam, I promise, but I have PT in like, 45 minutes, so I really need to go.”

Kamilla doesn’t say anything as Tess hobbles to her room and exits with her crutches in tow. The two roommates stare at each other for a beat before Tess inches forward and wraps her arms around Kamilla, who freezes in shock before returning the hug. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk,” she whispers. “I’ve been an asshole to you and Bree. You guys didn’t deserve that. Thank you for trying to take care of me when I didn’t want to take care of myself.”

“Hey, we’ll talk later,” Kamilla says softly. “We love you, okay?”

Tess’s eyes burn with unshed tears. “I love you, too.”

Kamilla releases her with one last lingering look, smiling softly before glancing at Paige. “Best behavior, Bueckers,” she says coyly, much to Paige’s amusement, who raises her hands in mock surrender. “See y’all later.”

Paige, as if sensing Tess’s inner turmoil, allows her to lead them to the on-campus Starbucks in silence. It’s not too far away from the athlete dorms. Tess and many of her teammates would frequent it over the years, seeking caffeine for study sessions, though she’s aware of how different the situation is now. When they walk in, Tess is thankful to find it relatively empty. The two baristas on duty hardly offer them a second glance. Paige settles a tentative hand over the small of her back. “What d’you want, ma? You can sit and I’ll get your coffee.”

Tess is less bothered by the nickname the second time around. “Vanilla sweet cream cold brew. Please?”

Paige nods. “Got you.” She walks up to the counter while Tess grabs a spot at a booth out of sight. Tess pulls out her phone as she waits, having it on Do Not Disturb for the better part of the morning. She feels guilt all over as her notifications are full of missed calls from Kamilla and Bree and countless text messages. She clears them out and sends another “i’m sorry” to their group chat, to which both Kamilla and Bree quickly respond with heart emojis. Tess texts her parents back, who’d been blowing her up with reasonable concern after her media escapades. She tells them she’s doing better but doesn’t wait around to see their response. Tess has countless other messages she needs to get around to, but settles for silencing her phone again, promising to get back to them later.

Paige returns to their booth with their coffees in hand. The blonde passes her a straw and Tess quietly thanks her. “How much was it? Let me pay you back.”

Paige scoffs. “Bro, get outta here with that. I told you I was buyin’ so you don’t get cranky.”

“I’m already cranky, Paige–”

“That’s just your personality.”

Tess cracks a smile, the first genuine one all morning. “I’m serious. Let me pay you back.”

“You can pay me back by workin’ with me on this,” Paige says. She takes a long sip from her coffee, humming at the flavor.

“I’m good now,” Tess grumbles. “Trust.”

Paige snorts. “Trust?”

Tess nods solemnly. “I was kind of a jerk earlier. I’m sorry for calling you a whore.”

Paige blinks. “We don’t gotta talk about that, Tess, really –”

“No, just hear me out, okay?” Tess says. “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. Your business is your business. I shouldn’t have used that against you.”

“I shouldn’t have used your ACL against you, either,” Paige concedes, “when I said I wasn’t insufferable when I tore mine.”

Tess smiles weakly at her. “I kinda deserved that one, to be honest.”

“Well…” Paige trails off, grinning menacingly, and Tess rolls her eyes. “Hey, we’re cool now. We’d be even more cool if you’d answer my DM, but it’s whatever.”

“I ghosted a lot of people, you’re not special,” Tess gripes.

“I am,” Paige insists. “We’re ACL buddies now. ACL girlfriends if you wanna be real. Two knees, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona–”

Tess buries her head in her hands, unwilling to let Paige see the smile on her face. “We are not girlfriends. And what was that? Did you just compare our knees to Romeo and Juliet?”

“We’re star-crossed lovers, ma; you more than me since Caitlin crossed you up and snatched your ankles,” Paige jabs. At that, Tess can’t help the laugh that rips from her mouth.

“I actually hate you,” she says, but the words lack bite. She takes a sip from her coffee, too. “Okay. How do we want to do this?”

“Amaya wants it, like, obvious that it’s us, right?” Paige says. “You could post a picture of our coffees on your story. Don’t gotta show my face but you could keep my chain in the photo.”

Tess glances at Paige’s collarbones, where her necklaces rest delicately. There’s a chain with a silver cross on it and her signature #5 chain right next to it, albeit it’s a smaller, less loud version of the one she wears for hype videos. Tess knows the online fans are freaks with how they notice things – they’d instantly clock it. “You could post me at PT,” Tess offers. “Like holding my crutches or something.”

“Or something,” Paige agrees, eyes lighting up with mischief. “You trust me?”

Tess eyes her warily. “Not particularly, no,” she admits. “But it’s your story and your soft launch. It’s your call.”

“Bro,” Paige sighs. “We’ll work on it.” She adjusts their coffees then fiddles with the chains around her neck. “Look good?”

Tess tries not to focus too much on the way Paige’s collarbones protrude slightly, the fairness of her skin. “Mhm,” she says noncommittally, readying her phone. Paige reaches for her own phone, angling it just slightly so the edge of her purple case is in view. Satisfied, she takes the photo, flipping the screen to show Paige, who nods. She sits for a moment, pondering the caption, before typing out, ‘and a new day will bring about the dawn.’ She shows Paige again. “You like?”

“Frank?” she asks, smiling when Tess nods in confirmation. “It’s a little cheesy maybe. But it shows, like, you’re optimistic and shit. That you’re getting better.” Tess makes a noise of agreement, centering the text to her liking. Paige lays a hand on her wrist before she has the chance to post. “We should set some rules before we do this.”

Tess sighs. “Really, Paige?”

“Yes, really,” Paige retorts. “We’re lying to millions of people right now. Gotta make sure we got our shit straight or we’re fucked. When did we start talking?”

“You DMed me after my injury,” Tess offers hesitantly. “Offered support.”

“Lotta help I was with you spiraling for a month straight,” Paige grumbles.

Tess smirks wryly. “A little bit of truth in the lie goes a long way, right? You messaged me, I didn’t want to accept help, but you still tried – maybe you flew out to surprise me? You’re here now.”

Paige pauses, swirling the straw in her drink. “That works. We bonded over our ACLs, realized we had other shit in common. I pulled you out of the deep end–”

“And I got you to settle down.”

Paige raises a brow. “Oh, so that’s where we are now? You won’t even friendzone me but I’m settling?”

Tess rolls her eyes. “You’re literally on my last nerve.”

The blonde smiles smugly. “Alright. How open are we being with the media?”

Tess shrugs, chewing on her straw. “Maybe just be all coy and shit? We’re in different states so our options are limited. Repost couple-y stuff on TikTok, get active in each other’s comments, that kind of stuff. Maybe in month or so I can fly up to see you and we can hard-launch?”

Paige nods. “Works for me. Let me know when you’re thinking and I can pick you up from the airport or something.” They fall silent for a moment. “I feel like we’re media-trained enough that we don't need to overthink it. Just don’t invent an anniversary.”

“Agreed.” Tess stretches out her leg, rubbing her knee with a sigh. “You wanted rules?”

“Mhm,” Paige hums as she opens the notes app on her phone. At #1, she writes COMMUNICATE in uppercase, bold letters. Tess can’t disagree. “We have to make sure we do this right. If either of us gets uncomfortable, we need to talk about it and fix it or end it. I’m sure there’s community service or some shit to show we’re redeemed people. For public appearances, we gotta, you know…kiss and stuff to sell it.” Paige’s cheeks flush red as she says this. “Uh, we can talk about it later. If you want.”

“Yeah,” Tess agrees awkwardly. The thought of having to kiss Paige leaves a stirring feeling in her chest that she can’t quite place. At #2, Paige writes No seeing other people on the DL. “That’s pretty self-explanatory. You sure you can handle it?” she teases.

Paige rolls her eyes but she has the decency to look guilty. “Contrary to popular belief, I am not a womanizer, Tess Alessandra,” she sasses.

“I believe you, Paige Madison,” Tess retorts.

At #3, Paige writes Nobody can know. “My teammates have big mouths,” Paige states. “But also I feel like it adds to the story.”

Tess frowns. “Well, I kind of already promised to tell Kam and Bree. I owe it to them after being a shitty person for a month straight.” Paige stares at her for a beat before adding, Nobody can know, except Kamilla and Bree. Tess nods, satisfied. At #4, she writes, NO CATCHING FEELINGS. She blushes as she writes it and Tess raises a brow. “Is that a concern of yours?”

“No!” Paige says a little too quickly for Tess’s liking. “I can do casual,” she adds, voice lower. “Ion know about you. But you can’t fall in love with me. That would ruin all of this. We can’t let this get out of hand, you know?”

“Sure,” Tess agrees. “But you can’t fall in love with me, either.”

Paige’s jaw ticks. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Good.”

They fall into a brief silence. “You wanna add anything else?” Paige asks.

Tess shakes her head. “Shake on it?” Their hands meet in a crisp dap and Tess finally hits post on her story. She closes the app immediately, knowing that her notifications will explode. Paige finishes off the rest of her coffee, eyeing Tess curiously. The blonde has an unreadable look on her face – Tess isn’t quite sure what she’s thinking, and it rattles her. She glances at her phone, noting the time. “You ready?”

Paige nods, collecting their empty cups and tossing them in the trash. “Lead the way, ma.”

Tess settles into her crutches, feeling uncomfortable as they dig into her arms, but relieved as they take the pressure off her knee. Tess leads Paige back to the athletic facility, listening to the blonde’s rant about something Azzi said to her. She wonders how much of Paige’s brain is basketball stuff and how much is the random shit that apparently floats through there. Tess has only spent maybe an hour and a half one-on-one with Paige Bueckers, but she’s convinced the inside of her brain is a Where’s Waldo picture. Sure, they’ve chatted after games – okay, it’s probably more accurate to say they trash-talked after games, especially after South Carolina kicked their ass in the championship last year, though it was all in good fun – but getting to know her on a personal, less basketball-focused level is different.

They reach the physio’s office just in time for the start of Tess’s PT session. Craig, the trainer, greets her warmly, saying, “I’m glad to see your days of skipping PT are over, Tess.”

The South Carolinian guard rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I have an enforcer now.”

“Present!” Paige chirps.

Craig begins with a preliminary check-up, asking a few questions that Tess is tempted to sugarcoat if not for Paige’s convincing glare. Admitting that she hasn’t done much outside of skipping her PT to Craig’s face makes her feel embarrassed all over. The overall lack of proper rest and elevation coupled with overuse is expected to tack on another two months at most to her recovery, Craig estimates, but the idea that she still has a chance does enough to quell some of her worries.

With the questioning out of the way, Craig leads her through a couple of stretches and exercises. Paige joins in, working on her knee, and it makes Tess feel less silly about herself. It’s a strange thing to say. People always advise you to do it scared when you’re worried about trying new things, but Tess has come to find that the issue isn’t being scared – it’s doing it alone that makes it so difficult. She’s slightly ashamed to admit how much easier this whole process has become with Paige sitting next to her, extending her knee and breathing through the pain.

When Craig steps out to grab something from the storage area, there’s sweat beading at Tess’s hairline from the exertion of working her knee productively. She lays an ice pack over it, breathing through the slight pain and regretting everything that’s led her to this moment right now. “I’m never guarding Caitlin Clark again,” she mutters, half-serious.

Paige breaks out into infectious laughter. Tess has to fight back a smile at the sound. “You gotta get your lick back,” she says. 

“Trust, I’m working on it,” Tess says. “I’m gonna get better out of spite and break her ankles next season. Though she’ll probably drop a three on my head right after. That’s ball, baby.”

Paige reaches out, dapping her up and agreeing, “That’s ball.” Then, she pulls out her phone. “Soft launch time?”

Tess groans. “I know I said it was your call but please don’t do anything weird. I can’t handle it after this PT session.”

Paige rolls her eyes. “You gotta trust me, ma,” she chides. She readies the camera and reaches out for the ice pack, swatting away Tess’s hand. Her right knee bumps into Tess’s left thigh as she scoots ever so slightly closer, pressing the ice pack onto her knee. “Get your bracelet in there.” Tess does as Paige instructs, inching her hand closer in frame. Her bracelet is silver with a few notable charms, though the one that stands out the most is her jersey number, 25. “This okay?”

They look like a couple, Tess has to admit. Their proximity is one thing – you could say that’s just being friendly, but the fact that Paige is icing her knee feels weirdly intimate. “Yup,” she manages to get out. “All good.”

Paige takes the photo wordlessly, handing the ice pack over to Tess once she’s 100% satisfied with the way the photo has come out. She ponders the caption for a moment until she settles on the female doctor emoji and an ice cube. Tess snorts as she hits post and immediately silences her notifications. “You’re so creative.”

Paige rolls her eyes, but a smirk tugs at her lips regardless. “My bad. Next time I’ll use a cheesy ass Frank lyric.”

“You said it worked!” Tess exclaims, much to Paige’s amusement. She doesn’t get the chance to say more as Craig walks back in with the supplies he’d gone out to find. He wraps Tess’s knee and secures a huge ass brace around it. Given that she fucked up so much of her early recovery, he advises her to wrap her knee every morning and ice her knee on and off each day for about a week. Craig tells her to keep strenuous movement to a minimum and to use her crutches at all times – basically, everything her doctor told her to do in the first place. She nods along, promising to follow Craig’s instructions, but after a long day of PT and general emotional realizations, all she can think about is getting back to her room and taking a long nap.

Craig finally releases her from her session, reminding her to show up at the same time on Friday. Tess doesn’t fight him on it. He gives her one last gentle smile before she and Paige take their leave, walking back to Tess’s apartment in a comfortable silence. Paige scrolls on her phone before chuckling at something, nudging Tess, and showing her the screen. Her messages are full of questions from her teammates, with Nika Mühl’s sticking out like a sore thumb, reading, ‘I KNOW you didn’t seriously cancel on me and Lili this week to play doctor in SC!!!’ Tess can’t help but laugh out loud at that one. “The articles are crazy, bro, look,” Paige says, closing out of her iMessage and opening Instagram, where Overtime has shared pictures of both of their stories with the wide-eyed emoji. “‘Fans are speculating that Paige Bueckers flew out to meet up with South Carolinian shooting guard Tess Kennedy amidst controversy and Kennedy’s recent ACL injury,’” Paige reads.

“‘Amidst controversy’ is crazy work,” Tess huffs. “It wasn’t even that bad.”

Paige snorts, scrolling down. “We got detectives and shit,” she comments, showing Tess her screen. An Instagram account called ‘wcbbupdates’ has shared both of their stories again, having marked Paige’s chains and phone case and Tess’s bracelet in bright red circles. Paige narrows her eyes at a comment as she reads it aloud to Tess. “‘They are not slick, this is the hardest soft launch I’ve ever seen. I always knew Paige and Tess had sexual tension. Do you guys remember the regular season game in Paige’s freshman year where she was all up on Tess?’ Bro, what the fuck?”

Tess glances at Paige knowingly. “Something you want to share with the class?”

Paige scoffs. “I was not all over you,” she says. “We call that playing good D around here.”

Tess rolls her eyes. “You’re such a fucking liar,” she grumbles. “Just wait until I’m healthy again. I’m gonna cross you up so bad you have to retire from college ball or you have to take a super senior season just to fix your busted stats.”

The blonde smirks at her. “Oh, yeah?”

Tess doesn’t like the goading in her tone, nor the insinuation in her response. “You’re so –”

“Annoying?”

“So fucking annoying,” Tess confirms, much to Paige’s delight. 

“I love when you say nice things to me,” Paige croons.

Tess rolls her eyes, not responding, which draws a quiet laugh from Paige as they continue walking. Once they make it back up to Tess’s apartment, Paige lingers behind Tess, as if she’s unsure what to say for once in her life. The South Carolinian guard turns on her heel, leaning against her crutches and watching Paige carefully. 

“You’re here until Saturday?” Tess asks noncommittally, although she knows the answer. Paige nods. “You, uh, wanna come to PT on Friday, too?”

Paige shoves her hands in her pockets, giving Tess some sort of half smile. “Yeah. I can do that. Could get coffee or something.”

Tess studies her, lips quirking, but not giving anything away. “Or something,” she agrees. “Just text me. We can figure it out later.”

The blonde unlocks her phone and hands it over to Tess. She punches her number in and saves her contact. “Don’t ghost me this time?” Paige asks coyly, taking her phone back.

Tess snorts. “I’ll see what I can do,” she says gently. “See you later, Paige.”

Paige gives her one last fleeting smile. “Later, Tess. Be good for Kamilla.”

At that, Tess rolls her eyes, waving goodbye to Paige and finally inching inside her apartment. The door shuts with a click behind her. Tess sighs, leaning her head back against the wall, feeling the pressure of a migraine building behind her eyes. She doesn’t think Amaya is fully aware of what she’s asked both of them to do. Tess is struck with the realization that she’s in way over her head with Paige, with their silly little fake relationship, with her busted knee, and all of the mending she has to do over the next few weeks.

Tess takes a seat on the couch, propping her leg up on the coffee table in front of her. She turns the TV on and flips through various shows until she settles on her weekly rewatch of 2 Broke Girls. She makes it through the first episode before a knock at her apartment door forces her to get up. There’s nobody on the other side, but when she looks down, there’s a Chipotle bag and a drink on the ground. Confused, she picks it up. Her name is on it, but the cherry on top is the note attached to the receipt. 

Realized I took you to PT on an empty stomach. Hopefully I got your order right. You seem like a chicken and veg kinda girl. Sour cream and guac’s on the side. Lemme know if you don’t like any of this and I’ll order something else so you don’t bite Kamilla’s head off. See you Friday!

Tess barely registers half of the note. All she knows is that she’s well and truly fucked.

[mysteria157]

Unsteady Ground

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light angst, just fluffy but scarred Post-Shibuya Nanami

WC: ~2.1k

Summary: 

Nanami gets more than what he bargained for with the kind receptionist who checks him in for his weekly appointments.

Notes: Hello! Been thinking about Nanami if he was still injured but survived the Shibuya Incident and this is just one of many little thoughts I've had. Hoping to write more soon!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @awenise

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | Come Say Hi!

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

What was he thinking?

Nanami Kento prides himself on his self-awareness—a man who can map out his strengths and weaknesses like well-worn territories on a battle-scarred map. He’s the epitome of controlled courage, a figure who could march into dank, shadow-filled alleys and pungent sewage tunnels, his fear compressed into a hard knot beneath his ribs, as he methodically tracked and exorcised curses with cold efficiency. 

So this is new. It has to be.

What was he thinking?

He was thinking about you.

You, who he first saw through a haze of discomfort at the reception desk during his initial therapy appointment. His eye patch itched against his brow, a constant reminder of Dagon’s domain and the razor-sharp fish-like teeth that sunk into his flesh. The burns on his left side stretched tight beneath layers of Mederma a constant, throbbing presence. He felt raw, exposed, his mind a blender of pain and misery, haunted by the taunting echoes of a patchwork curse that still clawed at the edges of his dreams.

But then, there was you.

You, whose voice flowed like silk when you asked for his name and date of birth to check him in. Your words, a gentle current, seemed to wash away the stark clinical atmosphere. With each subtle movement, a hint of vanilla across your desk, wrapping him in its warmth, coaxing his tense shoulders away from his ears.

You, who lingered in his mind long after each encounter. Your daily ask about how he was doing, though met with the same stoic response, became a small ritual he found himself anticipating. Your presence had become a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, somehow making the hard recovery of his life a little more bearable.

You, whose eyes lit up many weeks later as you spoke of the Christmas market in town, your voice brimming with excitement about the newly opened rink.

In that moment, driven by an unfamiliar, overwhelming desire—no, need—to simply fan the flames of whatever was licking to life in his chest, he spoke without thinking. The words tumbled out, clumsy and hopeful. His face flushed, his usually composed demeanor cracking.

“We could go together this weekend if you would like?”

Stupid. Absolutely, unequivocally stupid. 

Nanami Kento, what were you thinking?

A soft smile played at the corners of your mouth, your head tilted ever so slightly, curls dancing in a nonexistent wind as you regarded him with warmth and a lifted brow that made his breath catch.

“Are you asking me on a date, Nanami Kento?” Playful and tinged with an essence of hope that made his heart race even faster.

“I—“ He was thinking of you. Only you. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

The cool air of the ice rink slaps Nanami’s face with every person that skates past him, his heart racing with a mix of dread and shame that pulses through his veins. A group of teenagers glides by effortlessly, their showboating twirls and spins threatening to pull his mouth into a sneer. They’re no doubt mocking him as he stands stock still against the glass wall, gloved hands pressed flat as if he could suction himself in place.

He’s endured years of Gojo's incessant, annoying taunts and needless provocations. He’s faced cursed spirits without flinching, coolly efficient even as his watch ticked down the final minutes before six. But now, the prospect of revealing his complete and utter lack of skating ability to you terrifies him more than any supernatural threat.

He had every opportunity to reveal his incompetence. He did nothing as you both laced up your skates. Smiled softly as he listened to you chat animatedly about your favorite winter activities. Kept his spine taut as you adjusted his eye patch, fingers trailing feather light along his jaw. Even as you pulled him by the hand towards the rink, his legs wobbling like a newly born doe on the thin blades, he could only clench his jaw and follow.

He encouraged you to go without him, to warm up while he adjusted to the weight of strangers’ gaze when they saw him for the first time. Even with so much practice, the discomfort, even after all this time, burns more fiercely than Jogo's searing touch ever did. 

But he knows he can’t delay the inevitable. Soon, you’ll return, expectant and eager, and he’ll be exposed. The memory of asking you on this date flashes through his mind—a moment of uncharacteristic impulsivity born from longing and evolutionary competition. He’d watched the parade of men filing in for their appointments, each one a potential rival. The brunette who shows up at 3 PM, with his easy smile and effortless charm, was particularly concerning. So Nanami can’t fail now.

Steeling himself, he takes a tentative step. The blades slide across the ice, taking him further than what he intended. His knees lock, his back sways unsteadily, and his arms flail as he tries to find balance.

Somehow, he can hear Haibara laughing from the grave. He can almost see his old friend, red-faced and doubled over, teasing him without shame for never accepting that impromptu hockey game invitation their first year.

“I can do this,” he whispers to himself, desperately praying to whoever will listen for sudden knowledge. He takes another step, a short glide up with his left foot and it’s no good. His legs wobble dangerously, arms windmilling as he grasps for the wall and throws every curse known to heaven and hell, fogging the glass with his acidic words.

The teenagers zoom by again, and he swears one of them snickers, skating backward with infuriating ease as they disappear from view.

“Kento?” Your voice, honeyed with concern, reaches him from behind. It’s too sweet, too kind to quell the embarrassment that runs in rivulets down his back. You appear in the peripheral of his right eye, your lips pinched behind your teeth as you stop in front to take him in. “You’ve never skated before, have you?”

For a fleeting moment, Nanami considers trying again, hoping to slip and knock himself unconscious to escape this mortifying situation.

He feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I may have overestimated my abilities,” he admits, his dry tone a thin cover over his embarrassment as he clings to the rink’s walls like a lifeline.

To his relief, your face softens with understanding rather than judgment. You skate backward with effortless grace, hands outstretched towards him. “Trust me?”

He hesitates, eyeing your hands. Part of him wants to refuse, to flail his way off the rink so he can take off these atrocious skates and maintain some semblance of dignity. But a larger part, the part that has been drawn to you from the start, longs to brush his hands against yours.

Your cream-colored gloves intertwine with his. “Just glide. Follow my feet,” you encourage, slowly skating backward and guiding him forward.

You flow like water on the ice, fluid and sure as if you’re a professional, without a hint of hesitation. He’s mildly green with envy because he’s a stark contrast. Legs stubbornly locked, feet shuffling rather than gliding. He tries to focus on the mechanics of skating, on keeping his balance, but he finds his attention irresistibly drawn to you. 

You’ve taken off your winter coat, and a soft navy sweater hugs your curves, accentuating your form. He’s seen it beneath crisp blouses and pencil skirts. Your leggings outline powerful thighs that bunch with your movements, yielding strength and practice. The overhead lights catch the small puffs of air that ghost from your mouth as you guide him patiently across the ice, no sound reaching his ears because he’s not paying attention.

Your hair, a glorious bundle of curls, cascades from beneath a navy beanie, framing your warm face and kissing your cheeks. Small gold hoops in your ears catch the light with each graceful motion, their gentle swaying hypnotizing Nanami, drawing him further into your orbit and away from reality.

He’s lost in admiring you—the kindness in your eyes, the way your presence makes him feel both vulnerable and safe even as his life has been so tragically altered.

It’s in this moment of distraction, his heart full and unguarded, that his skates and your teachings betray him. As you attempt a gentle turn, his feet slip, zipping awkwardly to the side.

“Kento!”

You grip his hands tightly, urging him to regain his footing, but he’s caught in a comical dance, legs churning in place as he fights to stay upright.

“Wait! Kento just—okay, just try to come to a stop. A stop, Kento, don’t—” He attempts to halt, overcompensating with force. 

“For fucks sake—!” He grunts, feet flying out from under him, launching up as if he’s a cartoon villain slipping on a banana peel, bucking him off the ice and taking you with him as you both come crashing down onto the unforgiving cold ground.

Somehow, he doesn’t hit his head, but his back and ass scream from the impact. At least you were able to use him to cushion your blow, and you lay across his chest, face buried in his wool coat.

Seconds stretch into eternity as you both lie there, panting. Nanami fixes his gaze on the ceiling, half-hoping the harsh glare of the overhead lights will burn the cornea of his remaining eye and blind him completely from this whole ordeal.

“Well,” you murmur, voice muffled against his coat, “should we get up?”

“No…no, I quite like it down here,” Nanami responds, deadpan delivery masking the absolute sincerity of his words.

You pull your head from his chest to look down at him. Nanami’s eyes meet yours, staring, unblinking, mortified, and wishing the ground could liquefy and then freeze over, trapping him underneath.

With impeccable timing and bone-dry delivery, you quip, “I guess for a first date, this was a good way to break the ice.”

Nanami blinks, processing your words. The absurdity of the situation—the terrible pun, your matter-of-fact delivery, the undignified sprawl of limbs—hits Nanami all at once. A laugh bubbles from deep in his chest, croaking through years of cobwebs as it grows into a full-bodied guffaw.

The sound of his laughter surprises him as much as it does you. Your eyes and his one widen in delight at this rare display of uninhibited joy and soon you’re both laughing, the sound echoing across the rink.

The scarred side of his mouth twinges uncomfortably, but he doesn’t care, he can’t. His laughter, rich and unbridled, hiccups from slightly chapped and upturned lips.

As your laughter subsides, Nanami realizes he can’t remember the last time he laughed like this—free, unguarded, genuinely happy. He takes in the sight of you: your beanie askew, a cascade of messy curls tumbling over one shoulder; ice shavings glistening as they melt on your cheek; your lip gloss slightly smeared, yet still inviting. 

Your eyes meet his, and for the millionth time in only a few short weeks of knowing you, his heart skips a beat. With a gentleness, you reach up to adjust his eye patch—a gesture so intimate, so accepting of all that he is, that Nanami hopes it becomes a habit. 

He watches, breath hitching, as you shift, sliding yourself up his chest with a soft grunt of effort. For a moment, you hover there, your faces inches apart. Nanami can feel the warmth of your breath, senses the unasked question of what you want to do. And whatever his face conveys, must be enough for a smile that outshines the gleam of the ice around you to blossom on your face as you close the distance.

The press of your glossy lips against his still catches Nanami by surprise. For a heartbeat, he’s frozen, overwhelmed by the sensation. But only a second later, he melts and softens into you. One hand finds the small of your back, the other sliding against your cheek, drawing you closer as he returns the kiss and opens something within him that he knows you’ve found the key to.

For a second, it washes away the pain of his past, the destruction that he took part in, the friends he’s lost along the way, and he feels okay. If only for a moment, and maybe being with you can help the wounds in his chest and along his left side heal over time.

The ice is cold beneath him, his dignity is probably bruised along with his back and ass, but in this moment, given a second chance at life, hopefully with you, he feels wonderfully, perfectly alive.

Thanks for reading!!

[misscammiedawn]

Thinking about We Know The Devil and Heaven Will Be Mine today. A duology. WKTD the tells the story of accepting you're queer, framed as a horror story of 3 repressed teenagers at a christian summer camp fighting off their inherent queerness and HWBM tells the story of how one accepts their place in society after embracing their queerness.

WKTD uses magical girl tropes in a fairly grounded Midwestern teen experience.

Magical girl stories often involve the struggle of the forces of Good and Evil. Purity and Impurity. Corruption often being a core theme of any girl squad facing down the nightmarish forces. This can be seen from Madoka's approach to the concept which is often referred to as a deconstruction. The Pink Opaque from I Saw The TV Glow overtly uses these themes in the exact same allegory as WKTD with the evil forces attempting to suppress the queerness of the protagonists.

HWBM uses mech anime tropes in an allegorical wonderland where the setting fades away to have the audience engage with the ideas at play rather than the lore. Mech anime often uses the giant robot duels as a method of visualizing ideological struggles. Too often in these shows beam sabers will cross as the pilots yell at one another to embrace ideas of how the concepts of war and prejudice can be battled out of existence.

In HWBM the "war" in play is humans versus space... or more accurately humans versus those who are not of Earth. Versus those who are alien. Versus those who are not human.

The dominant culture versus queer culture.

WKTD frames its tropes via the dating sim mechanics popular within its visual novel medium. But rather than choosing which of the 3 girls the player wishes to romance you must choose which of the 3 you wish to exclude. The idea being to scapegoat one's struggle with queerness by attacking outward, blaming the other, by shaming others into the closet to keep yourself in there.

Lashing outward to prevent reflecting inward.

The only good ending of the game is to accept a polycule dynamic where everyone is seen, accepted and embraced for who they are unconditionally. God's love, in this world, is conditional and one must always be excluded. The devil has room for three.

There is no room in normal society for a polycule. It is inherently queer. The dominant culture is binary and there's no version of a polycule where only a 0 and a 1 are represented. The binary is incompatible.

I recently told a friend that the duology tells the journey of a thousand miles and how it begins with a single step. WKTD is the story of that first and all too important step acceptance.

HWBM is the story of what comes after acceptance. After that first step.

It tells the story of the thousand mile journey.

The ideologies at play are the concepts of assimilation, activism and separationism. In the allegory Earth/Humanity represents the dominant "straight" society and the three characters represent each of these ideologies. Assimilation is to return to Earth, to integrate into the dominant culture and lose some of the inherent joy and "otherness" that being queer brings. It's no coincidence that the character representing this path is a trans woman who is known for defecting from her faction and crossing over to every other side while repeating the mantra "I've never betrayed anyone in my life", it is a coincidence however that her faction's war efforts are lead in part by God's Strongest Chaser herself (as far as I'm aware the Halimede Twitter Account is not affiliated with the game, but I find it funny that the assimilation path is represented by someone who a character whose gimmick account argues "t4t is incest"). It is a life of peace. But it is a life of compromise. Of giving up humanity's dream of the stars. To be grounded and tethered to Earth forever.

The Activism Path represents the idea of staying in Earth's orbit but never surrendering even an ounce of the queer identity for the sake of acceptance. Forcing the dominant culture to argue with us on our terms. Accept us on our terms. It is a life of constant battle but in that battle we will save those on Earth, invite them into the stars, embrace them with acceptance and love. Let them join us or remain where they are. This is a life of constant war, knowing that until all are loved and accepted, no one is and so we continue fighting. Letting people change sides. Nothing changes but maybe it's better that way.

Separation is the idea of abandoning Earth entirely. To become so incompatible with the dominant culture that we are no longer "human" to those who remain tethered. We are unapproachable. Separate. Unique. Other. Queer above anything else and incapable of creating a rational dialogue with the dominant culture. It is picking up your toys and walking away. Going far enough away from the culture war that it will never be able to reach you.

The author of the Halimede account once wrote, while in character, that this is the saddest ending of them all because it's unsustainable and that it does not address the inherent intersectional fighting between communities, allowing wars to simply break out further away from our blue marble in the distant stars. It is a life of abandoning war without embracing peace. To live separate in bubbles apart.

The ending of the game forces you to pick. There is no existing outside of these options. Maybe one day we'll find other ways to be but within the view of this game they are all we have. Embrace Earth, declare war on Earth or abandon Earth.

Choose.

I admit. Since the pandemic and coming out as trans, I've favored Saturn's ideology more than others. Completely giving up on "humanity" and only working within circles of those whose acceptance of queer culture is baked in. I fought so hard to accept who I was and "know the devil", so to speak, that I pulled back and withdrew.

Both games have a lot of themes about the demons ones must face within queer culture and outside of it. The way we hurt ourselves, hurt our allies and how the world outside societal, structural and individual will force us to compromise, to cut away parts of ourselves.

These games are masterpieces.

I wish I found them earlier in my life. I want everyone able to read these words to find them now.

[imagination-mess]

Reality Show: Pro Heroes Wives (Bakugou Katsuki Edition)

*Implied the Reader is on the heavier side. You can leave it up to your own interpretation of it. *

There is a reality show where pro heroes' wives are on television and paid to be there. It was juicy gossip and pure drama. There are two groups separated from one another. There is always shit hitting the fan.

This week's episode was Pro Hero Dynamight making headlines and fans tweeting on Twitter as the episode was aired. It was

The official account of Pro Hero Dynamight has liked fan edits of his wife with the SWING SWING SWING Audio.

#thegirlsarefighting #season2ofproheroeswives

DynaFan0123 tweeted Not Rika, the fashion designer trying to body shame [Name] during the pool challenge to only get humbled later. EMBARRASSING *Meme attached to tweet*

Earjackfan#01: [Name] left no crumbles behind.

It was clips of Pro Hero Dynamight's wife in a swimsuit swiping the floor of another Pro Hero wife, Rika. It was a battle stick challenge of trying to knock your opponent while standing on a pillar. It gets harder to not slip while wet. There are 3 rounds with a cycle of a fight.

Rika was knocked out of the pillar shamelessly and didn't even last a minute with you. It was embarrassing compared to everyone else who was doing it minimum lasted 3 minutes. You let her swing at you and fake out of falling off to only get smacked harshly to lose balance. It was the look in your eyes that were too similar grin of your husband across your face. She had no chance of winning because you didn't even give her a chance to do after the first round.

The other challenge was to feature the spiciest sauces across the nation. You were chosen for your team because of your relationship with Dynamight. The pro hero has his own restaurant being the number one spot for having the hottest, spiciest dishes that left the food critic having to buy a gallon of milk. He had also released his own line of the spiciest hottest sauces earlier this year.

Rika was again your opponent who was trying to redeem themselves after embarrassing themselves to only do it again. She challenges you to take on the spiciest sauce of wings to handle with grace. She couldn't handle it. She was dying, turning like a tomato, and coughing.

It had become a meme throughout the internet. Rika's reaction to the wings. You serve her a cup of milk with a smile, "Too spicy for you?"

You also mentioned one of Dynamight's sauces, "Crybaby is better than this." "Crybaby Sauce is better than this. It's spicy, but not spicy enough for me. I

You accidentally caused a trend to happen while making the restaurant blow up in popularity. People want to buy that certain sauce to try it themselves.

OfficalChargebolt tweeted: Rika was doomed from the beginning. [Name] is married to a man with a tongue of steel. *Attaches the classic meme of Pro Hero Dynamight's unbothered face next to Pro Hero Shoto and Deku is struggling to handle the spiciest.*

*Attaches another one of the unsatisfied faces of Pro Hero Dynamight with subtitles on, "I am disappointed." meanwhile in the background Pro Hero Deku is having a coughing fit on the ground, and Pro Hero Shoto chugging down a gallon of milk*

OfficalDynamight tweets underneath a thread of a meme, mentioning Crybaby is better the following: *attached link to crybaby sauce.* Leave me alone.

Pro Hero Deku Edition

Pro Hero Shoto Edition

Pro Hero Red Riot Edition

Pro Hero Eraserhead Edition

Pro Hero Hellfire (Touya) Edition

Pro Hero Mindjack Edition

Reality Show: Unmasked Pro Heroes

[fellthemarvelous]

Holy forking shirtballs

I'm choosing violence today. I started this on Twitter, but I'm going to finish my thoughts here like I always do.

But what really blows my mind the most is the way that people look at Aziraphale's "choice" at the end, as if he had one to fucking begin with.

I'm sorry, but Aziraphale knows how messed up Heaven is. He told The Metatron, more than once, that he did not want to go back to Heaven! We can debate what each of us means by "choice" all night because my "choice" and your "choice" might be two different concepts. He could have been strong armed by The Metatron or he could have looked at where things were headed and realized he had no choice but to intervene himself.

You need to ask yourself what Aziraphale has a moral imperative to do.

What do we owe to each other?

Seriously, if you have not watched The Good Place, I recommend you go and watch it, because it absolutely shaped how I've viewed Good Omens 2 since its release.

My levels of frustration with the bad faith mischaracterizations of Aziraphale are off the charts. If you are blaming him for everything, implying that he should have to grovel and that Crowley has a right to hurt him back, you have missed the point of Good Omens entirely.

I defend Aziraphale, but I don't think one of them is more right or wrong than the other. They're equals. They're a group of the two of them, acting and reacting to each other throughout history. They're Alpha Centauri.

I cannot even begin to explain how fucking devastated I felt when Crowley said these words, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. What he said took a lot of courage because he's finally admitting something they've both been too scared to publicly define for 6,000 years. Crowley has had to spend so long with a rough outer shell because he fell and had to hide all of his softness.

The look on his face was one of pure joy when he created that nebula, but I think the fact that he got to share that moment with Aziraphale is what has always stuck with him.

So yeah, seeing Crowley with a broken heart at the end of "Every Day" was sad for me as well.

My brain still lives here!!

But Neil has said that Good Omens 3 is not quiet, gentle, or romantic. I imagine it's going to be more like the the first season in which they are not central to the plot. GO2 will help us make sense of how they ended up where they are when we see the bigger picture with all the other major players involved with GO3.

Aziraphale was still a soldier and accidentally got himself discorporated in his own magic circle in season one. He had a platoon waiting on him to start Armageddon, and he deserted them to go save the world with Crowley instead. Aziraphale is a deserter. I need everyone to remember that. He yeeted himself out of Heaven and sought out Crowley before even locating a body just to warn him about what was happening so they could try to save the world together.

I can't help but think of 1941 and that magician who had been arrested for being a deserter.

Aziraphale disobeyed orders. That took courage but it branded him as a traitor against Heaven. They tried to destroy him for it the same way Hell tried to destroy Crowley for his part in stopping the war.

Aziraphale and Job are the only characters we have seen interacting with God directly. Aziraphale has spoken to God before and he is determined to do so again.

Aziraphale knows Heaven is flawed, but he also knows it's supposed to be good. He wants it to be good. He does not like the way the system works and he wants to make a difference. (And I'm pretty sure he's also determined to talk to God without being intercepted by The Metatron.)

Since when is that a bad thing? I don't get it. And I've had this discussion before.

If you need to change the system by burning the old one to the ground, it's still change, and we don't know what Aziraphale has planned.

It seems to me that people just want to see Aziraphale fail because it would punish him for returning to Heaven instead of running off with Crowley.

Some of y'all take everything Aziraphale says or does and twist those things into malicious anti-Crowley actions because you think the only reason Aziraphale exists is to make Crowley happy, and if he isn't thinking only about Crowley then he's doing something wrong.

Aziraphale does not exist as a plot device to further Crowley's character. They come as a pair. They've been learning from each other for 6,000 years. Crowley challenges Aziraphale just as much as Aziraphale challenges him.

You can be mad at Aziraphale all you want, but villainizing him is gross. Defending Crowley does not mean you have to tear down and mischaracterize Aziraphale anymore than defending Aziraphale means you have to tear down Crowley (but I don't see that happen on nearly the same level it happens to Aziraphale). Stop painting Aziraphale as an abusive partner, for fuck sake.

Aziraphale knows there are flaws in the system. He wants to make a difference, and since he has seen that Gabriel can change, then maybe the whole system can. He has to at least try, and if he can succeed then maybe he and Crowley can stop hiding and finally be together without having to look over their shoulders all the time.

Why is that a bad thing? He's just as protective of Crowley as Crowley is of him!

But don't forget that Aziraphale's wing was covering Adam and Eve too. As much as a wants to protect Crowley, he has a moral imperative to keep humanity safe as well.

He sent Adam and Eve into the unknown with a flaming sword so they could protect themselves.

As much as he wants to be with Crowley, there are 8 billion people on Earth heading toward the Second Coming and Judgment Day. They'll work together to fight alongside humanity in the end. Aziraphale should not have to humiliate himself just to earn Crowley's forgiveness. That's a rancid notion.

The Resurrectionist was a whole ass moral dilemma for Aziraphale, which is why I brought up The Good Place earlier, but that's a post for a different time.

Aziraphale has his own motivations and they're just as important as Crowley's, and they don't have to be chalked up to Aziraphale being the bad guy. Weird, I know, but shades of grey.

"To the world."

[aventurineswife]

Could I request Jiyan's lover running up to him and snuggling him because they miss his presence?

Home Is in Your Arms

Summary: After days apart, you reunite with Jiyan, as he returns from his mission. Overwhelmed with longing, you rush into his arms, finding solace in his quiet, steadfast presence. Jiyan, always stoic and composed, allows himself to be vulnerable with you, sharing a tender moment that reminds you both of the unbreakable bond you share amidst the chaos of war.

Tags: Jiyan x Reader, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Emotional Vulnerability,Soft Moments, Longing.

Warnings: Brief mentions of war and violence (non-descriptive), Light angst due to separation.

(cr: guaisanmu on Twitter/X)

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the mountains, casting Jinzhou in hues of amber and rose. The camp was unusually quiet; most of the Midnight Rangers had returned from their patrols and, by now, had settled into their tents for the evening. Only one figure remained at the edge of the camp, standing against the breeze as though he were part of the landscape itself. Jiyan’s silhouette was framed by the setting sun, his long teal hair catching the dying light as it shifted in the breeze.

You stood back, watching him. It felt as if he’d been gone forever, although it had only been a few days. Each moment without him was like an ache, a silence that stretched too far. Jiyan had warned you before he left that his patrol might take longer, but no amount of preparation had eased the loneliness that crept in each night. Now, with him in sight, that emptiness dissolved, replaced by a warmth you could hardly contain.

Without thinking, you broke into a sprint, your feet barely making a sound as they skimmed over the grass. Jiyan’s back was to you, his gaze fixed somewhere far off, his attention consumed by unspoken thoughts. But the moment you wrapped your arms around him, he knew it was you. A barely perceptible sigh escaped him, his shoulders softening as your arms closed around his waist.

"Back already?" His voice was soft, even as he kept his gaze forward. But his hand found yours, warm and reassuring as he pulled your hands closer against his chest. You felt the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, grounding you.

"I missed you," you whispered, your face pressed against his back. The fabric of his modified hanfu was rough beneath your cheek, but it held the faint scent of cedar and the earthy tones of the forest. "It feels like you've been gone for ages."

He shifted, slowly turning to face you. Those intense eyes of his softened as they met yours, and a hint of a smile—small, but genuine—played at his lips. It was the smile he saved for moments like these, for you alone.

"I’m here now," he said, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "I didn’t mean to worry you."

You couldn’t help but lean into his touch, craving the warmth of his palm against your cheek. "It’s impossible not to worry about you. Especially when you’re out there, fighting Tacet Discords alone." You paused, looking up into his eyes. "I just… need you to come back to me. Every time."

He let out a soft hum, nodding in that quiet way of his, the way that carried both promise and understanding. "I will." His hand lingered on your face, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. "But remember, there’s something worth returning to."

The vulnerability in his gaze was rare, a crack in the stoic armor he wore around everyone else. And for a brief moment, you saw past the warrior and the general, to the man who sometimes questioned his path, who worried about the battles he couldn’t fight with strength alone.

You slipped your arms around him again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. He drew you close, wrapping his arms around you with a gentle firmness that left no space between you. It was as though he, too, had missed the comfort of your embrace, had needed this closeness more than he could admit.

For a long time, the two of you stood there in silence. His fingers ran soothingly along your back, grounding you in his warmth, his presence. The world around you faded, the distant threat of Tacet Discords, the quiet of the camp, everything except the steady beat of his heart against yours.

“I’ll come back to you, every time,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "No matter how far I go."

You nodded, not needing any further words. In that embrace, you understood that, for tonight at least, he was home.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

very opionated talk underneath the cut

this is what I get for keeping checking out the fandom tag, but oh well 😭

seeing the reasoning behind the “Marika and Godfrey would have been proud of Godrick for the grafting” take is so wild to me like… are we just going to ignore the fact that Nepheli - who is implied to be Godfrey’s descendants, said Godrick’s deeds “taint the very wind” and helped us beat his ass and it’s her who later becomes the rightful Lord of Stormveil ?

+ Roderika, who is thematically a reflection of the girl Marika was pre-Godhood, losing all her companions and being left alone scared shitless and heartbroken in a shack, blaming herself for not being strong enough, brave enough to go die with her friends, all because Godrick is making a mockery of Godfrey’s name and enacting the same tragedy that befell Marika’s people ?

Like, I can sorta see why people refuse to see the Living Jars in the Lands Between as Marika reclaiming a practice that was tainted by the Hornsent deeds, returning it into something done to honor the dead and let them be returned to the Erdtree to continue the cycle of life - death - rebirth (is scattering ashes of the deceased to the sea not a thing in many irl cultures anymore or am I going crazy), cuz if one has certain…views on her, it can be hard to see anything she does in a positive light (actually even if you don’t see it that way, equating jar innards made of dead warriors in a ritual to honour them with living ppl being cut up and forced to meld together as a form of torture is… a choice), but to completely ignore Nepheli and Roderika’s stories and their role in the narrative? 💀

Plus, where in the game is it even stated or implied that Godfrey being a battlefield maniac means he is ok with *read writing on hands* some guy sending his lackeys out to hunt Tarnished (Godfrey’s own warriors) and making them into unwilling extra limbs?

The guy that gives his all to fight the player by himself and compliments us on a battle well fought… will see honour in gaining strength via kidnapping ppl and stealing their strength, instead of fighting your own battles, honing your own skills and getting stronger on your own? Huh?

And even ignoring all that, Kenneth - a mere nobleman, not even demigod or anything, fr called Godrick a “jumped up country bumpkin” who fleed from Leyndell, holed up in Stormveil to hide from Radahn (why are we forgetting this…bro can’t even pass the Godfrey’s no.1 Stan vibe check) and then got beaten up by Malenia?

To add insult to injury, Godwyn’s body lying beneath Stormveil will literally stab anyone coming close to him (which is sth I have an interesting conversation with ppl on twitter about. there’s one person bringing up an interesting interpretation that Godrick probably took off with a relic of Godwyn’s body hoping to graft a piece of the Golden Prince onto himself, but Godwyn body was like “no” and infested the castle ground like a disapproving ghost 😭 but Godwyn is cool with us because he knows we have Marika’s sanction 😊).

Godrick… has no support whatsoever from Marika and Godfrey’s direct descendants, other than maybeeee Morgot who probably was only there to keep an eye on Stormveil - a place of importance to his dad and maybeeee a bit family pity for Godrick, definitely not because he’s proud of the stuffs Godrick is doing (he astral project there to scare us a bit then leave. We gonna kill Godrick? None of his business.).

And there’s also Godefroy who literally got locked up in a gaol… by a Leyndell Knight who later got the highest honour of Erdtree Burial after he passed away - specifically because of his feat in capturing Godefroy. Why are we forgetting Kristoff???

No one in Leyndell likes the Grafted guys, no one in Limgrave likes the Grafted guys, there are numerous items in-game expressing disappointment and sadness at the decline of the Golden Linage…. it’s a real damn no one likes you situation 😭

Then later on, Godrick got replaced by Nepheli.

So who are the ones being proud here ????

I’m not even a Godrick hater, I think he’s a fucked up, but compelling!, conclusion to the linage that Marika has with Godfrey - who is probably one of few people who actually knows what she used to go through.

I could even see the kind of pressure and struggle he must have gone through, humiliation after humiliation, hiding from and losing to Radagon’s children of all guys, carrying a legacy that is too big for him to handle. But to say that Marika and Godfrey would have been proud of him? Or that grafting is somehow a reclamation of the trauma Marika’s people went through and turning it into strength ????? He doesn’t even know that Marika was once not a God, let alone anything about her people’s suffering to reclaim anything ? That’s not his pain to reclaim ???

Someone else already did that. Marika herself. Rakshasa herself. You really do not have to give a man all the flowers for something women (who actually suffered and went through that trauma) already did.

[jinxed-lemon]

Part 2 to my original post of Mean Siblings Unbreakable Bond because it’s funny writing them:

Whenever they play an outdoor game like Hide and Seek or Tag, it’s a battle to the death to achieve victory. Sonic usually wins the most bc he’s the fastest, so the one ace in his sleeve that Tails learned to pull is the waterworks. Sonic find him during hide and seek? Tears. Sonic is close to tagging him? Tails will fall down and pretend to get hurt and start sobbing. Sonic falls for it every time.

Doing laundry? They make it last for hours on end bc they’ll literally take each others stuff out of the wash mid cycle to out their own in. It pisses the other off so much to the point where they’re constantly stopping the wash to switch out the clothes. Oh, Sonic is washing his old blue hoodie??? Too bad, Tails yanks it out of the washing machine sopping wet and drops it on the floor with a splat to put his blanket in. They know that they can probably just wash their stuff together but it’s funnier this way.

They’re play fighting and Tails learned to do that infamous leg kick. You know the move you do when you’re cornered on your back? He just starts kicking his legs at full speed and Sonic starts screaming bc it’s nearly impossible to get past that move.

Sonic is eating chips and he has dust all over his hands? He purposely bypasses the numerous napkins they have just to go up to Tails and wipe his hands over his head to have the chip dust fall on top of him. Tails retaliates by shaking the empty chip bag over Sonic’s head.

Tails is an avid coffee drinker and Sonic has tried everything to stop his addiction. So he tries the famous ‘replace the sugar with salt’ trick to mess with him. One morning Tails puts the salt in instead and when he takes a sip Sonic already had that shit eating grin on his face. Tails immediately spits the coffee in his face and Sonic fall to the ground screaming.

Tails take advantage of his shorter height and sneakiness to kneel down and tie Sonic’s shoe laces. He’ll fall face first and before Tails can book it away Sonic will stick his leg out and make his brother fall too.

Their favorite way to embarrass the other is going onto each others social media accounts and changing something about their profile. Tails logs on one day and finds that his profile picture had been changed to an embarrassing photo Sonic took of him one day and PROMISED not to show anyone else. Sonic goes into his Twitter and for some reason there’s hundreds of posts hyping up Eggman and basically talking about how Eggman is the best/greatest, etc. His profile, header- everything is basically changed to pro-Eggman propaganda.

Fans: are you and Eggman friends now???

Sonic: I was hacked I would never say this shit pls you gotta believe me 😭

Tails LOVES bringing up the ‘divorced parents’ story whenever someone asks about the relationship between him and Sonic. Like Sonic is about to explain how Tails is his adoptive brother and Tails immediately interrupts and says, “Yeah, this is my dad. He got custody of me after the divorce and it’s been really hard lately so try to be nice to him ok? :(“

They’re eating out at a diner/restaurant and Sonic looooves secretly telling the waiters that it’s Tail’s birthday so they’ll do that embarrassing thing of coming to their table and singing happy birthday in front of the whole restaurant. Tails is mortified and covers his face every time and Sonic will record the whole thing like a corny parent and say “Oh he’s just a little shy! Smile at the camera Tails!1!!1!! 😁”

[exorcqism]

﹆₊吸血鬼‧₊˚ TOLD HER BABY I EAT HUMANS, KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ you encountered the famous vampire hunter. wc, 2.27K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. got this idea from a fanart i saw on twitter. MY LORD HE WAS FINE..erm anyway,, JOIN THE DISCORD AND THANKS AGAIN FOR 400 FOLLOWERS. hope ya enjoyyyy. reblog to support meee

␥ tags. vampire AU, half-vampire vampire hunter!choso, female anatomy, blood, light smut (?), etc. lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3

the cathedral stood tall and imposing, its intricate stone façade glimmering in the moonlight. each stained-glass window depicted a different biblical scene, casting colorful patterns on the ground below. inside, the soft murmur of hushed prayers from the townspeople reverberated through the halls, creating a serene ambiance. but choso's purpose for being there was not to pray.

his heavy footsteps echoed through the cavernous halls as he made his way through the dimly lit crypt, guided only by flickering candlelight. the musty smell of ancient bones and earth filled his nostrils, sending shivers down his spine.

choso cut an imposing figure, his tall frame draped in a black cassock that nearly fell to his ankles with black pants underneath. a matching mozzetta hung from his shoulders, fluttering in the air as he walked, adding a sense of solemnity in his presence.

his black boots were sturdy and well-worn, a testament to the countless hunts he'd been on over the years since the church recruited him. his black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, letting his bangs hang just above his eyes, revealing his pale skin. and his violet eyes were piercing, they seemed to glow with an inner fire.

across the bridge of his nose, a blood mark stood out, a stark reminder of his vampiric nature. a battle he waged within himself. around his neck hung his rosary, a symbol of his faith, which he wielded as fearlessly as any weapon.

the hunter's struggle with his vampiric nature was a constant battle. despite his determination to suppress his undying thirst for human blood, he could still feel the deep-seated urges simmering beneath the surface. he likened it to a constant humming in the back of his mind, a temptation that was always there, no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

it took every ounce of willpower to resist the pull of his instincts. choso had finally developed several coping mechanisms over the years, from meditation and prayer to sheer force of will. but still, the thirst lingered, his mouth suddenly going dry at the sight of a human and the distinct smell of their blood, imagining the flavor.

as choso continued to make his way through the crypt, his senses remained on high alert. he could feel the weight of silence, the chill of the stone walls, and the oppressive air of the tomb. but what captivated his attention was the scent of human blood.

his steps faltered as a sudden wave of hunger washed over him. his fangs ached to sink into soft flesh, his body craved the sweet taste of blood. he closed his eyes, willing the thirst to subside. he couldn't afford to lose control, not here.

the hunter's body was tense, his breaths shallow and controlled as he focused on calming himself. he reached for his rosary, the smooth beads cool against his skin, a symbol of strength and protection. in his mind, he conjured the faces of those he had sworn to defend - innocent men, women, and children who relied on him for their safety. with each bead he passed through his fingers, the hunger that threatened to overtake him slowly began to subside, leaving behind a hollow ache in its wake.

choso's eyes snapped open as he sensed movement in the shadows once again. he whirled around, his hand instinctively reaching for the blessed dagger made from his own blood at his hip. that's when he saw you, the human he had been sensing, huddled in the corner of the crypt.

for a moment, he was struck by your vulnerability, your fragile humanity. but then his gaze was drawn to the pulse beating in your neck, the blood flowing beneath your skin. he felt the thirst rising again, stronger this time, harder to resist.

choso took a step towards you, his eyes locked on yours. he could see the fear in them, the knowledge of what he was. he felt a sudden shame, a revulsion at his own nature. but still, the hunger gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the character he tried to suppress.

he stopped a few feet away from you, his body trembling with the effort of resisting the urge to feed. "what are you doing here?" he growled, his voice low and threatening. "it's not safe down here...not for someone like you."

the man's gaze flickered around the crypt, taking in the dusty tombs and the eerie silence. choso's mind was racing, trying to piece together how you had ended up in such a place. had you been lured here by another vampire? or did you sneak in?

he took a deep breath, trying to center himself. "you need to go," he said, his tone firm. "now, before you get into some trouble." even as he spoke, he could feel the thirst rising again, reminding him of the danger he posed.

silently, without another word passing between you and the hunter, you swiftly exited the cold and dusty crypt, choso’s mozzetta fluttering behind him as a draft flew by him. your footsteps echoed through the dark tunnels as you made your way back to the main floor of the church, leaving the solitary hunter behind in his thoughts.

the smell of damp stone and old incense filled your nostrils as you ascended the stairs, anxious to escape the unsettling atmosphere of the crypt. finally, you emerged into the warm light of the cathedral, relieved to be once again surrounded by familiar surroundings.

choso watched you go, his body tense and coiled like a spring. he didn't relax until he heard the soft click of the crypt door closing behind you. only then did he let out a ragged breath, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion.

he sank to his knees, his head in his hands. he felt drained, both physically and emotionally. he had come so close to losing control and biting you, to becoming the thing he had sworn to fight against.

the male stayed like that for a long time, until the muffled sounds of footsteps in the church above finally spurred him into action. he stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. he knew he had a job to do, and he couldn't let his own weaknesses get in the way.

choso looked like a fallen angel, his pale skin glowing in the light streaming through the stained glass windows the following morning. the nuns fussed around him, their adoration plain to see. but his mind was elsewhere, lost in thought.

he sat in the pews, his gaze fixed on the ornate ceiling above him. his white collared shirt open, revealing a hint of his toned chest. his hair was tied back as usual, but a few stray strands had escaped, framing his face.

his thoughts kept returning to the events of the night before, to you, the human he saved. he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something different about you, something that set you apart from the others.

he closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. he needed to focus on his mission, on his duty as a vampire hunter. but your face kept intruding on his thoughts, your fear and vulnerability etched into his memory.

choso's thoughts were interrupted by movement at the sound of the church doors opening. he turned his head, his gaze instantly drawn to you as you walked down the aisle in his direction.

his eyes widened in surprise, and he felt a jolt of something he couldn't quite identify. you looked different in the daylight, your features softened by the warm sunlight streaming through the windows.

as you drew closer to choso, your steps faltered, and your eyes showed a mixture of uncertainty and genuine gratitude. but he could also see the fear in your gaze, knowing the potential danger he posed to you with his presence. his sharp features were set in a stern expression, adding to the tension between you both. as you stood before him, the air seemed to crackle with an unspoken understanding of the risks involved in this encounter.

with a deep inhale, he attempted to steady his racing heart and regain control of his emotions. "i distinctly remember warning you to stay away from this place," he started in a rough, gravelly voice. his eyes narrowed as he scanned the intruder standing before him. "what are you doing here?" the air seemed to crackle with tension as his words hung heavy in the stillness of the abandoned building.

you instinctively took a step back, feeling the weight of choso's presence and the depth of their emotions. "i needed to see you," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "i wanted to say thank you for what you did last night."

the words hung between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. the air was thick with tension as you waited for his response, uncertain of how he would react to your thanks. despite the distance between you, the intensity of your feelings bridged the gap and connected you in that moment.

you leaned in, your voice still barely above a whisper. "but i wanted to ask you something," you prompted. "in private." your words hung in the air, creating a sense of mystery and intrigue. the soft glow of the sun peering through the window illuminated the faint outlines of your face as you waited for their response.

choso looked at you, his expression unreadable. "no, there's no time for that," he said firmly. "you need to go before something happens and you need to stay away."

with your chin held high, you stood your ground. "no," your voice was shaking but determined. "i need to talk to you. it's important."

the hunter hesitated for a moment, weighing his options. he knew he needed to protect you, but he also couldn't ignore the urgency of the situation. "fine," he said finally, his voice tight. "but make it quick."

with a firm grip, he snatched you by the hand and urgently led you into an empty room, away from the curious eyes of the parishioners flooding in. as soon as the door slammed shut, choso wasted no time in closing the distance between you. his breath was hot against your skin as he leaned in close, his dark eyes burning with intensity.

choso’s voice was filled with urgency as he spoke. it echoed off the stone walls and reverberated through the dark room. "what is it?" he questioned, his eyes searching yours for answers. "what could possibly be so important that you would risk your life to come here and tell me?" the tension in the air was palpable as you hesitated before revealing your question. every word was like a fragile thread that could unravel at any moment.

the question had been nagging at you since the moment you left the cathedral. "how come you didn't bite me when you saw me?" the words escaped your lips before you could even think about it. choso turned to look at you, his widening with surprise at your query. "why did you decide to let me go instead?"

your tone was curious, almost amused. you couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind, what made him spare your life when he could have easily ended it right then and there. the air around you felt heavy as you stood before the hunter, awaiting his response.

choso hadn't expected you to be so direct with him, so perceptive. but before he could answer, he felt his mouth go dry with thirst rising within him, more powerful than it had ever been. he took a step towards you, his violet eyes glowing with desire. he knew he shouldn't, aware that it was dangerous, but he couldn't resist.

"because..." he whispered, his voice strained. "i couldn't."

without thinking, he closed the distance between you and pressed his lips to yours. the kiss was hungry, desperate, fueled by his desire for blood and something else he couldn't quite identify.

your body stiffened in surprise, but then you found yourself melting against him, returning the kiss with equal fervor. for only a moment, choso had forgotten about everything except for the taste of your lips and the thirst welling up inside him.

choso lifted you with ease and gently placed you onto the cleared desk in the room. his lips traveled from yours to your neck, pressing soft kisses against your skin and occasionally nibbling on it, leaving a trail of marks behind. each touch sent shivers down your spine and your pulse quickened as you let out quiet moans, struggling to contain your growing desire.

the sensation of his warm breath on your neck only added to the intensity of the moment. the room was filled with the scent of passion and anticipation, as bodies pressed together in a dance of pleasure. choso's hands roamed over your body, igniting every nerve with his touch.

the sensation of his warm breath on your neck only added to the moment’s intensity. the room was filled with the scent of passion and anticipation, as bodies pressed together in a dance of pleasure. choso's hands roamed over your body, igniting every nerve with his touch.

while his lips pressed against your neck, you felt a sharp pinch on your skin, followed by a faint slurping sound. choso's mouth and shirt were now stained with your blood, causing your eyes to widen in shock. before you could even process what had happened, he pulled away and kissed you again with an urgent hunger, his actions more desperate and forceful than before.

you could feel the warmth of your own blood mingling with his saliva as the taste of iron filled your mouth. the intensity of the moment sent shivers down your spine, both from fear and a strange sense of pleasure that you couldn't quite explain.

⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

[fiddles-ifs]

BLOG UPDATE 10-30-24

[ID: A photoset of three images. The first two images are a parchment texture on a black background. The first image is white text, and a navigation sidebar to the left of the main body of text. The sidebar reads: 'THE KING'S PHYSICIAN, written by Elliot Z. Chapter 00: Asclepius. NEW GAME, LOAD GAME, SETTINGS, GLOSSARY, MAP, CHARACTERS, ACHIEVEMENTS.' NEW GAME is highlighted with a distressed scroll image. At the bottom of the sidebar are links leading to Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram.

To the right of the sidebar, the main text reads: 'PROLOGUE: ASCLEPIUS.

The ground stinks. It meets your hands in a shower of wet mud, an explosion of sick and blood, soaking the spaces between your fingers. When your vision focuses again, finally stops wobbling around and making double of itself, you find your palms soaked red. You crawl on your hands and knees to the body in front of you. You turn them over on their back. A man, not one of yours, and you slap his face a few times before you realize his eyes are milky and staring ahead, unblinking. There’s nothing you could do for him now. You look at his legs and find them still facing downwards. They didn’t move with the rest of him.

All the information comes to you backwards — his bisected waist, the guts spilling across the dirt, red, red and so much red. You stand up numbly. Your horse lies dead several feet away, and you remember in your haze that’s the reason why you were bucked off. You try and look at something — anything — else.

There is nothing else. All around you are limbs and blood and battle. Everything moving so slowly, mosquitoes caught in cooling amber, a slurry of death. You feel lost, a scarecrow in a burning field. Your ears ring. It all feels distant. Too distant. You need to move.

You turn to see a flash of white steel against the burning sun, and weakly raise your arms to try and block the blow with what little padding you have on. You move so slow.'

The other images feature the same text. The second image features a black background and red links. The third image is yellow parchment paper with red links and black text. /end ID]

happy update day!! i have to be up in. checks watch. six hours. so the update is coming at exactly midnight, and then i'll queue appropriately. but steady progress is being made on tkp!! im taking a small break from greenwarden to focus on making tkp and erinys look nice as a side project to querying agents for my book. it's a process. yk how it is.

what you see right now are mockups, the actual product looks uh. well. it looks like this

far cry from how i want it to look, but im working on it.

after finishing the css, all i have to do is write and edit chapter 1 and it'll be ready for demo release!

also, happy spooky season! im working on something for greenwarden that most certainly will not be done by Halloween, but i think you'll like it. it involves costumes and maybe stickers. watch this space

[suppermariobroth]

In the final battle of Super Mario Sunshine, Mario must perform a Ground Pound from a great height on all five outcroppings of Bowser's bathtub to flip it over. Once Mario pounds the ground, that segment breaks and its fragments begin slowly falling.

The fragments all fall strictly parallel to each other directly downward, so that theoretically, there should be zero gaps between them through which Mario could fall down as long as they are still next to each other.

However, the game's collision detection for them is faulty and will sometimes result in Mario clipping through the fragments as though there was a big enough gap between them to fall down through. Note how the fragments Mario clips through in the footage are all flush with each other and should not allow this to happen.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: MaxwelOlinda1

[dessertgeek]

The Twitter Mari Lwyd saga (2019 - part two)

Since people seem to be happy that I'm copying over the Mari Lwyd sagas, have another transcription! This is for the second round of 2019, between @seananmcguire and @kbspangler. Part one is here, the source to this round starts here.

(Seriously, these aren't mine, they're the property of @seananmcguire, @tkingfisher, + @kbspangler, I'm just transcribing so extra records exist. Support their works!)

That being said, if anyone can find the 2020 Twitter thread, can you send me a link so I can transcribe it (or transcribe it and link me)? It has been found! Thanks to @dor-min for finding the thread, it's going to take me a bit to transcribe.

CWs for food, alcohol, and caps.

K.B.: SO YOU SAY YOU WANT A BATTLE? YOU'RE BRINGING NAUGHT BUT PRATTLE TO THIS FESTIVE DAY WE DESIGNATE WITH LIGHTS AND FOOD TO CELEBRATE THE SOLSTICE, DEAR, WITH ME AND MINE AND YOU AND YOURS AND HIS AND HERS AND THEIRS AND OURS A BREAKING DAY A FRESH NEW YEAR WE CALL SPRING UP AGAIN

Seanan: WE'RE PAST THE LONGEST NIGHT AND I'M ITCHING FOR A FIGHT IF YOU'RE COLD, WE'RE COLD, SO LET US IN. WE HEARD YOUR LARDER'S STOCKED, SO GET READY TO GET ROCKED THIS TALE'S OFTEN TOLD WE ALWAYS WIN.

K.B.: YOU SAY YOU'LL FIGHT THIS GARDNER'S MIGHT?! THE GROUND IS COLD MY PLANTS ASLEEP I'VE GOT ENOUGH STRESS TO PUNCH A SHEEP I AM WIGGING TO GO DIGGING AND HERE YOU COME TO STEAL MY PLUMS?

Seanan: I DON'T WANT YOUR PLUMS THE MARI LWYD COMES TO SAMPLE YOUR CHEESE AND YOUR BOOZE. YOUR GARDEN IS SLEEPING SO WHY ARE YOU KEEPING A SENTRY POST YOU DIDN'T CHOOSE? COME WASSAIL WITH US. THERE'S NO NEED TO FUSS. THERE'S NO SHAME IN CHOOSING TO LOSE.

K.B.: I'M NOT YET CONVINCED A DEAD HORSE HAS ENVINCED THE SPIRIT OF THIS WINTER'S PAST CAN YOU SWEETEN THE DEAL WITH A CAROLING PEAL? THEN MY GARDEN WILL HAVE TO HOLD FAST

Seanan: WE ARE NOT RETREATIN' THIS HORSE WON'T BE BEATEN, IT A BATTLE OF HOOVES VERSUS HANDS. THE JINGLE OF BELLS IS A SOUND THAT FORETELLS OUR CONQUEST OF ALL OF THESE LANDS.

K.B.: THEN I GOTTA SAY NO SORRY, CAN'T GO YOU SEEM LIKE A NICE HORSE AND ALL BUT MY HOUSE IS QUITE HAUNTED AND I AM UNDAUNTED BY YET ONE MORE SPECTRAL ODDBALL

Seanan: IT'S NOT REALLY RESPECTFUL TO SAY THAT I'M SPECTRAL. I'M CORPOREAL AS A GIRL COMES. YOU CAN PURCHASE MORE CHEESE SO JUST GIVE ME THESE. DON'T FORCE ME TO BREAK OUT THE DRUMS.

K.B.: (My parents are about to arrive so)

FINE, I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE BIRD, DOG, OR MARE ON THIS DAY WE'RE SUPPOSED TO EMPLOY THE LOVE OF THE SEASON SO HERE, HAVE SOME CHEESE IN PRECUT SIXTY-FOUR SLICES OF JOY

Seanan: DESPITE THIS GRAVE LOSS, YOU'RE A SHEPHERD TO MOSS, AND I AM A CHILD OF THE GRAVE. SO I'LL GO NOW IN PEACE, AND I WON'T BREAK YOUR LEASE, THOUGH YOU DIDN'T ASK ME TO BEHAVE.

K.B.:

[Alt ID: A small Black child in a crowd. The child takes off his black baseball cap as if to say "I tip my hat to you dear sir," which has RE2PECT embroidered on it in white thread.]