#my stalwart beloved

[densewentz]

me, seeing Varric genuinely have my back in every new DA game and knowing this bitch is the real thing:

[moonstonecanyon]

(07/19/2024.)

metalmetalmetalmetalmetal

[milesmentis]

Old Man Daren fully realized at long last!!!!

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

"Alright, Cassie?" - Will Feeney

[sakebytheriver]

...

[sordidmusings]

Thirsty Thursday with Mihawk - The Hat Stays ON

Art by koitosoup

A/N: This is very indulgent because I needed desperate and needy Mihawk to exist and this prompt tumbled right on into that to sate me 🤡 (at the airport hoping no one is looking over my shoulder rn too LOL)

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: afab!reader, NSFW, p in v, forceful undertones towards beginning, desk sex, creampie, begging, praise, lots of the pet name "love", Mihawk is like super needy he moans "please" dude, he's also very in love, and trying sUPER hard not to finish first by the end 💀, stress relief before Cross Guild meeting, brief moment shit-talking the other two lol turns real sweet at the end cuz I couldn’t help myself

Please enjoy this man being as close to a mess as I think I can convincingly get him ╰(▔∀▔)╯

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk is usually the type of man to fully take his time enjoying every inch of you.

Usually.

“I know, love, I know,” his voice is full of panting desperation, worn to a fluster by his pressing need and his frantic firm thrusts into you. “I’ll make it up to you later, I just -nnhah- just gotta fuck you now -nnnhg fuck- don’t wanna think about anything but how fucking good it feels inside you.”

When Mihawk came to your study not thirty minutes before the next Cross Guild meeting, this was the last thing you were expecting. Though, it did fly right to the top of the list when you saw the intensity of his shining gold eyes on you and the rigidness of his figure, all coiled muscle waiting to pounce and gritted teeth waiting to tear. You’d barely been able to get just his jacket over his shoulders before he was on you, speaking his need and hunger with persistent lips and hands. He was so set on getting his fill that he simply let his prized coat be dragged down his arms and thrown to the floor. Somehow, his hat survived the rush of his motions and the beloved closeness necessary for his demanding kisses.

Though they were rare, you loved the times he was like this, using you for his pleasure, clinging to you and taking you like nothing else in the world would ever suffice in sating him. You got just as much out of these times as he did, but you played it as a favor, partly for the delicious flavor it added to the dynamic to hear him apologize, beg, and thank as much as the stalwart Dracule Mihawk can and partly to earn the long and worshipful treatment he’d reward you with later. You’re not sure how he hasn’t caught onto you yet. Seeing the meticulously controlled man lose himself in his desire for you has you dripping, shown in the wet slap on each strong thrust. It was surely enough to give your abundant eagerness away.

Beyond that, you are just as ravenous for him, thighs clamped around his sides, hands gripping tightly to his tense forearms as he fucks you on your desk. You feel the jump of each muscle from their work sinking a bruising grip into your hips, manhandling them forward and back opposite the motion of his hips to fuck you just like he wants - like you’re a lifeline and if he just digs as deeply as he can into your sweet cunt as quickly as he can then he can finally breathe again.

Your heels pull him in on each quick thrust, the clench of your legs and abs for the motion helping a rhythmic pulse stroke at every inch of your walls and further firm your swollen lips and clit to absorb each delicious impact of Mihawk’s hips. The soft, sweat-damp skin of his back and sides teases your sensitive inner thighs and calves as he fucks you, his obliques dancing especially sinfully against your flesh. You loved admiring the look of his chiseled figure but absolutely nothing compared to the bliss of him using it against you.

The urge Mihawk has to collapse down over you and continuously drag you as close as possible is strong, but it is beat out by the erotic sight of watching the slap of his hips bounce your body. It lets you have a beautiful sight too; Mihawk backlit and looming over you, muscles fully displaying their strength and tone with the lack of his jacket, his curled hair and the feather on his cap swaying in time with him fucking into you. The hat still resting on his head only makes you feel smaller captured under him; he always looks impressive with it on and it makes the shadow he casts over you that much larger.

Mihawk uses an iron grip to throw one of your bare legs to hook over his shoulder. He uses his other hand to grip the inside of the other and shove it to the side, flat on your desk, trapping it down by putting his weight into his hold on your thigh. It forces your hips to turn on their side, giving him a new angle to work you open on his thick cock. The change has each forceful drag of his cock in you feel new again, recharging your nerves in their pleasant screaming. You tell him their call through whiny panting, chants of his name, and streams of “yes! like that, so good, fuck me harder, need it, need you so bad-”

There’s a firm thump and rattle of your desk as his hand plants next to your head to keep from collapsing over you. It leaves him crouching over you like a predator, but the hazy need in his eyes begging you to let him keep feeling this forever betrays the fact that he’s as deeply in your clutches as he tries to snatch you into his. The thickness of your thigh trapped between you helps keep him up as well as his other hand still pressing your leg down. His fingers that are sunk into your thigh dig deeper and tremble with his pleasure and overwhelm.

“Gods, love, you’re perfect, want to live between your thighs,” Mihawk groans, so close you can feel his panting breath cool the sweat on your face. He’s fighting his eyes to stay open, needing to see the pleasure scrunching your brow, loosening your jaw, fogging your eyes. The fluttering of his lids catches your eyes and swells your heart, shooting arousal through you from knowing he’s feeling so desperately good from fucking you. The amber of his eyes is so bright trained on you that it seems to glow through the shadows haunting his face. It makes him look all the more feral as he grips, spreads, bends, and fucks you like he wants to eat you whole. “Just -hahn- need some more from you, can you -nngaaah- do that for me, little love?”

You sob out a moan as you snap your eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation. The soreness his weight is pressing through your thigh and the tender stretch from your other leg being folded to your shoulder add more buzzing chaos to the sensations swirling their way through your body to flood your brain. The way he holds you open lets your clit take a soft impact every time he shoves his whole length into your plush pussy, giving the bud more little teases with how your body reverberates from the impact. 

“Look at me while I fuck you,” Mihawk snarls, but there’s desperation bleeding through the growl in his voice. You want to whine back at his request but you want to please him even more. You blink your eyes open and the raw need in them has Mihawk collapse just a bit more over you, feeling the want you and your pleasures ravage through his body begin to burn him alive. The brim of his hat taps lightly on your forehead from his closeness while he pants and moans to you, “Like that, love, fuck you’re so good for me.”

Meeting your gaze is a double edged sword; his arousal magnifies, his soul lights up, and his cock twitches hard but it also throws him to feeling right on the precipice of cumming and he’s not ready to stop feeling you. The siren song of the wet slapping of your hips, the slick sound of your pussy gushing around him and trying to keep him sucked as deep as he can reach, and your panting breaths carrying high moans and pleads and praises all tempt him to let the torrent of pleasure rush over him, promise him it would feel like endless blissful sin. It is all the harder to resist because he knows exactly how delicious it feels to sheathe himself from root to tip in you and pump stream after stream of hot cum into your welcoming walls while your cunt clings to him almost as tightly and desperately as his hands cling to you.

“Love, need you to cum,” Mihawk rushes out. He palms the hand on your thigh up so he can rub circles over your swollen clit. Your moans gain even more volume, filling the air in your office almost as thickly as the sweet, musky scent of sex.

“Need it, please,” he whispers breathlessly, “Need to feel you -nnnnhhah- love, love, need to feel your cunt sque-heeze me.” 

His vision begins blurring from the strain of staying right on the edge of cumming, barely holding back the powerful orgasm built from the burning in his muscles, the tingling in his fingers, the swirling in his head, and the throbbing of his cock. Giving up on trying to refocus them, he scrunches his eyes shut and lets his forehead fall down to rest on your temple, finally bumping his hat to fall onto the desk next to you. His closed eyes allow him to focus in better on all the other ways you are filling his senses, latching especially to your open mouth serenading him with needy babbling and fucked out moans.

“Can you be -ghahh- good and do that for me?” Mihawk pleads against your cheek. “Can you cum for me?”

“Y-yes, please, wanna be -mmmngh- good for you,” you whine back to him. His hips stutter at the tone and you feel his lips pull up around gritting teeth, an airy “fuck” sneaking past them.

“You are, sweetness, you are sooooo good for me,” Mihawk praises, swirling his thumb more insistently across your slick clit. The increase and pressure and perfect timing with his firm thrusts has your core tightening in threat of bursting. Your thighs had already been shaking in warning of your coming orgasm, but now the trembling is seating itself in every clench of your walls around Mihawk’s thick cock, wringing tighter and longer on each pulse. Your nerves sparkle and buzz more with each clamp down, the blazing rub of his throbbing dick and its bulging veins whiting out your mind. “Now come on, love -nngh- cum on my cock -fuuck please- let me feel you, make me cum -nnnghah- need to fuck you full.”

With a sob of his name, you finally fall over the edge. It feels as overwhelming as you had been expecting since he first stormed in and threw you over the desk. Your hands and cunt cling to him in need of a tether and in need of more; while your body is trembling with the bliss of your orgasm a tiny piece in the back of your mind is waiting for the final thing that will melt your whole body into a honey drip of heaven.

Mihawk doesn’t leave you waiting long; he is only able to feel your pussy milk him a handful of times before he can hold his end off no longer. With slurring groans of endearments and praises, he is overtaken by pleasure and can think of nothing beyond the relief of pumping you full of his cum with his twitching cock and grinding hips. The force of it has his thighs quake and numb out, making his weight crumble over you as he can no longer hold himself up. He nuzzles his face down the side of yours until he’s tucked panting against your neck, forehead pressed snuggly against your racing pulse.

You welcome his weight with open arms, one dragging him ever tighter to your heaving chest and the other winding its hand into his thick dark hair to ensure he never leaves. Both of you are still gasping for breath, your pressed chests rubbing and shaking against each other much like your greedy hips do as they ring out the endless pulsing beats of your orgasms. Your cunt and core continue to massage down on him and wring every bit of tight and bubbling bliss from his still hard and pumping cock that they can get. 

The feeling of being not only filled with his large and achingly hard cock but also the swelling heat of his cum makes your eyes roll back. He’s filled you full to bursting, now leaking out of you on every grind and the warm sticky sensation and sound matched with his pelvis massaging small sweeps across your clit prolongs your peak. You get to spend a long time suspended in the feeling of your body bursting with heat and joy and relief and electricity, all shoving your soul right out of your skin only for Mihawk’s presence to trap you right back into the storm raging in your nerves.

Mihawk begins to feel foggy and a bit delirious as he finally releases his pent up need in you, finally sates his ferocious hunger for your delicious touch, finally finds his comfort and peace stuck as close to you as he can possibly get. He makes a halfhearted attempt to bring his mind back to his body but is happily distracted by the aftershocks that jolt your body and flutter your cunt. They pull extra little spurts and groans from him each time and he’s defenseless to the contentment he feels following their slowing pace into the warm hover of affection that always envelops him after sharing bodies with you.

It takes a long time for either of you to actually come back to yourselves. The whole time you are afloat, you guide each other with trailing touches from limp but loving hands, quick kisses stolen between smoothing out your breath, and gentle squeezes in the embrace you keep on each other, needing those little moments where it's even more of a hug than a hold. Mihawk chases the touches that tease across the dips of his lower back or scratch up the back of his neck and across his scalp just a little bit more than the others. You feel too boneless to lean into almost any touch at the moment, but you do manage to roll your head to the side so you can gaze at your grandfather clock in the corner.

“I don’t think there’s time to make you presentable for them,” you sigh out with no real remorse. Mihawk is of a similar mind.

“Not my fault if those two don’t have anyone to take care of their needs,” Mihawk mumbles dryly. “Also not my problem if they’re mad I’ve had mine met.”

The laugh you give at his attitude earns you one of your favorite prizes: Mihawk’s lips making the slow curl then spread into a real smile. It is only topped when they close again to press a kiss in the shape of that smile on their resting place against your skin with enough love to reach straight through that skin and nurture every beat of your heart.

[evilminji]

Know what's been haunting me? And my Yandere loving brain?

What if... an SI-OC? Fffffucked UP™?

Like? STRAIGHT up "....Oh No. I have? GRAVELY miscalculated."? Cause? And I'm probably wrong here, or forgetting nuisances, but? Dooku? Left the order and began his Fall? NOT because he disagreed with the vast majority of Jedi philosophy... but?

Because of what the Jedi had BECOME.

Senate attack dogs. Indentured servants. Following NOT the Force or their Orders Mandate, but a mere GOVERMANT. Politicians. Straight into ruin and slaughter no less! It was vile. Corrupt. A perversion and degradation of HIS beloved Jedi Order.

He was proud and filled with grief, isolated. Palpatine chose well.

But! He was ALSO a Master Jedi with DECADES of Mastery under his belt. You do not become that with out clear vision of what you want. Who you ARE. And Dooku? Very CLEARLY planned on winning. Killing Sidious and taking his place. An unfortunate necessity, really. In his Grand Plan™.

Too?

Start over, obviously.

Instead of just leaving and starting a NORMAL Religious Schism, building a temple on Serrano, and publicly calling his old Council members lil bitchs. Slap fighting in the town square, as is traditional. Maybe sending pass aggressive notes back and forth in the hands of increasingly spoiled Padawan, because OUR temple at least FEEDS these POOR WAIFS. Etc etc?

Dude went the SITH route. Of... you know... "kill everybody".

Bit extreme. Just saying.

However! Dooku? Not well! In fact, DEEPLY unhinged and masterfully hiding it! Because he is, in fact, a MASTER jedi! And know how to fucking DO THAT. So that slow creep of Deepyly Crazy? No one sees it. Gives ya time to miss the countdown to Boom, as it were.

Which leads to our dearly beloved SI. She? Is a well meaning IDIOT. She can't help it. It's the Force, man. All that feel good juice, clogging up her brain! Making her? Optimistic! Vaguely perky! Wanting to see the GOOD in people!!!

Disturbing, she knows. But it is what it is.

And MASTER Dooku? Feels? Stern but warm. Stalwart. Like one of those ancient trees or great temples in a quite moment. Old and powerful, not necessarily KIND, but certainly not UNKIND. Just... fussy, you know? Proper. Collected and self contained. Doesn't like messy and dirty and needless noise.

So... what's an itty bitty Crecheling to do? To stop this Respected Master from falling? Well... Yoda seems to think "babies" works? And SHE is Baby...

Better scrub down so I'm EXTRA not "why are all children so... sticky?" and make my self look as presentable as possible. Then? Plan: Stalk the Respected Master Dooku Like A Duckling is a GO~! Yoda finds this INSTANTLY hilarious. Starts feeding her insider information (One of his many, later Great Regrets).

Dooku likes THIS tea. Meditates in THIS garden. Ask him about THIS subject, no one listens to him rant about it, he'll enjoy lecturing you about it for HOURS. She actually learns quite a lot! Man's a good teacher. And SHE? Is a dutiful, polite, thoughtful, shining young paragon example of what he feels the Jedi SHOULD be.

She LISTENS. Unlike his foolish peers. She tries to better herself, day by day, instead of running around screaming and playing in mud. Asks after etiquette from the courts he's traveled too, so she does not offend in the future. Does not react with blind disgust to questions others would deem heretical!

Instead? SHE comes from a JEDI place of approach with compassion and consultation of the Force. What creates the most GOOD? How can we strive for the kindest, most ethical, most equal social possible? What brings the universe the most Light? Where do OUR duties end and the duties of OTHERS begin, and when is it time to call them on their failings, should there be any?

It is? Delightful~ if he were not already committed to his path, he would seriously consider taking her on as a Padawn. Like the Granddaughter he never had. In FACT? He is conflicted. While he does not wish to lose the bright little light he has become so accustomed too? He should probably do what is best for her.

He IS leaving after all. Eventually. Perhaps after Qui-Gon finally knights his own padawn. He can convince the man to come with him. A talk between them has been so very, very long overdue. And the man is like a son to him. Young Obi-Wan is a fine young Jedi. Upstanding and collected, could use a bit of tempering. Outrageous flirt. It would be hilarious.

It's a good plan.... right up until it isn't.

Until the Council's BLINDNESS lead his SON to dying alone. For Sidious little games. And the place in HIS chosen lineage is USURPED by some WHINY SAND COVERED BRAT who can not CONTROL himself! No. NO.

Absolutely Not.

As far as HE is concerned? HIS lineage? Goes him, Qui-gon, Obi-Wan, and then SI-OC. No Sand Brat. Is he spiraling? Oh yes. Has been for a while. But now? NOW someone just kicked out a major support beam. The building is a'shaking. SI-OC is worried. Knows this could make or break his Fall.

Doesn't realize that ship has sailed LONG before she arrived.

Jedi Master's do not Fall over night. It is the slow erosion that kills them. Death by ten thousand cuts. He was already thousands deep. Bleeding and bleeding, beyond her abilities to heal. Yoda could have changed things. He is a Master. But a mere Crecheling? An untrained child? No. She stood no chance.

Does not realize that, as she stands in the heart of the storm. The center of the bear trap. As composed Master Dooku grieves and rages, hair disheveled and robes a mess. No, he can not come to the comm right now. No, he is not taking visitors, thank you. Please, Master Dooku. Please! Drink some tea? Eat? Something. Anything. I beg you.

It is a focal point. An anchor to cling to, in that great Fall. As SI-OC fusses with blankets and music that might help, pressing her small and fragile light against his shields like a comforting weight. As though trying to protect him from the pain. As though ANYTHING could protect him.

Sits with him, in remembrance.

Comes with him, to the funeral.... where stands the sand brat. At HER Master's side. As though enough has not been stolen. How dare he? How dare THEY? To allow this!? Hatred festers. Rage. The mania that Darkness brings. He sees now. Ooooo ho ho, does he now see.

The Order has become Rotten. It cannot be saved. The Jedi have lost their way.

The old must be purged... and they must begin again.

It's all so CLEAR now. So simple. The path forward. Its so obvious now, HE is not leaving, oh no, THEY are leaving. It would be madness to leave a vulnerable Crecheling in such unfettered corruption. Exposed to the nonexistent mercies of Sidious and his ilk. Not to mention, Force knows what filth they'd attempt to stuff in her head behind his back!

Knight Kenobi is an adult. Can comport himself and defend his person. SI-OC can not. She is just a youngling. Should have BARELY been a padawn. But... things have changed.

SI-OC fall asleep, comfortable and certain she is perfectly safe, in MASTER Dooku's apartments. Just another Tea Time and obscure Force Philosophy lecture. Maybe some hands-on etiquette lessons. There are many, MANY different ways to take tea. And... man... the room is so cozy. Always so comfortable and tastefully inviting. Warm an... an snoozy... feelin... *thunk of a small child falling over, dead to the world*

Drugged? Sleep suggestion? Soothing bedtime tea? Yes. Yes, he did. She stood literally negative chances. He scoops up HIS granddaughter and leaves droids to pack the rest. Tucks her under his cloak. No one thinks to even check. Who would? He is trusted. Respected. It is well known how he dotes upon the child. Old age has softened him, some jest.

The dangers of attachment indeed. But it is not HIM who is in danger. It is HER who his attachment endangers. Because he can not let go. WILL NOT. Because it can crossed from caring to obsessive. Possessive. To mine, mine, mine.

Children are not property. Not toys or trophies. Teddy bears to squeeze until your hurt stops. They are living, breathing, entities in their own right. Which is something a JEDI would be able to accept. The SITH? No. No, see, his Great-grandpadawn is HIS. This is HIS family. HIS Jedi order. HIS plan to "fix" everything.

She done fucked up.

She wakes up on a ship to Serrano with COUNT Dooku.

His... his eyes turn Interesting Colors now. Ha ha... she is... staying Very Calm. It is REALLY important to stay VERY calm. No sudden movements. We Do Not startle the Darksider! Eeeeeeverones FRIENDS here! R-Right?

Oh of course. Nothing to be worried about, dear. You're just going to his Manor until the NEW temple is finished. (Neat. Terrifying. So, SO many horrifying parts of that sentence). And SI-OC? Pulls the good ol "never argue with the crazy person with a gun" technique. Smile and Nod! Mmmmhmmm! G-great! Can't wait!

(Oh god, help me)

War breaks out. She's on THE Separatist planet. But not? Before crazy grandpa? Has hired bounty hunters to find him force sensitive kids. You know, for the NEW Jedi order. Because we're all pretending here. Smile and nod, fellow hostages. For the love of the Force, smile and nod.

She's not entirely even certain half these children were from families that WANTED to give them up. It makes her sick to think about.

She still has to have Tea Time. Because she, a child, is the HEAD of the New Order. And he has decades of Jedi knowledge to impart. Also? Lonely and fixating. We're a happy family. Because I say so and have hostages. That's why you love you, don't you dear? *SI-OC with a wide, terrified hostage smile* mmmmhmm!

The Jedi? Have figured out what happened. Crecheling mysteriously disappeared at the same time a Count Dooku? They originally thought she tried to follow him. Got lost or grabbed by slavers. But now... NOW? Oh Force they know they horrifying truth. The Darksider stole a CHILD.

Everyone remembers SI-OC. She was the sweet little duckling. Well behaved and polite. A kind child. Worried for Count Dooku. And now look at what's happened?! The CIS is trotting out the "head" or their "new order" and it's their lost Crecheling. Now a teenager. Terror in her eyes and a fixed jedi smile.

The Creche Masters have to be physically dragged away from stealth ships. (They're just going to talk! They're jUST GOING TO TAL-!!!) Plo Koon is fucking HELPING and that's NOT helpful! No, your commander do NOT have "a point"! You can not do just a "little bit" of murder as "a treat"!

A certain Quinlan Vos? Never heard of him, of course, rocks up to this New Order with a smoothie. Has betrayed the OLD order and the Republic. Definitely for realisies and not because he's here to spy! Heeeeey, kiddo. How you holding up?

Answer? Oh THANK GOD, AN ADULT JEDI! Halp! Followed by gross sobbing. So... you know... not GREAT. Wouldn't recommend it.

But! The INTEL. Sweet holy shit, kid. Chips. Palpatine. Dooku behind the Clones. Everything ELSE she's quietly been noting down. Uuuuh, yeah. Yeah that WILL be... real useful.... Holy shit. No, seriously, give him a second. Just like that? Huh. Didn't even have to convince you. Wow. Okay.

Well then! Let's fuck over some Sith!

How the Shadows go about it? Probably very action movie and nail biting. High octane. Sweet big budget cgi effects. They get the De-chipped clones involved. Fox gets to finally, FINALLY shoot his boss. Never a happier man. He deserves it.

But that's not important. What IS? Is Quinlan Vos? Showing up to the Temple, with a burger and smelling strongly of smoke, and like.... over 450 force sensitive younglings, teenage and below. And probably a litter of tookas. Because what? Were they supposed to LEAVE them?

She takes One(1) step into the temple and gets hit with like? Three generations of Guilt Complexes. Man Pain. Yoda, Obi-Wan, AND Anikin? Mother FUCKER, you were 9! What were you supposed to DO? Bite him?! You literally JUST GOT HERE. *SI-OC has used Logic against Skywalker Guilt... it is not very effective!*

When? When will she be freeeeeeee? Cannon Yoda had the right idea.

She should go hide in a fucking SWAMP.

@babbling-babull @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @lolottes @hypewinter @mayfay @hdgnj

[ninibeingdelulu]

Overworking ✧

Plot : Your husband come home late again, and he’s too tired to argue.

The luminescent glow of the wall clock cast stark shadows flickering across the empty living room signaling midnight had long since passed.

Yet the apartment remained engulfed in stifling silence absent your husband Kento's reassuring presence filling the vacant spaces.

Your fingers drummed with steadily mounting agitation as each excruciating minute trickled away unanswered while you waited up alone on the worn couch.

It wasn't like Kento remaining entrenched at Jujutsu High working ungodly overtime hours was anything new lately, but tonight the resentment coursing your veins felt particularly acidic.

Gnawing into your composure with each pulse thundering that he'd once again prioritized his job over coming home to you like some insensible workaholic slowly squandering the precious remaining moments of your lives together.

So when the solitary echoes of his key scraping into the lock finally jarred the stillness, you shot upright immediately.

Chin raised in taut defiance while mustering the courage to confront him directly instead of meekly accepting Kento's feeble apologies and hollow justifications justifying this madness again.

The second your husband's hulking silhouette emerged in the threshold, you pounced without preamble.

"You're late. Again..."

Uttering the terse observation in clipped tones from between gritted teeth while actively assessing Kento's condition for the first time.

Disheveled tie dangling askew with his usually impeccable shirt and slacks wrinkled in haggard disarray. The sallow olive complexion only accentuating the bruised insomnia shadowing the heavy-lidded sag framing those rich bourbon irises clearly drained from sheer exhaustion.

Still, you braced awaiting the standard reflexive dismissal waving away your protective concerns as irrational hyperbole yet again.

Sure enough the indomitably stern furrow pinched across Kento's brow deepened in that telltale scowl preceding the well-worn rebuttal.

"Not now...I'm too tired to get into this tonight."

Immediately you recoiled from the uncharacteristically curt growl dripping in ill-concealed exasperation as he brushed past you towards the kitchen.

Clearly reaching the limits of his endurance and primed to counterattack like a wounded grizzly any impudent challengers foolish enough to pester further.

But the spark of indignation glowed red-hot behind your breastbone entirely eliminating any instinct for retreat tonight.

Not when Kento seemed hellbent on self-destructing through pursuing this flagrantly unsustainable pace.You swiftly followed at his heels hurling the accusations rapid-fire without filter.

"Why are you running yourself into the ground like this?! Working around the clock until you completely burn out or end up hospitalized?!"

Already his broad shoulders visibly tensed beneath the withering barrage while you mercilessly drove each rhetorical javelin home without allowing quarter.

No longer willing to stay passive as the man you cherished most wasted away before your eyes.

"And what about me? Do I not even factor any considerations about how I barely see you anymore besides like this - just discarded afterthoughts at the end of every grueling day?!"

Your throat constricted choking back the scorching bitterness now spilling unchecked across your blurred vision while Kento whirled to face your naked desperation head-on once more.

Every haggard line etched across those beloved Nordic features now seemed to deepen into craggy ravines utterly foreign and unrecognizable from the stalwart protector who'd stubbornly staked his entire existence upon safeguarding your shared sanctuaries.

"You think I revel in being away from my home drained like this? That I enjoy even a single second not by your side every night?!"

His roar simultaneously blasted both palms down upon the kitchen island's laminate surface with a percussive crack shuddering the tiles beneath your sock feet.

Unleashing the full tempest of Kento's frustrations that had evidently been steadily amassing into their own maelstrom these endless evenings alone.

"Every second sacrificed I'm away is to ensure you want for nothing! That our home remains secure from any potential threats! So you can live in peace while I handle these burdens!"

The wounded snarl flayed your viscera more savagely than any blade ever could. Shattering your ribcage wide open and laying your vulnerability bare before the man you'd always relied upon to shelter your most tender places from harm.

Before he instantly softened registering the mute horror stricken openly across your ashen features.

"Kento...that's not on you. If that's how you see it then...then I'm the one who failed."

But it was already too late to capture the venomous barb lancing out beyond your control.

The gaping void abruptly swallowing every lingering scrap of light still flickering behind your husband's visage surgically excised the very last remnants of air from your lungs.

You stood there paralyzed in that vacuum watching Kento physically recoil as if struck directly across that chiseled jawline.

Entire body tensing while the pitiless overhead fluorescents seemed to bleed away what little remaining color tinged those hauntingly cavernous pits now boring directly into your soul with singular uncompromising focus.

"Is that what you really believe...?"

The softly uttered words sliced you more lethally than any razor-edged steel forged by mortal hands ever could.

Rendered more agonizing by the bone-deep undercurrent of absolute loss now permanently severing whatever fraying lifelines still tenuously tethered you both to this point.

"Then you need no longer waste your evenings awaiting my return."

Even bereft of any inflections or venom lacing each syllable, the impassive delivery could do nothing to blunt the lacerations shredding your essence with every concise proclamation.

Feet already rooting to the very earth beneath while he turned without another glance disappearing beyond the hallway's shadows.

Leaving you adrift in a desolate, lightless world now devoid of anything to cling to beyond the scalding moisture already streaking down your hollowed cheeks.

You wasted away countless lifetimes in that void before somehow resurfacing in your shared bedroom consumed in numbness.

Numbly pulling drawers open on autopilot to shovel what meager belongings you could feasibly remove in a single bag while the man you loved lay entombed just beyond that dividing wall.

Unable to so much as utter a farewell...

The muffled sobs rattling your chest gradually gave way to an eerie calm overtaking your senses while automatically gathering those final essentials together.

Your motions felt disembodied and almost dreamlike - existing outside yourself surveying these mechanical preparations from some detached astral plane.

Until the bag's feeble weight balanced over one shoulder snapped you back into a razor-sharp presentience abruptly ricocheting off those cavernous bedroom walls now closing in all around with smothering permanence.

With nothing left delaying that precipice you couldn't avoid crossing no matter how desperately your psyche recoiled and retreated to those warm familiar shadows where he eternally waited.

You didn't look back or allow even the faintest broken whisper to escape while swiftly departing through the living room's archway into the vacant corridor beyond.

Each purposeful stride carrying you farther away from Kento and whatever fragile tapestry still barely clinging between your existences rapidly began unraveling behind.

At least until those first frigid droplets pelted the nape of your exposed neck signaling the night's deluge opened completely from the heavens above.

But still you pressed onwards, feet mechanically propelling you through the lobby then bodily out into the torrent with skull bowed in vacant resignation.

Allowing the punishing currents to immediately drench and plaster every stitch of fabric clinging to your skin in icy shackles now without a single conscious thought towards seeking meager shelter from nature's fury.

That was until the deafening roar erupting from behind shattered the hypnotic trance entirely.

"Y/N!!"

You staggered dumbly whipping about to find Kento's towering silhouette materializing from the building awash in halos of harsh illumination cutting through the downpour's veil like blazing searchlights.

His expression contorted into something primal and harrowing beyond lucid recognition while frantically scanning every inch of your drenched form now paralyzed before him.

Disbelief and heart-rending desperation etched behind the searing intensity now searing directly into your very marrow from those rich ember irises that had always been your touchstones in life's tempests.

Igniting reflective sparks to life where your soul's pilot light had nearly extinguished entirely under those scouring torrents unleashing in merciless retribution.

Suddenly Kento surged across the tarmac in two strides with his sodden blazer already stripped away to immediately drape the swathe of fabric around your trembling shoulders.

Immense oak-trunk arms effortlessly enveloping you against the indomitable wall of his chest while frantically trying to shield you from the punishing onslaught still pounding relentlessly all around in biblical wrath.

Yet not even those granite bastions offered sanctuary as chilling pinpricks numbed your entire body beyond feeling or substance now.

Leaving you a hollowed-out husk vaguely conscious of Kento's remorseless whiskey rasp shredding past your ear canal over the din of the downpour lashing against every exposed surface in scourging waves.

"Y/N...I’m sorry. I was just tired, please I never meant it. It’s just… work have been more exhausting lately, and I’m on the edge sometimes. I lied, I want you to wait for me above all else."

Each gut-punching admission brutally lacerated past all your remaining defenses as he clutched you so fiercely against his pounding sternum those shuddering heaves transmitted into your own rhythms.

Until his soaked bangs completely plastered across those raw features allowing you to drink in every agonized fissure.

"But please, don’t go. I’m begging you"

The desolate cries finally shattered every carefully regimented barrier you'd armored around that hollowed-out vacancy eating away at your soul's foundation.

Each raw and utterly shattered syllable pouring from Kento's very essence jolted those tiny embers still flickering no matter how decimated or waterlogged beyond hope of revival.

So when he finally wilted into that hushed horrific reverie while cradling your face in his battle-calloused palms like spun glass, you instinctively leaned into those colossal furnaces emanating from his gaze consuming you whole once more.

Offering the only meager benediction left within you to bestow while reaching up to reverently brush away those crystalline rivulets streaking his granite features that held more significance beyond nature's downpour.

The frantic thrum of both your racing pulses immediately surrendered into perfect intuitive synchronicity once more.

Gently guiding Kento back through the torrent from that lightless brink he'd pulled you away from towards sacred sanctuaries still smoldering eternally where your twin beacons would never be extinguished again...

[sketchy-scribs-n-doods]

"Because none of those sailors have ever described a siren with salt and pepper hair, wrinkles, and flinty eyes that can make a man balk at fifty paces with nothing but a glance. Beautiful faces and voices that can entrance the most stalwart of men, that’s what they talk about. It doesn’t matter if they’re half-right. Where they’re wrong is what matters."

———

My art for this year's OFMD Reverse Big Bang!

Siren!Izzy has always lived in my head rent free, even before s2 when we finally got Con's lovely singing voice on screen, so I just had to make something for it— with a Stizzy focused Steddyhands twist! I'm a sucker for a secret mermaid saving their reluctantly beloved sailor lol.

The lovely @acesaru was the best partner I could have asked for, a talented writer and lovely all around person to collab with! They perfectly capture Izzy's character voice and the banter between Stede and he is an absolute delight lol. The fic they wrote inspired by my art (and many many discord ramblings together lol) is amazing and the second chapter featuring my art drops today!

Please go check it out for yourself and drop a kudos/comment! <3

[sunflowersatori]

My Girl

I’m writing this at 1am because I’m feral BUT i digress…

Headcanons for what type of woman Castor and Pollux (because @fanaticsnail said those are their names and yes) would have as a partner

So for Pollux I imagine his girl would absolutely be That Bitch™️ and in the most iconic way. The hair is right, the fit is tight (in uniform if she’s a marine, and casual if she isn’t/is and is on leave). She’s a gossip, a tease, and dishes it out to her man as good as he dishes it out to others. These two are absolute chaos gremlins together. They will show up unannounced to Castor’s place and make a huge mess in the kitchen before he convinces them to not try to cook when they can’t. They end up sipping wine at his dining table while he makes dinner for them all. This woman would be fiercely protective of her loved ones and what they stand for, the type to fight tooth and nail, to claw and scratch and yell to be with her man. I think together they would also be able to find that vulnerability with each other, and in private moments they can enjoy simple things just as much as goofing off and being little shits. Pollux would worship in the way of offering himself up as of to a deity, willing to let her flames consume him in sweet oblivion. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to him.

Now for Castor, my sweet beloved boy. I apologize for any projecting that might happen here, he has my heart rn. I think he’d be with another marine, and his woman would be the stalwart lover, shouldering burdens with him without question. She’s the type that people say is just like him in public, reserved, collected, maayybeee sometimes there’s a stick up her ass. She sticks to her guns and won’t let people push her around about it though. She has asked Castor on multiple occasions (five) if he wants her to beat up Pollux for making fun of him, and has followed through (once) ((she suplexed him through a table at dinner and Castor just sat there with wide eyes while Pollux’s girl cackled and recorded the whole thing on den den)). Castor would be one hundred percent soft for her, the type to gruffly respond “yes ma’am, of course maam” when she’s trying her hardest to be strong and give commands even if she’s hurting. This man worships the ground she walks on and would do anything for her in such a like sworn knight protector way, not because she’s a woman, because he loves her.

Anyway that’s my inane rambling. Please please please please add more hcs, I crave The Content

[faefum]

posting my twst ocs and my yuu w/ info 🥺 also some old art is included but not really

character info in order as well as one fact about each of them:

Carmin Pelagic

The beloved idol-prince of the resplendent coastal kingdom, Sundread Cape. Ever-shadowed in the limelight, his Excellency is famous for his evocative musical pieces that seem to resonate with any audience.

BIRTHDAY: March 3rd (Pisces)

AGE: 18

HEIGHT: 177 cm (5'9" ft)

DOMINANT HAND: Left

HOMELAND: Sundread Cape

FAMILY: Unnamed parents (deceased), Marena (aunt)

SCHOOL: (was homeschooled)

HOBBIES: Bird watching

PET PEEVES: Mistreatment

FAVORITE FOOD: Onions

LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Escargot

TALENT: Detecting lies

UNIQUE MAGIC: Reaver's Song

BASED ON: Eilonwy + Achren (Black Cauldron and Chronicles of Prydain)

His aunt, Marena, is the ruling queen of Sundread Cape, which is an absolute monarchy. Carmin is suspicious of the fact that she may not be his actual family member.

Yuu (Yuulia)

An outlander from another world, she is the prefect of Ramshackle dormitory and a member of the Pop Music Club. She sings of the melodies that only now exist in her memory, hoping to bring a part of her across and beyond.

BIRTHDAY: November 22nd (Sagittarius)

AGE: 17

HEIGHT: 165 cm (5'4" ft)

DOMINANT HAND: Right

HOMELAND: ???

FAMILY: Unnamed parents

SCHOOL: Night Raven College (Sophomore)

HOBBIES: Playing musical instruments

PET PEEVES: Rudeness

FAVORITE FOOD: Chamomile tea

LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Bitter melon

TALENT: Opera singing

UNIQUE MAGIC: —

BASED ON: (nobody)

Is kind of a minor Magicam celebrity because of her song covers and original works. She covers songs from her original world, in which viewers have found themselves perplexed since none of the music she posts exists in Twisted Wonderland.

Thora Griffith

The stalwart vice-president of Royal Sword Academy's Fencing Club. He co-leads with a mild demeanor, a deadpan face, gestures filled with grace, and mystery as to what his past shares.

BIRTHDAY: October 27th (Scorpio)

AGE: 17

HEIGHT: 185 cm (6'0" ft)

DOMINANT HAND: Right

HOMELAND: Sundread Cape

FAMILY: Unnamed adoptive father

SCHOOL: Royal Sword Academy (Sophomore)

HOBBIES: Fencing

PET PEEVES: Laziness

FAVORITE FOOD: Pot roast

LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Charred food

TALENT: Blastcycling

UNIQUE MAGIC: Bladed Ambition

BASED ON: Taran (Black Cauldron and Chronicles of Prydain)

Many of his classmates think that he may be hiding a mysterious evil in his dorm room. A dangerous secret, something lewd, or even prohibited items. In fact, he and his roommate have both decided on a truce and keep a runt kitten they found by the beach.

other arts!! some are "old"

[foreststarflaime]

Ok you did swords (fabulous), how about AGSZC as dragons? (Rawr)

Oh you are speaking my language!!! 🐉 You caught me while reading my beloved Loki comics so this turned out rather poetic and metaphysical lol

Angeal: There is a dragon whose scales are as indomitable as proud mountains, known to all the kingdoms throughout the land. Known, but not feared—for his hoard is not one of gold, but of love. He is strict, but fair—if your heart is true, he is quick to love you, and you go forth from his presence with his blessing and protection. It is said by the bards of old that all shields came from his shed scales, gifted so that they might protect their wielders from harm.

Genesis: There is a dragon from whose breath burns the fire of the hearth, a fire around which all storytellers sit to weave their words of glory and doom, to bring hope and awe to any who need it. His tongue is of silver and his scales of burnished ruby, glinting gold in the firelight. His fire can bring ruin to a countryside, but that ruin will also bring rebirth, with new green shoots emerging from the ashes—it will grow stronger, this time. He may kidnap a princess or two from time to time, but that’s mostly so Angeal will come tell him off (give him and his stories the attention they deserve).

Sephiroth: There is a dragon who fell to earth one fateful day. Ever since he could remember, he had soared through the stars, borne aloft on the ethereal winds of the cosmos to wonder at its vast majesty. But this day, he peered too hard in his solitude at a planet bustling with life, and in doing so he strayed too close and was drawn by its gravity to crash upon its soil. His wings, made of the stuff of stardust, could not bear him aloft again, built for the soft breath of space as they were. So now he spends his days gazing at the beauty of the night sky, and finds some solace in the stories of wonder Genesis spins for his mind’s eye, and the stalwart companionship of Angeal.

Zack: There is a dragon who is often seen running amongst the wolves, only a bit larger than them, whose hoard-instinct is fulfilled by treasuring all of life’s experiences. He loves the freedom of running on the open plain, teasing his wolf-friends on occasion by picking them up suddenly for a quick glide down from a larger hill. He is often mistaken for a hatchling, but when he or anyone he loves is threatened, you will be assured by the strength of his teeth in your throat that he is just as fierce as any larger dragon.

Cloud: There is a dragon who was hatched with coal-black scales, smaller than most and quiet. Most were inclined to think him easy prey, and he only seethed at their mistake, but did not correct it. He took each blow the world threw at him, looking to the stars and dreaming of something greater. Eventually, the pressure built up enough that his scales turned diamond-blue and sharper than anything the world had seen. He suffered no bully any longer, to him or to any other.

Um. I’m attached. I guess I have a dragon au now

[felagund-fiollaigean]

my beloved brother the mandolin my dearest sister the banjo my sweet mother the bass my loving father the jug my stalwart friend the guitar my childhood sweetheart the fiddle.

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

I’ll ask the sun to shine away from you today so you can cry

Charis Ophiuchus Athan-Askr - A spunky and stalwart Keyblade Master. One of Scala ad Caelum’s beloved founders, and Master Ephemer’s guiding light. {he/him or she/her}

Disclaimer: I’m not following prompts, I’m just using this week as an excuse to give my OCs some extra love :)

[kalahannikolai]

This is a bit overdue for posting on Tumblr, but behold! The Superior Soundwave! Alongside him my designs for Laserbeak, Rumble & Frenzy, and Ravage. Soundwave's alt mode is a cybertronian aircraft, and his assets are very musically based. He is a clever engineer and a brilliant communications officer; Megatron's most stalwart supporter, Soundwave was his second-in-command for the Decepticon rebellion.

Lore and backstory under the cut!

In the days of Sentinel's rule, when his conclave and the overarching Senate controlled the fate of every cybertronian, Soundwave's own origins were notably mundane. Originally a minor clerk in a communications facility, the being that would one day be called Soundwave had been one of many bots whose forms were minutely controlled. He was built to man a communications array alongside many other such limited bots. But while some found either joy or simple indifference to their work, Soundwave dreamt of more.

He would spend his free time perusing the streets of Bitrex. It was among Cybertron's smaller cities, but he enjoyed the calm and simplicity that it brought. It was here that Soundwave met the likes of Jazz—introducing himself as "Sounder" at first, unwilling to give Jazz a designation—and the pair quickly caught on like a wildfire and became good friends. Jazz's free spirit and unwillingness to tie himself down inspired Soundwave, who envied his freedom and admired his dedication to it. The two spent much of Soundwave's free time together. In this time, they would culminate a shared enjoyment of music and even begin a musical career together.

A journey that would suddenly gain great traction for them both, as the people of Bitrex came to greatly enjoy their performances.

Before too long, Jazz and Soundwave's musical venture would become almost too much. While Jazz had little responsibilities to slow him down, Soundwave struggled regularly to make time for their music and his work at the communications array. He would even suffer poor performance reports and harsh criticisms from his superiors. But one day, as a superior shouted with reckless abandon in Soundwave's then unmasked face, the con would snap and bring the so-called "superior" to his knees. Soundwave turned in his resignation then and there, and left without ever looking back.

To his luck, none of the officials that oversaw his work knew of his personal life at all. So little care for the lives of their workers allowed him to essentially disappear. To avoid being found and dragged back, Soundwave not only visored and masked his face but commissioned drastic alterations to his form. A normally illegal procedure under Sentinel Prime's rule, but the city of Bitrex was not one normally cared about by his Senate nor his Conclave. Furthermore, so beloved by its citizens was Soundwave that the augmentors of Bitrex gladly helped one half of their favorite musical duo realize his true potential.

Before long, Soundwave would find companions in the form of four smaller beings; Laserbeak, Ravage, and the brothers Rumble & Frenzy. Pseudo-mini-con beings, the four cassettes had been deemed obsolete and set to be scrapped and salvaged. Soundwave worked with some of the shadier types of Bitrex to get them rescued, and the four gladly became his closests companions. This newfound friendship would result in Soundwave's last but most cherished alterations; a cassette deck in his chest, hidden behind his waveform chest plate.

All but a celebrity of Bitrex now, the mysterious "Soundwave" made his re-debut alongside Jazz as they took their music on the road.

While the pair were close, Soundwave would still find time for himself; a desire that Jazz always respected and utilized to go on his own solo ventures. Soundwave would curiously check out the gladiatorial arena of Kaon, wherein a fateful meeting would take place. He would witness the furious might of the Pits' greatest champions, as he watched the likes of Jetfire, Arcee, and Megatron rule as a Triumvirate of Kaon from its lowest depth. But Megatron himself would most catch Soundwave's visor, and eventually the two would meet and have long, intense discussions about the state of Cybertron's society and people.

They would both be in adamant agreement that the harsh control Sentinel enforced over the very bodies of his people had to end.

Together, the two would eventually spearhead the formation of the Decepticon Rebellion against Sentinel's regime. Soundwave would successful enlist Jazz, who gladly joined a cause that would liberate their people from the injustices they suffered. But whereas Jazz would remain within their territories that couldn't fend for themselves, Soundwave would part from his musical companion to always stand by Megatron's side. This would ultimately lead him to be just as complicit in the Decepticons' crimes as he was. For while he never liked the dark direction their fight took, his faith in Megatron would blind his reason.

But when Megatron realized the error of his ways and chose to step down, Soundwave was as honored as he was accepting of his lord's choice to deem him his successor. Now with the reigns of command in hand, Soundwave steered them back to a path of righteous fury and away from the bloodlust they'd been misled into.

In the cyberkin world of Fódlan, Soundwave would find himself amidst a quagmire of chaos. His calm and reasonable leadership of the Decepticons would eventually be usurped. But Soundwave would never forget what they were once meant to do, and he waits in the fringes of the lands outside of Fódlan and waits for his time. Soundwave still awaits Byleth's return and call, for he knows she and Megatron both will be vital to the world's peace...

[batsplat]

I think this should be a fun one for you: rank 00’s-early 2010’s spanish atp tennis players from most beloved/underrated/least beloathed to your most behated.

I love when you’re mean about atp 🥰

incredible hater ask. love to see that me just endlessly lobbing potshots at male tennis players has finally found an audience. the inclusion criteria for this list is extremely vibes-based - they need to have had some of their career-best results in the 00's or early 2010s and I can't primarily associated them with 90's or 2020's. so no moya or alcaraz... rba marginal inclusion but not pcb. (ramos vinolas would've come top but he just... didn't really get going until late 2010s.) cut-off is top twenty peak ranking. so let's go

MOST BELOVED/UNDERRATED/LEAST BELOATHED

bautista agut: horse girl!! horse girl!!! a bit of a journey of how I learned to stop worrying and love the pusher. I've occasionally had a slightly troubled history with the guy, not least because sometimes it does feel like he crawls out of the woodwork literally just to piss me off? like, I'm sorry, check out this string of results from last year (I've conveniently highlighted the irritating result)

first time since JANUARY he'd strung together back-to-back match wins. feels a little personal!!

beyond spawning out of nowhere to hand medvedev a yearly defeat, he has also been done a fair bit of torturing of murray. that 2022 match at doha with the foul scoreline... that being said, if you're a fan of a high-ranked player it is extremely poor form to be too annoyed by this kind of thing. medvedev should maybe consider stop losing to inferior pushers and even at the time I did find it pretty funny, rolled my eyes but fundamentally idc that much about how he does in halle. and I am obviously a big supporter of pushing... rba is quite an un-spanish players in some ways - doesn't play with a lot of spin, not bad at clay but it's not where he shines. idk I'm a big fan of pushers, rba has been a stalwart representative of the pushing lifestyle on the atp tour, he's kind of in that gilles simon camp where I was always happy enough to put on a match with them in it. and y'know, he seems like a nice enough guy. a fixture of the atp tour who I'm just kinda fond of

ferrer: always felt kinda sorry for him. destined to be #2 spaniard forevermore. thing is, with his game, you do have to say he didn't massively underachieve - like in a way a slam final is a pretty impressive showing. he's not one of the players TO ME where it feels super painful they never won a slam, even though arguably he's had a better career than some of the guys I'd put in that camp. funny how that works out!! I actually quite like ferrer's game, it's very bread and butter, spanish clay court style... and y'know, I grew up on clay, it's probably still my favourite surface all things considered, and we did always joke about the grinding from ten metres behind the baseline thing. I respect it. gets annoying when someone is nadal-levels good, but ferrer is very much not that so I quite enjoyed watching him play. idk, I did always vaguely like those second tier players during the big four era - childhood nostalgia of watching them in a bunch of slam matches without my negative feelings towards the big three. he's not my favourite of those, but he's all right. just quite inoffensive really

costa: oh man, I just don't really have any particularly strong feelings towards this guy. I think it's pretty funny how he won a slam and does just reflect where the clay game was at for a few years before nadal, like none of the post kuerten pre nadal rg winners were particularly serious characters. still, beating ferrero in that 2002 final is something I will gladly applaud, especially absolutely walloping him in the first two sets. this is very firmly before my time and perhaps a year or so before I even held my first tennis racquet as a kid, and while I obviously have quite a few past players I have strong feelings about... costa is not one of them. he is not actively offensive to me, let's put it that way (which I retroactively realised I'd put for two players in a row, but I'll leave it because it's funny that this is how I classify spanish players)

verdasco: now, look. verdasco doesn't hate nadal, but I am more than happy to do so on his behalf. I wasn't a sentient enough person yet in 2009 to have particularly sophisticated takes on the tragic inevitability of sports narratives, but if I HAD been I think I would've gone insane at some point during That Australian Open Match. basically redlined for hours and it still wasn't enough, never reached another slam semi, just kinda sucks man. (not that it matters but I'm glad he did at least manage to beat nadal in five at ao 2016 in the first round, just for the vibes.) I do also have a fair bit of sympathy for him over the two month doping ban he got in 2022 for failing to renew the therapeutic exemption thingy he had for his adhd medication - that was just so obviously a case of someone not really doping and tbh a lot of people (including some players!!) were pretty cruel about that shit

all that being said, can't say I've ever particularly been a fan. idk he was just one of those vaguely frustrating players to me who theoretically had a lot to their game but never was quite... on it enough. I do like some players who build their games around big booming forehands, but it's not really what I've ever gravitated towards. I think we have now reached the part of the list where most of these guys get a bit of a nadal tax. as in, I've seen them pal around with nadal, it has been forced in front of my eyeballs, and I simply do not support that kind of behaviour. (true of ferrer too but he has just about enough accumulated good will to be ranked higher up.) it's nothing personal, it's just that they're associated with nadal in my mind. I don't like it

robredo: is it bad if I say I got him confused with verdasco as a kid. too many spaniards. well, first off, go watch the valencia 2014 final against murray (I got a kia ad for nadal when I tried to open this video which ramped up my internal haterism for what is to come). what people sometimes forget about this horrifically painful final is that it was the second time in like?? a few weeks?? where he was playing murray in a final... I think he blew five matchpoints in both which. ouch. anyway the point is that valencia match is great - and unlike when the big three inflict horrendously painful defeats on their opponents, this was good and moral and fun. robredo was probably the most... invisible of this lot, if that's not too mean. his biggest contribution to tennis history is defeating federer once and only once at the 2013 us open, ensuring that federer and nadal wouldn't play - which ensured they never played at the us open which means it is an incomplete and quite frankly fraudulent rivalry. they missed out by one match on six occasions. the list of players who stopped them reads murray, djokovic, del potro and.... robredo. a hero tbh

other robredo thoughts... I mean, he was a bit top twenty filler if we're being honest. the thing where he won three consecutive slam matches from two sets to love down was pretty neat. he's basically ferrer but worse. I rank him at basically the same level as verdasco but I remember more verdasco matches than robredo so. there we are

ferrero: okay. look. I'm aware some of this might be coloured by my extreme irritation at his presence in alcaraz's coaching box these last few years. man will simply not shut up. I can't help it - sometimes this stuff colours my opinions on someone

(not a player but the swiftest downfall in this regard has been darren cahill, who had a base fondness for as 'notable agassi coach' that he's steadily pissed away in this sinner partnership. zero respect for how he dumped anisimova so soon after she hired him because he just couldn't handle the strains of travel, throwing himself a pity party... before almost immediately linking up with sinner. a tangent irrelevant to this post but I just needed to get that in there!!)

I get that coaching's legal now!! and I am NOT a conspiracy theorist about the timing of that change happening right during the golden boy's rise to the top, but!! it's still obviously been pretty convenient, like surely the umpires could not have ignored that for all that much longer lol. and I hate the rule change, idc how little practical use it is - it's antithetical to the spirit of tennis. I know coaching happened before then too but it makes a difference if you have to at least be sly about it (not that this guy ever really was). also beyond my principled opposition, he's just annoying. it's annoying. I'm sick of his face by now. get him off my screen

but to rewind twenty years, it's still aggravating that his one and only slam came at the cost of what would have been one of the all-time great slam fairy tale runs. it should have been verkerk!! ik that it wasn't even particularly close, I don't care. verkerk also just had a more compelling run to the final - sure jcf beat defending champion costa but he wasn't in particular good form, and verkerk took out both moya and coria. some random dutch bloke took out former champion moya in five sets... should have gotten the title. I'm sure you'll be delighted to know the match is indeed on youtube. isn't this cool:

don't you want to root for this guy!!

anyway yeah idk you're a top player for years you win one slam and THAT is how you won it? by stomping on a fairy tale? the counter-argument is that jcf SHOULD have won in 2002 but, well. just an awful performance wasn't it. like I know I said I like grinders and chokers but the first two sets of the first slam final you compete in being 1-6 0-6... hm. idk man. just don't think he was a good enough player to have earned a slam or indeed to have been number one, and in that case I would prefer the fairy tale slam. I will say he was an underrated hard court player, but yeah just didn't like his playstyle. a lot of these spaniards are way too big on their forehands. and I cannot forgive his role in blighting the game with another spanish prodigy. we're just never going to be free

lopez: okay, look, admittedly the fact that he seemed so close to nadal didn't make me particularly keen on him, but it's more than that!! another one where his activities post-retirement have hardly done much to endear him to me. I do unironically loathe this guy for his work running the madrid open, I think he's an incompetent sexist cunt who needs to be kept far away from women's tennis as possible. these last couple of years have made me more and more furious about the current situation with women's tennis - the game is in an excellent place but it might as well be being sabotaged by the people who are supposed to promote it. it's disgraceful he is still even in the job after the women's doubles finalists were prevented from speaking during the trophy ceremony, and it's as good a demonstration as you're going to get of the wta's luck of power. just makes me sad man

also, I never liked him as a player. idk man hating's not rational but I'm trying to come up with something I feel like I can defend a bit more than 'I was sick of people talking about how attractive this guy was to women'. but well, I was! oh wow, he's a heartthrob?? you think he's good-looking?? you want to make a joke about how he makes the ladies swoon?? original! never heard it before! look, I support straight women in their lifestyle choices even if they differ from my own, but more than anything else I just find this shit cringe. 'deliciano' is cringe. calling a bloke vain can be a pretty charged insult, but in this case I stand by it - shallow man with shallow tennis. just this gross macho energy that I personally have always found off-putting. he's also a commentators' pet where they want him to unlock his inner potential and become the player he could be with all that talent inside of him... literally shut up

nadal: if nadal has a million haters, I am one of them. if nadal has five haters, I am one of them. if nadal has one hater, that is me. if nadal has no haters, then I am no longer alive. if the word supports nadal then I am against the world

I ended up writing paragraphs and paragraphs worth of why I hate him for One Match Specifically but then I realised that wasn't really part of the remit for a jokey hater post and was also getting a wee bit TOO earnest and emotional. it has been cut out but lmk if you want to read an extended scream into the abyss I suppose lol

anyway! my number one enemy. djokovic might be the worst of the big three on moral grounds, federer's whole aesthetic and vibe is horrendous, but as an actual tennis player? oh, nadal, they could never make me like you. instinctively the least appealing playstyle... I love watching djokovic move around the court, even I can appreciate clean federer hitting. nadal is just... well, look, I'm not a forehand girl. and when I AM a forehand girl, I tend to like mine a bit flatter. penetrating. I can appreciate nadal's forehand is a great shot, but it doesn't really do much for me. all the good and appealing parts of nadal's game... low key are better from djokovic. the athleticism, the counterpunching, high margin game etc. if I want this stuff, I go to djokovic. also, look, I don't like the grunting - but what I really don't like is how completely accepted it is to hound wta players for grunting while nobody bats an eyelid when nadal sounds like a flock of seagulls is dying in his throat every single point. and I get that the double standards aren't exactly his fault, but you know what is his fault? his repeated and consistent opposition to equal pay in tennis! admittedly women's rights aren't exactly an issue you want to interrogate too closely with any of the big three, see the utter cowardice and moral void surrounding the zverev case

which I think gets to the part that really pisses me off about nadal. it's just... the hypocrisy. his pr is all about being this big fighter, big fighter, big fighter, he's so tough, he never gives up, what a fighter. such a big song and dance is done about what a great sportsman he is, him and federer obviously - how respectful they are, how civil and composed and isn't it great that we have two such great role models for the sport. people won't stop banging on about the fucking racquet smashing thing, as if we have to declare sainthood because a multi-millionaire tax evader has decided not to break a stick that clocks in at maybe a hundred fifty quid retail price. I'm biased in that I like racquet smashes, I think they're funny, they're ultimately not that serious - I don't particularly mind giving them a code violation but I do think it's remarkable that breaking a racquet isn't allowed but smashing up your own body with a racquet is. which is a separate issue! point being, it's one of those things that get used to paint nadal as the fairest most respectful most humblest bestest sportsman of all time. but he's not!! of course he engages in gamesmanship, of course he did some blatant time violations every time he could get away with it, of course he loved disrupting the rhythm of the other player serving, of course some of his medical timeouts were awfully convenient. of course it's pretty rich of him to complain about other blokes grunting

which I literally would not mind - I am a justine henin fan - if it weren't ignored due to this guy's insane pr. I also think it is awfully like tennis, in all its hypocrisy and fundamental conservatism, to judge someone's moral character over the number of racquets they have smashed - rather than literally anything else. this OBVIOUSLY isn't his fault, but I find the way many of his fans glorify the abuse his uncle subjected him to as a child beyond distasteful. federer fans are the cockiest and at times most fanatical (though For Some Reason they've quietened down these past few years), djokovic fans are the most flat out insane, but I find something about the conservatism of the nadal fanbase particularly pernicious. all in on the macho culture, endless wanking off to his masculinity and traditional values and whatever other bullshit

and to bring it back around - he's also fucking boring lol. like at the end of the day all this stuff just eats away at his appeal for me. so committed to never saying anything controversial he never says anything at all. I've already expressed this opinion before on this blog, but I firmly believe if you are an athlete that good and that dominant then you NEED to have more going for you. you need more character, more narrative juice, more interesting interpersonal relationships with your fellow competitors. tbh I think it's probably quite hard to keep me invested if you're THAT dominant, but let's be honest - men's tennis hasn't even been trying since agassi and sampras retired (rip to my men's tennis goats). serena on the women's side is way less annoying because she faced a changing cast of characters throughout her career, everyone in noughties wta had crazy narrative juice, and she is also exponentially more interesting than the big three combined. she really WAS an asshole at times, and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible!! all the gamesmanship people use to insult her honestly just makes me like her more. people complain about the chaos at the top of the wta tour but like... first of all, obviously we've left that era, and secondly I'd take that any day over stagnation at the top of the men's. the big three for all their incredible tennis have stifled the men's game, nadal's the worst of them, glad he's retired

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