#the village option

[myrathefarmer]

Do you guys like my season 10 Cleo design? 😊

[ryssbelle]

Thought of this while at work, sorry it's a bit hard to read I sketched it out really fast before my last shift lmao wanted to get it done so I could work on other stuff hehe

If it's any consultation Floyd is mostly talking about himself

[animalcrossingshowdown]

or alternatively add something in the tags/comments. I didn't include "couldn't change skin colour until the fifth mainline game" because that would deservedly sweep

[starswirly]

SomniaFable

[ * aka, putting my oc into Dreamtale has spiraled out of control ]

[pcktknife]

now that I'm farther in the show I can say that I don't think nico robin would be a pony in the mlp au (the multiple hands/arms thing is too cool to assign to a hoof-only having race. but if she was a pony I think she'd be earth and not a unicorn as I previously doodled. though flower fruit unicorn could use the ability to make a spike trap and that'd be pretty fun)

[themolluscasometimes]

(if you havent seen dmeon slayer s3 or read the mange this has spoilers)

okay no but look-

who tf. gave genya a sword an told him to go to final selection

It's stated that Genya calmed down and mellowed out after getting Gyomei to train him. ALSO he got mega buff between when we see him at final selection and when he see him next like yeah he obviously had a growth spurt but the point is he went from scrawny to brawny. He was also a giant asshole at final selection so like. Genya 100% only got trained by gyomei after passing final selection.

Which MEANS either someone ELSE sent a kid that cant use breathing to final selection with a sword OR he got himself there. I dont believe anyone wouldve willingly sent him given how important breathing is to the demon slayer corp

also. The only trainers we really see are hashira or former hashira. Im SO convinced there are other that we don't see given that not every water breather couldve been taught by Urokodaki but it still makes sense that these teachers are retired professional demon slayers that lived long enough to be no longer in active service even if they aren't hashira

which leaves us with options:

OPTION 1:

genya tried to learn breathing from a cultivator/some other demon slayer, failed, stole a nichirin sword and probably shook the poor sod down to get info on the when and where for final selection

OPTION 1a

When the person who tried to teach breathing to Genya refused to continue after finding out he cant Breathe Right, said teacher was too strong for genya to really do anything about it (see: they're teaching him and it seems likely that the teachers of demon slayer tend to be upper ranked at least) Genya fucked off and assaulted some weak random demon slayer to steal a sword from and get info

Or, you know, something along these lines because he had to get a nichirin sword and infomraiton from somewhere, and Im doubtful it was willingly given to him since he like. cant fucking breathe.

HOWEVER

when we see him at the end of final selection, he's like. mega obsessed with the sword thing. like. super. like yes these are special swords but here's the thing everyone there already has one of the special swords, just not one of their own.

It kinda maybe implies that Genya. Doesnt have a special sword. So.

OPTION TWO:

Genya has been roughing it with a regular ass sword for seven days and given that he can't Breathe his primary form of defense would've been step one: cut the demons arm off. step two: monch. step three: beat the demon to within an inch of its life with demon enhanced brute strength until he can get away or force it die in the sun.

In which case Genya was not likely to be doing much direct demon slaying during those seven days.

(even if he HAD a nichirin sword theres no guarantee that without breathing he wouldve been strong enough or skilful enough to use it to kill all the demons he ran across but given how obsessed and intense he is with getting his hands on a nichirin blade and how much not one single person would want him to go to final selection, i honestly think he had just some random sword. It would explain why he's so desperate to get one, other than being generally unhinged. Anyway-)

While everyone else was roughing it, surviving and slaying demons in the night, Genyas experience of the final selection exam was somewhere between a survival challenge and an all you can eat buffet, with not a lot of demon slaying involved.

can u imagine being part of his cohort and running across some dude that needs you to cut off this demons head thats missing a suspicious amount of its body bc he doesnt have a nichirin sword for some fucking reason. also he has really, really, fucked up eyeballs.

can you imagine watching one of your fellow exam participants use a sword only to defend himslef bc its a functionally useless offense only to attack by eating the fucking demons.

can you imagine seeing him at one point, looking a certain way bc hes been eating a demon and then seeing him again later looking human. or looking like a different demon. or both.

can u imagine struggling to feed yourself during these seven days and this man is having a straight up feast. and also couldnt be assed to show up with a sword for demonslaying to the exam for fucking demon slaying

[caitlynmeow]

Alcina is a clingy mother.

Ever since she had her first daughter, she knew that she won’t find it easy to leave the child behind and get back to work. Luckily, she has an office in her home and can be close enough to check on in her baby whenever she needs it (which is most of the time). Yes, she did hire the best Nannie’s to help look after Bela but it’s not enough because she needs to physically be there and hold her baby and give her all of her love and attention.

Even when she needs to travel for business, she takes Bela with her regardless of how young she is. Alcina isn’t going to sleep somewhere while her little baby is away from her. It fills her with anxiety and she can’t cope with that.

As Bela got older, Alcina’s feelings didn’t go away or lessen. With her walking and navigating her way around the large house, Alcina was worried about her toddler tripping and falling down. Any injury, any scrapped knee always put the woman on edge. She doesn’t handle it well when her babies are in pain.

Generally, Alcina accepted that when it comes to her children, she will always be like this. Yes, she’s clingy and she is always worried about them and it is what it is, her daughters will just have to accept that this is the way she is.

She can sense when something bad is going to happen.

She is aware that it’s a mother’s intuition but she can tell when something is wrong and when one of her children is not okay.

She can tell when a daughter is sick before she even sees her.

One time when Cassandra and Daniela went out and said that they’ll be back later to shopping with their mom, Alcina knew that something was wrong when her twelve year old and nine year old didn’t show up.

Alcina panicked and called the police immediately, reporting her children missing. The police didn’t want to start their search, first saying that it’s not been twenty four hours and that the girls might have fun away. Alcina nearly lost it, telling the police that her daughters were excited to go out with her and certainly not planning on running away. Her anger and intensity made the police start looking for the two girls.

A while later Cassandra and Daniela shows up, saying that they got lost and Cassandra’s phone had died. After the hugs and the tears Alcina looked at the two and

“And you couldn’t find a single building where you can ask to use the phone?! Next time your phone dies I don’t care what you do, you knock on doors you find the nearer person and you make the damned phone call and tell me where you are!”

Even Cassandra would hold back any smart ass comeback because their mother is really mad and she doesn’t want to test that. Because by the age of twelve, she already knows what her mother is capable of and she doesn’t want to get into more trouble that she’s already in.

Back to Alcina, the whole point of this post is to say that she’s one clingy mama and when her kids are away from her she misses them and she always always always knows when something is wrong like all her mama instincts would be screaming at her that something is wrong.

So Alcina is both clingy and has separation anxiety when it comes to her daughters.

[lunacias]

it’s dangerous to go alone! 

finished the rito village quest recently! travelling with tulin was everything to me 

[silent-partner-412]

playing ridgeside village in stardew valley and realizing it’s a goddamn good thing i downloaded the free love mod because there are too many boys in this game now that i like and want to marry. i’m going to have a harem of like a half dozen or more husbands by the time i’m done with this playthrough and its going to be absolutely glorious.

[kirfuffel]

[skunkes]

the [zelda game] has harmed m[y vocabulary] once more

[ryssbelle]

JD is going to ugly baby cry when he finally finds Clay? Like the overflow of Relief and happiness Will literally turns him into a blabbering mess That only Floyd can understand Because Floyd is the sensitive one.

I haven’t fully decided how the moment would go, there’s a lot of directions but I did decide to kind of do a concept doodle of this scenario, sort of. I was gonna send it with this ask but I think it deserves its own post for how long it is XD but know you were the ask that spawned it. But yeah I have lots of ideas on what could possibly happen, the biggest aspect of it that is subject to change is whether or not Clay is there in what would be this aus version of the Branch Floyd reunion from the movie, and then like what goes with that you know?

I’m more along the idea that Clay would be there, as would most of them, due to the circumstances having changed so drastically that they wouldn’t be separated by a fight, but you never know. This is pretty close tho to some of like my first thoughts, also sorry for taking a literal month to answer again the concepts I made were meant to go with this but I was going through so many drafts I legit just exploded.

The concept doodle will probs be posted tomorrow tho ;D

[geothewriter]

Player Party Antics

Throwback to that time I was running a DnD game, and described a cobble well at the end of this dungeon. Made it all kinds of creepy, bad vibes, waves of heat and cold coming from it. I had planned on them turning around and having to fight the gelatinous cube that impeded their way back out.

My players dropped a rock down it. I described the fall as about 600 feet. One player proudly stated he had prepared feather-fall on his wizard.

....

Those fuckers jumped into the well. Of course, they had featherfall.

Session over. DM needs to figure out what's at the bottom of the well.

Jumping fucks. (I love them)

[volostogekiss]

the tides of the sea (one-shot)

Warnings: Some mild self-deprecation. SAD, depressed reader. Mention of scars.

GN!reader, soft!Volo, emotional turmoil (you know it), praise from Volo though heh. This is based on that one credits festival screenshot.

Summary: The night after you’d closed the rift, you’d only wanted to be alone. You stray out of the village, where the festival roars your name, to find solace upon the cliffs at Prelude Beach—the place where everything had begun, and everything had ended. You don’t expect anyone else to come looking for you, but he still does.

Perhaps you don’t want to remain alone, if he’s the one who finds you.

           If you’d really thought about it, you shouldn’t be here right now.

           The Hero of Hisui, out alone, on the night meant for celebration.

           Celebration of your deeds in capturing both Dialga and Palkia, sealing the dangerous space-time rift, and allowing Hisui to be safe once more for its people.

           But are you one of its people?

           Do they consider you not to be a stranger any longer?

           For what you’ve done for them?

           You stare out at the ocean.

           …It’s not like you had had a choice, anyway.

           Stay exiled, or close the rift?

           Stay exiled, or take responsibility for what hadn’t even been your fault?

           You tuck your knees against your chest.

           You should be happy that you’ve been allowed to return to the village, and that no one looks at you as if you’re nothing more than a wretched anomaly, threatening their sheltered lives.

           You should be happy that people are celebrating what you’d done for them—that you’d risked your life for their safety.

           That should make you happy, right?

           But still, there is an awful emptiness in your heart.

           You think you hear the cheers of the villagers, off in the distance, along with the steady beat of drums. Perhaps Irida and Melli have welcomed a few others to joyfully dance with them on stage.

           Though you…

           You can’t be happy in this moment.

           How could I?

           The twilight waves, speckled with starlight, beat against the stones below the cliffs, and wearily, you nudge your chin between your hands.

           It’s as if doing all this for the villagers—sealing the rift and restoring magnificent blue skies to them—has exonerated you of a crime you’d never even committed.

           That after everything, now you are some savior, worthy of praise, and your wrongs have been forgiven.

           How fickle human nature is.

           But you’d never done anything wrong in the first place, nothing at all.

           You shake your head, and a sudden, scorching heat coils in your stomach.

           No, the one wrong thing you’d done was existing here in Hisui. You should’ve never been brought to the past.

           Your hands curl into fists upon your knees, and that angry flame flickers upward into your chest, twisting and gnawing at your heart.

           How was it my fault? Why me? Arceus, tell me why it had to be me!

           The waves tumble and crash against the shore, and it’s such a mundane thing that sets you off—

           screaming, pressing your hands to your eyes, and collapsing in on yourself as if you can’t take it any longer.

           You can’t.

           You can’t go home.

           After everything, you can’t go home, and somehow, you’re supposed to feel as if things are normal once again.

           You are not one of Hisui’s people.

           Nothing will ever be normal for you, as it is for them.

           “I can’t…” you sob, tears starting to well at the corners of your eyes.

           I can’t.

           You don’t even know what you mean anymore, but you don’t want any of it.

           You’re alone.

           You’re alone now, and you always will be, in a way that no one else could understand.

           After all, none of them had come to Hisui as you had. Even Ingo, despite his periodic, inexplicable moments of yearning for somewhere he couldn’t remember as home, had found a place in Hisui. The Pearl Clan needed him; Lady Sneasler had chosen him.

           But none of the people had chosen you.

           He hadn’t known the same blighted responsibility as you. You’d been their last hope—someone they never would’ve chosen if their desperate circumstances hadn’t forced you into your position.

           You wish you could look past it.

           Part of you wants to learn to love Hisui as its people do, wants to sincerely enjoy every friendship you’d built so far.

           You should give yourself that, shouldn’t you?

           To be happy?

           But even as you try to, even as you want to, you can’t. Not entirely.

           Even if you can hardly remember anything of your past now, from where you’d really come from, you can’t find it in yourself to just… forget it all.

           What little there is.

           Perhaps you won’t have a choice in that either, however, for all your memories have nearly faded into nothing but a dim haze of longing and lost hope.

           Wiping your damp eyes on your sleeves, you peer down at the silky gray fabric. You follow the swirling gold and white patterns, vibrant under the moonlight, and then you pinch at them, as if convincing yourself that they’re real.

           Yes, very much so.

           Anthe had sewn the ornate haori draped across your shoulders.

           “For the Hero of Hisui.”

           Your lips quiver. Subconsciously, your hands move to your hair.

           Arezu had placed an intricately woven headband, decorated with a myriad of rich dyes and a carefully lacquered pin, upon your head.

           “For the Hero of Hisui!”

           You stroke a finger against the wooden pin, then fold your arms over your knees again.

           But I’m alone, still.

           …!

           That sudden, uncontrollable heat—that furious, resentful fire—abruptly consumes your thoughts, and then you’re screaming, frustrated, tired, and alone—

           “I can’t do this anymore!”

           You shout the words out at the sea, half expecting it to mercifully answer you with any wisdom its boundless age may provide, and half expecting it to only splash and break on the rocks, lamentably unable to assuage you.

           Neither, it seems, is what you receive.

           “What can you no longer do?”

           You whirl around faster than you’d thought yourself capable, the haori flitting around you with the sharpness of your movement. Your heart jumps up into your throat. You’d really thought you’d be quite secluded here, and you’re not in the mood to deal with anyone else but—

           there’s a familiar figure waiting just a few paces behind you.

           Your heart settles into place once more, but its frantic beating doesn’t slow. He always puts you in such a state, causing a stammer to pluck at your words and an occasional heat to fan over your cheeks.

           You aren’t sure if you want him to stay, or to go.

           “Volo, I…” Splaying a hand across your chest, you turn around fully to face him. “I didn’t expect you.”

           You never could expect his capricious arrivals, after all. Volo has an uncanny ability to appear wherever you are, and you’ve never particularly questioned it; it’s become a bit of a routine thing to you. It’s no surprise that you hadn’t heard him either then, not with your fractured state of mind, hardly capable of helping you piece together a coherent response.

           “I apologize if I startled you,” he replies quietly, sensing that perhaps you aren’t feeling quite yourself at the moment, “but I had wondered where you had disappeared to.”

           “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

           Volo tenses at your words, but you don’t notice. You’ve turned around again, barely even having taken note of his lack of festival attire—that he’s still wearing his uniform as if he’d just returned from an assignment himself.

           “No, no.” Hearing the apology in your voice, he hurries to correct you. “It’s just I hadn’t a moment to speak with you all night.”

           He steps toward you, but bites back his true thought: No one else would worry about you like I would.

           Somberly amused by the notion, you huff lightly. “You’re right.”

           Still, Volo remains where is, and as the truth of his remark painstakingly hits you, you concede that you’d much rather prefer his company now.

           At least… at least you won’t be alone, when you should be as happy as the others in the village are.

           And Volo—he’s special to you, no matter how much you don’t want to admit that to him.

           You make up your mind then.

           He should stay.

           “You can sit, if you want.”

           With a drooping arm, you gesture limply somewhere to your right.

           He walks silently—you think he’d at least make a sound this time, but he does not—and gratefully accepting your invitation, he seats himself beside you.

           Your eyes haven’t left the ocean, not even when he sits so close to you.

           You can feel the heat of his body just against your arm, and somewhere in the back of your befuddled, dejected mind, you entertain the idea of simply falling against him. To revel in his warmth, his comfort.

           The cool sea breeze buffets against your cheeks, and you remind yourself that such a thing would be improper for your relationship.

           Your friendship, at where it currently stands.

           Perhaps Volo is one of the few who truly cares about you. He’d sought you out now, after all.

           He must care, right?

           Are you so alone, then?

           How pathetic, you think, as you nearly permit every insecurity to rise to the churning surface of your sea of anguished thoughts.

           “I haven’t spoken with you at all tonight, and then I find you alone here.”

           Ah.

           There’s a question in his statement, but you’re glad he doesn’t say anything more than that.

           Something tugs at your heart, and you want to tell him more. To admit to him you’d wanted to be alone because you are alone in Hisui.

           Your Pokémon would stay at your side, but they couldn’t change the way you’d felt alone all this time.

           So alone in your experience in Hisui, and why you had ended up here.

           Perhaps it’s too self-deprecating to think of it as so, but you don’t know what else to believe anymore. How can you come to terms with people so willing to throw you away, then beg for your assistance, but only for the necessity of your service?

           “Maybe it’s foolish that I want to be alone,” you rasp out.

           You shrug off the haori over your shoulders, and your hands strip the headband from your hair. Shedding their leaden, overbearing weight, you set them aside on the grass.

           You don’t cast them another glance.

           You hardly notice that you shiver as the next sea breeze rolls in; it’s the end of summer, but the wind is cold.

           And once more, you’re grateful that Volo doesn’t ask a thing of you.

           “But at the same time, I don’t want to be alone, either.”

           It’s a hoarse whisper that he still manages to hear.

           He doesn’t need to ask why you feel so alone. He had been there at your lowest point, when he’d rescued you from the darkness threatening to toss you into the unrelenting abyss of your exile.

           And then, he had grown too attached to you for his own good.

           How defenseless you are now, how trusting of him that you will admit such a thing to him, how he can’t find it in himself to just let you be…

           Volo decides he would regret it if he didn’t take this chance to pull you closer, deeper into his very being.

           …Even if he shouldn’t.

           You almost yelp when Volo shifts beside you, when he’s suddenly bundling you up in a hug. His arms wind around your own as he deftly pulls you into the space before him, his legs shifting to settle outside yours. He curves around you just so, his chin resting upon the top of your head.

           “You’re cold,” he observes plainly, as if that somehow explains everything.

           There’s not an inkling of shame or embarrassment in his tone, but you wish that there was. You wish there was, for his heat is nestled against every part of you, and you can smell the faint scent of earthy trees and fragrant flowers on his clothes and feel his breath against your prickling skin.

           You’re abashed at how close he is, and yet…

           you don’t want him to let go.

           Perhaps this is his answer to your confession. That he won’t allow you to be alone, if you’ll have him.

           You want to let him stay. You want to have him.

           Shivering at the thought, and the fact that he’s so close, you exhale shakily. You know he’d felt it, and you know he can feel your rapidly thumping heartbeat.

           You can’t hide it.

           “You’re shivering still,” Volo points out with a thoughtful hum.

           Clearly not from the cold, though.

           As if he understands what you want, however, he gently gathers your hands in his own.

           It’s with a start then, do you realize this is the first time you’ve held his hands.

           They’re calloused, obviously from the more demanding labor of his work with the guild and his escapades into various ruins. They’re rough in some areas on his palms, but when your fingers tentatively explore the rest of his hands, you’re surprised by how soft they are. How warm, how kind, and how lovely they feel in yours.

           “Your hands… They’re soft,” you say absently, a mild note of astonishment echoing in your words.

           Then, struck by another thought, you stare down at your own hands, so rugged and bruised and scarred.

           Nothing like his.

           A smooth chuckle quavers against your back as Volo leans into you, his pleasant warmth healing some exhausted, ravaged remnant of your beaten soul.

           He laughs shortly, though not intending to demean you. Right along with his words, you feel his laugh run through your body, soothing you. “Thank you. But I quite like your hands.”

           Before you have a chance to even ask what he means, Volo moves to hold your hands completely in his.

           “They show how hard you’ve worked.”

           Fuck.

           You feel those pitiful tears returning again.

           Laying his head against yours, Volo continues on, unmistakable tenderness sighing beneath his words, “And I see how hard you’ve worked, even if no one else has. I always will.”

           His thumbs brush over yours.

           The action is so compassionate, so soft, that you almost want to give up and break down, without a care in the world.

           It’s true.

           Volo has. It’s why he’d been the only one who’d scoured the land searching for you after you’d been exiled, to offer you a safe haven when no one else could. When no one else would.

           But now, sitting in his embrace, feeling so warm and loved in his care, you think you hadn’t even needed that, as long as you could remain with him.

           He is your safe haven.

           How had you not thought of it before?

           “Thank you, for saying that.” Gradually, you relax against him, a wobbling breath easing its way into the night. “I don’t think anyone else here has ever spoken to me like this.”

           Volo hums again, this time moving impossibly closer, his cheek nearly touching yours. His blond tresses tickle your skin, and you marvel at the warm feeling that consoles your aching, splintering heart. Is this how you’d felt in your life of the past? Did you have someone else important to you back then?

           Strangely enough, you don’t know if you want to remember.

           Not when Volo is here now, with you. Not a fleeting figment of what you’d left behind, not a ghost of your past, but a friend at your side, in the present.

           A friend.

           But is that all he is?

           You know the answer already.

           You’ve wanted him to be more than that, but whether it’s because you want someone to fill the void of loneliness in your heart or because you really are attracted to him, you can’t readily say.

           Perhaps it’s a bit of both, then.

           “Then I will.”

           You fight against your tears, and if Volo can feel you trembling once more, he says nothing of it.

           Instead, he only goes on.

           “Your arms as well, so firm and unyielding, to help you overcome every obstacle in your way,” murmurs Volo, his hands leaving yours to idly push your sleeves upward with each of his words.

           Your breath stutters.

           His fingers trace the scars marking your skin, as they meander up toward your shoulders.

           Another shudder, one that you don’t even try to suppress.

           Volo nuzzles against your hair, and you welcome his caress; if he will be here for you like this, then you don’t want to push him away.

           “Strong, just as your shoulders are”—his fingers press into your shoulders lightly, and you stifle a gasp—“to be able to carry burdens that are not even yours.”

           Undeniable veneration rings in his words. You can’t comprehend it for a moment—how he seems to hold you in such high regard, with a staggering amount of unfettered awe for you that is unheard of in Hisui.

           “But most of all,” Volo begins, just before sighing, and the noise almost sounds wistful—loving, even.

           He hesitates, his hands still upon your shoulders, as though he’s debating speaking honestly or not.

           You sit, motionless, despite how quickly your heart is racing.

           At last, he gives in, one hand gliding over your left arm, before cautiously angling in, toward you.

           Your eyes remain fixed on the ocean. You can’t breathe, you don’t know what you should do at this moment, he’s just so close to you—

           His hand presses over your heart, and you freeze.

           “But most of all, your heart is what has drawn me to you.”

           …What?

           The heat of his hand suddenly burns at the frigid loneliness gripping your deprived heart. Something gives, then, as your heart reaches fiercely for that warmth, and finally, a noise escapes you.

           A miserable, defeated noise. A whimper, a cry, something you’d never let anyone else hear, and yet, Volo is the first and only one to hear it.

           “Your heart, so full of kindness for the people who you don’t even know.” You’re vaguely aware of Volo’s lips upon the back of your neck, a fluttering kiss gently placed just below your hairline. “So stout, so resilient, even after everything that they’ve done to you.”

           The tears nearly spill down your cheeks.

           Volo, I—I don’t think I deserve you.

           “I sometimes wonder if I deserve you,” chuckles the man wrapped around you, as he says your name, the heat against your back and over your chest suddenly so evident to you now.

           Did I say that out loud?

           Had you been more aware, you would have thought there to be something else in his hushed praise—something else that almost seems like too much, in the way that he’d spoken your name.

           Your hand clamps down over his on your heart, but you don’t spare it another thought. He doesn’t do anything to halt you, instead parting his fingers for yours to lace between them.

           Then, Volo guides a hand to brace your chin, with a delicate touch meant to direct you only toward him, and nothing else.

           “Volo,” you start quietly, with wavering eyes, as you blink up at him, “I think I—”

           You stop when you see that there’s nothing but affection in his gray eye, startling in how it matches the intensity with which he’s holding you to him.

           Prompting you to continue, he says your name again, as if it’s the sweetest melody one could sing.

           But you can’t say what you want to, just yet.

           Instead, you only close your eyes and squeeze his hand in yours.

           “Please don’t leave me.”

           Volo smiles delightfully, lowering his head to rest his forehead against yours. He wants to be true to you, to tell you that he won’t go, but inside, his heart is tearing at him savagely. He cannot.

           Then why did you come here? a voice seems to ask him, and he shuts his eyes in a silent reply, hoping you won’t see the conflict on his stricken face.

           How can he leave you like this, so shattered and fragile, wearing a look of suffering you’d never shown anyone else before?

           You, the unparalleled Hero of Hisui?

           A jaded part of him should rejoice at your weakness, the part of him which knows what he must eventually do.

           But he cannot do that, either.

           You’ve trusted him with your vulnerability. You believe him to be so genuine, his heart in the right place.

           Volo loves you. He really does.

           And while he cradles you close, could he say that he doesn’t know a thing of your loneliness?

           He’s been lonely for his whole life.

           Lonely, in his childhood, when the unfair cruelty of the world had made it clear to him that he had no one else to turn to. Lonely, when he had learned he would then be the only one who could change the world to be what he—no, what everyone, even you—would need.

           But maybe with you, and you with him, neither of you will be so lonely anymore.

           And perhaps that’s why, as you curl into his embrace, with a broken expression, Volo smiles again, whispering so softly that he wonders if he should have even bothered to speak such a beautiful lie at all,

           “I won’t leave you. I promise.”

[mokutone]

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image desc under readmore:

ID:

Panel one has a view into Kakashi's bedroom from just outside the open window. We look over the bed where Tenzō's Anbu mask is resting and past the flapping curtain, and see the spot where Kakashi and Tenzō are sitting. Tenzō, still crouched by the side of Kakashi's bed, is mostly hidden aside from the top of his head. Kakashi is sitting with a loose, tired posture, looking wryly out the open window. "And then you came to my apartment, " Kakashi says. "Maybe it felt safe and secluded enough to have your breakdown in. Which is flattering, but to be fair, my wards are usually immaculate."

The second panel, they are sitting, knees touching knees, facing each other. Kakashi's eyes are closed, like he's trying to force a smile, but not succeeding very well. He has one arm wrapped around himself. Tenzō is leaning forward towards Kakashi, eyebrows low over his eyes. "But I didn't plan—I didn't choose to do this, to feel this," Tenzō argues. "Who would?" Kakashi asks. He continues, "The only drawback of having trust, of having a place to be vulnerable, is that sometimes you'll have to be vulnerable in it, I guess. Hurts, huh?"

/end ID.

[fanficmaniatic]

Ninjago Last names are so funny to me, like I know we are doing the best we can we what we've got but like...

Take Kai for example, Japanese name, pretty sure is just the word for either Red or Fire. His last name? Well the fandom decided it was "Smith" an English last name for our character that grew up in feudal japan inspired village. To top this, he has spoken Spanish twice, so the common head cannon is that they are at least half Hispanic of some sort. The fandom looks at this and is like "Yeah but we could look more into the village he grew up in for our ethnicity head cannons, a name change is needed" so y'all pick "Jiang" a Chinese last name....

Dear creators, give last names to your characters please, don't make us go through this.