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glystenangel · 10 months

Note

Hi! I would love to request a Sukuna x Sorcerer Reader oneshot where the reader gets called in to help to fight against Sukuna. When the reader arrives to fight, Sukuna took a liking towards her and flirts with her while fighting. Also, this would be enemies to lovers, smut and romance, a spicy vibe to it, and I'm okay with you posting this oneshot publicly ^^ - ☀️💖👑

In the Heat of Battle

Sukuna x Sorceror&Afab!Reader

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, everything in the ask but also i did this in a historical au bc...i like them, sitting in a hot spring with sukuna, SEX, cunnilingus, degradation/praise, edging😇, dirty talk, cussing, ridin', bratty reader, cumeating, sukunas got his 4 arms, half smut half fluff, i get a bit philosophical in the middle sorry, mentions of murder, injuries, and blood, etc.

~ 10k i got a lil too excited mayhaps bc this is not oneshot length but whatever

thanks for requesting, i hope you like<3

_________________

Fighting a curse like Sukuna meant you were lucky to be alive for this long.

Of course, you never had much need for luck.

“Ooh, so close.” Sukuna laughs into an effortless dodge, so agile that you can feel the air gliding underneath your palm for an irritatingly brief moment.

His voice is deep and so closely threaded with power the entire town practically shudders with the sound.

“I’ll get you next time.” You spit, gritting your teeth and preparing yourself for the next series of attacks.

Sukuna opens his hands wide, “You can have me anytime you want.”

Ever since you got called into battle, your opponent took it upon himself to flirt with you more than he fought with you. Even as you beat him to a pulp, he would persist. It was nothing short of maddening.

You glare at him, cursed energy coursing through you as you ready yourself once more, “Shut up already!”

“Hm,” He licks the ivory tip on one of his canines with a rough stroke of his tongue, as if savoring the threat, “Happy to have a pretty girl like you shut me up too.”

“I’ll shut you up for good, and you won’t like how I do it. Trust me.”

“Come on, sweetheart. You’re good, but good enough to beat me? Be honest with yourself-”

Before he can finish, the cursed spirit’s neck is in your hands and you’re relishing the way his pupils shrink in alarm at your successful grab. Despite his shock, Sukuna manages to minimize any possible damage by dragging you with him as his body is forced backwards from the impact of your ambush. The instinctive maneuver is enough to pull you into the wall with him.

Rubble from the area you and Sukuna crash into cascades around your fallen figures. The fear of injury stings through your body, and you only register it when you instinctively push out your arms to get yourself back on your feet.

“Not so fast.” Sukuna’s arms entangle you again, and you belatedly realize he had landed beside you.

He also rises to his feet more quickly than you can, pinning you to the chalky remains of the wall and sneering at your frantic clawing along the tops of his knuckles.

You hazily hear the gravelly reverberation of Sukuna’s laughter, and return to the rest of your senses, “Get the fuck off me!”

“Watch your temper.”

He keeps you in his grip with his four arms, and you continue to struggle in their collective grasp. The veins of his arms are tense and pronounced from the rest of his olive skin.

“...And your modesty.” He pinches the hem of your collar between a few fingers, the tease emphasized by the slide of fabric across your skin.

The heat that follows the motion enrages you.

Sukuna looks down at you with continued bemusement, and you follow his line of sight to find your shirt ripped open.

There’s a slight wrinkle in his nose that indents into the small black slash across it, and it’s caused by the smug expression on Sukuna’s face. His grin seems to have a cunning bite to it, and the corners perfectly complement the shape of his jaw.

As much as you hate to admit it, he has a nice smile. Nice enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Too bad you had to get rid of it.

Wrestling him to the ground, the impact leaves you breathless and a loud ringing enters your ears subsequent to you rolling yourself onto your back. You must have slammed your head, because you can feel the back of your scalp becoming sore.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your fellow sorcerers retreating and collecting the wounded. After your requested arrival, you had been exchanging violent maneuvers with Sukuna for what felt like hours.

In reality, you know that it probably hadn’t been any more than 10 minutes since you tackled the curse and began delivering blows with your curse abilities.

Everything is on fire.

You have to finish the job.

“Looks like you hurt yourself pretty good.” You hear through your blurring vision, “Can you keep going?”

What?

Part of you strains to hear, and the other half retains enough instinct to push away Sukuna’s broad shoulders as he approaches.

You’re still trying to land attacks as your consciousness fades and he catches each one, making you resist even more and inadvertently expend your remaining energy.

“Stop. You’re cute for trying but don't.” He snarls.

A nice, square blow to his cheek grants you some satisfaction as you finally lose consciousness.

_________________

When you wake up, dozens of local sorcerers and townspeople are flocked to your side and hurriedly checking your vitals from where you lay on the ground.

“How long was I out?”

“About a minute.” A villager answers, dusting the debris off of your clothes.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” You brush them off, the pounding in your head matching the one in your chest.

Although dazed, you scan beyond the crowd for any trace of Sukuna.

“He’s gone, don’t worry.” Someone says.

Even so, you contine to look for him.

Though you’re not sure why.

_________________

In spite of your bewilderment, you continue to search for Sukuna throughout the days succeeding the fight.

However, he seems to be searching for you too.

As luck would have it, he finds you first.

_________________

You dunk your wounds in the warm water, trying to relax into the hot spring and let the steam clear your mind.

Thanks to a healing sorcerer named Shoko, most of your wounds were able to be skillfully closed up, but they seem to still ache as though they were fresh.

So, you had ventured into the woods to the secret hot spring you had found years ago. The countryside was littered with them, and this one was your favorite due to the privacy brought by the trees and the soothing temperature. You were convinced that it had some sort of healing properties due to the mineral content that clouded the water, but you didn’t expend too much thought on that theory.

No one else seems to know about it either, so you trust the serenity of your secret hiding place enough to rest your head on the rocks and drift off.

As sleep begins to kiss your eyelids, a nearby rustle has them snapping back. You freeze, not wanting any splashing to alert the possible intruder.

Breathing slowly, you scrutinize the area that appears to be the source of the noise. You feel your battle worn joints scream in protest, but your gut instinct tells you that you may have to prepare to defend yourself.

The shadows of the trees drag over a tall figure, and your eyes widen at the familiar outline.

“Oh shit.”

Your thoughts mirror the words delivered by that unmistakable voice ingrained in your recent memory.

It’s Sukuna.

He has a bruise trailing along his jawline, and you recognize the blooms of purple as your handiwork among the other scrapes and scars dotting his person. It seems most of them have healed less neatly than yours have. Sukuna takes a step forward, and you note that he has a limp in his gait. The robes he wears are clean however, ivory and slate gray in color, seemingly too pure for someone as malicious as him. He rotates his neck and shoulders, the movement of those broad muscles prompting the stretch and pull of his pecs. His eyes stay trained on yours, the color of autumn leaves burning into your wary hues. Even with his obvious injuries, his presence brings chills to your body. He still looks strong.

The sudden appearance has you ducking lower into the misty water with a not so subtle splash.

“Don’t look!”

You internally wince at your unplanned plea, expecting him to laugh or roll his eyes, but it only makes him pause.

The struggling rise and fall of your chest becomes ignored as you make out his face through the steam, which lacks emotion or mercy of any sort.

Then, he covers his eyes with a large hand draped over the bridge of his nose.

“Okay.” Sukuna says, the agreement is accommodating yet inflected with a nonchalance that forces you to blink hard.

Another silence falls over you both, and you place a hand on one of the stones bordering the pool. Tufts of grass poke between the coarse gray, and you can feel a few get caught under your knuckle white grip.

You can’t fight him like this, so you have half a mind to run.

The thought is interrupted when the curse speaks again, “Can I come in?”

The ask jolts you back into that perilous place between fight or flight, “No fucking way!”

“I’ll keep my eyes to myself, promise.”

No irony laces his speech, and true to his word, his eyes remain covered.

Before you can retort, he says again, “Besides, I don’t think either of us are in any condition to fight…you more so than me. Don’t you agree?”

His lips move beneath the curve of his hand, and you follow the shape of them with little interest. They’re split with a line of scabbed blood, and his hand has green bruising patched over the back of it.

He somehow looks worse than you do.

“I don’t think you’re in any condition to insult me either.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The water continues to rush over your body, and you feel it easing the tension within. Nature eroding every facet of pain into smooth relief.

It would be a first for you to share such consolation.

“Fine. But, don’t come near me. Or look.” You acquiesce, though just in case you assume a stance that resembles offense somewhat.

Honestly, you feel ridiculous.

Sukuna smiles widely, and then he continues walking until he senses the edge of the water by the heat on the bottoms of his feet. You briefly shield your own eyes when he disrobes, and he slips into the opposite side of the spring so gracefully you wonder if he’s secretly peeking through his fingers. His sheer mass displaces some of the liquid, and it hits your shoulders as he settles in.

Once he’s waist deep, and to your surprise, he turns away to rest his chin over crossed arms. His other two arms swim through the spring, feeling what little current there was running across his palms.

Feeling awkward, you do the same, but periodically look back to see if he wasn’t going to rip your heart out from behind.

His back is lined with deep grooves of strength and the dark marks tattooed onto his skin, water puddling over the dips and then spreading thin into glossy sheens as it evaporates.

Your throat wets with saliva at the magnificent view.

Every part of Sukuna seems perfectly sculpted to fight and conquer. A sadistic culmination of poetry in motion.

You examine your own figure wrought with power and evidence of your training. The same water decorating him was lapping at you too.

An even match, you think.

“You’re being awfully quiet, getting dirty thoughts about me already?”

The croon shifts your focus, and you whip around to flick water between his shoulder blades. The shot hits its target, though he hardly seems to register the miniscule shot.

What an annoying guy.

“Hey. Don’t make me come over there.”

“I’d like to see you try.” You roll your eyes and return your sights to the treeline when you sense movement behind you.

As soon as your peripheral picks up on Sukuna rushing towards you, you manage to lift your hands in time to catch Sukuna’s.

Large globs of water hang off of the thick elbows he hoists into the air, the liquid trickling down to his ribs and then rippling the surrounding water. His height is nothing short of monstrous as you glower at the smirking curse.

Moisture is also loosely braided into his petal hued hair, which glistens in the sunlight before fading into a dark, cropped shadow around his ears and above his neck. He looks…different up close and without the rigid aura of battle.

Your fingers interlock tightly together, no words easing the moment. Speaking seems impossible, and the prolonged clasp has you swallowing hard.

The stare Sukuna uses to capture your eyes is unreadable. Every secret you’ve ever held seems to be pulled nearer, threads sinking into the garnet depths like those fabled red strings of fate. However after scanning down your neck and then back up to your face, a satisfied glint emerges.

“That’s what I thought.” He tuts, as if disappointed, “You humans have no conviction. Pathetic little creatures.”

With that, he lets out a wolfish chuckle and releases you. The amusement fades in the air as he goes back to his previous seat, the broad shape of his back facing away from you once more.

The silence holds for a while, just the gurgle of water and occasional slosh from you or Sukuna cupping water over yourselves.

Only the damned curse behind you seems to like taking the lead in breaking each quiet stretch of time.

“So, you really gonna kill me?”

You sigh, running a hand over your cheek, “I hope so.”

“Don’t you want to get it over with? I’m right here.”

You chance another glance at him from over your shoulder, resting your temple on a fist.

Sukuna doesn’t move. You can’t see his face or imagine what kind of expression is laid across it.

All you see are the slashes you inflicted upon him, and the slightly pink scars beneath from past sorcerers who died in their attempts to rid the world of Sukuna’s terror once and for all.

As if he can feel where you’re gawking, he scratches the spot with a long black nail and lets out a discontent mumble.

Oddly enough, you find him both pitiful and loathsome. He won’t live for much longer, and surviving that final brawl certainly won’t leave you untouched. Once you take his life, you highly doubt that you’ll be able to keep yours for much longer after that.

There is an intimacy in knowing that you’ll die with someone. That you will be the last person each one will feel under each other’s hands and see as you draw the same, last breath.

Because of that, you find that you can’t look at him anymore.

“I don’t want it to be like this.” You finally admit, cutting the disdain from your voice and tapping the top of a stone.

The smile on his countenance is something you swear you can hear now, “We’ll keep this a secret then, yeah?”

“What secret?”

“This place, stupid.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Well, you’re acting like it. Now me? If I were you, I would’ve reached over and snapped my neck. Injuries be damned. I get it though, must be that so-called honor you humans adore indulging in. Can’t say it hasn’t infected me unfortunately, I didn’t really feel like finishing you off after you hit your head either. It would’ve been an empty victory. Pretty lame way to get out of it if I’m being honest.”

You tilt your head with a squint, searching for his eyes again and finding them as he drops his head back to send you a cheeky simper.

“Just saying.”

You tear away from him, sinking into the water before rising again to rearrange the soaked strands of your hair.

“I won’t kill you, yet.”

“Well then,” Sukuna preens, derision oozing into his cadence, “I’m looking forward to your next attempt.”

_________________

You and Sukuna begin to meet there consistently.

Just until you heal, you promise yourself.

It isn’t even as though every meeting is on purpose, he just so happens to be in the area when you are.

A wordless, regular cadence where you bathe and Sukuna does the same, except you stay back to back.

At first, you don’t break apart the silences by bringing up sorcerers or most other related circumstances, it just comes off much too taboo.

You also didn’t want to give him any advantages for future fights.

So, you talk about everything else.

What the clouds are shaped like, his philosophies on the world, your hometown.

Sukuna knew quite a lot, you suppose due to his years spent roaming the country.

It makes you more and more curious about how he came to be what he is. You try to not address it, but it gnaws at you. Dancing at the tip of your tongue.

He seems to feel the same way, being quite frank and open with his own questions and replies.

Despite your efforts, one day Sukuna offhandedly mentions that he was once a sorcerer.

Just like you.

_________________

“All you sorcerers are the same. You lie to yourselves and everyone around you.” He rolls a pebble between his fingers and occasionally tosses it in the air.

You can see it arc over the top of his head, plummet down and start again. Sukuna had begun this cycle as soon as you had said something he disagreed with, likely something banal and harmless like how helping the weak is what sorcerers do.

“You make so many baseless assumptions, do you ever get tired of jumping to conclusions so often?”

“Baseless?” The pebble falls and he swipes it into his hand, “Not at all. I used to be a sorcerer, so I can make all the fucking assumptions I would like.”

That piques your full interest.

You openly stare at him now, ignoring the pounding in your ears from such an arbitrary, shared confession.

“So why do you do it?”

“What?”

“Everything.”

He shrugs, and it’s all loose heaves of muscle in that small gesture.

“I want power.”

“For what?”

“Same reason anyone probably does. Isn’t that why you’re a sorcerer? For power to do with what you want?”

He crosses his arms behind his head, leaning to look at you as he rests back on the woven appendages.

The insinuation makes you press your lips together before speaking.

“Yes, but not like you. You kill innocent people, sorcerers and nonsorcerers alike, and you show complete disregard for them. It’s hateful.”

“I don’t hate them,” Sukuna meets your eyes, and you dutifully ignore the burning scarlet held within them, “They’re just in my way. Plus, innocence is subjective. Don’t act like sorcerers or humans you know haven’t thought the same. Done even worse.”

“Well, not on the mass scale you have.”

“Not that you know of.” He scoffs.

“Do you know? Since you used to be a sorcerer and seem to know every goddamn thing about it-”

“I know because I killed those sons of bitches years ago.” His hands fall back into the water, “Look, I’m no saint, we’ve established that. But is having strength so evil? Sorcerers and curses know what that answer is, we’re just waiting to see who will get out of the way first. After that, who knows what will happen. Whoever wins will decide what is considered right, and that’ll be it.”

Sukuna hums in thought, and then rolls his shoulders back with a grumble.

“Whether that includes heart or morals, who fucking cares. The definitions keep changing anyway.”

You scowl at his aloof attitude, “I like the kinder definitions.”

The rebuttal has Sukuna’s nose scrunching with revulsion, “No offense, but there’s hundreds completely different from it. Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

The argument comes out like your heart bared between your teeth.

Sukuna is firm as he looks down his nose at you, “You aren’t the world.”

As if you expected him to say otherwise.

Even so, the snide point hits its mark, “I never said I was. I’m no saint either, but I like to think the world can be much more than you described.”

“It’s not. This is all we got.” He opens his hands wide, and the sun weaves through his fingers.

Flashes of verdant trees and distant villages scattered below snow capped mountain tops dance across the edges of his arms.

Unspeakable beauty that you swore to protect.

“It’s all you’ve got.”

You raise your chin, absorbing the outlines of the villages before whipping your head back to the grimacing curse.

“You’re right, we’re going to constantly be keeping the balance between sorcerers, humans, and curses. It’s precarious and annoying as all hell, but these are people’s lives. You may think they’re weak, but to know the world is terrible and yet choose to live among all of the curse related incidents and regular bullshit anyway is power. And what are you doing? Sure, what are some sorcerers doing? Preying on that bravery while hiding behind some preconceived notion of what power really is and what it should give them. You may try to twist your logic into justifying that humans are in the way or useless to the overall battle between stronger forces outside of their control, but my god is that not fucking exhausting and pointless as well? That’s great for you if you don’t mind it, but I do. Kill, don’t kill. If it truly doesn’t matter- If it’s all the same, why do any of it? Why choose to intentionally perpetuate more suffering if it’s going to happen without your help? You’re just- It’s fucking despicable, you know that?”

Anger burns the back of your throat and flushes your forehead with thin perspiration.

“Maybe,” You finally say, “Yes, we are the same. I’ve done awful, irreversible things. Killed when it wasn’t necessary, but I still try. I want to keep trying to be better for the people who deserve it. Like this village. Can you understand that?”

The water stills with a silence so palpable you can feel it pressing on your chest. The spray of steam relieves little tension with its hushed puffs into the solemn, thickened air.

You don’t say anything more, and eventually Sukuna leaves the hot spring.

_________________

He doesn’t return for days.

You don’t mind it.

In fact, you hope it stays that way.

You entertain the thought with a smile, ruffling the ends of your hair to shake the water out.

The amusement follows you as you walk through the forest back home, but then you hear a noise in the trees.

“Sukuna?”

As soon as you say the name, you cover your mouth as if you’ve just accidentally uttered a secret meant only for the dead to hear. Your shoulders tense up by your ears, and you stop in the middle of the forest floor. You wait, doing your best to listen past the chirp of birds and the overbearing rhythm in your chest.

The wind is the only answer you get, however, so you manage to relax until you hear a twig snap.

You jerk your head around, and that’s when the air rushes out of your chest.

Of course, it’s him.

It’s always him.

You’re beginning to toy with the idea that this forest is haunted by an emptiness, save for you two.

“Hi.”

Sukuna waves in a casual manner more adjacent to two friends who had unexpectedly run into each other at the market rather than a curse and the sorcerer tasked with hunting him.

“What?” You glare, crossing your arms over your chest.

“It’s very nice to see you too.”

That cheeky comment makes you roll your eyes, “Move or speak, I don’t care which one you choose.”

“You’re so scary, you know that?” He leans in close, showing all of his teeth and mimicking curling his fingers into claws around his jaw.

Another glare.

“Fine, fine.” Sukuna throws his hands up in exasperation, and then scratches the top of his head.

“Yes?”

The curse rolls his shoulders back, shifting his weight between his feet.

He seems…nervous. But that can’t be right.

The uncertain revelation is startled out of your mind by his next few words, “I was thinking about what you said. You were right.”

The words rush out in jilted succession, like he forced them to escape before he held them in for the rest of his days.

You can only stare at him, and his eyes seem stuck on yours. Like he’s searching for something akin to approval.

“A child was lost in the woods here yesterday. I came across it and…it asked if I was a bear.” He laughs at the memory, and the sound of it without any sort of mirth or irony was unnervingly pleasant and normal.

“Such a feisty little thing, calling me a rude beast and demanding a piggyback ride home to their mother. Since, according to the kid, she would be sad that they got eaten by an ugly bear. It reminded me of what you said. Humans do everything they can to live despite unfathomable conditions. It’s a power many curses lack-”

“What did you do with the child?”

You know of one local boy that matched that description, Megumi Fushigurou, all sass and adorable chubby cheeks with a penchant for berry picking in the forest until sundown and his mother feared he was lost.

“I carried it back to the village, the damn thing complained the whole way but we made it safe and sound.” Sukuna rubs the back of his neck with disdain hissing out from his canines, “Did I mention it’s a pretty convincing power?”

You swallow in epiphany, he wasn’t lying.

You had seen the little boy with his mother earlier in the day. The village hadn’t had any cases of missing residents or violent crimes for a while either.

You don’t know how Sukuna manages to read your face, but he steps forward close enough to make your breath hitch.

“I’m apologizing, if you couldn’t tell.” He rests a hand on top of your head, a heavy warmth that matches the sudden softness of his tone.

“I’m…trying. Just like you.”

The touch is brief due to Sukuna retracting it as soon as you register the weight of his palm. Your vision startles to the curse above you, and it becomes instantly captivated.

Every inhale is noticeable, the taut expanse of his chest rising and falling more delicately than you would have guessed for a murderer like him.

Sukuna’s lashes almost brush the structured perch of his cheeks when he looks at you, and you turn on your heel as soon as the sight breaches your field of vision.

Something about how unexpectedly pretty Sukuna is always causes your stomach to churn.

“Denial goes a long way.” You shrug, and the robe you donned earlier slips off one of your shoulders, “But, you’re welcome.”

You can feel Sukuna following the fall of fabric with his eyes, “Yes, thank you.”

“Thank you too…for listening, even though I was kind of mean.”

“You’re welcome, I needed to hear it.”

Before you can help it, you peer at him from over your exposed shoulder and fail to tug the corners of your lips down to neutralize your expression.

“Does this mean you’ll stop being a murdering, pillaging asshole?”

“Maybe.” He grins and opens his arms wide, “Will you?”

You’re punching him in a heartbeat, and he guffaws so loud and openly that your resolve drops in your stomach.

It’s uncertain whether it was only for a moment then, or completely.

_________________

Sorcerers are crowded around a table, pounding its surface and causing the paper maps strewn across to crinkle and fly.

The meeting had started almost two hours ago, and both you and the elder sitting at the head of the conference looked exhausted by the possibility of being there for another second.

“He’s been too quiet.” One says, staring at the inked out rivers and mountains surrounding the town.

“Thank her for that.” Another juts his thumb at you, and you lean forward to feign biting it off before he flinches his hand back into his lap.

“We haven’t gotten any attacks since you fought him.” He mumbles, and you sit up at that fact.

“Really?”

“Yeah, we have nothing to go on. Because you didn’t finish the job, he probably fucking left.”

You blankly stare at him, and he shies away in embarrassment after the elder speaks up.

“That’s not true. The surrounding villages haven’t had any incidents. He must still be here. Laying low.”

You process the statements and theories, your mind spinning.

Right. Laying low.

Nodding along to the shouts and conversations, you pretend to agree while imagining Sukuna’s laugh.

His eyes shut in contentment while his head is thrown back and his hands clutching at his stomach or chest, the sun filtering through his hair and skirting over the immaculate planes of his face.

You can picture it so well you could practically reach out and touch him. Memorizing his features had been part of your mission while hunting for him, but lately your mind was beginning to conjure so many more different images of him than before.

Not just how he looks, but how he smells and feels. The way water and the forest laps at the tattoos on his skin.

A calming, yet incredibly distinct combination of senses.

One you hope sparks more spite the next time the curse crosses your mind.

The knowledge that Sukuna’s death is your duty simmers your temper as the sorcerers around you bicker.

You don’t grasp any desire within you to have anyone else involved.

“Calm yourselves,” You shake your head, “He’s laying low, but no one can hide forever. I’m already tracking him.”

_________________

Time only continues to pass in that perfect, little bubble you and Sukuna have created for yourselves.

The entire experience is bringing you a puzzling agony you grow less and less tolerant of.

Physically, you heal quicker than expected, and Sukuna only continues to become bolder and bolder following his own healing.

“You seem upset today.”

“Not.” The answer leaves you as forcefully as the clumps of grass you’ve been pulling out of the ground while sitting on the edge of the hot spring.

Your feet agitatedly swirl in the water, and you flick another handful of blades off to the side.

“So you are.” He wades over to you, and you place a protective hand on the hem of your robe resting across your thigh.

The act only makes him grin, so you return your focus to the decimated plants under your other palm. However, you soon yelp in surprise when Sukuna dives head first into the water and then suddenly resurfaces between your knees.

He wraps his fingers around the curve of your thigh, “Need some relief? You being more of a brat than usual is really getting on my nerves.”

“I’m not mad. Just thinking.” You huff, sounding immensely angry.

Sukuna only seems to register the fact that you’re staying under his touch, and he sinks in his nails a bit. Not enough to draw blood, just to test the bounce of your skin and how the water transfers from his touch.

The warm water glosses over the plush of your legs, and to your horror, Sukuna bends down to observe the shifting luster more closely, the swell of his bottom lip drawing heat as it hovers near your core.

It suddenly feels too hot.

The hunger in his eyes isn’t lost on you when he tilts his head up. You didn’t know rose petals could bloom away from the earth, but the crimson of Sukuna’s eyes begs you to reconsider. Once he seems to have his fill of your shaky gaze, he ducks his head back to your lap.

“Normally, it’s kind of cute when you’re upset.” His thumbs rub circles all the way beneath your clothing and up to your hips.

The motion only ignites more fire in you, “But I’m getting concerned. The forest won’t survive if you keep tearing it up like that.”

A chuckle is imprinted in the kiss he presses to the top of your thigh, and you let out a gasp so close to a whispery soft whimper that you pray to the gods Sukuna didn’t hear it.

“I can help you feel better.” Rumbles of dark desire coat the purr of his throat as his lips tread inward, “You sound like you want to. Am I wrong?”

He heard.

Then, in one swift motion, he hoists your calves over his shoulders, and water is streaming off of his body and down the lines of his chin as his eyes meet yours.

Every drop racing down his figure incites petty jealousy in you. You want to touch him. Not in any familiar, destructive way you have previously. Gently and sinfully, with languid licks to the crevices of muscle gathering water. You want to feel his body twitch and contract, and how he groans at the rugged texture of your tongue. Your throat hollows in response to that epiphany, and then it becomes saturated with ill controlled saliva.

At that, you swing your legs off of him, and he catches you in the crook of one of his arms as you attempt to scramble to your feet.

“Get away from me!”

The hissed out words indicate otherwise, as neither of you escape from your holds on each other.

Sukuna’s hand is bracing your forearm, and he has others wrapped around one of your ankles, on the small of your back.

Every point of contact absolutely burns.

“You hate me, don’t you?”

The word hate seems to have a poison specifically sharpened for your conscience.

But the answer doesn’t come to mind.

You should know the answer.

It should be easy, laughably so, rather than something bitter choking your throat.

Where did it go? Where did it leave you?

“You still do.”

It’s not an accusation from him this time, more of a wounded statement.

Murky silence is the only companion to his words, and you offer no other to join them.

Once Sukuna’s grip loosens, you manage to steady yourself and leave.

_________________

The forest clearing greets you with the chirps of crickets and birds the next time you manage to drag yourself back.

Even the bubbling of the hot spring is lively, the steam coating the air and any bare skin you have exposed.

You wait beside it in your everyday attire, needing some semblance of a barrier between you and Sukuna if he ever chose to make his appearance. The loose fitting fabric was thicker than your bathing robes, but less rigid and formal than your sorcerer uniform.

You had spent some time over the passing days to toil over your last conversation with the curse. Sukuna’s question concerning the hatred you held for him being the major thought occupying your mind.

The answer was actually quite obvious, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it any louder than the soft echo in your head yet.

Practicing it seems pathetic, but when you open your mouth to try Sukuna is striding towards you.

He has no humor in his face, all harsh corners and lines, but that entire demeanor vanishes upon seeing you stand and give him a hesitant wave in greeting.

“What’s this?” Sukuna approaches close enough to pinch the fine cloth gathered at your elbow, “You know I like what I see, you don’t have to cover up.”

The contact makes you flinch away, and a tortured look knits Sukuna’s eyebrows together.

He backs up, holding up his hands and covering up his expression with a half hearted smile.

You never thought your chest would ache at any hint of him being unhappy.

“Okay, okay. Tell you what. Kill me if you’d like.” He bargains, running a hand through his hair, “I know you hate me.”

That word again.

So much bite and emotion to it that it floods your chest with the fresh sting of tears.

“I can’t hate you!”

The outburst forces Sukuna back, and the impact seems to force his eyes wide open.

You swallow your next few words, rethink them, swallow again.

Finally, they crawl out of your chest, “At least, not anymore.”

Truthfully you had always been better with your fists than your words, and you had never wished for the opposite until now.

Sukuna seems to register your claim, but remains silent.

You think he’s going to say something, bracing yourself for it by sweeping your eyes to the tree tops and then to the pebbles speckling the ground.

Still, Sukuna is silent.

The air becomes colder, blades of grass and your shoulders trembling. A desperation deep seated within you blooms in one last attempt to escape this mortifying mess.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

A passive stretch of time is the only response you get.

Motherfucker.

As if your own shame and embarrassment wasn’t enough.

Lunging at him, your hands encase his neck with a strangled sound of utter frustration.

You have your full strength now.

You could kill him now.

Then, Sukuna places his hands over yours.

Instead of tensing, you relax completely.

He runs his thumbs over your knuckles, tempering the rage encased inside.

The sentiment in his eyes is far too soft for the murderous narrowing of your own.

It’s as infuriating as it is endearing.

You catch yourself wondering why you hold the power here, but it feels hopelessly lost when Sukuna holds you like this.

One of his hands travels across your arm, finding home in the cup of your cheek.

There it is again, his thumb stroking your skin like the shining facet of a jewel he can’t quite yet catch in the light. A breeze follows the placating touch, and you can’t tell which causes you to shiver.

He sighs, so defeated and low that you feel it mirrored in the tightness of your chest.

“If I say something…We’ll do something.”

The words ghost across his lips in the sweetest mumble you’ve ever heard.

You blink distractedly at the movement of his mouth, pink flesh moving over white teeth, “Do what?”

Saliva pools under your tongue, and you bite down on the swell of your bottom lip to suppress the gnawing appetite rising in your stomach.

His stare falters, his lashes fluttering down with peeks of ardent vermillion between, and then falls to the ground wordlessly.

You feel the comforting weight of it dissipate, and suddenly you’re weaker than before.

“Can you-” Your hands falter, lowering to grab at the collar of his clothing, the fabric clumping in your wobbly hands, “Just show me?”

Sukuna deftly reaches back, placing his hands along your hips and pulling you close.

You can sense fire pulsing under your skin as he continues in deliberate, measured fragments. His eyes never leave yours, all dilated pupils and honeyed warmth. He cups your lower back, the fabric beneath his palms shifting.

Gradually, he starts inching them up the sides of your waist. Squeezing and gripping portions of your curves with airy hums of thought.

You can’t breathe.

This silence is more purposeful than the last.

You both know what it implies, though Sukuna seems intent on making that knowledge undeniably transparent.

The kiss arrives as your eyes flutter shut, and Sukuna’s lips on yours taste like mutual devastation.

He tilts his head, the kiss deepening and unfurling butterflies in your stomach.

You lightly bite down on his bottom lip before swiping your tongue across the achingly soft surface, and he immediately grants you access with a low groan.

You don’t want to fight anymore. You want to surrender.

Curious hands roam along your body as the kiss deepens, stroking your cheek, the back of your neck and encircling your torso.

For someone so feared and strong, he possesses an astonishing gentleness that any prior replication of affection you’ve ever received now seems poor and revolting.

The tips of his fingertips skirt the hems of your clothing, and then they’re against bare skin. Soft tugs have your robes sliding down, and you gasp as the frigid temperature of air raises goosebumps over your skin. Chills kiss at your shoulder blades and up to the back of your neck.

Sukuna draws back, hooking his fingers into the fabric slung across his shoulder as he drags it over his head and reveals the familiar lines of muscle carved into his sides. The latter disappears into his pants, which reveals the tented mound between his legs. Despite the brief interruption, he presses you close to his chest the instant his top half is free from the restrictive material.

And he kisses you.

Kiss after kiss after kiss.

You occasionally flit your eyes open between locks of tongue and curse words stuck to the roof of your mouth, only to squeeze your eyes shut from enduring Sukuna firmly grabbing fistfuls of your hair.

His nails lightly graze your scalp, and he alternates between rough tugs and careful consolations down the back of your neck.

“I’ve never desired anyone or anything more than you.” He pants, and you wince at the desperate rasp of the declaration.

Your pussy is sapped with want, and your hips sway when he rests his hands past them.

“Fuck.” Sukuna sighs, fondling the soft mounds of your ass in his palms.

He spreads them apart, and a jolt of adrenaline shoots up your spine.

“You flinched.” He chuckles, biting your ear lobe.

The electricity in the point of his canine nicking your skin has you throwing your arms around his neck, and you hide in the nape of his neck with a whimper.

Sukuna acknowledges the sound by carefully holding up your wrists one by one and then rolling your sleeves up to your forearms to undress you. The abandoned robes petal around your ankles onto the forest floor, and Sukuna returns your arms to crossing behind his neck.

He tilts his head, his eyes simmering as they rake over your bare skin,” Well, look at you.”

Your elbows lock as your knees buckle, a sequence of motion vastly contrasting the vexed way you had gripped his neck only moments ago.

Sukuna catches you instinctively, hoisting your legs around his waist and clasping you to his front.

Your pussy drools at the flush of rigid heat pressed in the middle of your thighs, and you can hear Sukuna licking his lips as his hips support your weight, “Can you take it? I’m sure you can.”

The curve of his neck hides your face, but you know he can feel the warmth blooming on your cheeks when you stare down the scars of his back to see him tucking a thumb into his waistband.

The empty pocket between his skin and his pants only becomes more revealing, and you swallow as his entire frame soon becomes bare.

Sukuna keeps you settled close against his body, even when the cotton threads you sopped with your arousal get tugged away from you.

Then, you’re skin to skin.

You can sense his hardness before you even get a glimpse.

“F…fuck.”

The word is breathy and pained in your ear, and your own mouth falls open in a soundless gasp.

Every touch is scorching and placating at the same time, like every nerve in your body is perked and alert. So sensitive and ready that no point of contact goes unrecognized.

You want more. Need more. You can feel the ask escape your lips even as the thought fogs your mind.

The tops of your thighs are molded together by Sukuna’s heavy grip around them, and you use that to leverage your hips forward and back.

The bottom of your slit kisses the base of his cock as the length of it throbs against your stomach, and you slot your tongue into Sukuna’s mouth with reckless abandon.

“You-” Sukuna begins, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, “Are so cute like this. All desperate and needy.”

“Shut up.” You reply simply, sucking at the corner of his mouth with continued fervor.

The meaningless command has him chuckling, but then the back of your neck is wrapped in his palm.

“Sure, I’ll shut you up.”

He deepens the kiss the next time his cupid’s bow meets your own, and your mind is so fuzzy you hardly register that Sukuna has carried you into the hot spring.

The humid heat of it rises along your waist, and Sukuna trails a few affectionate kisses along your jawline and down behind your ear before swiveling your hips to have you face away from him.

Droplets of water cascade down the slope of your back, and a wanton cry escapes your throat when Sukuna stripes them up to your shoulder blades with the point of his tongue.

You buck your hips back at the touch, whining when you feel his length behind you.

This seems to encourage him to explore your back with consideration, eventually lifting your hips and hissing out a strained sound of gratification when the tip of his cock prods at your entrance.

Strings of water and precum adorn the crown of his swollen cockhead, and you slightly wriggle your hips to get more of it inside.

“Put it in.” You demand softly, biting your lip as you attempt to peek over your shoulder and down your back.

Sukuna automatically brings your hips lower, and your eyelashes flutter as he gradually guides you onto his girth.

“Mhm- Yeah, put it in. More.” Your tongue unfurls, and Sukuna swears from the excitement in your voice.

“Oh fuck yes.” He lets out a gasp so full of primal wonder that it comes out as more of a growl, his eyelids flitting over his rolled up eyes.

The whites of his gaze belatedly return to those scarlet irises you adore, his mouth remaining slacked with a strained moan when he draws his hips back.

“Feels good?” You manage to pant, digging your nails into the back of his wrists.

“I love it. Thank you, the sweetest girl for me.”

The sting of his cock stretching open your walls is so addictive that the languid slides into your slick heat are audible.

“Thank you-mm. Fuck, thank you.”

Sukuna crouches to lick at the shell of your ear with a lengthy curl of his tongue, “Best pussy I’ve ever fucking felt.”

You spend some time drinking in each other’s moans, how your bodies fit together and the symphony of movement driving your shared pleasure.

Little time is spared by you for further speaking, and Sukuna quickly learns how to read your every flinch and wail.

He finds the perfect pace to bounce you up and down his cock, the aching preference you have for his tongue twisting around yours as you ride out your orgasms along the thick spine of his girth.

“Is this good?” He asks, full well knowing the answer, “Is this spot good?”

“You’re doing it wrong.” You huff, sarcasm punctuating the lie.

An immediate pause.

“Am I?” Sukuna grinds lazily against your sticky walls, “This isn’t the right way?”

Your mouth falls open, and you spread your legs wider as your insides wind snugly around his cock.

He plunges inside more slowly, nudging at your cheek with his nose, “Tell me how wrong it is.”

Utterly stuffed, no other argument escapes you.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The curse smirks, but even the upturned corner of his mouth in your peripheral wobbles.

It’s incredibly adorable, but you have little time to dwell on it when Sukuna begins to slam into you faster.

You can sense him everywhere now, gripping your arms, his lips sucking soft spots onto your neck, and his hips grinding into yours until your mind is foggy and your screams turn coarse.

“God, your pussy just melts on my cock. Such a bratty cunt, but fuck - Think I like spoling you. Giving you what you need even when you can't ask for it.”

He draws out the curse, gunning into your cunt recklessly. You can feel the plush of your ass rippling against the constant pistoning of his hips.

“You feel that too? You feeling my dick? Good. Good.”

Every compliment hangs off of his tongue like he doesn’t want it to leave before he can get another quick and purposeful thrust in. Threads of thick saliva and precum knit your mutual bliss together, and you can feel his unruly cockhead rubbing creamy circles into the ceiling of your pussy.

“So wet.” Sukuna’s tongue clicks beside your ear while he continues fucking you up and down his lap in buzzing pulses.

He has an uncanny sense of when you’re close to the edge, as he’ll reel his hips back and only resume motion after your tightness minimally subsides.

The lack of release has you feeling entirely helpless, even though every time Sukuna is back to ramming your insides to near completion, you become so stupidly out of touch you forget the consequences and take it.

Every. Fucking. Time.

Not talking was a choice before, but now it’s an impossibility, only your cries punctuating the air with shamelessness.

Your pussy is runny and sloppy from the overflow of desperation. The loud squish of it is echoed by the excited hums of approval Sukuna allows to coat the back of your neck.

“Hey, I love you. You know that right?”

Sukuna bends your throat up higher, kissing and tonguing at the spots of it that he can access between his fingers.

“I love you. You’re mine.”

“You love me?” The question comes out garbled and pathetic, but it makes Sukuna kiss behind your earlobe with a tenderness you never thought could exist.

“I do. I love you. Just look at you.” He strains, one of his hands pressing down on your stomach.

“Oh God,” You observe the brutal penetration beneath you with awe, “What do I do?”

You don’t know why you’re asking, you just feel as though you have to ask him.

“What - do I -” The question is barely comprehensible with cries and ecstatic moans, but Sukuna answers you anyway.

“Take it. Take it all.”

The simple suggestion has your muscles clenching before you fully relax.

“That’s it. T-That’s it. Just like you’ve been doing-shit. Right there, yeah? I got it.” Sukuna pants, and when you crane your cheek back you catch a glimpse of the wild carnage in his glossy, dilated pupils.

It feeds your ego much more than it should.

“You’ve done it. You’re killing me.” He shudders, shoving you onto his cock with so much need that you can hardly tell one thrust from the next.

You gasp out as you clutch at the back of Sukuna’s neck, staring at him with widely blown out pupils and shaky breaths.

“Then, die for me.”

His lips are on yours before you can even finish the sentiment, as if he was eager to accept the total mercy of death as long as it was under your hand.

Sukuna’s hips continue gunning upwards into your flooded cunt, his tongue slotting into your mouth with whiny urgency and his arms tightening around your convulsing figure.

You feel like you’re bursting at the seams, cloudy and dumb with nothing but the heat of Sukuna’s body in your head.

You can feel yourself all over the fat, greedy rushes of his cock.

A warm and gushy mess saturated with praise and pleasure.

“Sukuna!”

The name leaves your mouth with an eruption of paradise springing from your sex, and Sukuna holds you as your body seizes with quivers.

He keeps you upright, doing those slow pumps that drove you crazy back when you were desperate to cum.

Now, they are soothing and filling. Sensual.

Sukuna lets you ride out your high until you’re loose and hoarse in his hold.

Feeling totally spent, you let him rearrange you against his frame and he gives the crown of your head a soft kiss once your cheek is leaning against his collarbone.

“Can I see?” He taps your lower back, voice rough and entreating.

You raise your head, and then provide him with a sleepy nod.

Sukuna pecks your forehead with a grin, and then effortlessly picks you up to rest your thighs over his shoulders.

“Oh wow.” He says, as if witnessing something so wondrous and rare that he can’t tear his gaze away from the sight.

The low exclamation makes you involuntarily squeeze and drip, creamy traces of Sukuna’s fluids oozing out with your own.

You can almost see the want spark in his eyes, deep maroon and curious.

He interlocks two of his hands behind your spine, using another hand to spread your lips apart and swallowing hard when your pussy seeps out more of your shared arousal.

The last of his hands reaches out to rub at your clit with the pad of a finger, and Sukuna licks his lips when you wind your hips down to meet his finger faster.

He looks up at you, a wordless ask, and you answer by tugging his head toward your core.

Sukuna reacts with a muffled grunt, lolling out his tongue and loudly lapping up your juices the second his tongue gets a taste of you.

You squirm in his hold, “Oh god, Sukuna!”

He pinches your slippery nub between his fingers, poking his tongue into the bottom of your leaking slit and then scooping his tongue upwards through the seams.

His taste buds sweep against the grip of your walls, and harsh breaths line your throat as he selfishly explores every inch of your pussy that he already laid to waste with his cock.

“Finish one more time for me.” He rapidly murmurs, his nails digging into your thighs.

“I d-don’t think I can!” You squeak, afraid that the knot in your stomach will snap much more intensely than the first time.

Sukuna seems to take that as a challenge.

He’s undeniable, scorching your flesh with determination and ardent gulps. The tip and flat of his tongue aggressively writhe inside and squelch along your wetness. It’s nearly unbelievable how turned on you are from seeing one of the most powerful curses in the world buried in your cunt.

Your center only becomes more and more taut, which forces Sukuna to act even more starved. The point of Sukuna’s nose bumps against your engorged nub, and he spends such a dedicated amount of time outlining your most sensitive spots with his tongue that your eyes roll into black.

He latches his mouth around your sore bud, flicking and swirling his tongue around it until you mewl his name over and over again.

Liquid bliss coats his tongue, and you can vaguely feel the tired smirk when he makes you cum in his mouth one last time.

Exhaustion sets in hard for you as well, and Sukuna catches you in his arms to return you to his lap.

Once you’re settled again, Sukuna grants you another passionate kiss on the lips. Tasting yourself on his tongue has you wanting more of him, but the heavy drag of your eyelids dissuades you from asking for more.

Although you know now that he would do anything for you.

“I was always looking for you.” You breathe, the authenticity of your admission lighting up Sukuna’s visage.

He is so beautiful like that, eyes glistening with obvious affection and a weary beam. The blossom shade of his hair is damp and raked back, and the olive of his skin is covered with streams of water from the hot spring. A light sheen of sweat also adorns the nape of his neck and biceps, and you can start to see the extensive sanguine marks you raked over his toned body. One traverses from the dark, buzzed undercut behind his ear to the top of the black design on his shoulder.

You weakly raise a hand to relieve the broken skin there, but Sukuna catches your hand in his.

He moves stray strands of hair from around your eyes, pressing his lips wherever he can under your eyes and across your cheeks.

“Thank you for always letting me find you.”

Sleep comes to you remarkably easy after that.

_________________

Morning sun skims the dips of your face once you wake up.

You squint your eyes, wondering why you no longer smell the earthiness of the forest.

“Good morning.”

The drowsy greeting catches your attention instantly, and you sit up to find yourself in your own bed.

“How-?”

You turn and nearly collide your nose with his chest.

“Easy.” He encircles your shoulders, comfortingly enveloping you in a warm embrace, “First, say good morning back.”

You relax, tentatively reaching up to return the hug, “Good morning.”

Somehow, you can sense the charmed smile spreading across his face, even as he rests his chin atop your head.

He deeply inhales, his large hands moving along your back as you breathe alongside him.

“Better?” Sukuna prompts after a brief passage of time.

“So much better.”

His smile widens, “Good.”

“How did we get here?” You yawn, peering over his shoulder at the scattered sunlight in your bedroom.

“I carried you.”

You reel back to gape at him with a dubious raise of your brow, “You know where I live?”

“I followed you home once.” He states matter-of-factly.

Clear offense sprawls across your facial features, “No, you didn’t. I would have sensed you.”

“Not when you were all pouty and angry with me. It was cute seeing you stomp into your house.”

“Uh huh.” You somewhat acquiesce.

Sukuna’s solid frame shakes with a hearty laugh before he addresses you with a more remorseful tone, “I just had to make sure you got home safely. You’re perfectly capable alone, but you didn’t seem to be in your right mind...I’m sorry, I swear I left as soon as you went in.”

He runs his fingers through your hair as you listen, but all you can think about is how difficult it is to have any lasting anger towards him.

Forgiveness punctuates your subsequent sigh, a drawn out and desolate sound, “I don’t know what to do now. With all the hatred I had for you.”

“For me it’s the same passion, only the direction has changed.” Sukuna softens your shoulder with a delicate kiss.

You reach up to cradle his jaw in the heel of your palm, lightly scratching his hair with your other hand, “What are we going to do?”

“What would you like for us to do?”

“I want to kill you.” You admit honestly, but with no malice.

Sukuna shrugs with a smitten beam, “You’re the only one who could.”

You smack his bicep, “Sukuna I’m serious! What are we going to do?”

The curse shrugs again, cracking his neck to one side, “We can stage our deaths and run away I suppose. Build a home in the mountains and live there until we’re old and gray. Or, we can live from place to place, see everything there is to see. You’re smarter than me, so whatever you decide. I just don’t want to fight anymore, now that I have you to take care of.”

He twirls a piece of your hair around his finger, watching the light shift in your eyes as you take in the candid suggestions.

“What do you think of that, sweetheart?”

Appreciation floods your chest, “I like those ideas, actually.”

The corners of his eyes crescent with amusement, and then he lets out a thoughtful hum as he draws random shapes into your cheek.

“There will be time for all of that later though. For now, what do you want to do?”

You pause to think over his question, and then resolve to snuggle back into his embrace.

“I want to stay right here. Just like this.”

Sukuna lightly strokes the back of your scalp and then kisses your temple with a content sigh, his lips moving reverently over the skin there.

“How did I get so lucky?”

_________________

End Notes:

hahahaha. i liked this. it just kept getting longer and longer so i just gave in😩😩 it's p much a multichapter fic lowkey LOL but thanks again for requesting! really enjoyed writing this one :)💖💞

ps. i'd like to talk about this one a bit more so if anyone wants to comment or send an ask about it i will reply in-depth!!💝 tyyy<3

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centrally-unplanned · 1 year

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I don't think anyone responding to me in that thread is doing this, zero shade being thrown here, but the Korean War discussions definitely remind me of the ghost of the USSR thing that hangs over some forms of left discourse. Its a ghoulish achilles heel - there is nothing for you there.

I love studying the USSR; its one of my favourite historical topics, and I even relate to the vision and ambition so many of its early founders had, to resolve the imperfections of modernity and no longer accept them as given. But not only did it not work, it was abandoned as a vision within a decade; everyone who shared it was imprisioned, murdered, or at best expelled. There are accomplishments there, but they are not accomplishments unique to those states, instrinsic to the system; and more importantly they are accomplishments modern leftist do not give a shit about. If your primary policy objective is to find a way to allocate the entirety of the economic surplus of society to a crash course military production initiative, then fair enough you have found your guide. Otherwise, you shouldn't care. It has no future, nothing to teach you, no lessons of relevance except by negative example.

And you don't need it to! Outside of its dumb apologia and a few fringe factions western socialists were not ever trying to build Stalinism, they were trying to build welfare states and unions. They never wanted its actuality, only its branding, and now you don't even want that. Let it die.

#certainly not the first person to rant this rant

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amuseoffyre · 1 month

Text

Since I put together a rather massive thread about the probable S3 final fuckeries on the dead-parrot site, I figure I'll bring it over here as well :) This is bearing in mind that the show loved using history when it was useful or funny.

Blackbeard's death was in a battle and afterwards, his head was cut off and hung from the bowsprit of the ship, then later as a warning by a harbour. Urban legend said that his headless body swam around the ship, trying to find the head. Stede, meanwhile, was executed by hanging after being captured and tried in Charles Town.

My theory is a giant faking-their-deaths fuckery and this is the collection of extensive foreshadowing in sequential order.

1x01 - He's holding his own head! That's terrifying!

The Swede's flag with a skeleton holding his own head. Given Ed's flair for the dramatic and the urban legend that BB's body swam, headless, around the ship, this feels like a very him thing to do. (also ties in with Blackbeard's flag with just the skeleton in S1)

1x01 - Stede's first fuckery

Stede using mannequins as a diversion so they can escape from the British Navy and the British Navy fall for it. Also, significantly, one of the fake heads falls off.

1x03 - Stede hanged

I facepalmed so hard when I realised that we had already seen Stede get hanged and survive it. Also, the fact that the person who intended to kill him by hanging is the one who dies first? INCHRESTING.

1x04 - "People just see the flag - I don't even have to be on the boat. I'm a ghost"

And he won't be on the boat in the end :D (@wastingyourgum reminded me of this one :D)

1x04 - "He's wearing Blackbeard's clothes. He's on Blackbeard's ship".

Combining this with Stede's fake-heads-to-escape idea, Blackbeard's official 'death' is tied up with a bow :D They just need to find a suitable person to sub in *coughHornigoldcough*

1x06 - "Over here, child!"

HOOBOY this entire episode is basically emphatically pointing at Ed's skill in the art of misdirection. Ed is an expert at fooling people into seeing what he wants them to see. The Master of the Theatre of Fear.

1x06 - The crew fuckery

Stede, the Swede and Black Pete literally holding heads that aren't theirs And once again the allusion to swapping faces/places. "Are those supposed to be the same guy?" "But with very different hairstyles, ja?"

1x06 - "I'm supposed to burn your face off and take your identity"

Stede getting another layer of "how to get away with dying/disappearing" added to his arsenal of knowledge.

1x08 - The Unicorn's head

Oh look. A mythical creature's head is removed by the English, when Ed has been compared to a demon, devil, vampire and kraken. I wonder what that could be foreshadowing 🙃

1x09 - "You've kept the clippings so we can make fake heads and escape"

When in doubt, Stede turns to arts and crafts.

1x10 - "Now that's a fuckery"

Stede has already faked his own death not once, not twice, but three times in ten minutes. Now that's overkill 😂He's done it before, he'll do it again! In Stede's town, wearing Stede's clothes.

2x01 - "He can't possibly look like this"

The S1 propaganda pics are all full/half body, but now, he's reduced down to a head with very snaky looking hair. "He can't possibly look like that" (and this ties into something from 2x04 as well)

In related things, there is one historic piece of art referring to Blackbeard like this, as a disembodied head and I feel like there's a bit of a resemblance going on.

2x02 - "There's some beheadings on here"

Okay, yes, this one is a stretch, but head removal, people. We have more head removal :D

2x03 - "I'm not me, I'm you"

Yes, I know, in the context of the Gravy Basket, but there would be some poetrical vibes if Hornigold's body was the one left in Ed's place so Ed can live a long and happy life. (And yes, fully convinced he was an S3 villain)

2x03 - "I knew they killed him"

Will fully admit I yelped a bit when I saw this scene in higher res than a stream because with the drape of cloth over his head matching the colour of the surroundings, it's gives the illusion of a headless body.

2x04 - "He can't hear you. He's got no head"

Again, the symbolism of the mythical creature without a head. Especially when we see Izzy yelling at it as if its Blackbeard, his own personal figurehead.

2x04 - "Pulls his entire fucking face off. Turns out this one had stolen the face off some Brit and come to my rescue"

Of all the specialist skills for someone in Ed's old crew to have, disguising themselves with someone else's face? :D (That's romance ;))

2x04 - The Head of Medusa

Buttons' transmogrification bowl is under a painting of The head of Medusa (Caravaggio). In the story of Perseus, he used Medusa's severed head to defeat a terrible sea monster (hello, kraken :D) and a King.

And I mentioned earlier Ed's wanted poster had a connection to this episode and look at these images side by side:

Coincidence??? I THINK NOT XD

#ofmd #ofmd meta #ofmd foreshadowing #our flag means death #blackbeard #ed teach #stede bonnet

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hami-gua · 18 days

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收下的香囊 Shōu Xià de Xiāng Náng

In ancient China, girls would give friends and love interests 香囊（a sachet). If the love interest accepts, then he accepts to be her significant other. Proposal is a different case though, as it’ll be very costly for the man :)

Warning: Chinese is used (translation provided), not proofread, attempt on classification of things (i.e. a tree), a lot of culture drops, a few historical inaccuracies, anxiety (maybe near panic attack)

The story takes place in a Han dynasty-esque period (not really)

Dan Heng x gn! Reader (third pov)

Please read to the end for credits and explanations

A warm glow emitted through the paper window at the dead of night. There a figure sat, weaving a needle between the silk fabric. Silken thread of teal jade** wrap around the woven fabric, drawing out the form of a teal jade dragon flying between mountains and amongst clouds. When the figure was done embroidering the body, they finished off the stitch and swapped the thread out for one of pure gold. This has to be perfect.

The next day, the figure leaves their room, opting to head down to the pavilion overlooking the koi pond. Maids hurriedly followed suit, carrying whatever the figure desired. And when they made it to the pavilion at last, the figure wasted no time and sat down — beginning their work immediately. They pulled out their work, already been strung on the loom and began stitching again. A gentle pink thread weaved this time, shaping out peach blossoms. A soft breeze passes through, swaying the liusu tree** a bit a way. I don’t have much time left. The figure thought, I only have a three days before I depart for the capital. I’m sure he’ll be there.

The figure worked well into the afternoon until their friend had come along bringing snacks to feast upon. She brought something to work on too, as it was customary for the two to do so.

“你今儿怎么这么不安呢？你这个香囊不是做了很久了吗？这已经看的很完美了，为何还要再加呢?” [Why are you so restless today? Isn’t this the sachet you’ve been working on for so long? It already looks perfect, why do you still want to add more?]

“前面是完美的。但后面的必须得要跟前面一样完美。” [The front is perfect. But the back needs to be as perfect as the front.]

“这么拼命啊。是要送给谁啊？等等，让我猜猜！是不是。。。丹王子**？” [You really are giving it your all. Who are you going to gift it to? Wait, let me guess! Is it… Prince Dan (Heng)?]

The figure looked up at their friend in shock, having never told her despite working on the sachet for a while.

“三月。。。你是怎么。。。” [March… how did you…] The figure trailed off, their whole face starting to heat up.

“这不简单嘛。我上次来看你的时候，你绣的那个图案是个青龙。咱俩之间知道的青龙不是丹王子的话，那还会是谁啊？“ [It’s simple. The last time I came to see you, the pattern you embroidered was a teal dragon. If the teal dragon isn’t Prince Dan (Heng) as we know it, then who else could it be?]

The figure looked at the work in their hands and remained silent as March stared at them. A period of silence held between them until the figure spoke, “Do you think he’ll accept it?”

“I don’t see why he’ll reject it.”

The figure sighs, a thumb running over the even stitches softly.

“He’s so aloof. I don’t know if he likes me or tolerates me to not…”

“To not…?”

“To not ruin his image.”

Rustling was all the figure heard before a pair of hands enclosed around theirs. They look up to see March looking at them with a smile.

“It’s okay. You go along with what you planned, and if he breaks your heart, I’ll go beat him up. Princely title or not. No one’s allowed to hurt you.”

Reassurance began to settle in within the figure’s heart and a smile quickly followed.

“Thanks March.”

A day has since passed, the figure having finished their sachet before bed. The brass wind chime sang as they left their room, dressed thicker than usual. They still felt rather cold underneath layers, and the see-through silk did nothing to warm them. The figure tucked their hands in their sleeves while hurrying towards the carriage, the clicks of their muji** echoing through the courtyard. They nearly trip over themselves upon crossing the threshold as a gale races by. It’s times like these where the figure is thankful for choosing to apply beeswax** on their hair. A maid carefully helps the figure into the carriage, getting on after them. Right as they disappear behind the curtains, the carriage takes off for the capital.

Along the way, unease began to fester within the figure’s heart, unsure if Dan Heng will accept their sachet. They tried to calm themselves down, yet to no avail. When one worry is eased, another blooms. What if I’m too late and he’s already taken? The figure sighed.

“What’s wrong my liege?” The maid asked.

The figure shook their head and solemnly replied, “Nothing.”

The longer the ride became, the more nauseous the figure grew. Negative thoughts plagued their mind, many scenarios of them ending up heartbroken. Suddenly, the carriage feels more stuffy than usual. Yet at the same time, a cold feeling rushes down their body. As if reading their mind, the maid drew back the curtain for fresh air and comforted the figure.

“It’s okay my liege. His highness won’t reject you. I know it.”

“How?”

“Well it’s been quite the talk amongst us maids. Especially since your last meeting with him. We all saw how he looks at you.”

“What do you mean look at me? Isn’t he suppose to see?”

The maid giggled, “Not that kind. I mean yes, he is suppose to see. But I’m talking about those kinds. You know, the ones where a person yearns for the other?”

The figure is left confused. Never had they ever seen the look where one yearns for the other. Yet somehow, her words had left the figure feeling better.

The figure’s legs were weak by the time they descended the carriage. Their maid held an arm, helping and guiding them through the street as they sought out a familiar face. And soon enough, they found him standing right in front shop. Upon approaching him, the figure could tell he’s been focused on staring at the neatly shaped rice papers — trying to choose between the different quality of paper. With their right hand on top and left on bottom the figure bowed** — mustered up courage and spoke, “Greetings, Dan Heng.”

His gazed snapped from the paper and onto the figure. A miniscule smile is seen, as he does the same: Left on top, right on bottom.

“Greetings.” he paused, observing the figure. “Are you well?”

Their hand clutched the sachet tightly — trying to remain composed, “Yes,” a deep breath, “I have something to give you.”

Dan Heng’s eyebrows raised at this. Something to give him? Him, of all people? The figure pulls out the sachet from their sleeves and with both hands, hands it to Dan Heng. He looks at it for a brief period and with two hands, accepts the sachet. And upon having it in his possession, he unravels the strings then loops it through his silk belt. The figure watched with wide eyes as the butterflies dissipate, leaving behind only warmth. Dan Heng looks up to see the figure, now his beloved, standing there meekly.

“从认识你的时候，我一直都没见过这样的你。原本活泼的你现在变害羞了。哎呀，你怎么会这么可爱呢？” [Since meeting you, I have never seen you like this before. The lively person you were, have now turned shy. Oh, why are you so cute?] He softly teased.

Upon hearing his comment, his beloved’s face started flaring — resulting them to hide behind their sleeve as they averted their gaze. Dan Heng giggled as his hand rose to lower their arms and cup the side of the face. They looked up at him as he brushed his thumb across their cheek. His hand lowered only to take a hold onto their hand, intertwining it. With a gentled tug, he led her deeper into the market, leading the couple to spend the rest of the day wandering from stand to stand with fleeting affection.

When their gaze met Dan Heng’s, they understood what those around them were saying. Dan Heng isn’t one to display emotions freely, yet his actions speaks louder than words. And his eyes — his eyes will always be the first to say how he’s feeling.

We’ve all heard of method actors, and now get ready for method writers. No seriously though (TMI) I gave myself anxiety all because I was writing about MC getting anxious. What MC goes through is actually how my anxiety goes which is why I bring snacks or sour candy to hold down nausea. So I’m sorry that it sounds rushed. It doesn’t help that I bilingual too hard to the point that when even as I’m typing, my brain is just going “oonga boonga”. Anyways, here’s the cultural explanations and credits.

Teal jade is a literally a combo I made up. I’m under the assumption that Hoyo never truly confirmed if Dan Heng actually is 青龙。I know 青 translates to green, but in actuality, the green that is referred looks a little more blueish. Teal isn’t exactly it, but jade isn’t either. It’s very complicated to explain as it’s a color that isn’t really popular in the west. Think of the color this way, under certain lighting (and sometimes angle) the green will look more teal-ish. almost looking blue. Other times, it’ll have a more light jade color. I can’t remember the very ceramic style that uses this sort of “green”.

Liusu tree [流苏树] scientifically named Chionanthus retusus, is a tree with flowers that makes the tree look like it has lots of snow on it.

王子 means prince. Initially I had wanted to use 公子. But knowing how Xianzhou alliance had only allied with Vidyaharas, it only makes sense (in my brain at least) to have him be a prince. Not a king though, cuz that means they would have to meet and travel under different circumstances.

The use of muji 木屐 (commonly called ‘clogs’) can be dated as far back as pre Qin dynasty (Yellow emperor’s rule). It comes in many styles, very similar to how modern day slides look. Another style is one that is similar to geta. It remained popular until about the end of Song dynasty. Clogs are mostly worn in the south where there’s lots of rain and mud. Xishi is said of have worn clogs due to her insecurity of having big feet — so when she walked the skirt hid the clogs, but the clogs are still able to produce rhythms (think how catchy those rhythms must be).

Beeswax was used in ancient China as a way to hold back hair and to keep away fly-aways. Think of it as mousse or gel for ancient civilization.

Different dynasties had different ways of greeting each other. Though one thing remains roughly the same. Women (in this case feminine leaning) would have right hand on top, and left on bottom. Men are vice versa. The only time when it’s swapped are times like funerals. Although MC is gn, Dan Heng is masculine — thus to balance that out, MC would have to have a more feminine personality.

As for bowing, this depends on class. Kneeling or ketou 磕头 would not be done with (han-majority ethnic group) towards someone that aren’t parents. Of course, these are base rules as circumstances also apply — but it’s a good thing to note.

I wish I can attach links that I got these from, but I had obtained these info from the span of 2-3 years :’(. So if anyone finds these, feel free to link it so others who are interested can take a peak.

Divider Credits

All dividers used came from animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #honkai star rail dan heng #hsr dan heng #dan heng x y/n #dan heng fluff #dan heng x you

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crystalis · 13 days

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thread by Arnesa Buljušmić-Kustura

Apr 5, 2024

Today marks the anniversary of the Siege of Sarajevo. The “official” start of the Bosnian Genocide.

Almost 4 years of being cut off from the world, from food and water and electricity. 4 years of daily shelling, bombing, and terrorising campaigns of the city and its residents.

Today is a particularly painful day and in the next 6 months, we will have an anniversary after anniversary after anniversary of the various massacres and horrors that were inflicted on us throughout the Bosnian Genocide.

I was just a child when the Siege of Sarajevo started. The peaceful neighbourhood I once played in was suddenly surrounded and shelled daily. Sniper attacks became common place. Every day you heard news of someone being killed. Someone you knew. Someone you loved.

One of my most vivid memories of the Siege of Sarajevo is my great-grandmother. She was a fiery spirit and I was her favourite human. Her heart gave out when she found out her son had died. I always think she would’ve lived another 10 years had there been no genocide.

The residents of Sarajevo were shot at when they’d be collecting water. When they were in line to get bread and aid. When they’d attempt to get to a hospital. In hospitals. In schools. In libraries. There was nowhere that was fully safe.

On a daily basis, the Serb forces would average of approximately 329 shell impacts per day during the course of the siege, with a maximum of 3,777 on 22 July 1993. The city’s streets, homes, buildings, hospitals, govt and historical buildings were all targeted and destroyed.

Over 13,000 people were killed in the Siege, and over 1600 of them were children. Of the estimated 65,000 to 80,000 children in the city, at least 40% had been directly shot at by snipers; 51% had seen someone killed; 39% had seen one or more family members killed…

19% of the children in Sarajevo had witnessed a massacre; 48% had their home occupied by someone else; 73% had their home attacked or shelled; and 89% had lived in underground shelters.

Today, as I reflect on the Siege of Sarajevo…I cannot help but think of the parallels and similarities with the atrocities occurring during the Siege on Gaza. Over 13,000 children had been killed during these past 7 months.

The Siege of Sarajevo resulted in the deaths of two uncles, my godmother who was a Serb and was killed by Serb forces, my grandmother who was killed when she was making breakfast and her home was attacked by Serb forces. My neighbours, my friends, and countless others.

There is not a day in my life in which I do not recall the horrors we endured. There is not a day in my life in which I do not curse those who destroyed my childhood and my innocence. When I was 5 years old, a Serbian sniper shot at me….a child. I survived thanks to my neighbour.

It has been over 30 years since the Siege of Sarajevo started. A 4 year long campaign of terror, genocide, and destruction. The world knew. The world saw. The world stayed quiet. They refused to allow us to defend ourselves. They said that “Bosnia did not belong” in Europe.

Our pain and suffering became an easily exploitable topic for the politicians, journalists, academics to build their careers off of. To this day, many only have a career because of the Bosnian Genocide. Yet, when it was the worst for us…they watched and allowed it to happen.

The Bosnian Genocide did not need to happen. As all genocides, it could have been prevented. & now they tell us to “remember the past” and they say to “never forget” while they allow the same to happen to Palestinians.

I cannot look at the photos coming out of Gaza and not see Sarajevo in it. Their pain is all too similar to our pain. Yet the International Community, once again, seems intent to ensure that the past repeats itself.

& I cannot help but feel that just as much as they believed that “Bosnia did not belong” and therefore allowed the genocide and horrors to continue for 4 long years….they feel the same about Palestine. To them: we “do not belong”. Our deaths are just a bloody stain on their tvs.

So today I spend my day praying for those we lost in the Siege of Sarajevo and throughout the Bosnian Genocide, I will pray that the world wakes up and sees that they are allowing the past to repeat in Palestine.

May we never forget the beautiful souls whose lives were taken and destroyed, in the name of ethnonationalism and fascism. In Sarajevo, throughout Bosnia. In Gaza. Throughout Palestine.

#free palestine

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thepunkmuppet · 5 months

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thinking about an alternate season 7 wherein instead of every potential slayer being hunted and then activated, every past slayer gets brought back to life. I don’t really like post-chosen content anyway, but when I do read / look at it the whole slayer academy, everyone’s a slayer thing is really stupid to me ngl 💀

previous slayers, though… nikki wood and xin rong interacting with spike, actually finding out about the slayer before buffy, slayers with different backgrounds and situations and personalities, KENDRA?! I just love it so much.

you’d be able to focus on a relatively small cast of slayers, much like the potentials, throughout the season. this would include buffy, faith, kendra, nikki, and some other american slayers from varying time periods with a couple interesting international characters too (maybe a slayer from ancient greece / rome / egypt, or an anglo-saxon one or something). these are all experienced slayers, so no need to focus on training - it would be more about lore, history and their personal character journeys, assimilating them into society (creating some fun bottle episodes, maybe a day out on the town with dawn and a historical slayer) and trying to figure out why they were all brought back. also, if you want to keep the first as the main villain, then it can look like any one of them because they’re all technically dead, which means you can still have that episode with the dead potential revealing herself as the first and all the mistrust that’s threaded throughout the season.

plus with nikki back, there would be no need for the stupid sleeper agent thing with spike or the ridiculous fight between him and robin. all the same ideas (and the flashbacks to spike’s mum) could still be explored, and in a way better way imo.

I reckon the reason they were brought back would probably be the powers that be (tying nicely into angel ofc) trying to defeat the first. and of course the ending would be this huge battle, as all the slayers from around the world come to sunnydale, and maybe to add some drama they would all disappear and die again when the battle’s done as they have fulfilled their purpose (a classic finale knife to the heart that would have everyone sobbing, especially over nikki and kendra).

there’s also the added thing of like,, I appreciate the show was leaning towards a theme of “hope for the future” with the potentials angle, but literally every other aspect of the season is about harkening back to the past. faith, robin, the first taking the form of previous characters, the high school, the slayer origins, etc etc. so I just think this idea would work so much better with the themes of the season, and tie in really nicely.

and the most obvious perk of this concept is kendra! she was forgotten about so quickly, and this season would really give the writers a chance to redeem themselves for the terrible way poc characters have been treated throughout the show (ignoring what they did to robin. FUCK that but that’s another conversation). I think the show really downplayed how much kendra’s death would have affected buffy, and seeing the two of them interact after buffy has changed so much and kendra’s still the same would be amazing. there’s also the interesting concept that, having been brought back from the dead, kendra still be 17, and therefore closer in age to dawn than to buffy, which could make for some really nice interactions between the two of them. also of course the biggest most exciting thing is having buffy, faith and kendra all interact. they all represent places on a spectrum in terms of personality, and I would LOVE to see kendra and faith interact and how much of a unit they would likely become as a trio.

there’s also the theme of buffy feeling (and being) alone in this season that would hopefully go away, as she would now have dozens of people who truly understand her, giving her a proper support system which I would love to see (season 7 scoobies can actually eat shit btw <3)

so. was this born out of my hatred for insufferable kennedy and the annoying potentials? yes absolutely. do I now want them to rewrite and re-film the entire last season 20 years later? yes absolutely I’m so glad you understand

side note wouldn’t it be sick if in the final battle there’s just this one slo-mo shot where buffy stakes a vamp and through the dust she sees the first slayer looking at her from across the battlefield before she disappears amongst the fight. WHAT it would literally be awesome hello?!

also also other side note sorry but Mother(TM) nikki wood would NEVER kick buffy out of her own house. fuck them kids fr

#btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #btvs season 7 #buffy season 7 #btvs s7 #nikki wood #robin wood #kendra young #faith lehane #buffy summers #dawn summers #btvs spike #the first #the first evil #btvs meta #buffyverse meta

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on-partiality · 7 months

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The Basics Of American Revolutionary War Uniforms:

Basic descriptions I wrote of each layer of a Continental Army soldier's uniform in order of what you'd put on first to what you'd put on last, starting with:

Shirts:

In the 18th century, a man with a shirt was considered naked, so the shirt was a part of every outfit (although it was often covered in other layers of clothing). The shirts worn by the soldiers in the revolution were designed to be as comfortable as humanly possible, so they were very long, often stopping mid-thigh or just below the knee, loose and flowy, and had lots of ruffles at the top. Shirts also had long, puffy sleeves. The shirts were so comfortable that they would function as nightgowns too. All a man had to do to get ready for bed was take off all of the other layers of his uniform. The shirts were plain white or a yellowish colour, depending on how many times they'd been worn. Collars were high but not as high as collars in the 1790s, and sleeve cuffs were either closed by cuff links (little button things) or they'd just have cute lace at the end. Contrary to some ridiculous but funny assumptions I've heard from people who don't study historical fashion, shirts were not hard to put on, and they were simply pulled over the wearer's head like you would put on any other shirt. Shirts were closed together using buttons (a favourite of mine), linen, thread ties, or different combinations of the forementioned. Buttons tended to be small and made out of either thread, horn, leather, or even leather. Because the shirts were made out of soft, thin materials such as linen, cotton, and light flannel and were worn all the time, they were usually the first clothing items to wear out and break. Due to supply problems, there were periods of time during the revolution where men had to wear their breaking shirts and couldn't replace them. Another thing about shirts that I read somewhere (can not find the source for the life of me) is that Washington told his soldiers to wear hunting shirts because he felt that they were practical in every kind of weather. However, the site did say that they only wore them towards the start of the war and in certain regiments.

Neck accessories (for lack of a better term):

Like I briefly mentioned with the shirts, people in the 18th century had a really weird idea of what counts as naked, and they believed that a man without any kind of neck covering over his shirt was still naked. Cravats and neck stocks were two commonly worn neck garments during the revolution. Cravats were made out of silk, linen, or cotton and could be put on in a range of different ways. When they were untied, they were simply long strips of fabric. There are many ways to tie a cravat. I'm not very good at explaining things, so if you need to figure out how to tie an 18th-century cravat, I recommend looking up a YouTube tutorial. Cravats could also be accessorised with cute brooches and such. There were two different, commonly worn in the continental army, types of neckstock in the 18th century. Number 1 was made of the same materials and had the same colour as a cravat, but number 2 was dark in colour and made of leather. The biggest difference between neckstocks and cravats is how you put them on. Neckstocks aren't meant to be tied like cravats; they have a buckle on one end, so they're meant to be put on more like a belt. Oh, and in case you're wondering, the buckle always goes at the back.

Stockings:

Oh my god, I could talk about revolutionary war stockings forever. They're actually so adorable and cutesy, and I just love them. So the stockings are the pretty little white tights that the 18th century seems to be known for, and they were mainly made via knitting and were made out of either wool, cotton, linen, silk, or a fabric blend of any of the aforementioned. Stockings were usually made using knitting machines, but there were still plenty of people who made them by hand. Stockings in the 18th century were not at all short either; they went above the knee (so basically thigh highs). One of my favourite parts about 18th-century stockings is the garters that secure them into place. The garters were belt things that would wrap around their legs to make sure the stockings wouldn't fall down, and they were usually made out of leather, cloth, lace, or a ribbon tied into a bow. I physically cannot speak of these things without saying aww in my mind.

Culottes:

Also known as knee-breeches, but lets be honest, culottes sound cooler. The culottes worn by 18th-century soldiers were a bit different; instead of having a line of visible buttons at the crotch area to put the culottes on like jeans, they had fewer buttons—usually about 1 or 2—at the top of the culottes, and those buttons would be hidden by the waistcoat. Culottes in the Revolutionary War had a much higher waistband; most culottes in the 18th century had a low waistband, but culottes of the Continental Army had a waistband that went just above the soldiers actual waist. And culottes never stopped lower than the shinbone (to show off the stockings). Culottes were white or off white and were made of either buckskin, elk, sheepskin, wool, linen, velvet, silk, or fabric blends of any of the aforementioned. Culottes were very tight because they were worn so that when the soldiers were riding their horses, which they did a lot, the horse needed to feel every movement of the leg so that it could understand what the rider wanted it to do, and that was much harder if the rider was wearing super loose, flowy pants. Culottes were closed at the side of the knee with more small buttons or ties. Buttons on culottes were usually made of either metal, leather, or horn and covered in cloth or wrapped in thread.

Waistcoats:

Although waistcoats with sleeves did exist in the 18th century, they weren't as popular as waistcoats without sleeves. Going back to the weird 18th century undestanding of what is nude, a man wearing breeches, a shirt, a cravat or neckstock, and an unsleeved waistcoat would still be counted as naked. This is one of the things I see a lot of period dramas get wrong. I understand the overcoat-less look looks cool and attractive, but in the 18th century, that would be like a man going outside wearing no clothes. Oh, and another thing that a lot of period dramas mess up on is that men did not show their shirt sleeves in public; that was considered crude and abnormal; it wasn't illegal, just something you'd get judged for. There were two sub-types of waistcoats: double-breasted and single-breasted. These sub-types actually have nothing to do with breasts at all. In fact, the sub-types are about buttons. Double-breasted means a waistcoat with two rows of buttons, and single-breasted means a waistcoat with one row of buttons. Back to the uniform of the continental army, at the start of the revolution, soldiers wore single-breasted waistcoats in the most popular style of the 1750s and 1760s, but by the end of the revolution, they'd switched to wearing the 1770s style waistcoat, just going by a general pattern I've seen in changes to parts of the uniform. I'm assuming that the switch would have happened in 1779. In case you're wondering, the difference between the 1750s–1760s style and the 1770s style is their length; the former stopped mid-thigh, the latter stopped just below the hip. Waistcoats were usually made of linen, wool, velvet, silk, or a fabric blend of any of the aforementioned. They were made with all different colours and patterns, but in the continental army, they wore beige and off-white waistcoats. The waistcoat buttons were made of horn, metal, or leather and were sometimes wrapped in thread or fabric to make them the same colour as the waistcoat.

Sashes:

Sashes are a detail of the continental army uniform that I see a lot of people (and sites explaining the layers of the uniform) skip over. Continental army sashes were very important because they showed the wearer's position in the army. Green means the wearer is an aide-de-camp or brigade major; pink means the wearer is a brigadier general or a major general; and finally, blue means the wearer is a commander-in-chief. This system was made by Washington in 1775 and was used by the army throughout the war. The sashes were likely made using silk or wool. There was another, separate system with sashes; colonels, lieutenant colonels, majors, captains, sub-alterns, serjeants, and corporals could wear a red sash around their waist. However, this system was likely an optional thing because I've seen many portraits of men in those ranks from 1775–1779—they ditched the system in 1779—and I've seen only one of them where the person is wearing one of the red waist sashes.

Overcoats:

At this point, you are no longer considered naked; congratulations. So there were two kinds of overcoats in the 18th century: frock coats and dress coats. Dress coats were for super-rich people, and frock coats were for everyone else. Dress coats didn't have functional pockets, and the only reason why people thought that they were better than a frock coat was that they were expensive and sometimes prettier. Frock coats had a double-breasted front (same definition as with the waistcoats), functional pockets, and a high, round neckline. You can probably guess what kind of coat the soldiers of the Continental Army wore. They wore blue wool and linen frock coats with large gold or silver metal buttons on the cuffs and facings. George Washington and his officers wore buff-coloured facings with thick buff-coloured cuffs, and most other officers wore red facings with red cuffs. The coats had coattails and stopped midthigh, but the whole button and facing thing stopped just below the hip. The overcoats had this interesting triangle coat tail design thing at the back that I tried to figure out how to describe, but I couldn't. Here's a picture of what I mean by the two different kinds of frock coats worn by the soldiers that I mentioned in this paragraph: the one on the left is the one worn by Washington and his officers, and the one on the right is the other one:

[image credit, Samson Historical and Common Threads: Army]

I have just been told the name of the triangle things, they're called vents and they're to make sure the soldiers could ride horses without messing up their uniform. :)

Epaulettes:

The epaulettes serve the same purpose as the sashes: to declare the wearers rank; however, epaulettes are much more confusing because the epaulette system changed halfway through the war. So, the epaulette system for 1776–1779 goes like this: commanders, major-generals, brigadier generals, colonels, lieutenant-colonels, and majors wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder; captains wore a single gold epaulette on their right shoulder; sub-alterns wore a single gold epaulette on their left shoulder; serjeants wore a red epaulette made of cloth on their right shoulder; and corporals wore a green epaulette made of cloth on their left shoulder. The system from 1779-1784 goes like this, commanders wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder with 3 silver stars, major-generals wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder with 2 silver stars, brigadier-generals wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder with 1 silver star, colonels, lieutenant colonels and majors wore a gold epaulette with no stars on each shoulder, captains wore a gold epaulette on their right shoulder, sub-alterns wore an epaulette on their left shoulder, senior non-commisioned officers wore a red epaulette made of cloth and adorned with a crescent moon shape made of brass on each shoulder, sergeants wore a red epaulette made of cloth on the right shoulder, corporals wore a green epaulette made of cloth on their right shoulder and lastly, privates wore no epaulettes.

Hats:

Tricorn, bicorn and round were a must. Round hats were hats that were cocked on one side, bicorn hats were hats that were cocked on two sides and tricorn hats were hats that were cocked on three sides. Most of the time Continental army soldiers pinned them and folded them on the sides. Soldiers carrying muskets wore the hat in a different way to normal civillians, civillians would have the hat the normal way, center point forward but when carrying a musket over their shoulder, soldiers would turn their hat so that the left part was facing forward. In this position, the two sides of the hat would be almost flat so they could sling their muskets over their shoulders without having to worry about knocking their hat off. The hats white edges were made using worsted wool braid and the hat itself if expensive was made of beaver felt or camel's down painted black and if it was cheap it was just made of black wool felt. Hats were not always worn, I'd say they were more of a formality because I have seen very few portraits of soldiers wearing them.

Hat Cockades:

Hat cockades were made of ribbon or wool and were a sort of decoration to be pinned to the wearer's hat. They were like sashes and epaulettes; they indicated the wearer's rank in the continental army. And the system changed in 1779. So the system before 1779 worked like this: subalterns wore a green hat cockade, captains wore a yellow hat cockade, majors and brigade majors wore a red hat cockade, colonels wore a pink hat cockade, and lieutenant colonels wore a green hat cockade. In 1779, they changed it to honour and celebrate America's military alliance with France, so the colourful insignia were removed, and instead every soldier, regardless of rank, wore a plain black and white hat cockade. French soldiers had a cockade with black in the middle, surrounded by white, and American soldiers had a cockade with white in the middle, surrounded by black. Later on, in 1783, the black and white cockades were named the union cockades and were to be worn on the left breast, close to the heart.

Shoes:

There were actually a few periods of time during the war where some of the soldiers didn't have shoes, such as during the Christmas Day crossing and the winter of 1777–1778. But when they were supplied with shoes (most of the time they were), they wore one of two styles. The classic 'little lad' shoes, as I call them, and riding boots 'Little lad' shoes were shoes made with black leather and secured with a buckle. Little lad shoes had a small heel bit at the bottom, likely meant to make the wearer look taller because, despite tall people being considered the most attractive, most people in the 18th century were very short. Riding boots had an even higher heel and a part at the top of the boots that could be rolled down to fit the wearer. When rolled down, they just look like normal riding boots but with brown cuffs at the top. Interesting shoe-related fact that I thought would be cool to put here: in the 18th century, they didn't make right or left shoes; they made what they called straights, and you were meant to switch which foot you wore them on every day to 'wear them off evenly'. Riding boots were made with leather and were black on the outside and brown on the inside. Riding boots were very tall (they went under soldiers' kneecaps) and worn for the same reason as culottes, to make horse riding easier. It's meant to prevent saddle pinching, have a sturdy toe to protect feet while on the ground, and have a big heel to prevent slipping through stirrups.

Hair:

Originally I planned on not mentioning it on this list because it's not something that you can wear but there were uniform rules about hair in the continental army so I guess it is technically part of the uniform. In the 18th century they viewed men with facial hair was considered wrong and unusual in normal day-to-day life so if course it wasn't acceptable in a military setting. In the continental army they had a rule that men needed to shave every three days. They went against this rule a few times but only when they were desperate. Now on the topic of hair as in, not facial hair, the hair on their head was usually tied into a low ponytail with a blue ribbon or - for some men - cut short. 18th century men LOVED their long hair and did not want to cut their hair short even though they were told it should prevent lice. Wigs and hair powder were fashionable in the 18th century but not many men could afford wigs and it's not like they had a ridiculous supply of hair powder so most of the time they had their natural hair colour showing.

It's important to note that this is just the standard uniform that most men wore; each regiment had its own unique uniform, so if your project has anything to do with a specific regiment, either do your own research or ask me about it in the comments or my asks. This is also post-1775 because 1775 had no uniform. If I have gotten anything wrong, please do not feel afraid to correct me in the comments, and I'll edit the post.

Sources:

https://historyofmassachusetts.org/uniforms-revolutionary-war-soldiers/

https://www.srcalifornia.com/flags/revuniforms1.htm

https://www.bostonteapartyship.com/uniforms-of-the-american-revolution

https://ufpro.com/blog/american-revolutionary-war-study-military-uniforms-across-battlefield

https://www.washingtoncrossingpark.org/continental-army-clothing/#:~:text=Over%20their%20shirts%2C%20soldiers%20would,unit%20a%20soldier%20belonged%20to.

https://www.crazycrow.com/site/tricorn-hat-history/

https://www.si.edu/object/george-washingtons-uniform%3Anmah_434863#:~:text=This%20blue%20wool%20coat%20is,buff%20wool%2C%20with%20gilt%20buttons.

http://www.colonialuniforms.com/revolutionary-war-coats.html

https://www.berkleyhistorical.org/revolutionary-war-uniform

https://www.samsonhistorical.com/en-ca/products/mens-riding-boots

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riding_boot

#american revolution #american revolutionary war #amrev #american history #revolutionary war #history #historical fashion #fashion history #18th century #18th century fashion #continental army #military history #military uniforms #war history #war of independence #On-partiality's rambles

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intergalacticfop · 5 months

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!! ducky necklace !!! I love it so much!!! how did you make it/where did you get it? I've been wanting to make or find some replica jewelry...

aah thank you it was so fun to make! I got the gold and lapis filler beads just from Michael's, and the ducks and axes were from two different Etsy shops. Duckies were from NobleBeadsShop. I got the carnelian and black jade duckies because they were pretty, and I didn't feel like taking an extra hour to research what stones would be used in Minoan jewelry (besides lapis i did need that somewhere). The axe heads were from BeadWorldSeattle. I chose them because they reminded me of the double-headed axe/labrys so important in Minoan culture, but in jewelry beads this shape would more likely be intended to emulate papyrus plants instead. As long as it looks good!

I used a toggle clasp to fasten the necklace--no idea if that's historically accurate or not but it's MY favorite necklace fastener. Call it...historically plausible.

The hardest part was turning the duck beads into pendants--the Saffron Goddess duckies are strung through front-to-tail, but my beads were drilled through top-to-bottom.

My solution was to thread head pins through the ducks, anchored with a small gold bead at the bottom, and then use tweezers to roll the top of the pin into an eye that I could thread onto a string. When all assembled, they looked like this:

With that done, all that was left was to decide my pattern and string them all together! Oh--and I then went back later and strengthened the knots at the end with a small dab of Beadalon cement to make sure they didn't come loose and fling duckies everywhere :(. I find making jewelry very soothing and only wish I had the opportunity to do more of it, so thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk about my perfect adorable ducky necklace <3

#asks #minoan #jewelry #ducks

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whatbigotspost · 3 months

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Guys. If you follow me you well know 1) I can be petty as hell and 2) I am always happy to write extremely long and thorough take downs when needed and 3) I love sourcing things and know no limits to spending my time on BEING RIGHT 😂

Well today I brought all of this at work, cranked to an 11. Some technology service we pay for tried to claim they’re taking us to collections for lack of payment when both myself and one of my fave coworkers has spent the past year trying over and over to get them to correctly link the payment we 100% did pay (and we have provided ample evidence of doing so) to our account. We have asked their customer service to help us a dozen times and when prodded, their staff has admitted more than once that we did pay and the outstanding balance is wrong. But they just. don’t. CLEAR THE GODDAMN BALANCE ON OUR ACCOUNT ONCE AND FOR ALL.

And like…WE are the customers here! And nonprofit customers at that! It’s so unhinged for a megacorp to treat us this way when our resources are so limited. Like you’re really threatening a charity with collections?? for?? something?? we?? did?? pay??

When said beloved coworker first saw the collections threat email earlier today, I think a little piece of her soul died, as did mine…and when she asked me what we do now that I was like friend leave it to me, this is where I shine!!!

And I went full on me. Professional me but like me writing as many words as I wanted to. Pulling historical proof, asking why we’re being treated like this when we’re a small nonprofit who they could be donating this stuff to anyway, instead of taking up our time to waste because they don’t know how to run their business or comport themselves professionally. I had proof of payment in not one but 2 forms, email threads with 6 people in company who had contacted me and I attempted to get help me but who ultimately did not.

Like I’ll be the first to admit it was overkill in the most deliciously “how fucking dare you” way BUT ultra restrained and like appropriate corporate speak style where it’s a “your company is a pack of assholes” but more like…

(Ugh ignore typos!)

Like I’m not kidding when I acknowledge my own ridiculousness here but you can only be treated terribly by someone YOU HAVE PAID before you snap, ya know? 😂 and I snapped.

Well after I hit send, I was like “oh god will beloved coworker think I am fully off my rocker…”

BUTTTTTT I got this lil gem on slack

#random work crap #nonprofit life #I am absurd

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cobra-diamond · 5 months

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What I Liked From Azula in the Spirit Temple

Now that Azula in the Spirit Temple has been out for a few days, I can confidently say I found the majority of the book compelling and worthwhile. However, it is difficult for me to say I enjoyed it due to the dark and depressing subject and its flaws, which I will cover later, but not all art is meant to be fun and I would consider Spirit Temple to be a work of art rather than entertainment. Here are the things I liked from Spirit Temple:

It Tackles Heavy Topics

Azula’s feelings toward Mai and Ty Lee’s betrayal. Her relationship with her father and mother. Azulon’s order to have Zuko killed. Her mother’s disappearance. Vengeance. Feudal piety. The consequences of going against royalty. Azula’s ability to reach into a dark place. These have been dangling plot threads since the show ended, for fifteen years, and this comic sufficiently touched on them to provide much-needed context and clarity.

The Asylum is Contextualized

A dumping ground for rebellious noble children. A place for the most traditional families to imprison their unruly daughters (read: sluts and lesbians) to punish them for “transgressions” against their proper roles in society. Scraps of humanity drifting down the river of life. This is high-level stuff with direct historical analogues. Not only is this how Azula saw her imprisonment at the asylum (dumped there to be humbled and broken) and saw herself while there (a scrap of a person), it world-builds the Fire Nation’s society in a much-needed way.

Hair-Down-and-Angry Azula

Thematically perfect. Not only does this feel like the “real” Azula bursting forth—angry, jaded, tormented, troubled—but it harkens back to pre-breakdown Finale Azula, when she was struggling with the very topics the comic addressed (see: throne room scenes). I love Hair-Down-and-Angry Azula. Some might call it Angry Wet Cat Azula. It feels like a return to the Finale when all of this “Who is Azula?” questioning began. Brilliant creative decision. Need more of it like I need oxygen.

Azula Hates Herself

This has long been speculated. Azula loathes herself and has low self-esteem despite also having immense pride, talent, and achievements to bolster her self-worth. She uses the word “loser” to describe Ty Lee and Mai, which means she views her current self as a loser. She hates that she is alone and betrayed. She hates that the best of herself doesn’t cancel out the worst. She hates that who she is is not who others want to be with. I think this is great for a prodigy who has experienced conditional love by her most influential parent.

Azula is Darkly, Horribly Conflicted

She loves her father, but also sees how he harmed her. She wants her family to be together and happy, but she also feels that if Zuko had been killed her life would have been better. She is proud of her achievements, but the consequences of what she had to be and do to achieve them makes her hate herself. Zuko was never this conflicted, even at the peak of his journey. This will take an enormous narrative effort to overcome, with likely tons of setbacks, but when it happens, it will make Zuko’s redemption look like a warmup.

There are professional authors who spend their entire careers never sniffing a character like this. I can’t say where the Avatar franchise will take Azula, and they could still fuck this all up, but this is a character capable of reaching the highest summits of literary storytelling. Capable of, not necessary will. There is not a character remaining in Avatar who can hold a candle to the moral and internal conflict found in Azula in this comic. The franchise has something special, if they handle it right.

Azula’s Desire for Family

If her family was together, that would mean none of the bad things would have happened. Her low self-esteem would be fixed by the love and admiration of her family. This is a good development. There are tons of evidence for it in the show based on how often Azula says “we” and “us” and acts like the Queen Bee of a group rather than a loner. She hates being alone and the idea of family and parental figures gives her the most security. Very realistic and compelling. Avatar has not had a character motivated by pain of loneliness and want for human connection.

Azula Continues to Use Collective Pronouns

A pattern existed in the show where Azula would very often use “we”, “us”, “our”, and other forms of collective pronouns or group references instead of “I” or “my”. The pattern continues in this comic. There are several instances where she uses collective terms when she could have said “I” or “my”. At this point, it is intentional by the writers. They are signaling something that shows up again in this comic: Azula wants community and teamwork, not isolation.

Azula is Willing to Accept Blame, But Not All of It

Just like a real person with strong will and pride would. We are all the heroes of our own journeys. Accepting blame is painful, and for a person like Azula, who has all these accomplishments under her belt, to bury herself under 100% guilt and culpability, and to allow people to denigrate those accomplishments in turn because of how "bad" she is, can likely come across as a bridge too far. She conquered Ba Sing Se, killed the Avatar, saved the capital during the Day of Black Sun. Who is anyone to tell her she did nothing right and everything wrong? Azula is also highly intelligent, which makes it easier for her to justify her actions and beliefs and craft narratives explaining it all.

Azula is recognizing she has flaws and has made mistakes. It even appears she wants to be able to talk about them. The door is not shut on listening to criticism. This makes Azula’s potential reconciliation with the heroes full of drama and dynamic conversations.

Azula Won’t Be Brow-Beat or Guilt-Tripped into Submission

If she is backed into a corner with accusations of being cruel, evil, to blame for everything, the cause of all her problems, a monster, like the Zuko apparition was doing, she will lash out. Call it denial. Call it a defense mechanism. She will not allow what she is proud of, what she feels was worth it, what has been her closely-held identity, to be thrown in the gutter. This is high-level literature and human psychology. And it holds an important implication for the future: the heroes will not be able to shame Azula into accepting their morality or worldview. Unless her feelings are taken into account, the back-and-forth dialogue observed in Spirit Temple will not happen.

Azula’s Walls Can Snap Up in an Instant

She can let her guard down and hear criticism, but if the criticism turns into a personal attack, her walls will snap back up and she will drop back into old habits and beliefs to protect herself. This is a tough problem for the narrative to solve based on its complexity, sensitivity, and need for tact, and so will require a special character to help Azula work through. I don’t think the franchise currently has such a character. Maybe a more militant, warrior-poet version of Guru Pathik could do this.

Azula Talks and Thinks Like a Feudal Princess, Not a 21st Century Teenager

This needed to happen. ATLA needs to start developing the politics of the Fire Nation if they are to successfully build out Azula’s and Zuko’s post-war dynastic struggles. This is the first time the franchise has taken this seriously. Azula calls her family traitors, thinks Ty Lee should have been grateful for having the ear of royalty. Royalty. Finally, the word is being used to describe the social dynamic between her and her friends. Great stuff. This is who Azula would be in “reality” and part of why she is so scary to us today.

Azula Sets Her Terms for Reconciliation with the Heroes

Apologies. Acknowledgments of the pain and damage they caused her. Them valuing the “good” things she has done for them, much of it from her feudal princess perspective, and some from her troubled teenage girl perspective. I don’t think this is everything she will put on the table, but it’s major pieces of the redemption and reconciliation puzzle. This is probably one of the most profound parts of the book, because it says the door is not closed between her and the heroes. Zuko being Fire Lord and the war being over are not showstoppers.

Azula Loves, and Hates, Her Dad

Her father has both hurt and helped her. She hates him for turning her into his firebending weapon, but loves him for how that led her to greatness, and the conditional love she received from him. She is a villain loving another villain. I think there is something significant here that might play a role in the future: Azula will continue to love her father until he shows he doesn’t love her. In fact, she might seek confirmation of love from him and his response might be a turning point in their relationship.

Azula is Developing Her Own Identity

She says she is the last of her kind, the only one left. Sounds like she sees herself as representing a version of the Fire Nation that doesn’t want to go down quietly, the version of the Fire Nation that Zuko needs to figure out how to redeem rather than destroy. Even though she recognizes the damage her father did to her, she retains enough pride and belief in the Fire Nation’s war to stand by him. This looks like a sign of Azula coming into her own person, even if it is villainous and could send her down a dark path. Regardless of the morality, she seems to be voicing her own beliefs, and beliefs are supremely important to developing character, as beliefs can change. Azula still has to learn the wrongness of the war. This might be her “Zuko Alone” moment equivalent to Zuko declaring his identity to the corrupt soldiers.

The Spirit Centipede

Awesome design and capabilities. It seems it was trying to pump her full of opium in the form of the beach dream whereby she falls into a forever sleep in that perfect world allowing the centipede spirit to eat her. Instead, Azula rejected it and the spirit discovered it doesn't actually know this human as well as it thought it did and so panics and tries whatever it can to get Azula to succumb to its offerings of pain alleviation. One of the best spirit designs we have seen in the post-show products in my opinion.

Coraline References

Fantastic movie. Still creeps me the hell out. I’m afraid Azula would not last a week against the Other Mother. The Centipede Spirit tried to be an Other Mother. It couldn’t hold a candle.

More Evidence Azula’s Design Was Inspired by Lady Eboshi

Page 72, Panel 3.

#avatar the last airbender #azula #avatar comics #azula in the spirit temple #princess azula

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hanakihan · 6 months

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so since @i-bring-crack gave me the idea now I’m having a brainrot so here we are

‘Tired salaryman transmigrates into other world, decides to chill and accidentally completes the main quest without knowing so’, the thread

- jinchul is your average day to day salaryman who’s exceptional in his field but his life is so repetitive and boring he rarely questions what he does daily, even on weekends he mostly sleeps or works because there’s nothing else to do (he’s like me fr—)

- one night he was returning home after a really hard day at work, one of very few instances where he overworked even by his own standards. he was sleepy and tired enough not to notice moon being too bright and shadows dancing at weird angles around him. he did feel like someone was watching him whole way home so he sped up his walking and that’s exactly how he accidentally fell through one of shadows after stepping on it

- he doesn’t remember everything after that that much, but next thing he knows is that he’s laying in a comfortable bed. then apparently he wakes up in a strange room that kinda looks something straight out of historical drama but also something out of those isekai fantasy novels teenagers love to read. which is even more confusing when a man enters the room. that’s when jinchul realizes he has no idea what language this man speaks.

- apparently after several hours of struggling to communicate mostly through sign language and awkward drawings/sketches, jinchul more or less understands that he’s either sleeping after overworking too much or he’s really been thrown into other world (time??) without any knowledge. Go Gun-Hee (as he suspects man’s name is because he pointed at himself and said it several times) was nice enough to host poor man with amnesia and so is his wife. jinchul is a man of gratitude and considering his position he’s more than happy to help around their estate for sheltering him while also borrowing language books from their library. thank god his company made him learn several languages for business reasons.

- after some time jinchul is able to read and talk in their language so living becomes slightly better. history books of this world provide more context so yes, he’s apparently in some kind of different world where magic exists. he should freak out by this point but honestly when freaking out helped in any situation. there’s whole kingdom, there’s local religion, there’s so much he actually needs to memorize. jinchul is actually glad basic accounting rules from his world work here too so with time jinchul becomes gunhee’s accountant.

- jinchul hates coffee but only after arriving here and seeing there’s no such thing as coffee, jinchul realizes he might’ve been a caffeine addict. there was a solid month where he suffered drawback from its absence and it was impossible to even get up from bed. he hates coffee still but he misses it because now all tiredness crushes down on him in one go

- weirdly enough this world does have something akin to coffee beans but no one knows what do with them. just to test out jinchul buys some (under merchant’s questionable stare) and brews them. turns out it tastes almost exactly like coffee, just less bitter and less caffeine. jinchul’s opportunistic mind started to turn gears in his head.

- through some time jinchul now owns a famous shop, only one in whole country to sells and serves coffee related stuff. he’s more than happy with his arrangement, plus he has his own independent income and more free time to visit gunhee and his wife. he also isn’t that healthy (because honestly who’s he to sell coffee at astronomical price like it was back in his world) but he earns enough for living.

- one evening right before closing his shop is visited by a man. jinchul tenses because there’s something familiar about his presence. something from back from his world. something at last moment before he fell here. even is said man is actually nice, just a little stone faced, jinchul is still on high alert. rightfully so because room feels smaller and darker and he can swear he can feel phantom of a cold hand on his neck. it’s suffocating and for the first time here jinchul actually fears for his life.

- man leaves but occasionally returns from time to time to test different coffee and sweets combinations. there’s nothing much happening but jinchul is always uncomfortable. there’s something threatening but not actively so.

- during one of such visits jinchul is absolutely baffled when this unknown man visits his shop again and gifts him rare calming herbal tea leaves and best brand of kingdom’s chocolate. in exchange he asks for best cup of coffee and best desert jinchul can offer. through observations jinchul offers man’s favorites and was right because now everything is less suffocating and stiffening and for some reason jinchul feels like he passed some sort of test. it’s also the evening jinchul finally learns man’s name - sung jinwoo.

- after that it becomes a routine. jinwoo became non hostile and more approachable (as well as being the one to approach) and jinchul uses it as a chance to have a stable source of information about this world.

- (also because I’m a weak dumbass) jinwoo actually remembering when jinchul’s birthday is (even if he mentioned it only once in passing) at night of said birthday jinwoo ungracefully (even if he wanted it to be graceful) falls through jinchul’s window waking him up. jinwoo snatches barely awake jinchul to his palace to celebrate. jinchul is grateful and but also tired and sleepy so it’s mostly a nice late dinner, a present (magically enhanced ring) and a sleepy good night kiss. jinwoo is so shook he just touches his cheek and awkwardly leaves to sleep in a guest room since jinchul fell asleep in his room. once he’s in bed realization crushes down on him. apparently the most fearsome shadow monarch is deeply in love with a destined one to supposedly murder him. jinwoo’s own plan backfired spectacularly.

- jinwoo’s plan: snatch destined one into their world before church can summon him - let him live here for some time and observe him - approach him with malicious intent to see his reaction - if attacks then murder, if not then make him attached - make destined one attached and be in good relationship to keep a close eye on him so he can strike first in case of murder intent - accidentally become the one attached and fall in love with destined one - wait what???

#solo leveling #woo jin chul #sung jin woo #local humanity’s calamity suffering form backfired plan #it will go down in their history books #church is unholy screeching because they can’t summon the destined one #jinwoo thinks he still won but he literally doesn’t understand jinchul unconsciously has him wrapped around his pinky #jinwoo will never stop hearing teasing from his mom and sis after they saw jinchul sleeping in his bed

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wannaeatramyeon · 10 months

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Word quantity: high. Word quality: low. You have been warned.

Goo Kim x Reader: School Days with Princess & the Delinquent

Chapter 9 - Please read chapter 1 first!

Shin Saimdang is apparently a notable historical figure for something or another.

Fact of the matter is, Goo doesn’t care. He couldn’t give a shit about her achievements and who she is. But he just wants to keep seeing her face all day, every day. The more of her the better.

Goo holds the 50,000 won note up to the sunlight, admiring the way it halos this Saimdang woman. Bringing it up to his lips, he presses a loud smooch to the 50,000 unmissable in the bottom left corner and then to her face printed in all its black and white glory.

Maybe he’ll do the same to the wad of bills sitting in his pocket later.

“This could be you and I’d still kiss it,” Goo grins, wiggling his eyebrows and nudging Gun Park with his elbow.

“Shut up.”

It is oft repeated for good reason, but here it comes again: Goo Kim fucking loves money.

Lives and breathes it. There’s very little he would not do to get his grubby little mitts on some.

That’s not to say Goo is not loyal. Of course he is, his loyalty just goes to the highest bidder.

And boy has Charles Choi gone all in with Goo, almost guaranteeing him a lifetime of luxuries and finer things in exchange for him getting some blood on his hands. That's fine with Goo, he is absolutely rolling in it with the Four Crews and his position in HNH.

Even having a partner like Gun Park is worth it for the bed of cash he sleeps on, his penthouse he lives in.

What can he say, he’s not a complicated guy. All his dreams have come true. So what if he needs to sacrifice his morals and ethics?

How does he sleep at night? On a handmade imported mattress and 2000 thread count sheets, thanks for asking.

He can picture his younger self, a little Goo Kim with his head full of natural black hair overgrown and ungroomed, wearing threadbare brandless scraps. Squinting and clumsily bumping in life until he saved and scraped enough for his first pair of glasses.

Goo wishes he could give this version of him a little assuring pat on the head to say there’s a lot of good things to come. And then probably kick his ass for getting dirt on his designer suit.

Later that evening, when Goo sinks into the obscenely oversized bathtub of the presidential suite, listening to Gun Park mutter to himself as he recounts the bags of cash, he thinks:

‘This is it. This is everything I need.’

But every now and then, a memory, clear as day, causes him to stop in his tracks.

Someone’s hair, who is just the right tone, catches his eyes.

A laugh, that is almost but not quite, turns his head.

Goo is still as two faced as ever. Happy to utter flatteries to someone’s face then stab them in the back.

Sweetheart, cupcake, handsome, beautiful, cutie flows from his lips like it’s nothing. Because it means nothing.

Yet he can’t bring himself to call anyone else Princess.

“What’s wrong with you?” Gun’s voice cuts through the blonde’s pensiveness.

Playing the role of bodyguards and with a little time to kill as they wait for Crystal (which in all honesty is a waste of Goo’s amazing talents but he doesn’t mind, he gets paid all the same), they both sit outside a cafe. Gun, occupied with his phone and Goo, occupied with his thoughts.

Goo snaps his mask back on, pasting on a smile that is pulled too wide, “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

“If it’s about that girl,” Gun returns his attention to his screen, “Get over it.”

The directness of Gun’s words catch him off guard. It cuts him straight to the core. Has he been that obvious?

Goo swallows down any misgivings, instead stretching his grin impossibly wider and looking unhinged. A clear warning sign as any. “There’s no girl.”

Gun peers over to his partner, arching a single eyebrow and not saying anything more.

Another day, another dollar. Or another boring-ass corporate event.

Charles seems to be having the time of his life, mingling and schmoozing with some old corporate fuddy-duddies.

Goo thought it was surprising getting the CEO of HNH to some shitty little ribbon-cutting ceremony at a shopping mall, but apparently it’s something of a big deal; celebrating a new store opening of a very prestigious partner of HNH.

(Gun was sorely tempted to beat this fact into his thick skull. Clearly the four other times he had explained this to the blonde didn’t sink in.)

Alas, they are finally here. And it’s every bit as boring as Goo had thought it would be. He lets out a yawn, not bothering to cover his gaping mouth, which earns a glare from Gun and Crystal.

Goo nods his head towards the bathroom, signalling to his partner that he’s off for a comfort break.

Gun frowns, as if to say 'Don’t you dare leave. We’re on duty.'

Goo volleys with a smirk that communicates his response loud and clear. 'What? So you want me to piss all over the floor?'

Gun grunts in displeasure, giving a little shake off his head. 'Go. You’ve won this one.'

At the disappearance of Goo, your other friends start to reappear.

Really, you couldn’t blame them for holding you at arm’s length. You probably would have done the same looking in from the outside, if they had chosen to spend all their time with a delinquent too.

And they really have been sweet since they’ve been back, noticing your heartache and the constant cloud hanging over your head.

In an attempt to get you out of your funk, they’ve dragged you, kicking and screaming, on a day out. It should cheer you up as you wander store to store, hearing their laughter and banter again, offering to buy you little gifts as a pick-me-up.

It doesn’t work.

It actually does the opposite as you start to shrink in on yourself, guilty that you’re ruining what should be a very pleasant trip.

“What’s going on there?” One of your friends point out, and you don’t have the energy to care.

“That’s the big boss of HNH!” Another one chimes in, and they ooh and aah wondering if they should approach and ask for an internship.

You continue wandering on, leaving your friend group to debate the merits of that approach. Whether they’ll get tackled by security or lauded for their initiative.

As you move further and further away, you can’t help but feel eyes burning into the back of your head.

Gun watches you leave. He stays quiet when Goo returns.

In time, you begin to feel more like yourself.

The worry turns to anger and finally fizzles out to acceptance.

You try to move on but don’t forget Goo Kim. How can anyone truly forget Goo Kim, that whirlwind of a human being?

He entered your life, left behind a shine, and now has disappeared as mysteriously as he appeared.

You miss him in ways you didn’t know possible.

He haunts your days and nights.

You dream of bleached hair, sharp eyes behind glasses, and a sardonic smile.

You’re back at the top of the class again with your grades, though inside you miss being second best.

Exams come and go.

You do well.

With your results, your first choice university accepts you with a full scholarship.

You look forward to the future yet everything feels hollow without that presence in your life.

It pains you to even say his name.

#coming towards the end now #i dont think i should add in an extra chapter buuuut who knows #this whole fic is so self indulgent #i am so so sorry at the quality in advance #lookism #lookism headcanons #lookism x reader #lookism hc #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #goo kim #goo kim x reader #kim joongoo #school days with princess and the delinquent #kim joongoo x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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bobparkhurst · 21 days

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Hi! I come to you for advice, as I trust your opinion in matters like this. Me being just a casual viewer of war shows, not interested in it just for the genre, should I watch Masters of the Air or not? Thank you in advance! 💖

Augh, I answered this, then my browser crashed not helpful. Anyway, the gist of this is, I am not a casual war shows enjoyer, but I am going to do my best on this front given I know the one war show I know that we both enjoy.

tl;dr: I think MotA has good characters, doesn't sacrifice telling a good story for historical accuracy and I've watched it like, three or four times now already.

So actually yeah, I'd suggest giving MotA a shot. I will not be offended if you don't like it, but I do think it's worth it.

Longer answer under the cut (and sorry, I did get rambly):

While MotA looks from the outside as more of an ensemble piece, it's really about four guys, and two of those guys are a Set. It is also very historically accurate, but it doesn't feel like they got super hung up on that, they get the balance that this is still a historical fiction show.

They do change things up in places for the sake of the narrative. This doesn't always work, a couple of plot threads get dropped in what I feel are clunky ways. Honestly, I think they just tried to do too much and it meant some things didn't get the weight they needed. Still, I found it a mostly cohesive story and strong enough to follow each of our main guys.

Be warned though: there are timeskips a lot in the second half of the series. These are telegraphed quite well but can be a little jarring. This does cause some minor characters to appear to randomly disappear.

They also do not shy away from injury or other horrors of war, so be prepared for that. If you want fuller content warnings, up for that.

So really, it comes down to if you think you're gonna enjoy these four guys:

Gale "Buck" Cleven and John "Bucky" Egan

The very quick way to describe these two are the classic quiet guy/wild child pair, but I think that does them a bit of a disservice because there's depth to both characters that really gets borne out over the course of the nine episodes. Bucky gets a lot more to work with outwardly, but I think they're both gorgeous characters. Their love for each other and how it is tested and reinforced and drives them is a huge part of this show. Austin Butler and Callum Turner have great chemistry, and in both cases, there is a real solid presence of the other when they're in scenes alone. Loved their dynamic with each other and with the men they lead.

2. Harry Crosby

Understated protagonist. He also gets a great character arc over nine episodes. Anthony Boyle is incredible in the role and makes him one of the most likeable and engaging characters I've ever seen. IRL Croz wrote a memoir A Wing and a Prayer which is refreshingly frank and quite funny in parts too, and I think that really serves here.

3. Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal

We don't get to meet him till a few episodes in, so he doesn't get as grand an arc as the others, but I think that works because we get to really hit the story of a guy who just wants to serve justice being flung immediately into an ongoing horror. We get to immediately contrast him with the guys who have been around longer. Also he's really beautiful and SO GOOD AT HIS JOB my God.

Also, while there are supporting characters, none of them really get the focus these ones do, so expectations should be managed on that front. That said, the actors are all great so I personally feel you do get a hold on who they are. Nobody expects you to know everyone's names. I am still only 70% sure I know who Murphy is.

(as usual, my favourite guy is a supporting guy but at least he gets some narrative explicitly discussing him and his job and also he's Raff Law so like, his face is distinctive).

Also Corin is in it for a couple of scenes so you should watch those if nothing else.

apologies for that getting long i love my boys but i also tried to be conscious of my war media nerd hat

#mota #answermywearyquery

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mysteriouslybluepirate · 6 months

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Thank you for offering your askbox. I've been thinking that Izzy being just a side character whose story wasn't main plot thread makes even better proof that not everything was well planned? If I was a writer and this would be easily the most discussed topic about the finale, I'd reflect on storytelling decisions I made. There's a good reason why Izzy's fate overshadows everything despite that he wasn't the point of the show.

(Post posted 10/31/23) Feel free to comment below if you agree or disagree, we're all here for discussions.

Thank you so much for this amazing question!! [If you're seeing this and want to discuss some aspect of S2, or my thoughts on OFMD overall, SEND ME AN ASK! I love doing this]

TLDR: Vague characterization from historical records means Jenkins is free to bend history without a lot of guilt. During early days of casting and during scene changes Jenkins got inspired by Con's audition tape. Con was told to play this shit as a Jesus/Judas relationship. An amazing performance in S1 keeps the character relevant in fandom spaces in the hiatus, and in Jenkin's mind for S2. The S1 season finale accidentally reveals a really interesting dynamic in Ed/Izzy's relationship. [Speculation from this point on] Jenkins feels like he needs to explore, with little plans to fully explore it. Fleshing out both Ed/Izzy abuse and love.

Jenkins realizes 'Oh shit, Izzy wasn't supposed to be this' midway through S2. But he still follows his original plan in killing him off, because he's not needed for the story in his outline, leading to him accidentally killing off a character as they're growing and healing. Leading to what some consider a move SO off-brand for the show, they are leaving the fandom.

[*Tin Foil Hat On*] I expect the original cut of S2 to include more scenes of the crew. I bet for every other Izzy scene, we got a crew scene. So when 'extra' not plot-relevant scenes had to get cut, they kept the Izzy scenes due to Izzy's stable arc, the fact that he'd die at the end either way and Con's amazing performance.

EXPLINATION AND DEPTH BELOW! It's a long one. A lot of this post will be speculation, interviews from Jenkins, and highly dependent on if you were in fandom between seasons 1 and 2. If you need me to hunt for sources, I can do that for you.

I'll separate everything into a chronological timeline as much as possible.

Before we touch on why Jenkins wrote Izzy to stick out in the story, we need to assume how he outlined this entire show.

Pre Con O'Neill:

I am of the personal belief that Jenkins likely wrote out an imagined arc for Ed and Stede. Including a lot of cool set pieces, fights, etc. for the three seasons he wanted vaguely based on the real lives of Stede Bonnet and Edward Teach(watch a YouTube vid documenting their history, it's a wild ride) turning it into something explicitly romantic. This is easy enough to do, as most of what we know about them was written YEARS after their deaths.

Next was filling in the cast. This is where we get our crew, mostly characters Jenkins made up, as very little is known of the men either sailed with.

Izzy Hands being a pirate under the age of 18 whose notable actions with Blackbeard include- Captaining his own vessel, running a ship aground, being Blackbeard's first mate, and getting shot by Blackbeard maybe on accident.

[THEORY] So. If you're any writer you see that and think 'cool a side character we know almost nothing about'. You slot him in as being Edward's one thing keeping him to the pirate lifestyle. Not necessarily romantic, but a serious Boss/underling relationship. This is a bit of how Izzy was written in S1 UNTIL-

Con O'Neill is cast as Izzy.

In interview, Jenkins has admitted that Con's audition tapes influenced how he wrote Izzy. As a writer, this shouldn't necessarily be ringing red flags. But he has gone on record as admitting to changing the script before shooting to suit Con. IN SEASON 1. My guess is Izzy at the end of episode 10 was meant to be more of a side character. Another Frenchie, or Wee John, who serves their purpose and then gets pushed to the side by the plot.

But at some point, Jenkins wrote how important the dynamic was between Ed and Izzy. Describing Izzy/Ed to Con before filming S1 of a 'Jesus and Judas' relationship like in Jesus Christ Superstar.

If you tell a (then closeted) queer actor who has been playing queer roles since the 1990s that his leather daddy character was having a Jesus&Judas JSC dynamic in a TV show that respects and celebrates queerness? 🤩 MY GOD.

[Speculation] That's how we get an Izzy Hands who is watching the man in front of him slip away, trying to dig his heels in. Hell, if I were Jenkins, I'd be adding a few more lines for Izzy to be pissed just to see Con have fun in the role. Let him be mad. Let him be in the background of scenes just glaring. Let us see a man slowly lose something he's built up his whole life.

[As mentioned from Comic Con- From Con O'Neill] This was important for me to bring up as Jenkins could have said 'henchman' but he didn't. Hell, when Taika and Con did hair and makeup they'd listen to the JCS cast album. It was a choice on both their parts.

[ovservation from here on out] Con plays it up, and a lot of queer fans saw this and grabbed hold of a man so desperate to keep the man he loved close that he sacrifices almost everything for it (Izzy also signs the Act of Grace to get Ed out of there).

Izzy, in a show full of openly queer people, is still on the fringe of society. SO MANY queers saw this and said 'OMG me'. ME INCLUDED. With a super supportive actor who genuinely is respectful of the fandom? Of art, and fic and meta? The Izzy 'Canyon' became so loyal because Con is a Queer Elder we didn't know we all needed in our lives!

Jenkins accidentally wrote into what could be an amazing story of a queer character living in a homophobic society where he learns to open himself up. All without ever writing a 'coming out' scene for Izzy. Jenkins knows this. Hell, since S1 Izzy fans have been telling him how cool that type of arc would be.

Now here comes the issue of where to take a side character, when you have loose plans for them.

S1 IS TIGHTLY WRITTEN ONTO ITSELF... S2?

Something we might forget now is HOW tightly written Izzy's falling out with Ed is tied into Stede and Ed falling in love. Beat per beat, Izzy is shoved away as Stede takes his place. That's really fucking smart. So smart, it was planned in the writer's room. The fact that some took it as romantic, that Ed could ever really love him back? Well...this is where Jenkins had a decision to make.

So he dips his toe. Let's make Ed even more violent than at the end of S1ep10. Let's include the bit where Blackbeard shoots Izzy Hands. Let's have Izzy confess his love for Ed and have it not be enough for Ed to change his mind. Let's show Izzy rising like a phoenix reborn after a failed suicide attempt where Izzy chooses to mutiny on Ed to protect the crew. Let's see Izzy growing. Because Jenkins loves Con's performance. Everyone in the cast enjoys him as a person. Let's give Izzy one last hurrah.

Jenkins knows this character meant a lot to Con. It's obvious in the way Jenkins recently confessed he told Con about Izzy's death midway through shooting. Sadly we likely will never be told when Con was told. But imagining Con filming the AMAZING character change of S2eps 1-2, then AFTER being told Izzy would die anyway? Oh. I wouldn't be alright. Not after all his fans had spent the last year telling him how much seeing a character like Izzy 'being accepted because they are worthy of love'.

This is the 1 thing that fucks me up. Not telling Con until midway through shooting, Versus his belief that writing Izzy's death was a fitting way to end his story. BOTH CAN'T BE TRUE. Right? If Jenkins felt the need to take con aside and go grab a meal to announce Izzy was dying but then market the ending as a 'Good Idea'. Then...What? If Con felt it fit the character, then he would have likely guessed Izzy would die. But that wasn't the vibe in the fandom at the time. It feels like a decision Jenkins made this season.

Because yes, some general audiences predicted that Izzy would die. But when your core fanbase for a character don't expect it, you didn't plan the death correctly. Fuck, I thought Izzy was trying to RECOVER this whole season. Not that Izzy was hiding how hard he was struggling. That's not a good sign when I've ALWAYS called Izzy as some brand of suicidal/depressed.

[Quote from Jenkins Entertainment Article: Oct 26 2023] 'What's the best journey we can give him(Izzy)? And what's the most interesting thing we can do with Con, who can do just about anything?'

That is not the quote of an author who has planned everything out. That's a writer who knows points A and E and is fighting to find everything in between.

The Fly in My Ointment

There's a point most writers know when a character or story slips out from under you. You didn't mean for this to happen. Hell, I write Scene by Scene outlines. My stories change. When Izzy Hands' growth arc became the most interesting part of S2, Jenkins had a choice.

How far was he willing to bend his idea to keep a character that wasn't 'essential'? Not that fucking far apparently. Because for some reason, Jenkin's labeled Izzy in his mind as 'Blackbeard' and tied Ed and Izzy's fates together. Ignoring how this season Izzy died to separate his old life with Ed from his new life with this crew.

Your question poses it perfectly- If I was a writer and this would be easily the most discussed topic about the finale, I'd reflect on storytelling decisions I made. There's a good reason why Izzy's fate overshadows everything despite that he wasn't the point of the show.

That's a trick they teach you in some writing podcasts. That in the end, you are telling one story. You can have twenty side characters and a romance arc, but in the end, you are telling one story. Each side character is going to show what happens when you fail or succeed at the central thesis.

What do we have in S1? What does Frenchie sing to set up where our story STARTS-

"A pirate’s life, [it’s] short but nice,” -“we won’t live long,” AND “to death we go, a certain death we go.”

Our characters expect a short simple life of what most pirates EXPECT. In my mind, this story has ALWAYS been about survival. From the extravagance of Stede's ship, and a crew ready to throw him overboard, to the barebones Shark eats Shark type of survival described in Ed's own fleet. OFMD is about living in a world that doesn't want you there. About surviving and thriving. About these two men from different worlds coming together and forging a life of kindness for them and for their family.

Saying fuck you, I'm here, I'm still alive, and I'm going to THRIVE. I deserve kindness, happiness, love, and a fully lived life. I deserve to spend my short time on this Earth happy.

IN S2? The ONLY character that matches this thesis is Izzy. After scenes of Izzy struggling. Of finding himself. Of crawling up from his own personal hell, Izzy dies. He dies from a random bullet wound in the same spots that didn't kill Stede or Ed in the previous season. Breaking the one established rule for wounds in this universe that the left side is the safe side so that Izzy can die.

Even if Izzy spent this entire season wanting to die, he tried to live. For a few days after a breakup of over 20+ years of casual intimacy. Of a bond where Izzy was the murderer, the brawn. The dangerous right hand. Where Izzy dying meant not just his death, but likely that of Ed. Given the man's constant depressive moods, crews that didn't like him, and reoccurring suicidal tendencies. Ed didn't need Izzy Hands anymore. Ed had Stede now. He was ready to finally leave Izzy for good. What will Izzy Hands do now?

He gave up. He tried to move on. He listened after being told he was too rough, too loud, too mean. He tried. He tried to survive this new way of life surrounded by people who supported him. But he was tired. After so many years of putting up a mask, tearing it down was too much work. So he wanted to die. In the end. Izzy died in the arms of Edward surrounded by his family.

Buried on a plot of land Jenkins has already told us Stede and Ed will leave when things get boring. Left behind like the corpse of a pet the family has forgotten. Buried without his ring and cravat, items Izzy is only seen without when he's naked. Without the prosthetic gifted to him by a family that cared about him.

Izzy wasn't mourned for more than five seconds, before Stede and Ed were making jokes on his fresh grave, and then the episode moves on to a wedding.

RIP Izzy Hands- a man who loved more than he was ever loved in return.

Was this the right message? FUCK No. But for those of us who believed that theme of queer survival and community- We saw framing Izzy's death like this as a fucking betrayl.

Izzy Hands isn't buried with his most prized possessions- they're left out to be stolen or rot in the front yard. With only one man crying over his death and a silent funeral. He leaves this world without more than a 'he was intense'. Which...isn't great coming from the man Izzy loved for most of his life.

The reason why we're mad about Izzy isn't that it's Izzy. It's that when we boarded this flight we were given a set of rules to follow. It's a comedy about men falling in love on a boat that sometimes gets serious. That's it. To watch a character start to grow only to die for NO PLOT SPECIFIC REASON. Is insulting. If your death has no tie to the narrative (sacrifice or it comes with a revelation) it's a death just set up for shock. Izzy and Ed could have had that deathbed confession talk at the start of episode 7.

A REASON WHY I'M MAD BEYOND THAT SPECIFICALLY. [Very Personal Gripe]

A SALUTE TO CON O'NEILL -AGAIN!

I had the privilege of hyper-fixating on this show from the entirety of S1 ending to S2 beginning. During this time I explored the catalog of Con O'Neill's work on Tumblr under the tag 'Conography'. I watched this man play queer roles since the 1990s. Genderqueer/somewhere on the Trans spectrum, Gay, Bi. This man loves to play a queer story, even if it's sad. If it's tragic. He will breathe new life into their lungs and express their moments of Joy. Of love. Of community.

After the filming of S2 at a con, Con he felt comfortable publicly coming out due to the love and support he felt from our fandom. Do you know JUST how crazy that is? That Con KNEW Izzy was dead, yet he loved our fandom so much he let himself be vulnerable, and come out as queer? It's fucking INSANE to me, and shows just how much this show means to him.

He's not just Queer. He's a Queer fucking elder whose been protective of this entire community since S1. This 57-year-old man has proudly stood up in the name of Trans rights this entire time. Treating everyone, but especially Trans Izzy fans with so much fucking respect. Trans Izzy is a common headcanon partially because of how comfortable people feel knowing they won't get harassed because they interpret Izzy a certain way. That trans people feel at home seeing themselves as a misunderstood character with a chip on their shoulder.

I'm pissed for every in universe thing listed above AND NOW THIS. Because our Queer Elders are dead. There is a generation of Queer people we can never get back. They died from a mix of society pressuring these people into the closet or an early grave. Of disease running wild in communities unchecked. Of media ruining the careers of anyone who dared to come out. To see Con O'Neill So Fucking Happy and having it cut short because Jenkins thought Izzy was better dead than being an actual background character makes me see fucking red.

No. Jenkins probably didn't know Con was Queer when writing S2. But I'm assuming he still saw how happy Con was at Izzy fans before S2 was written which still makes it feel shitty.

Sure. Give Izzy all the amazing speeches about family and belonging and rip that right from his hands as soon as Izzy realizes it's something he might want for himself. Let's have Con O'Neill say all the prominent lines that are a blatant metaphor for why the Queer community needs to stick together.

Izzy's arc isn't just overshadowing the conversation because it was mismanaged and feels unplanned, it also just feels cruel to the central arc of this series. Add that to an actor who was so vocal about loving this community, it feels pointed to give him a tragic ending.

Jenkins doesn't need to consider why people hated this finale. Because there are SO MANY Ed/Stede fans who just don't care. They put Izzy in the box with every other side character and decided to put their effort into the protagonists and point and laugh when we suffer. Jenkins won't rethink anything because he can just say the 'Izzy community was passionate and are sad their favorite died'. Ignoring how this season made Stede into a shittier, less sympathetic captain and gave Ed an interesting arc only to give up before the finish line.

#Now. I didn't bring up how viewing Izzy as being useless post disability ALSO pissed people off but there are posts everywhere about that #physical disability is not my place so I don't overstep #THE WAY IZZYS DEATH WOULD WORK SO MUCH BETTER IF HE STEPPED INFRONT OF A BULLET MEANT FOR STEDE #Or that post floating around of Ed getting shot for Izzy. Showing that yes. Ed cares. that they're both fucked but are working on it #If most of the fan base hates the *implications* for S3 thanks to this ending it wasn't the right move #GOD I DIDN'T EVEN TALK ABOUT THE DAD/MENTOR THING. Ah well #it's taken me 3 hours to type this up. I'll add later if it needs be lol #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #izzy hands #ofmd s2 finale #ofmd critical #ofmd meta #omfd analysis #israel hands

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