#i await your thoughts

[sigurism]

John Davis Chandler, Jack Palance & Alain Delon Once A Thief Dir: Ralph Nelson

[hangmanbradshaw]

Dammit Steph 😤! It’s 1:40 am, I should be asleep already but guess I’m gonna postpone sleep (again) just so I can read about my boyfriends 😔

And that’s on ✨priorities✨ 🤗🤗🤗

[tiredqueermushroom]

One thing that annoys me about Orym's comment other than it being unnecessary and cruel is that it added absolutely nothing to the conversation as well as didn't make sense.

Of course, Dorian would feel differently about the gods if Ludinus had been the one to kill brother, but he didn't. Lolth did, and the primes (wildmother in particular) did nothing to prevent it. The same would be true if will and derrig had been killed by the gods, is a circular argument that leads nowhere and moves no one's position, it just makes orym look like an asshole.

I'm seeing the sentiment that Dorian can't or is unwilling to see things from Orym's side again. First of all, it's not true. Both agree on the key issue that Ludinus has to die, and not once has Dorian tried to argue otherwise, but at every turn, Orym has argued against Dorian's position. Whether or not Dorian's position is 'correct' is immaterial as Dorian has not tried to talk down Orym's points like orym has his.

It has been 2-3 DAYS since Cyrus died, Dorian has had no time to process his grief, and it's unfair of Orym to expect that Dorian be pragmatic and consider hypotheticals while Orym himself cannot do the same after 7 years. And yes, grief is a lifelong process, but Orym is much further in his journey than Dorian, who has compartmentalise and internalised his trauma.

Orym weaponising Dorian's loss against him is wrong and unfair, Orym's trauma doesn't weigh anymore heavily on him than Dorian's does and to suggest otherwise implies a severe lack of understanding of Dorian's character.

[kirkycurls]

You Jump, I Jump, Jack

When a gorgeous metalhead and his band move into town, your dreary summer pouring coffees is turned on its head—for the better.

*Set in some nondescript American town *Story Kirk is 88/89!Kirk (26/27) and MC is 24 *Not necessarily historically accurate band-wise and I'm not American so bear with me *5 chapters *Fairly sfw but theme of alcoholism *Happy ending!

Chapter One

CWs for this chapter: None.

It had been raining for weeks in your small town: industrial bins floating down the street; kids walking to school with silt up to their knees—the kind of June weather nobody saw coming but now nobody could stop talking about.

You didn’t mind it so much. Tucked away behind the counter of Yvette’s pouring coffees all day for mostly middle-aged men reading newspapers, you could stay dry and keep tabs on what was going on outside through the little chocolate box window out front. Spending your weekdays here since graduating college wasn’t what you’d expected, but since your parents had moved even further upstate you’d wanted to feel more financially secure, single as you were.

It was past 11 on Tuesday morning and the rain had slowed to a drizzle. The cafe was empty save for an older couple playing Yvette’s ancient game of mini chess by the radiator and her son Steve wiping down the table by the door. 

“Ste”, you managed, half-focused on the van that had just pulled up at the old Sunday school across the street. “Ste”, you tried again, louder this time.

“What?”, he asked, turning around. “I’m mid-wipe here, sweet. You can’t disrupt the magic man mid-wipe.” 

You laughed, “Spray’s topped up”. 

Gesturing at the bottle of cleaner you’d just refilled, you rolled your eyes with a smile as he approached the counter with a look of mock offence.

Still smiling to yourself, your eyes wandered past him to the dark-haired guy that had just jumped out of the van, his face screwed up in disgust as he looked down at the muddy water lapping round his ankles. Another guy appeared behind him and practically fell out of the vehicle laughing, only to get his jeans soaked to the knee as he tripped on a hidden drainage cover. 

Boys, you thought. 

The dark-haired guy said something to his amused friend and looked around, taking in the street and the flood, eyes roaming disinterestedly until they landed on the coffee shop with the faded name of the owner above the door, and, through the small front window… you.

You swallowed. Feeling a presence to your right, you blinked and turned to see Steve watching you with an indiscernible look on his face. 

“Earth to the dreamer”, he mocked, switching to his usual grinning state, pumping his eyebrows like a five-year-old with a secret. “Fancy a heavy metal concert?”

“What?”, you huffed with a laugh. 

“Those guys are setting up shop in there”, he said, pointing towards the steady stream of instruments and various studio pieces a taller third guy was now hauling out the back of the van. “Metallica. Heard of ‘em?”

You shook your head.

“Seems they’ve been getting more shows recently so they wanna set up a permanent residence somewhere local—a sort of HQ.”

That broke you out of your reverie. 

“Um, and you know this how?”, you scoffed. Steve wasn’t exactly the type to be up to date with the town gossip. He could usually be found on his girlfriend’s couch with his hand down his pants and a baseball game on the TV when he wasn’t on shift. He wasn’t stupid and he definitely wasn’t a bad guy, but by your standards, he was beyond help.

✵

Before he could answer, a sudden gust of warm air blew into the cafe, the bell above the door protesting loudly. The napkins you’d tidied an hour before were whipped into a flurry. 

With a sigh, you knelt down to retrieve the stray few floating to the ground at your feet, hearing the approach of heavy, squelching boots. 

“Sorry…didn’t mean to ruin your good work”, a boyish male voice chuckled from above you. Returning to your feet, brow furrowed in mild exasperation, you locked eyes with the culprit. 

Grinning at you with a set of perfectly imperfect teeth, shining chocolate-brown eyes, and a mane of dark, glossy curls, the first guy from the van stood leaning against the counter, one hand outstretched with the offer of returning the collected napkins to their tray.

Damn. White noise fizzed inside your head as you unsuccessfully attempted a reply. He’s cute.

Steve sniggered behind you. 

“This is Kirk”, he laughed. 

You turned, a look of mild confusion on your face. 

“Hammett”, the guy from the van added, dropping his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Kirk’s in Metallica”, Steve continued, still amused by your temporary muteness. 

“Lead guitar, right?” 

Kirk smiled and nodded. 

“He was in here last week with his friend James.”

“Oh right, hi…”, you managed, suddenly self-conscious.

You turned to the counter, smoothing the fallen napkins back into formation. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Kirk’s gaze lingering on your face. 

“Yeah, it’s me, James, Jason, and Lars”, he said, attention back on Steve.

You breathed an internal sigh of relief for being momentarily unobserved. 

Another few seconds of awkward napkin twiddling elapsed until you realised you hadn’t said anything and both Kirk and Steve were expecting you to speak…

Accepting that the obsessively flat paper couldn’t get any flatter, you took a breath; fixing your best customer service smile before diving into a string of questions…

First for Steve: What day did they visit the cafe last week? Did you make them lunch? Did you tell him about me?

And then Kirk: What’s the situation with redecorating the Sunday-school-turned-heavy-metal-headquarters? Don’t you think it’s funny that it’ll go from a religious building to a house of vice? Why are you so gorgeous…?

In the process, you learned that Kirk and James (the tall, muscular one you’d seen unloading gear) had headed over for a takeout order last Friday whilst finalising the rent on the new place. It was particularly busy that day—Fridays always were—and you didn’t remember seeing them. Kirk explained how the daughter of the now deceased man who’d owned the school was practically begging them to take it off her hands, so the band had bought it for next to nothing. Kirk and James had taken most of the old furnishings to the dump already; all that really needed taking care of now was repainting the place and positioning their stuff. 

While the three of you talked, a large party of customers entered the cafe; each now in various states of shaking out umbrellas and settling down to browse the lunchtime menu. You knew the conversation would have to end soon, as the 12 o’clock rush could get pretty hairy.

Before you had a chance to pipe up, Steve chimed in. 

“Oh we can help out with a few licks of paint easy”, he said to no-one in particular, straightening up and taking in the still increasing crowd. You could hear the son-of-the-manager gears clicking in his head, greasing up in preparation to make a few extra tips.

His hand landed on your shoulder.

“Why don’t you take tomorrow off and help the guys. Mom’s gonna be around anyway; I’m sure she’ll understand and we both know you’re artistic”, he winked, referencing the time he’d caught you making sickeningly girly latte art when you were supposed to be servicing the coffee machine. 

Your eyes flew to Kirk who was looking more than pleased with the idea.

“Would you?” 

You hesitated, then nodded; a little bewildered and not sure how you felt about being roped in on your own.

“That’d be awesome, thanks.” He leant over and gave a light bump to your arm. 

You tried to suppress a smile. Butterflies.

“Great”, Steve grinned.

“I’ll let you both figure out the details. But right now could you deal with that delivery out back? I forgot to sort it earlier.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Hey, relax. I’ll deal with this crowd so just take your time. Nice to see you again, Kirk.”

A nod from Kirk. “Yeah you too, man.”

Left alone, Kirk turned to you; a cheeky smile dancing on his lips as he rapped the counter and said, “So…”.

You let out a light laugh. “What?”

“Need any help?” 

“Oh, no…you don’t have to to do that”, you replied, making your way behind the counter to grab some supplies but secretly hoping he’d push the point.

“Ah it’s no bother, trust me”, Kirk continued, following you halfway. "There’ll be nothing going on over there today except Lars arguing with James about the feng shui and me and Jase trying to mediate.”

You laughed, feeling some of the tension melting from your body.

He was nice.

“Nah, I’m just kidding; I don’t think either of them know what feng shui is.”

That earned a belly laugh from you. 

You knelt down to the cupboard under the sink to locate a pen, calculator and packing knife; letting your hair cover your face to hide your shyness after letting out such an indiscrete sound. 

“So can I?” Kirk asked. “Help?”

Finding what you needed, you straightened, finding Kirk firmly planted a few feet in-front of you with no sign of backing down.

“Uh yeah, sure…why not. I’ll make us some coffee”, you smiled. “It’s just through that door and right ahead—you’ll find it”, you said, watching as he wandered off in the direction you’d given.

“Awesome”, he fired back, “can’t wait”.

You watched him leave, hands reaching up playfully to hit the door frame as he went. 

You smiled to yourself. This was definitely not how you’d imagined your day playing out: meeting a cute metalhead, making plans to help paint his band’s new headquarters and now pouring black coffee into takeout cups so the pair of you could sort a delivery together? No, this was not what you were picturing for this so-far dismal summer. 

Securing the lids to the drinks, you pocketed the stock supplies in your apron and headed out back, coffee for two in hand.

✵

Parting Yvette’s handmade beaded curtain with your right shoulder, the wind chime over your head sang as you emerged from the back porch, crossing the few steps to the centre of the stock area and setting the cups on one of the two piles of delivery boxes filling the compact space. The stock area wasn’t much; in fact it was literally just Yvette’s garden, as she lived upstairs—a quaint, currently gazebo-roofed yard with stone-walled raised flower beds set around the perimeter.

Kirk was inspecting some gnarly looking plants in the far corner when you arrived, turning as you placed the coffee down to make a joke about The Day of the Triffids. It was true Yvette hadn’t given as much care to the flora and fauna out here as she had to the cafe, which was her pride and joy. She’d been out of town a lot recently on various craft retreats and managerial workshops, so the place needed a little TLC. 

Kirk picked up the coffee nearest him, cheersing it with the air in thanks before taking a sip and carefully placing it back. 

“So what’s first?” He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. 

You removed the packing knife from your apron and set it next to your own cup, then walked over to the other pile of boxes, hands on your hips as you considered the best way to start.

“I need to check the stock matches what’s listed on the invoices, so if you could maybe help stack them according to the package number that’d really help.”

“As you wish”, Kirk answered, shucking off his jacket and discarding it on the wall.

Five minutes or so passed as you stood back near the doorway watching Kirk shift the boxes. He was chatting away about his bandmates, giving you a colourful mental image of their individual personalities: James, the lead singer and a pretty wild partier; Lars, the Danish drummer, always with a cocky word to try and trip you up; and Jason, badass bassist who was all about working hard for the fans. 

You agreed to meet up outside their new place around nine the next morning, aware that you’d only been given one day off work thus far and impatient to see Kirk in his natural habitat. 

As you listened, offering him various strategic “mmm”s and “oh right”s, your eyes wandered not so innocently along his sweat-dampened neck and the straining muscles in his arms, down to the way his strong hands gripped the underside of the boxes… You noted how gently he set them down, heavy as they were. 

“What do you think then?” 

“Huh?” You snapped to as you realised Kirk had asked you a question, a slightly self-conscious look in his eye as if nervous for your response.  

You mentally traced back to what he’d been talking about while you were…gawping…and recalled him inviting you to pizza and beer that evening to meet the guys before everyone got to work tomorrow.

“Oh, yeah.” You exhaled a laugh. “Yeah of course, I’d love to.”

He looked relieved, and a bit excited, you thought.

“Ah great, I knew you’d be up for it”, he replied, back to his usual self. “I can show you around and you can finally tell me some more about you”, he joked, flicking some of the debris from the boxes at you. 

You both laughed, acknowledging that you hadn’t exactly been a chatty Cathy since he’d arrived. 

It was at that point you decided you actually liked this guy. He was relaxing to be around; interesting, kind, very attractive; and there was something in his eyes that made you feel a sense of kinship. He didn’t step on your toes but he didn’t shy away from trying to get closer either. 

Kirk took a step back to admire his handiwork. Very neat.

“That’ll do thanks, I can take it from here”, you smiled, peeling yourself away from the wall. 

“You sure?” He answered. 

“Yeah, honestly. This next bit’s pretty boring”, you chuckled. “Go and sit down—you’ve earned it.”

He looked relieved as he made his way back to his original spot, flinging himself down on his back on the wall with one hand gently pulling at a spray of pink carnations and the other hanging freely.

You turned back to the boxes with a smile, taking the calculator and pen from your apron pocket to start checking the invoices.

A minute or so of pleasant quiet fell as the conversation petered off. You busied yourself with the calculator, almost forgetting Kirk’s presence as you got into the details of the invoices taped to the side of each package.

Then, “I saw you last week you know.” 

You froze momentarily, pen between your teeth, glad you had your back to him so he wouldn’t see the slight blush tinging your cheekbones. It made you uncomfortable to know someone had perceived you without your noticing—especially him, with his big brown eyes and gorgeous curly hair you’d imagined running your fingers through more than a few times since your initial conversation inside.

“Is that okay?”, he interrupted the silence.

You turned around, pen dropping into your hand. 

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” 

He didn’t respond. He’d changed positions since before; now leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees and fingers steepled, observing you with the ghost of a smile and the kindest eyes. You felt your heart swell and then catch as you became aware of the seconds ticking by. 

God, this guy, you thought. 

No-one had had this kind of effect on you since…well, ever. No past boyfriend had looked at you like he was looking right now. 

Move, then. Don’t just stand here like an idiot.

You stretched forward to grab the packing knife from the first pile of boxes, desperate to break the awkwardness that had descended out of nowhere, but as soon as you reached for the handle, the safety clicked, shooting the blade into the still-full takeout cups and landing warm coffee all over Kirk’s thighs. “Shxt!”, you cried, hands flying to your mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

Kirk jumped up, visibly stunned but recovering quickly. Meanwhile, you were garbling out a string of profuse “Sorry”s and standing fixed to the spot, completely unable to move. 

“Hey, hey…it’s fine, relax”, Kirk assured you. You pulled your hands from your eyes to see him laughing, clearly unbothered. 

“I’ve got dirt up to my knees from the damn flood out front; these jeans obviously weren’t meant for me.” 

Your panic eased as you realised he wasn’t mad. You laughed awkwardly, tucking your arms around yourself in an attempt to calm down. Without a word, Kirk jogged past you through the beaded curtain.

Crap, is that really how that’s gonna end? 

You needn’t have worried. A few seconds later he returned with a wad of napkins and bent down to mop up the spillage. 

“If you knew how many times I’ve had to clean up puke from the floor in my house after a night with the guys, you wouldn’t be so worried”, he winked. 

You exhaled with a smile, hitching your skirt up a little to kneel down and help him. 

If you hadn’t both been busy sharing sweet glances and bumping arms as you cleaned up your first drinks together, you would have noticed that the rain had stopped completely and the sun come out from behind the clouds for the first time in weeks. 

 .✵.

[sparkedblaze]

@lover-of-mine I promise I'm not trying to spam your dashboard you just started my wheels turning and so I feel like you have to be a part of every revelation I have

What have you done to me?

In the scene where Chris is in bed with Eddie and he finds Shannon's letter on the bedside table, he's in a grey shirt with 'ARMY' written in big black block letters. The army, which he'd been using as a buffer between himself and his family, is now so small, and still present.

When he hugs Bobby after Shannon dies, Bobby's in a black shirt. He's the one to shield Eddie from the rest of the group. He's the station dad, and so I think him taking on black in relation to Eddie is maybe Eddie shedding that shield, and finally taking a moment to process his emotions before he goes to get Chris from Abuela.

Speaking of going to get Chris from Abuela's after Shannon's death, Eddie's wearing a black shirt under a green jacket with black pants. His love for Shannon and Chris, yes. But, there's also Eddie once again shielding his own emotions to give Chris the space to feel his own.

OOOOOOOHHHHHHH

In 5x14 at the very beginning, when Eddie has his nightmare. Dream Chris is there for his mind to start working through trauma. And you will never guess what he's wearing. He's wearing a black shirt. And, when he woke up, he was in a blue shirt on his blue couch. He woke up to Buck having taken Chris to school, with Bobby offering him coffee. He wakes up surrounded by love.

In 5x13, when Eddie is having his breakdown and Chris calls Buck, we see Buck wearing a red jacket over a black shirt (his love color, and Eddie's shield from emotions), and Eddie is in jeans and a green shirt. Eddie has finally given himself the space to feel his emotions, but he doesn't know how to do it in a healthy way. So, Chris calls Buck, and Buck comes to help him reign in those big emotions. To help be his shield.

[favroitecrime]

the hunger games x olivia rodrigo universe grows bigger

[aurosoulart]

undefined

decided to make a reel of my augmented reality artworks done over the past few months and MAN, it’s.......... suddenly hitting me just how absolutely nuts all of this is

six years ago, virtual reality was still firmly in the realm of science fiction. but now? not only is it real - but it’s possible to have a career working completely inside a virtual world where you have godlike controls over creation. (editing physics, light, gravity - and spawning things into existence on a whim? mind-mindbogglingly, this is somehow just my average workday)

I regularly spend so much time in-headset that it’s started re-wiring my brain; I think of landscapes and buildings as potential canvases for 3D digital artworks, and I sometimes struggle to differentiate virtual objects from reality. (I’ve tried to place real objects on virtual tables, and I instinctively step over/around virtual objects because of how REAL they appear and behave.)

our brains work by building a picture of reality via our sensory input, but what happens when that input is completely virtual? virtual reality is showing us that not only are our brains easily tricked, but that this is already happening even with the technology in its infancy. people using avatars with full-body tracking report ‘phantom sense’ sensations to virtual touch, heat, and cold - and haptic gloves & suits are in development that blur the lines between realities even further.

what will a world look like where we interact with cyperspace as if it was real? where you can meet with anyone, anywhere, in a virtual world you can both touch, hear, and (probably someday) smell or even taste? where job training, 3d design, therapy, education, etc. are all revolutionized by XR in the same way personal computers revolutionized them already?

what does a future look like where we don’t interact with digital media through a screen?

I don’t have the answers, but I think change is encroaching rapidly upon us all - and I think it’s gonna hit us faster than any of us can realize.

[genshin-projection]

i don't think i can be normal about Sunday guys

[enypneon]

℻ @lasraichean ••• (*list of scenarios - accepting!)

⊵ SPRAIN : one muse carries the other after spraining their ankle.

𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐣𝐮𝐦𝐩, 𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭 ─ in hopes of easing the cramps numbing his arms. nero nags in murmurs, and CLENCHES his teeth, in this stance there is no comfortable position. fortunately, he won't have to walk much longer, because » we're almost there. by the way ... «

nero sways just SLIGHTLY in his step, » stop strangling your ride and move your hands a little lower. « the most remarkable bit about this situation is that annie hasn't obtained her injury during a fight or tense chase.

in parts, he could be at fault for the other's dilemma, however, the details are not important they will not change anything about annie's condition. many people scrutinise them, and only a few proffer their assistance but nero refuses them all with a curt shake of head. limited are the chances nero will piggyback someone, he might as well allow her the brief moment of supremacy and control. » are you sure you CAN'T walk? «

[unproduciblesmackdown]

fr if taylor and philip don't kiss then what's this all been about. (the entire series of billions) what is it all for

[argonapricot]

your tags on this post tumblr(.)com/argonapricot/729580866921218048/yo-baylan-just-up-ditched-shin-after-putting

encapsulate perfectly how i feel and how i wished they handled the relationship between baylan and shin. especially given that this is the only performance we’ll get of ray. i’m so so bummed. i guess i had my expectations set too high :(

Thank you for saying so! Yeah, it just breaks my heart and I definitely wouldn't feel so strongly about it if Ray Stevenson were still with us. It would honestly make sense if the showrunners had been trying to hold back on Baylan's plotline so that it could be explored in a movie or in the following season... but it's just such a misfortune.

I'm worried that there won't be enough time in the last remaining episode for Baylan to get the conclusion that he deserves. But I'm still grateful that we have had such incredible scenes that showcased his performance and character in previous episodes.

[malewifehenrycooldown]

me, whenever I hear Henry's voice:

[image by pastelpaperplanes]

[randomnameless]

My condolemces on your bad taste 😔

Eytmology time :

Condolence comes from old french Condoléance, and the latin condoleo - con is "with/together" and doleo is "suffering"

So if you express your condolences on my taste, you imply you are sharing my suffering, and while this is very kind of you, I am not really suffering.

I mean, yes, some people don't think Fomortiis can be fucked, but I think he can, and I do not derive any hurt or pain from this opinion. People can enjoy, or dislike a ship or a bunch of pixels without causing me any harm !

But if I ever happen to eat a mayo sandwich, I know that somewhere, a random anon will suffer with me, and that makes me happy to share this pain with someone kind enough to accept it !

[mazeinthemiroh]

i get quite a lot of interactions on a daily basis but i am kinda surprised about how many people don't reblog.

like on my other account i'm just reblogging everything and i thought people did the same. idk that's interesting to me

[bilal-salah0]

While children around the world enjoy the summer holidays within the safety and comfort of their homes and plan fun beach trips with their families, our kids' childhood has been reduced to securing the bare minimum of food and water, fending off swarms of disease-carrying insects, and enduring the stifling heat inside the hellish tent. Seeing them fill water containers and struggle to carry them with their tiny hands breaks my heart into a million pieces. Our babies fall asleep drenched in sweat and keep waking up crying and gasping for breath. What makes it even more unbearable are the plagues of flies and mosquitoes that keep torturing their little fragile, malnourished bodies, increasing the risk of contracting infectious diseases, with no medical care available. They also face a very real and imminent threat of dehydration due to water and formula scarcity.Their older siblings are encumbered by burdens way beyond their years. They think it is their responsibility to fill heavy water containers and protect the newborns, but the truth is they are as vulnerable to the same threats that keep growing every day. No child should live in such a hostile environment. Rubble, garbage, and the smell of death are all around.

Our kids used to have a beautiful spacious home built after years of toil and sacrifice, just to be turned into ruins in the blink of an eye. Now, they are given no other choice but to be confined to the tight airless space of a makeshift tent swarming with all sorts of insects. Even if they go outside the only things that await them are the scorching sun, the hot summer air, and foul smells all day long. The summer nights are often equally suffocating depriving them of desperately needed sleep.

Using a wood-fired self-made stove to cook is beyond torture in such heat. It is also very dangerous to the children who keep going close to it. My heart sinks each time I see pictures of them next to the fire. Even preparing a baby bottle,if ever available, is an ordeal in such conditions but my family have no other options. They have been enduring unfathomable, relentless suffering for nine months straight, and they have been more than resilient but they are now way beyond exhausted. They have been daily fighting for their very survival but there's no guarantee of safety anywhere in Gaza as not only what is left of the buildings but also the tents are being indiscriminately bombed every single day. Even going to the beach to escape the sweltering heat has become a perilous journey for my family, and countless others, since civilians keep being targeted with airstrikes there too.

My family were not allowed to have even the slightest respite since the beginning of this waking nightmare. They have been striving to survive bombing, malnutrition, disease, the cold winter, and now the deadly heatwaves.

When I left Gaza shortly before the war, my dream was to build a brighter future for my loved ones. I have never imagined, once in my life, that I would be raising funds to literally save their lives. Now, my only wish is to keep them alive and as safe as possible, given the circumstances.

Your support is their only hope and solace amidst all the pain and loss. Please do whatever you can to help me save them from this brutal literal decimation of our people. Every contribution counts! Keep our babies in your thoughts and prayers 🙏 And Please donate any amount you can spare and reblog as often as you can. It is beyond words to say how grateful I am to everyone standing with us 🙏

[kbwrites]

The Lord's Favorite CH.2

synopsis: "He was both a monstrous force of vengeance and your savior, intertwined in a tempest of passion and fury.."

prev ← → next

⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x fem! reader, slightly suggestive, mentions of blood and gore

⚝wc: 1.5k

⚝a/n: I'm still shocked this got as much attention as it did! Thank you for reading, I hope this next part pleases you.

“Please, do your best to remain still,” Uraume chides gently. They press the cotton swab soaked in alcohol to your face, the stinging sensation causing you to wince as it penetrates the cuts on your cheek. Uraume offers a sympathetic glance. “I apologize for this…”

“You don’t need to-“

“Please.” They say firmly “I was aware of the tension between the servants, I... never thought they would do something to harm one of their own.” Uraume’s voice wavers slightly. They move to the wounds on your arms.

The door to the chamber swings open, and Sukuna stands in the threshold, leaning one arm nonchalantly against the doorframe. He surveys your battered form sitting on the edge of the bed—a trace of annoyance etched on his face. Uraume rises swiftly to bow before the king, but he dismisses the gesture with a casual wave.

“My lord, I’ve treated her as best as I can.” Uraume reports.

Sukuna’s gaze shifts to your face, his demeanor cold yet betraying a hint of concern.

“Are you in any pain?”

“No.. my lord and I’m sorry-“

“You are not at fault.” He interrupts you, his voice firm as he strides over, his heavy footsteps echoing through the room. Clad in a black robe with a purple sash tied around the waist, his rippling muscles are visible through the cascading fabric. Uraume steps back, offering a brief bow before exiting, leaving you alone with him.

He scans your face with a piercing gaze, lowering himself to your level. His eyes drift to your empty wrist, narrowing with a mix of concern and intensity.

“Where. is it.” He demands. Your eyes widen as you realize the bracelet you were given today was missing.

“I… it must have fallen off when they attacked me” You piece together aloud. 

“So they would harm you as well as steal…” Ryomen’s voice grows taut with anger he clenches his fist, body tensing up. He rises from his kneeling position, figure looming over you.

“Are you able to stand?” He questions lowly. You nod.

“Good. We will be going now.”

You look up at your king, his expression is unreadable, but there’s an unmistakable intensity in his eyes—a silent promise of retribution. 

You lag behind him as he strides purposefully down the dimly lit  hallway. The evening light leaks through the dark red curtains of the hall, casting long shadows that dance along the walls. Each step of his echoes with a menacing authority. He stops abruptly at the entrance to the servants quarters. Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, his gaze intense and unwavering.

“Do you wish to watch?” He inquires, voice low and steady.

“W…watch?” 

“Yes, do you wish to watch as I kill the ones who hurt you.”

“I—“ your heart races, Was this really happening? “No… my lord I do not.” You speak quietly. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond, opening the door to the room.

The servants look upon him in reverence… or fear. Ryomen Sukuna did not bother himself with his servants, so seeing him generally meant bad news. He scans the room at the trembling help who shrink under his scrutiny, ‘utterly pathetic..’ he thinks. Their eyes drift to you, standing behind him. Ryomen shoots you a sidelong glance, awaiting you to point out your offenders. 

You look up at him, conflicted. Do you really wish for them to die? He scoffs as if reading your mind.

“You would protect them, even after what they did to you?” He sneers.

 He directs his attention back to the line of servants, all bowing their heads in fear. His gaze lands on one woman, and he notices the bracelet on her wrist—identical to the one he had painstakingly crafted for you.

At the sight of the bracelet, his demeanor changes abruptly. His expression darkens with a fierce intensity. With a swift motion, two of his arms encircle you, gently but firmly covering your eyes.

“Do not open them, until the screaming stops.”

Screams of horror reverberate through the room. You hear slashes mingling with the sound of Sukuna chuckling darkly. All the while two of his arms remains protectively around you, shielding you from the brutality he’s inflicting upon the ones who dared to harm you.

The screaming fades, his breathing slows, upper left arm lowers from your eyes.

“It is done.” And as your eyes slowly open, the sight before you is gut-wrenching. Blood and carnage litter the servant’s chambers. You clasp your hand  over your mouth as you fight back a gag. 

Ryomen looks at you, a hint of annoyance for your lack of appreciation. You gaze upon his bloodied form, he was covered in it. He wipes face, turning his back on the lifeless bodies.

“Let’s go; I require a bath and new clothes.”

You sit on the edge of the porcelain tub, adding oils and dried petals. The act of bathing Lord Sukuna had become quite routine. And yet every time he entered the room your heart would skip a beat. He stood at over six feet tall, his four muscular arms and broad, chiseled chest commanding attention. The tattoos that adorned his toned body only added to his already imposing presence.

He strides confidently over to the bath, crimson eyes never leaving yours. The scent of lavender and roses wafting through the tiled room. He lowers himself into the water, groaning as the hot water enveloped his powerful frame.

You grab a sponge, wiping the dried blood from his chest. Ryomen leans his head back against the edge of the tub, sighing in relief under your touch. He’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of the water sloshing around echoes throughout the room. One eye opens slightly to observe you, your gentle hands erasing the evidence of his carnage. Massaging away his stress and tension. He speaks in a low, commanding voice.

“Join me.”

You abruptly cease your movements, looking at him in disbelief.

“You mean—“

“In the tub, yes.” You hesitate, glancing nervously between him and the water. Knowing it was not wise to disobey your king, you begin to shed your clothing, covering yourself modestly as you allow the bathwater to cloak you. You settle on the opposite side of the tub, his eyebrow quirks in mild annoyance.

“I will not harm you.” His voice almost… gentle.

You move closer to him. Albeit too slow for his taste, one arm pulls you towards his chest, settling on the small of your back. The unprecedented position of intimacy with your lord both thrilling and unsettling.

“Are you… unhappy with my actions today?”

"No… my lord." It was partly true. You were still reeling from the events that had transpired. The king to whom you had dutifully bowed had unleashed his fury... for you? The man you willingly served, had been so enraged by your injuries that he had taken the lives of those who wronged you. He was both a monstrous force of vengeance and your savior, intertwined in a tempest of passion and fury..

“Good.” Another hand reaches to stroke your hair, a touch so feather light you wondered if he thought you’d break. “I… do not wish for you to be unhappy.” He speaks softly. His finger traces your jawline. You shiver under his touch, but don’t pull away. If your heart were to beat any faster you feared it might give out altogether.  His hand trails down to your chest, placing his palm flat against the valley between your breasts.

“Your heart is racing…Are you frightened of me?” He questioned, feeling the rhythm quicken beneath his touch.

“F…frightened?” You try to keep your voice from shaking, but it betrays you quivering with uncertainty.

“It is understandable; I could kill you right now.” He grins as his words make your heart beat even faster. “I am merely stating a fact. Do not think of it.” His gaze travels from your face to your chest, lingering at the point where the water begins.

He stands up, water dripping down his body, your gaze travels down his abs to his v-line. He only grins as he sees your curious eyes widen at his lower half. It was quite hard not to look when he was so… big. The screams from his bedroom made sense after you were called to his bath the first time. 

“You are permitted to touch.” He declares, snapping your out of your daze, a shaky hand comes up to feel his abs. He groans softly under your nimble fingers, feeling his muscles tighten in response. He was a work of art, as if the gods themselves sculpted his figure.

You knew that after his bath, Lord Sukuna would typically summon one of his concubines to his chambers. This would inevitably result in several hours of indecorous moans and pained screams, audible through the door connecting your room to his. As his servant, you wanted to adhere to your place, but a part of you couldn't help but wonder... what it would be like to bask in your lord’s presence in such an intimate way.

“My lord, shall I summon someone to… attend to your needs?” 

He only chuckles darkly, one arm reaching down to gentle cup your face. His crimson eyes feasting upon your wet, naked form committing this scene to memory.

“No need,” He murmurs, his voice deep and resonant.

 “I believe your presence is precisely what I crave.”

taglist! (I know a lot a people in the previous post asked for a part two but idk if that meant you wanted to be tagged, lmk!) @haruchi-slit @gg-trini @pastelbunnelby @cauqhtz @shadava