#i have a feeling that this is utterly incomprehensible

[deutsche-bahn]

Vorab: cw wegen very very brief descriptions of physical assault. Nichts wildes, but yknow.

Wenn ich zu viel Stress habe muss ich kotzen, als wär's ein fucking Hobby. Und manche Personen sind wie ein gutes Brechmittel. Bei dem hier bin ich bis heute felsenfest davon überzeugt, ihn zuerst angesprochen zu haben. Er behauptet das Gegenteil. Either way, wir landeten irgendwann auf seinem Zimmer- weil er meinen Schuh repapieren wollte. Idk what you were thinking.

Wir lernten uns also kennen, ich auf seinem Bett sitzend, er vor mir hockend während er meine Sohle provisorisch anklebte. Kam mir selten so sehr vor wie irgendein Oliver Twist-Verschnitt. Seine Freunde organisierten mir später eine Mitfahrgelegenheit, wir tauschten Nummern aus.

Ein paar Monate später sitzen wir zusammen in irgendeinem Pub. Er spielt 'Sinner Man' auf dem Akkordeon obwohl eh schon keiner mehr zuhört (Ich habe das Gefühl dass, würde es hier stattdessen um Akustikgitarren gehen, die Geschichte gleich viel unsympathischer klänge. Aber es ist halt ein bloody Akkordeon, also sind wir fein raus). Ich flehe ihn übertriebenst dramatisch an, bitte endlich, einmal, ausnahmsweise ein Lied auch zu Ende zu spielen. Er kriegt sich vor Lachen nicht ein und unterbricht sich mal wieder.

Und dann geht irgendwas schief. You see, ich kann nie das Maul halten und hatte dementsprechend die erste Hälfte des Abends über einen anderen Gast, der mich persönlich einfach nur angepisst hatte, penetrant provoziert. And then you add alcohol, and a short temper on that person's side. Mein Freund setzte zum dutzendsten Mal zu Sinner Man an. Ich sah aus den Augenwinkeln jemanden auf mich zukommen, der den Arm ausstreckte. Ah shit. For some godforsaken reason war mein erster Instinkt in einer einzigen Bewegung unter den Tisch zu rutschen. Fluchtreflex, but make it really fucking dumb.

Well. Ich mache die Rechnung ohne meine 55kg Lebendgewicht, denn er zieht mich einfach am Unterarm wieder hoch, als wäre ich ein Zwergkaninchen welches man am Nackenfell spazieren tragen kann. Cue (mostly) unprovoked, if somewhat deserved physical assault. Shit happens

Ich muss am nächsten Morgen auf der Arbeit kotzen. Nicht, weil das (man stelle sich mich wild ins nichts gestikulierend vor) passiert ist. Sondern wegen der Erinnerung daran wie der Akkordeonspieler augenblicklich nüchtern wurde, den Tisch umrundete und diesen Typ mit bedrohlicher Ruhe rauswarf, während ich noch auf dem Boden saß und gar nicht geschaltet hatte was gerade passiert war. Wenn ich vorher die Chance gehabt hätte, irgendeine Art von Distanz zu behalten habe ich sie nach dem Abend verpasst.

Ich trinke im Pausenraum auf neuerdings leeren Magen einen weiteren Kaffee und fühle mich wie in einem Beat Generation-Roman, in dem die Protagonisten haltlos, aufgewühlt und betrunken durch ihre Welt stolpern. Ich komme seitdem nicht mehr davon weg, den Spielmann als eine Art Ankerpunkt in jedem Raum zu suchen.

"Er ist unser D'Artagnan", stellt er mich irgendwann mal grinsend Freunden vor und zieht mich an der Schulter zu sich. "Ist uns letztes Jahr zugelaufen". Wir lachen, ich sterbe ein bisschen.

Seine beste Freundin erzählt mir irgendwann, dass vor ein paar Jahren jemand in diesem Freundeskreis verstorben sei, der die Gruppe praktisch zusammengehalten hätte. "Und er fühlt sich jetzt viel zu verantwortlich, dasselbe für uns zu sein" sagt sie. jesus christ. "Ich weiß dass das jetzt viel ist, aber kannst du ein Auge auf ihn haben? Ich bin da viel zu nah dran, und er sieht irgendwas in dir" cool cool cool cool cool. In that moment I am dangerously close to demonstrating projectile vomiting as a social exit strategy. Verantwortungsbewusstsein, sagst du? Ich komme mir unendlich ertappt vor. "Weißt du?" fügt sie hinzu. Brace for impact. "Ich kann dich nie so richtig lesen"

Einige Wochen später helfe ich ihm, ein paar Lagerfeuer am laufen zu halten. Schicht von zehn Uhr abends bis sieben Uhr morgens. Er jongliert Feuerholz und spielt Akkordeon, ich versuche, den Überblick zu behalten. Zwei Gläser (ein Gin Tonic, ein Wasser), zwei Packungen Streichhölzer, eine halb leere Zigarettenschachtel die -somehow- weder ihm noch mir gehört, ein Bastkorb mit Liederbuch und Brandbeschleuniger. Er verliert alles mindestens drei Mal pro Nacht. Ich komme mir vor wie ein unterforderter Border Collie während ich unter irgendjemandes Bank abtauche, um ein gottverdammtes Liederbuch zu finden. Es ist irgendwie eine bizarre Inszenierung, er spielt den Pyrotechniker, ich den zerstreuten Laufburschen. Im Gegenzug bekomme ich Gin Tonic und Joints zugeschoben.

Wann immer kurz Zeit ist spielt er Gospel auf Akkordeon, ich begleite das Ganze mit einer Blechdose voller Knöpfe. Soll mir noch wer sagen dass ich kein begnadeter percussionist sei. Er beugt sich über das Instrument hinweg zu mir. "Es ist richtig strange. Ich hab' das Gefühl meinem jüngeren Ich zu begegnen". Ich starre ihn an, Blechdose in der Hand (ich muss gerade so unfassbar intelligent aussehen). Der Blick ist wohl Frage genug. Er grinst, "You're my penance". "Was heißt penance?" frage ich und kralle mir seinen Gin Tonic. Er lacht nur und stimmt ein Lied an, springt dann sofort wieder auf um eines der Feuer zu umsorgen. Und irgendwie habe ich das Gefühl, verloren zu haben. Not sure at what, aber ich habe definitiv gerade verloren. Er kippt ein paar Schritte weiter Brandbeschleuniger auf's Holz. Das Feuer springt gut zwei Meter empor, seine Silhouette davor wirft die Arme hoch und verbeugt sich vor den "Ooh"s und "Aah"s der Umstehenden.

Excuse the deutsche Naturromantik-esque Metapher, aber ich fühle mich als würde ich die drückende Luft atmen, die ein Sommergewitter ankündigt. Ich muss an 'And the Hippos were Boiled in their Tanks' denken. Mein Magen quittiert mir den Dienst.

Er setzt sich wieder an's Feuer. "Ein Lied noch, dann ist gut"

"Sinner Man?" schlage ich vor. Er zieht die Augenbrauen zusammen. "Das habe ich gestern schon gespielt". Eine andere Stimme fragt von der Seite, "Wie wäre es mit-", doch er stimmt schon Sinner Man an.

[thebusylilbee]

how anyone can keep believing in God in this rotten day and age, with all the knowledge we have of the previous equally rotten days and ages, I do not know. but good for them I guess. I hope that they're right tbh, even though I don't see how that could be possible

[awearywritersworld]

men are so quick to blame the gods

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist

humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.

so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.

nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.

that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.

luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.

you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.

when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.

"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.

a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.

it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.

"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.

a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."

"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."

he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.

as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.

the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.

you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.

"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."

you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.

"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."

"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."

"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."

"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."

your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."

you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.

"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.

"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"

"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."

sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.

over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.

it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.

it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"

your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"

"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."

though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."

"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."

you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."

it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.

he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."

"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"

"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."

you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."

he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.

"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."

his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"

he muses over your question briefly.

"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?

you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."

"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"

you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"

"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."

"oh. well that's, um, good."

he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.

"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.

"stop what?"

"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."

he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."

"see? that's much better."

"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.

you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.

the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.

when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.

"w-what do you want?"

"i seem to recall asking you a question."

you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.

"i'm not crying," you declare.

sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."

you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."

yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.

and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.

"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.

your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."

"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.

"don't flatter yourself."

he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.

he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.

but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."

you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.

"promise?"

for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—

"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."

"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."

"...night, brat."

less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.

though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.

he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.

he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.

at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.

when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.

you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."

"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"

he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.

you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"

he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."

you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."

he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.

he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."

"but you won't."

he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"

"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."

he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.

"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.

the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.

"i don't know."

"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."

you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.

it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.

he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.

you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.

"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."

just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.

"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"

the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"

[alfvenwave]

God i just Wolf 359 is just so...i just....😩😩😩

[knifedog-machina]

(Non)Humanity and Species Dysphoria: the Forced Transformation Trope

Written by Gavin on August 25, 2024.

As a nonhuman, do you ever think about why there's so many stories and myths and legends about humans being turned into animals? You ever wonder why it's usually a punishment or a curse, or why the characters try to do whatever it takes to become human again? You ever think, "I don't understand, I would love to be an animal and get rid of my human body, what's the problem?"

As a human myself, one whose system has been in the alterhuman community for years, I hope I can help bridge the gap of understanding here.

The way many humans see being turned into an animal as a curse, the way they'd be incredibly distressed about becoming nonhuman?

That is species dysphoria.

That is a human experiencing species dysphoria, because being perceived as nonhuman or other-than-human causes the exact same feelings of pain and wrongness and disconnection from their body that a nonhuman can experience when perceived as human.

(Particularly, this might be an orthohuman, someone who has a normative relationship with their human cultural and species identity, as opposed to an alterhuman, who experiences alternative/nonnormative humanity or a species identity separate from humanity. Human alterhumans can also experience this sort of species dysphoria - hi, I'm one of them.)

Imagine being your species your entire life, the way you know you're intended to be, living in a body you're comfortable in - and then having that body ripped away from you. Being forced to live in a form that doesn't match who you are, what you know you are, and desperately wanting to find a way to change back because you know you're not meant to be like this.

If this sounds familiar because it's what you experience as a nonhuman - that is how a lot of human beings feel about being transformed into something nonhuman. It's the feeling of being the wrong species! It's the desire to return to the form that you know as yourself!

The fact that orthohumans are born into the species they identify as does not mean that they could never comprehend your nonhuman experience. You can explain your nonhuman species dysphoria to an orthohuman. Given all the examples of unwanted transformation stories throughout human history, I think you're likely to find that they'll understand when you put it in that frame of reference.

"How would you feel about being turned into another species against your will, leaving behind everything that feels good and right and comfortable about your human body? That sounds horrible, right? That's how I feel, being nonhuman in a human body, and it's distressing in the same way you would hate being human and stuck in a nonhuman body."

I know that the gap between humanity and nonhumanity looks enormous. The horror of, say, werewolf mythology looks like a completely alien experience when you are a wolf, so you see being transformed into a wolf as nothing short of a wonderful experience, and you don't understand why anyone would see it as horrifying.

But if you understand that it's not about the species, but the experience of species dysphoria, of being trapped in a body that has never been yours and desperately trying to return to one that feels like you, well - that's a lot more understandable, isn't it?

Humanity and nonhumanity are not two opposite ends of a binary, destined to never understand each other. I know many alterhumans who are both human and nonhuman, and their humanity is an identity in much the same way as their nonhumanity. Humans are just another species on this planet, as bipedal tool-using social primates, and we have our species identities just like many nonhumans. You are not as alone in this world as you might think you are.

There is room for understanding and connection. Your experiences as nonhuman are not purely individual, not wholly unique, not utterly incomprehensible to human beings, and this is a good thing. The gap isn't actually as wide as it seems. You can reach out and cross it if you just remember - you have far more in common than you might think.

[jeongin-lvr]

Omg do you think you could make a fic kind of expanding on the virgin hyunjin thought like where hyunjins trying to stiffle his wimpers cause he's all embarrassed and the readers like nope not happening and gives him the best bj of his life so he literally cant control them (low-key dying from embarrassment knowing he can't control them) then the readers notices its accually bothering him she's like you know I love your sounds so let me hear them (really down bad with some hyunjin brain rot. Don't feel pressured to write this or anything but if you are/arnt going to if you could let me know that would be awesome! Thank you have a great day!)

yessss!! I love virgin hyun who’s super whiny and cute >< it’s so sksksjks

Hyunjin couldn’t believe it. He’s in the car of the prettiest girl on campus; he’s sitting in her backseat. He’s feeling the leather of the chairs stick to his sweaty, red hot skin. His vision is blurry but he can so clearly make out the scene before him and, god, it was heavenly. He really can’t believe it.

His glasses slipped to the tip of his nose as his hands turned into fists on his sides; his mouth hanging open as a long whine left his lips, a sound he didn’t even know he was capable of making at that. You peaked up at him from between his long legs, hands cupping the lean muscle of his thighs, nails digging into the skin. The weight of his cock heavy on your tongue and salty in a delicious flavor. You personally couldn’t wait to brag about this; sucking off the prettiest boy at school, finally getting somewhere with someone everyone had doubted. You felt like you’d just scored the winning goal, the ball has landed and it was in correct position.

Hyunjin almost lets out another whine as your throat entrapped his tip, forcing the most embarrassing sounds out of him. To him, they felt like embarrassing pieces of himself but to you it felt like a reward. You’d spent so long, worked so hard to get here. You desperately needed those sounds to remind yourself to keep going. But he was biting his lip, he was stifling those little rewards that you longed for. Hyunjin looked flushed as his teeth dug into his bottom lip, nearly drawing out a spurt of blood that pricked at his tongue. He swallowed a long sigh and peaked back down at you. Your eyes looked so wide, so teary as your cheeks hallowed and your expression shifted. The innocent gaze you lent him felt sinister now, intentionally narrowing your eyes as his sounds muffled. Your fingers pinched the flesh of his thigh, callously giving his dick a harsh suck to rip the moans from his throat. And it very much worked— Hyunjin let out a pretty moan, flushing his cheeks and warping his brain with embarrassment. You pulled your lips off of him, satisfied and not willingly to let those sounds drop away again.

You rested your cheek on his knee, watching as he panted and his glasses fogged alongside the car windows. His lips puffy and cheeks red, incomplete, incomprehensible whines seeping past his lips. Now that they’d started you really thought they’d never stop. “Don’t hide those sounds… I’m working so hard to hear them!! Be a good boy and let me hear how good I’m making you feel!”

Hyunjin shook his head, struggling to close his mouth and hide those sounds. His hopes of seeming calm and collected backfired completely as you swallowed his length again, the warm and wet mouth felt like heaven. Better than anything he’s ever done with his own hands before this. Better than what he thought things like this would feel like. This was foreign yet so utterly perfect in every way. Hyunjin choked out a moan, his eyes brimming with tears as the lenses of his glasses fogged. He could barely make out your outline now, but a part of his was glad. He was sure if he saw you he’d cum too quick— it was already a struggle as his. This had to be the best blowjob of his life, even if it was only the first.

[shegetsburned]

What if you were the reincarnation of Sukuna’s only lover? Like you’re just strong as him and one day he sees you right after Yuji meeting you etc

OMG

listen i had so many ideas around the same thing.

this whole reincarnation thingy makes me crazy and i’m in love with it. the fact that you’re oblivious about everything but end up being his lover’s reincarnation is so good.

so first of all, he realizes something different about you. your cursed energy is familiar to him and it makes him uneasy. the king of curses is uneasy around you. and the first time he stumbles against you (when he takes over yuji’s body or something), he freezes at first. without showing his distress to you, he can’t help but try to study everything that you are. you are different but in what way? why does he feel the way he feels?

i think it’d be nice to see him hesitate. but you don’t. you don’t hesitate one second. you have a chance to take down the king of curses. he’s right in front of you and you take this opportunity to put an end to him once and for all.

but i had this thought that i think would be interesting. in your past life, you two have made a pact. an unbreakable pact that forbids your bodies to use cursed energy against each other in order to avoid a situation where you’d kill him and vice-versa. and this was this situation. so it’s normal that your body freezes as well when you realize you can’t use any cursed energy anymore. not against him. you try to land blows but nothing comes out. nothing is there, only the brute force of your body can help you now.

you’re so confused. you have no idea why this is happening, but he knows. and now that you two are isolated from the rest of the sorcerers he takes a chance and doesn’t give you much choice but to remember.

you’ll try taking him down with your fists, your punches, anything that you can land on him but he doesn’t flinch. nothing works. he might be deprived of cursed energy but his brute force grandly surpasses yours in every way.

you try to distance yourself from him but he gets closer and closer. he wants you to know the truth and as soon as he sees you stumble on the ground, out of breath and ideas he takes a knee in front of you, leaning forward toward your sweaty figure. is he going to kill you? is he so confident because he knows he’s stronger?

you can’t move. you’re so scared. you know it’s going to be your last moments. but you also wonder why he’s taking his sweet time with you, toying with your life perhaps?

“you might wonder why you can’t use your cursed technique.”

the first words he says to you as he locks his gaze with yours make you wonder if he knows what the hell this is all about.

i want to believe that, at first, you protest, you try to talk, try to fight back, telling him that he should stop, to let yuji go and that you’ll kill him but there’s only one thought in his mind; you.

as soon as he sees an opening, he grabs your wrist with his hand. when it happens, hundreds of memories come flowing into your mind. flashes of a life you once lived, thousands of years ago. you are relieving these moments one at a time at a remarkable speed. but your whole body goes numb when you realize who you’re sharing those lost memories with; the king of curses.

he was beside you, holding your hand, helping you walk through lifeless corps dispersed around the streets. you were smiling. why were you smiling? why did this girl you inherited your life from accept his hand? why did you wander around with this cold and heartless sorcerer that ryomen sukuna is?

nothing in your right mind made sense. why would he show you all of this incomprehensible series of images of a life you never knew you had lived? a life you possibly might have lost into the arms of the most dangerous sorcerer known to men. it felt dangerous. it also felt immediately utterly disgusting.

at first, your trembling body wanted to reject every ounce of this feeling you had briefly felt when your past self had reached for sukuna’s hand. you fell, knees on the floor, uncontrollably vomiting your trips out. your saccaded breath was the only sound making its way out.

you were sweating. you wanted to cry.

ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ ) hehehe I really do think that if you were a sorcerer you’d vomit realizing all of this and i kinda liked the idea of reader being so goddamn disgusted by all of this, at first. idk idk just my thoughts. enjoy this little rent.

but don’t worry, you’d slowly warm up to him and maybe fall in love with him just like you did many many times before. mwaaaah.

[official-saul-goodman]

This is mainly my observation as a non black person watching the reactions of other non black people and especially white people to the show Interview With The Vampire, they are a result of a fundamental misunderstanding regarding the idea of horror.

in a world of white dominated hollywood horror movies that mostly contain gore and white familial tragedy and abuse, none of which ever ever include the concept of race, misogyny and homophobia, racialised misogyny, and racialised homophobia- people cannot digest a horror tv show wherein the main character is a black man who is always and forever a victim of systematic, social, and microaggressive racism. people, specifically white people, have always been uncomfortable with being shown the extent of anti black racism in a way that isnt heavily sanitised or sympathetic to the white cause. to white people, the genre of horror simply does not include race cause they have not experienced the horrors of colonialist genocidal white supremacist anti black racism. and i highlight anti black racism because it is the subject of the show, as well as being a topic that is discussed vaguely by non black people while still being the most perpetuated form of racism from a global standpoint.

to white people especially, as the people who are responsible for the worst crimes committed against black people, anti blackness is just one of life's constants that should not be addressed directly or in detail, so to depict anti black racism so openly as a part of the genre of horror is incomprehensible to them. they dont want to be shown even a smidgen of exactly the kind of shit their ancestors and peers are responsible for, cause horror to them must just be things that they relate to and nothing regarding race at all cause it causes them to confront their comfortable positions. this is the same reason why you see white people saying jordan peele's movies are 'too hard to understand' despite being very easy to understand.

horror to people of colour is a concept that intrinsically includes racialised violence, its a constant presence like a rusted nail hovering near an open wound. and white people reject this. which is why they decided to degrade and miscontrue the purpose of iwtv and call it 'just another self important show thats racist and not worth watching'. cause to them horror is meant to be enjoyable, they want limbs chopped off not the actions of their white ancestors coming back to remind and haunt them. even though horror is a genre that is meant to fill you with... horror. horror to white people does not include the politics of racism, cause they see horror as an apolitical genre (obviously incorrect when everything and the kitchen sink is political naturally).

to the people of color, it is a moment of feeling seen, to see a main character ( a flawed man a pained man) experience the horror of all round racial discrimination, to see the horror of him being dismissed and exploited by the white people around him, the moment of witnessing yourself in the other when you see Louis and Claudia being so utterly sabotaged by so many forces, the way they are pushed to making irreversible devastating decisions cause they think they have no other choice to achieve an escape from a multitude of things they suffer through, the manipulation and abuse they had to become accustomed to. this is the horror, the horror of being immortalised against your will and lack of choices you were given, the horror of being forced to be subjected to racialised misogynistic and homophobic violence for eternity. being forced to live with all these memories and no means of forgetting. all this while enduring the way a white man belittles them for even suggesting that he might be racist while he expresses racist micro agressions (both lestat and daniel). this is real horror that hits home, horror you want to devour as a person of colour cause you want to see more of this story continue, to see what becomes of this living limbo that Louis, Claudia, and eventually Armand have to go through.

and as most white people cannot fathom this, cannot relate, they dismiss this version of horror that focuses on racism as a core element from the perspective of a black man and forever young black girl. they dismiss the show as just being tone deaf colour blind casting cause they didnt even see the trailer or try to understand this show. the white guilt is a shield they use to defend themselves against the frank and honest depiction of anti black racism from the perspective of a black man. they do not want to understand. they want sanitised, digestible depictions of racism so the horror remains fun for them.

even though this show is literally categorised as horror, and has all the hallmarks of classic horror including the camp styling, the blood, the gore, the supernatural, and the violence - the single fact that the show's core theme is based around racism from the perspective of a gay black vampire man is enough for them to declassify as horror in their minds. cause people of colour and especially black gay men must always be shown as having a good time to dissuade the guilt of white people and their responsibility is establishing the systems that oppress gay black men. speak no evil, see no evil, hear no evil, and the evil is not there anymore.

i may have more thoughts on this that i'll express later but thats all i have for now.

[mcflymemes]

FOURTH WING PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the book by rebecca yarros, adjust as necessary

a dragon without its rider is a tragedy. a rider without their dragon is dead.

i'm used to functioning in pain.

that stubborn, feisty look always makes me want to kiss you.

have you always been this tall?

if we let fear kill whatever this is between us, then we don't deserve it.

dragon relationships are absolutely incomprehensible.

tell him if he harms you, i'll scorch the ground where he stands.

i'm calling out for you.

i thought you said kissing me was a mistake.

you are the smartest of your year.

dragons always know.

funny how people rename everything that makes them feel uncomfortable.

what changed?

you make it hard to look away.

if you'd just man up and admit there's something between us, i would strip down to my skin so you could see every single inch of me.

it's hard to love a second home as much as the first.

why would you say that?

that does limit it a bit.

i am completely, utterly obsessed with [name].

even when i'm not with you, there's only you.

i can't seem to stay away.

kiling you wouldn't be any trouble.

we can live as cowards or die as riders.

i'm just not as strong as other riders.

i know exactly who and what you are.

i don't deserve you. but i'm going to keep you all the same.

strength of courage is more important than physical strength.

even temples can be rebuilt, but books cannot be rewritten.

i will not run.

you're not going to handle me?

what are you waiting for?

you turned oranges into a weapon?

thank you for being my shadow.

it's not fun if you expect it.

i am annoyingly aware of everything you do.

don't borrow tomorrow's trouble.

there is no me without you.

i wouldn't be standing here if i'd quit every time something seemed impossible to overcome.

i am the sky and the power of every storm that has ever been.

you still love me. it's possible.

i'm not afraid of hard work, especially not when i know just how sweet the rewards are.

i am infinite.

which one are you calling out for?

it's been my honor.

i'm so wildly in love with you that i can't imagine what my life would even look like without you in it.

if we're doing this, then we're starting from a place of complete honesty.

you never considered that it was you i couldn't stay away from?

coming in last is better than coming in dead.

i would rather lose this entire war than live without you.

if that means i have to prove myself over and over, then i'll do it.

you gave me your heart, and i'm keeping it.

hope is a fickle, dangerous thing.

you look all frail and breakable, but you're really a violent little thing, aren't you?

i'm going to keep you. you're mine.

thank you for being my friend.

none of this is worth it without you.

you're making us look bad. stop it.

i've been yours for longer than you could ever imagine.

lies are comforting. truth is painful.

it's just you and me in this room, and i don't share.

the right way isn't the only way.

i will not die today.

one generation to change the text. one generation chooses to teach that text. the next grows, and the lie becomes history.

you can't make me fall for you and then die.

going for blood today, are we?

[its-bread-bitch]

Once Zuko becomes fire lord he’s unbelievably busy. For the first five or so years on the throne he barely has time to think let alone spend any meaningful amount of time hanging out with his friends outside of diplomatic meetings. None of the gaang really blame him, they can all see first hand just how much is on his plate, and what they can’t see Aang or Hakoda usually relays to them. (After all, the avatar and chief of the southern water tribe are in frequent contact with the fire lord, unlike the young master earthbender or the children of said chief)

The first year is by far the most brutal. Zuko barely remembers what it feels like to sleep a full night, or even half a night. Everyone is either treating him like an immature, incompetent child (a misconception he swiftly pits to rest) or like the fire lord (which, to be fair he is). Point being, no one really treats him as ZUKO. Except of course, the young ambassador from the southern water tribe.

Sokka is just about the only thing keeping Zuko sane. Not because they see each other often or because they talk, no, it’s because somehow, he and Sokka have ended up sending each other ridiculous letters back and forth since Sokka’s appointment as ambassador.

By ridiculous, I mean to say they would probably cause outrage and/or scandal if anyone saw them. A crude picture of Zuko’s likeness with an arrow pointing to him labeled “fire lord stinky”. A series of very formal, beautifully calligraphies letters with only a single curse word on them. A simple letter that simply reads “people are stupid” in quick handwriting. A response a week later on the same piece of paper saying “that’s rough buddy” A second series where they ran out of curse words and began sending increasingly outlandish and oddly specific insults. A picture of a penguin otter with a mustache drawn on. A drawing of the atla equivalent of the finger circle. Long distance tic tac toe. A collaborative drawing that they’ve been sending back and forth that at one point might have resembled appa but now has so many additions that it’s utterly incomprehensible. Yet another calligraphied series of letters of random words that both of them find themselves cracking up at even though there’s no reason to break into giggles over a letter that simply reads “chives” in elaborate copperplate and yet here they are.

It’s stupid. It’s childish. It’s utterly unbecoming of a world leader and Zuko only is able to do it because the letters (except the calligraphy, which vary based on level of effort) take less than 5 minutes to draft and mere moments to read and Zuko only gets Sokka’s letters because they’re technically political correspondence but GOD is it the highlight of Zuko’s week.

[thewadapan]

Spent today checking out The Amazing Digital Circus and Murder Drones, and god, the kids today have it so good when it comes to this sort of content. When I was a teen, I was obsessed with Red vs. Blue and RWBY, which I think it's fair to say are the equivalents of the time, and the sheer gulf in terms of writing quality and production value is stunning. I hear there were some rumblings of unprofessional conduct from the production company, which would hardly be surprising considering this is yet another guys-working-from-their-basement success story, but much bigger companies with much shittier business practises consistently put out much worse content than this.

The Amazing Digital Circus is definitely the better show of the two, thanks to its slam-dunk premise and some great writing from Gooseworx. The producers have talked about aiming to fill a perceived gap in the market between kids' cartoons (The Boss Baby) and adult animation (Bojack Horseman), and I think they have successfully threaded the needle to create a very unique tone. There's a sense of these works existing totally outside the mainstream media machine; they're not getting BBFC rated, but you just know millions of kids are watching them. It's on YouTube and the fact that it looks like some Frozen Spider-Man kids' slop just means da parents won't question what their kids are watching.

But truth be told, there's nothing objectionable about the content of The Amazing Digital Circus whatsoever. It's unusually metatextual and loosely apes the aesthetics of much darker media, touching on slightly more existential themes than your typical kids' cartoon, but it still has a lot in common with those same cartoons. The zany characters are all fairly one-note, and the emotional arcs of the episodes are honestly quite straightforward. The second episode in particular has an absolutely textbook plot structure to it. It's a far more self-assured and traditional style of writing than you ever see in this kind of independent work—certainly far more so than Murder Drones, which is written by an insane person.

More than anything, I'm reminded of how I felt watching Puella Magi Madoka Magica: that it's a very solid work of fiction, but that the people who'd get the most out of the work are isolated teens struggling to make the transition into adulthood. Certainly if nothing else, the fandoms of these shows must be bringing a lot of kids together around the world. I adore this soundbite from Goose: "Above anything else, I just wanted it to feel kind of lonely." You see Pomni's worldview shatter, she suddenly finds herself in a body that feels completely wrong, and she has to construct a new kind of belonging for herself.

As for Murder Drones, that show's absolutely fucking nuts, yo. The writing is at once painfully basic and utterly incomprehensible. If someone just sat down and explained the plot straightforwardly, it would be fantastically boring. But man, the presentation, the sheer delight the animators seem to approach every scene with...! I'd say it's clearly trying to use "the characters are robots" as an excuse to expose da kids to some absolutely shocking levels of gore, much like the Transformers movies, but midway through the series it starts straightup swapping the oil and wires for blood and bones and you've got to respect that.

The writing itself is so excruciatingly irony-poisoned that it goes beyond cringe and somehow wraps back around again to being sincerely funny. The show kind of wants to have its cake and eat it in terms of constantly lampshading how flat and cliché the emotional plotting is, but also clearly aiming to genuinely tug at the heartstrings and whip fans into a frenzy. And it kind of succeeds, I think! The way it veers between bizarrely high-effort implementations of memes, seriously cool fight scenes and horror visuals, and big emotional moments is very disarming. If The Amazing Digital Circus is an attempt to faithfully rework the American-cartoon formula for a slightly older audience, Murder Drones aims to crib the aesthetics of high-school cartoons while actively rejecting every traditional narrative technique used in those stories. Which means it's kind of bad, which means it's also kind of great.

If it's not already, then within a couple of years it will be deeply cringe to have ever been into Murder Drones in particular or (to a slightly lesser extent) The Amazing Digital Circus, in much the same way that everyone seems embarrassed to admit they were ever a Homestuck fan. But like with Homestuck, I feel like these series are genuinely pushing at the frontiers of storytelling in a way that's commendable and might inspire new kinds of writing once the fans grow up.

ENA is also pretty good, for the record.

[adverbally]

A Shot Right Through Into a Bolt of Blue

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Temporary Character Death” | wc: 605 | rated: T | cw: temporary character death, vomiting | tags: AU, canon-divergent, what if Steve took Eddie’s place, pre-relationship, canon-typical violence and gore, hopeful ending | title from “Bizarre Love Triangle” by New Order

Keeping this one short and sweet so I can post it while it’s still the 11th in my time zone 😬

———

It’s not a surprise to anyone when Steve insists on staying with Dustin for their mission back to the Upside Down. The kid is like a little brother to him, and Steve’s mile-wide protective streak isn’t about to let him out of his sight. They’ll balance each other out, he argues. The brains and the brawn. It just makes sense.

So Eddie goes with the girls and tries to throw Molotov cocktails like he’s done this before. He stands there and watches Vecna burn and feels something like pride, like a promise fulfilled. This is for Chrissy.

But then Dustin comes on the radio, hysterical and incomprehensible, and any thoughts of victory are erased.

By the time they get there and find Dustin kneeling in the dirt with Steve propped up in his lap, Eddie’s stomach is in his throat and he’s shaking from running all the way here and he just knows they’re too late. It’s like reliving the horror of Chrissy being broken apart right before his eyes.

Unlike before, Eddie doesn’t run. He does something even worse.

He freezes.

He stands there uselessly as Robin tries to comfort Dustin while he wails on the ground. Her eyes are dry but there’s no light behind them, her spirit snuffed out with her platonic soulmate’s death.

He watches Nancy take stock of Steve’s injuries with her typical no-nonsense attitude, finding the spots where he’s bleeding the most, using her belt as a tourniquet, trying to figure out some way to fix this.

Eddie should offer to do CPR or apply pressure to Steve’s wounds or even just pull Dustin into a hug and make sure the kid can’t see any more of the horrors surrounding him. He just can’t make himself move.

His eyes are glued to Steve— the demobat bites covering him with blood, the way his body is limp under Nancy’s efficient hands, the lack of tension in his perpetually furrowed brow, the beloved nail bat that has rolled just out of his reach.

At least his eyes are closed. He must’ve known at the end that it was coming, shut his eyes to save Dustin the memory of his vacant stare—

Suddenly, Eddie is spinning around and lurching to his knees as he retches into the gravel.

He knew Steve, is the thing.

As horrible as everything was with Chrissy, they had only spoken for the first time that day. But Steve… He had time to get to know Steve, saw how kind and brave and real he could be, talked with him about the kids and how utterly fucked up this whole situation was. He wasn’t just Harrington anymore, complete with a derogatory snarl. He was Steve.

Maybe it was stupid to start falling for the first cute straight boy who was nice to him for a couple of days. It wouldn’t be the stupidest crush Eddie ever had. Sure, the chances of it going anywhere were practically zero, but Eddie Munson is nothing if not stubborn. He thinks he would’ve seen it through, at least became a friend to Steve and soaked up his sunshine from a distance.

But as Eddie empties his guts onto the ground, he is suddenly aware that now Steve will just be Steve forever. Not “sweetheart” or “Dad” or “Coach Harrington” or any of the things Steve might have dreamed of. Not Eddie’s friend. Definitely not something more.

Eddie’s not sure if the tears that sting his eyes are from throwing up or from grieving those possibilities.

Then suddenly Nancy is yelling, “I think I feel a pulse!” and they become tears of relief.

[agere-fics]

Doctor Papa

dni: k!nk, anti-agere, agepl4y, or ddlg-esque blogs 🍄 this blog is a safe space for age regressors and age dreamers 🍄

pairing: caregiver!papa!bruce banner x regressor!little!reader

characters: uncle thor, bruce banner, reader, mentions of: steve, bucky, sam, and tony stark.

summary: you have to get MRIs done but you're nervous. thank goodness, papa knows how to cheer you up.

word count: 1,751

content warnings: MRIs, hospital gown, reader is written like they're a child's height, no mention of a particular chronic illness, please tell me if i'm missing anything

author's note: tadaa!! all done! this is the most i've written for a one shot! very proud of myself. also, this is inspired by me having to get MRIs done recently ajfhs

♡

Sometimes stuff we've done lots of times can still seem scary; which is annoying because who wants to feel anxious about the same exact thing over and over again?

You have to get these scans done by tomorrow. With every heart of your being, you wished that wasn't true but your previous scans were too old.

UGH!

Luckily, your papa had a trick up his sleeve.

He told you to stay here, in this gigantic, empty, white walled room. It was utterly boring, there were no paintings or statues or anything. Not even toys! Well, okay, you had your Mr. Rainy Day Bear but still... At least there were floor to ceiling windows- OH, and a skylight, too. Those were always nice.

While you waited for Bruce to come back, you watched what went on outside. There was Tony using his latest invention to attempt to lift Uncle Thor’s hammer. Tony still had no idea that it couldn't possibly work! How silly of him.

Bucky, Sam, and Steve stood in a far apart triangle. They were tossing around the Captain America shield like a Frisbee, guffawing, and yelling things that were joyously incomprehensible. It looked like lots of fun. Definitely more fun than MRIs. Maybe, they would let you join in later.

The double doors of the empty room swung open and papa’s humongous green form entered.

“Okayyy, love bug, I've grabbed all the cardboard pieces from recycling that weren't gross.” He grimaced thinking about the black, moldy gunk that spoiled some previously useful parts. He shrunk back down to Bruce Banner size after dumping the cardboard into a large pile. “We should have enough for our little art project.”

“Art project?” You looked at him expectantly. Your eyes were lit up with stars of joy this time, instead of meteor shower anxiety.

The idea was to make a cardboard MRI machine. Having an art project to focus on would comfort and reassure you about the process you would go through tomorrow. If he could make it fun, your anxiety wouldn't be so bad.

“I’ve seen the machine before, papa, I can make the bestest one yet!” You hopped on your toes, giddy with tight, flapping fists.

“I grabbed your sticker books and some paint, too-”

“OH YAY, THANK YOU PAPA, THIS IS SO EXCITING!!”

Mission accomplished. Anxiety gone, replaced with magical cure Art Project™. Bruce smirked to himself.

You laid down on a tall, square cardboard piece. Bruce traced your form with a sharpie as you giggled. Once you had the correct length, you both began cutting a rectangular piece and put that piece on a metal cart with wheels.

Then, you cut out half circle pieces and hot glued them all together until it made one large 4D sphere with a hole in the middle like a donut.

At one point, the glue burned you but Papa Bruce fixed it right up and stopped the booboo pain with a cure-all kiss.

Your cardboard MRI machine may look done to outsiders but it wasn't even close. It was missing the most important part of all: the stickers! There were heart stickers, stickers with dolphins, rainbow stickers, puppy stickers, stickers that had Mr. Hulk and Papa on them, too! There were even stickers of Stevey, Bucky, Iron Man, and Uncle Thor! Papa said for your birthday he'd make stickers with you on them, too.

You also painted squiggles, polka dots, lines, circles, triangles, kitty cats, and zig zags. All of them in your most favoritest color.

“There!” You stood proudly, hands on your hips. “Now, it's very, very pretty, papa.”

Papa gave you a minute and then asked, “Are you ready to practice?”

You blinked and sighed. Defeat warping your mood. “Yeah...”

Papa spun away, put a doctor's coat on, and then turned back, holding a clipboard. “Alright, are you the caregiver for Mr. Rainy Day Bear?”

“Yeah, papa.” You lightened up a little bit.

“Papa? No, I'm Doctor Doctor. Who's papa?”

“You're papaaa!” You pointed at him.

“Okay, okay I'm Doctor Papa.” He repeated, “Are you the caregiver of Mr. Rainy Day Bear?”

You tilted your chin up and did a faux British accent. “Why, yes, sir. He's feeling very, very bad and needs a scan.”

“Ah, yes, I see that on his chart, Caregiver.” He flipped through the scribbled pages on the clipboard. “Let's have. Mr. Bear lay down on the table with his head on the pillow.” Bruce gestured with his hand.

You laid your stuffie down on the pretend bed, placing Mr. Bear’s head gently on the pillow. You patted his hand for good measure.

Doctor Papa put ear plugs into the bear's ears and placed cushy pink headphones on him. The headphones had cat ears on them. Papa raised his voice a little, “Mr. Rainy Day Bear, what kind of music do you like to listen to?”

“Doctor Papa, Mr. Bear is nonverbal.” you said matter of factly. You raised your pointer finger to the sky. “I’ll answer for him. He likes The Wiggles, Papa- I mean Doctor Papa.”

“Alrighty then, The Wiggles album coming right up.” Bruce pulled out his phone, scrolling until he found the right music. “Wiggles rave?”

You nodded, then kissed the tippity top of Rainy Day’s head. “You'll be okay, Mr. Bear.”

Bruce began to push the cardboard bed into the donut sphere. You took a big, big deep breath in.

“BRRRR BEEEP AGHHHH RRRRR DNNNN-”

That breath was immediately released back into the atmosphere. “PAPAAA!” You clutched your chest, laughing so hard your legs felt weak.

Doctor Papa continued, “DRRRRR EEEEEE EHHHHHH MRRRRRR!”

You were rolling on the floor, tears leaving your eyes. How silly of your papa!

“BRRRRRrrrrrr….” Papa rolled the cardboard bed out of the donut. “How are you feeling Mr. Bear?”

“Papa, he can't hear you!”

Bruce laughed. “Oh, yeah, right.” He removed the headphones and then the earplugs. “How is the fantastic Mr. Bear?”

You lifted Mr. Bear’s paws and had him sign to Bruce, ‘I am okay.’

“Perfect! Let's take a look at your scans here…” Papa turned around and scribbled quickly on the paper. When he faced you again, he showed you the scan. It was a poorly constructed scribble of Mr. Rainy Day Bear with a big, biiiiiiiig, heart right in the middle. “I knew it, Lots-Of-Love-itis.”

You unburied the British accent. “Quite good, sir. Well done, Mr. Bear.” You placed a hulk sticker on his paw and hugged him tightly.

Papa kneeled down and asked, “Do you want to practice with you this time?”

You gave it a thought, looking this way and that. “Hmmm, will you make the funny noises again?”

“BEEEEP BRRR-”

“Not right now, Papa!” You shouted with a smile.

“Oh, during the practice?” He waited for you to finish rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Okay…” You breathed in, out, in, and out slowly. “Let's practice, Doctor Papa.”

♡

“Big day, lille venn.” Uncle Thor said as he helped tie the back of your hospital gown. He double knotted the strings behind your neck and then the ones by your hip. “There you are. All set.”

You frowned at that, looking at Thor with big, watery eyes. “Not all set.”

“It'll be okay.” His hands (placed on your shoulders) turned you to face him. “Remember your breathing?”

“Mhm.”

“Let's do it together.” He raised his left hand as you did the same. “Climb Yggdrasil, breathe in.”

You traced up your pointer finger.

“Let's sit at the very top, hold your breath.”

You paused at the tip of your finger.

“Slide down the Yggdrasil branches, breathe out.”

You traced down your pointer finger.

Uncle Thor had you repeat that four more times, until the tears dried and the anxiety flowed further away.

“Very good, great job. Let's go see Papa.” He held your hand as he walked you towards the scary room. Worse than the boring room from yesterday.

You turned the corner and there was Papa at the computer. “Hey there! The computer’s prepped and waiting for you, little one.”

You looked at Papa, then Uncle Thor, and then Papa again. “Okay… I'm ready.”

Papa led you to the metal bed. It was rectangular and thin. A sheet was laid out on it so you wouldn't get super cold. There was a thick pillow on the end that had your favorite kitty cat pillowcase on it, which made the corners of your lips turn upwards.

Papa pressed an arrow down bottom next to the donut sphere that brought the bed down to your level. He held your hand as you hopped on and then helped position you onto the center. He guided you through a big, deep breath so that your body was as comfortable on the table as can be instead of tense.

Next came pink headphones with cutesy kitty ears on them and plain boring ear plugs so that your hearing wasn't hurt from the loud noises. Papa already set up your favorite kind of music so when the headphones were placed on you, it was already playing. Bruce furrowed his brow in question, moving his thumb up and down. You replied with a thumbs up. You were ready.

Bruce handed you a panic button to hold just in case and laid a blanket over you to keep you warm. Papa kissed the top of your head and left the room.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in and out.

BBRRRRRRR

‘It's okay. I'm okay.’

BEEEEEEPPP

‘Woohoo, I'm doing awesome!’

REEEEHHHHHH

‘This is boring, it's got to have been a bajillion minutes by now.’

After ten years (minutes), the machine stopped and Papa walked back into the room. He gave you a high five and bunches of praises that you only heard some of because of all the ear protectors. But you could tell by his facial expressions that he was so very proud of you.

He pressed the arrow down button again and the bed began moving to an easier height. You removed the headphones and earplugs yourself, you felt like such a big kid (in the best way)!

You stretched this way and that while making funny noises which made you abrupt into hearty giggles.

Bruce held your hand as you jumped down. Next thing you knew, he was hugging you tightly, picking you up, and spinning you around and around!

“I'm so very, very proud of you, bumble bee!”

You kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Papa!”

♡

[k1ng-ej]

Sukuna Ryomen .°˖✧

Sukuna remains unchanged in his demeanor towards you, starting by simply observing your interactions with Yuji. However, as he gained more insight into your character, he started experiencing a shift in emotions. Although he couldn't quite grasp this inner transformation, he began to appear more frequently, taking pleasure in taunting and teasing you. There were moments when his actions caused you emotional pain, yet Yuji was always there to console you, explaining that it was just Sukuna's nature. After a particular mission, Yuji lost control over Sukuna, who made the fateful decision to engage in a fight with you. Caught off guard, you could barely defend yourself against his relentless attacks, ultimately ending up on your knees, coughing up blood.

Although he would typically find pleasure in such a sight, he experienced a different emotion that day—almost a sense of regret.

Sukuna remained silent for an extended period, contemplating his emotions. His silence grew so concerning that even Yuji started to worry. However, when he finally emerged, his demeanor towards you became unusually harsher than before.

You reached the point where you couldn't handle his presence any longer, and even though you tried to stand up for yourself, it only escalated into heated arguments, leaving you feeling frustrated and causing you to storm off to your room.

During a rare evening when you and Yuji were having a sleepover, he unexpectedly emerged while Yuji was still fast asleep, catching you off guard. He addressed you, with a tone that seemed as if he had an important message to convey, yet it was fragmented and incomprehensible, leaving you utterly perplexed.

Sukuna's frustration became apparent as he openly confessed his heartfelt emotions towards you, leaving you feeling a mix of confusion, anger, fluster, and embarrassment. Overwhelmed by these emotions, you turned away from him, convinced that he was simply playing games with your heart.

As you began to have more sleepovers with Yuji, you noticed that he continued to talk to you, albeit in his usual rude manner. However, it dawned on you that perhaps this was his way of showing his interest in you. Although he did not break his habit of being rude, he would occasionally offer you a compliment, which was a rare occurrence. It felt unsettling, but an undeniable attraction drew you closer to him. You couldn't quite define your relationship with him, but it was definitely something more than mere friendship.

Notes: Uh... Sukuna in the new ep is so fine... I almost started screaming.

Requests are open!

[neversetyoufree]

I'm fascinated by the Noé stuff in this chapter. I feel like Mochijun has been working toward calling more attention to his particular comprehension problems as we move into the new arc (like the "be a little bothered" reaction back in 57), and I can kind of see a way this slots into that.

One of Noé's biggest issues is that he seems to be utterly incapable of processing most trauma as trauma. His optimism goes beyond the point of what's healthy to straight-up incomprehension of reality. I don't even want to call it denial, because I think denial requires some small degree more of awareness than what Noé has going on. I've used this line before, but it's like bad things roll off of him like water off a raincoat, never making an imprint in his conscious mind. The guy was abducted by human traffickers while mourning the death of his foster parents, and he seems to have been injured in the process. Yet he laughs it off and says the experience was fun! Like taking a trip!

And I think I see that same tendency as the roots of how he acts in this chapter.

Noé is aware that mistreating and/or de-personing the Dante and co is wrong. And that's what all the other vampires are clearly doing in this scene when they refuse to call them by their names—they're de-personing them. But! Noé likes the other vampires in that scene. He likes Nox, Manet, and Orlock, and he thinks the world of Domi, so I think he really struggles to comprehend that they're purposely doing something he knows is hateful and wrong. "My friends whom I respect are being hateful and actively de-humanizing other people I care about" is not a concept that's going to find easy purchase on Noé's denialbrain. So his lovely toxic optimism lands on the easier answer instead. They must just not have been introduced!

To take Dante's phrasing, I don't think he's doing it on purpose, and he's not stupid. He's just sheltered and hopeful to a truly spectacular (and unhelpful) degree.

Thus far, Noé's over-optimistic incomprehension of reality has only been with regards to things about himself. His friends might get a bit concerned when he brushes off his suffering, but he's never accidentally hurt others or brushed off their pain before. However, this time his inability to confront or even process the Bad Thing—the fact that his friends are dham racist—has affected other people (the people actually suffering the racism). If nothing else, it's a really interesting way to call more attention to his slight disconnect from reality.

[cyberneticfallout]

Chapter Five: Super Duper Mart

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: At the Super Duper Mart, The Ghoul goes on a chem bender after the vault dweller gives him anti-feral meds. You begin to piece together his true identity which leads to a briefly romantic moment between the two of you. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, chem/alcohol use, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.6k

As you approach the Super Duper Mart, you see the ghoul and vault dweller standing outside. His words are indiscernible, but the vault dweller eventually limps through the front doors. Shortly after, he collapses to the ground. He must’ve ran out of vials, you think.

Casually, you approach the collapsed ghoul, squatting down to meet his gaze with a friendly smile. "Hey there," you greet him. His eyes meet yours, and he emits a faint, incomprehensible noise. There are no signs of him turning feral but it's clear he's not in great shape either.

"Seems like you're having a rough time," you frown. "I'd lend a hand but a big ass gulper swallowed me whole - along with the vials I had. It would've been nice if you had helped me. There might have been a slim chance that sweet anti-feral juice would've been okay." You tilt your head and fix him with a stern gaze.

"You..." he strains to speak, "still blabberin’?"

"Of course. I’m not just gonna leave you here to rot," you declare, raising his chin to meet your gaze. The vulnerability reflected in his eyes, combined with the rough texture of his skin, sends a ripple of goosebumps across your body. Despite his harsh exterior, there's an unexpected allure in his eyes that kindles a warm feeling within you. As you gently trace your thumb across his lower lip, a blush begins to creep upon your cheeks. This growing feeling makes you withdraw your hand abruptly, causing his head to slump back onto the ground. "But I’m not gonna help you either. Consider it payback for leaving me to be someone’s dinner. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before running off without me."

With a final smirk, you rise to your feet and give the ghoul one last look before heading towards the nearby wall of the mart. You take a seat on the ground, curious about how the vault dweller will fare inside there. Rumor has it this particular mart is notorious for trading people for chems - organ harvesting business.

Hours ticked by in eerie silence, leaving you to wonder if the vault dweller’s organs have been collected yet. As you glance over at the motionless ghoul on the ground, you can’t help but approach and kneel down for a closer look. Surprisingly, he is still breathing, although utterly useless.

"Tell me your name and I’ll go in to check the status of your trade," you propose.

"Fuck you," he croaks.

"Fine then. I suppose we'll be known in the wasteland as… Smoothie and The Ghoul.” You outstretch your hands as if you were revealing a movie title. “Get it? Like a bizarre twist on that book Beauty and the Beast. But I ain’t the wasteland beauty and you, my friend, are more of a… dehydrated, hairless beast - being a ghoul and all."

“The hell do you know about Beau-“

Just then, a small group of ghouls emerge from the building, causing both of you to shift your focus towards them. Among the chaos, one of them proclaim that a woman rescued them, followed by the ominous sound of gunfire. Looks like that little vault dweller has some guts after all.

Stepping out of the mart, the weary vault dweller emerges, now adorned in armor she didn't have before, with a weapon gripped firmly in her hand. Her gaze falls upon you, a faint look of surprise on her blood covered face, considering the last time she saw you, you were being devoured by a gulper.

"Hey, little vault dweller," you wave. "Good job in there."

"The name's Lucy," she responds. “You made it out of that creature?”

“Eh, ain’t a normal day in the wasteland if you don’t get gulped up by some sort of monster.”

“Props to you, ma’am. I was certain he’d help you but he decided these drugs are more important.” Lucy breathlessly replies, turning her attention to the ghoul still lying on the ground. With a couple of vials in her hand, she places them in front of him. “You don’t get these, you turn into one of those? That how it works? I may end up looking like you... but I'll never be like you. Golden Rule, motherfucker.”

“Golden Rule, eh? What the hell did you do to her?” You inquire The Ghoul as Lucy sets off on her own into the wasteland. Presumably to find the head you knew those Brotherhood idiots have.

The Ghoul's gaze hardens as he reaches for the vials in front of him, a sinister glint in his eyes. “She’s too soft… and I taught her a lesson,” he responds with a low voice.

“Seems like she might have taught you a lesson,” you retort, a sharp edge to your words as you observe him downing one of the vials.

He groans in satisfaction as the chem hits his system, prompting him to stand up and walk into the mart. You follow closely behind, collecting any valuable provisions and hastily stuffing them into your bag. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him having a field day with a massive pile of vials on a table, filling his cowboy hat full of them. It’s the first time you’ve seen him without his hat and you're struck by the sight of his bald head. Not everyone can carry off the hairless look with ease, but he manages to pull it off effortlessly and there’s a rugged charm to his appearance.

Without hesitation, he starts consuming every chem and liquor bottle in sight, a reckless abandon in his actions. The breaking of glass and the sharp smell of alcohol fill the air as you slowly make your way towards his self-destructive behavior. The Ghoul seems to stumble upon an old holotape in front of a working television set and begins playing it as he settles down on a dilapidated pair of seats nearby. You take a seat beside him, pop a couple of mentats found on the table in front of you, and grab the bottle of liquor from him, chugging it down in one go.

An old western film begins to play, featuring an actor named Cooper Howard. You can't help but notice that the severely worn shirt under The Ghoul’s duster closely resembles what the actor is wearing in the film. Subtly, you shift your gaze back and forth between the man on screen and the one next to you. Could it be him?

As you study The Ghoul’s features, you notice a remarkable similarity in his bone structure to that of the actor. The contours of his face, the shape of his jawline, and even the way his cheekbones are structured all seem to echo those of the Cooper Howard. Despite the weariness evident in his eyes, there is a subtle glint that mirrors the spark found in the eyes of this actor in the old western films.

Realization dawns on you that this ghoul is none other than Cooper Howard. After over 200 years in the wasteland presumably as a ghoul, it's no surprise he's become the pessimistic asshole he is now. No wonder he refuses to tell you his name or anything about himself. "That man is quite handsome,” the words slip from your lips, revealing a hint of admiration and perhaps even a touch of flirtation.

The Ghoul chuckles, unaware that you have connected the dots and learned his true identity. His laughter fades as he turns his head towards you, the distance between you suddenly shrinking. His eyes lock onto yours, then flicker down to your lips. A sense of anticipation fills the air as you feel the warmth of his breath on your face, tainted with the unmistakable scent of alcohol.

A moment of tense silence hangs between you, the only sound being the faint hum of the flickering overhead lights. Unsure of what to do or say, you hesitate, opening your mouth to speak but closing it without a word. In the dimly lit surroundings of the rundown mart, he leans in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his lips almost brushing against yours.

In an instant, the effects of all the chems and alcohol he consumed hit him like a ton of bricks. His movements slow to a crawl, his eyelids droop heavily, and before you can even process what's happening, he slumps over, unconscious. You sit there in disbelief, watching as The Ghoul soundly sleeps before you, wondering what could have happened if he hadn't passed out.

The gentle rise and fall of his chest, the soft snores escaping his lips, all evoke a sense of warmth and familiarity. A wave of nostalgia washes over you, reminding you of the love you once shared with a ghoul in the past. You recall the tender moments, the deep connection, and the unspoken understanding that bounded you together. Despite the challenges and prejudices you faced, your love blossomed into something truly special. You can't help but feel a hint of longing for that lost love.

Lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, you seek distraction by glancing down at his hand resting near your thigh and you notice that one of his fingers is missing. What the fuck happened while I was gone? Turning your attention to the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table, you take a final swig, the burning liquid warming your insides. Feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you, you lean in and rest your head on his shoulder. The scent of his unique musk mingles with the lingering aroma of whiskey. Eyes drifting shut, you welcome the embrace of sleep, letting the darkness envelop you alongside The Ghoul.

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