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hatsukeii · 17 days

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冬に死ぬの方がいい (I'd rather die in the winter) / denji x reader

genre(s): strangers to friends to lovers??? not fully lovers yet because it’s at the end so it's like kinda ambiguously romantic ig, angst with a not too angst ending!! hurt/comfort SO heavy on the hurt/comfort omg... also despite the tldr there is no death here like for the most part

warning(s): spoilers up to the end of public safety saga, canon divergent and timeline inaccurate at points because i haven't read csm in AGES, explicit depictions of SA and like near-death poverty because denji actually cannot catch a break um????? no explicit nsfw tho also not fully and completely proofread i will be editing as i go when i spot mistakes

wc: ~6.6k

tldr; dying in the winter doesn't seem so bad after all

Do you know what it feels like to die?

In the seventeenth winter of Denji’s life, he thinks he does, as the planks of termite-infested wood and sheets of metal collapse into his shed without warning in the dead of night, the blizzard of winter snow unrelenting in its advances. He dreams of the coldest winter he’s survived, a splinter of decayed, rotting wood knocking him awake from his half-slumber, before crumpled rubbish attacks him from all directions. His arms scramble around Pochita to hunch over his motionless, sleeping body as boulders of wood and rusted metal hammer at his back. Purpled, blistered fingers swat and claw at the rough patterns etched into the planks, skin ripping as Denji crawls into a foot of snow.

In the seventeenth winter of Denji’s life, he curls up against his temporary home- the glass window of a convenience store, too afraid to enter. People come and go, crinkling bags of plastic shrugging into protective arms, parents tugging a little harsher at their children, who point and slobber at his ghastly figure, partners who hold each other’s waists a little closer as they pass.

“What a poor guy.”

“Fuck, that scared me.”

“Is that guy dying or something?”

Dying. Do they know what it feels like to die?

Denji’s head is hung low when plastic wrap lands on the back of his skull. His fingers, frozen stiff, swipe at the glossy packaging, before a fleeting moment of warmth graces his frozen fingertips. He doesn’t look up to the sound of plastic ripping, or to the hand that slips a heat pack into his arms. He doesn’t look up when someone kneels to his level, and his vision trains further into the ground when they offer him half of a steaming red bean bun in a paper packet beside his body, their eyes peeking through the gap between his knees.

“Sorry, that’s all I have.”

He doesn’t make a sound when a bottle is twisted open, doesn’t move when they grab his hands and begin trickling water from their thermos onto his fingers. He only winces as the blisters begin to thaw, steaming as the remnants of wet snow melt beneath his feet.

“I hope we never meet again.”

Denji only looks up as you turn to depart the store, etching into his mind the person that moves further from him with each step, and the eyes that meet his own, but only between his knees, and the fleeting touch that may have just saved him that night, in the seventeenth winter of his life. The person who had to see his shrivelled, curled up figure, and had to feed his dried, crusted mouth with half a red bean bun that still sits on the ground beside him, and had to touch his bleeding, puss-filled, blistering fingers to thaw them.

He too thinks he would rather die in the cold of this winter than meet you again.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Die, Denji does, but only in the eighteenth spring of his life, when the blisters on his fingers have scarred into hardened skin, and he has found himself a new shed to spend his nights in. He dies with a chainsaw cord through his chest, and it’s a million times less painful than he once believed, at least until the dying pump of Pochita in his heart almost begs for mercy. Suddenly, his chest feels just a little too heavy, and he realises he’s never known how warm blood was until it drowns him in pools of sticky, metallic red. When two strong arms reach out to hold his collapsing body, he’s sure that he knows what it feels like to die. Denji’s limp figure hangs motionless in your grasp, and you frown at the mess of dried blood that paints his toothed head in specks of brown. This is not somewhere safe for him.

Denji opens his eyes with his head in someone’s lap, bumpy roads jolting him awake from his unconsciousness. He stares into the back of the front passenger seat, warm fabric beneath his cheeks as he inhales the air freshener of the car and raises his hands to his eyes. The hardened skin of his fingers seems to have scabbed and fallen off, leaving him with hands more akin to that of a teenager. A normal teenager. He senses something else, something toying with his matted strands of golden hair. Fluttering touches stir and spread on his scalp, a whole palm nuzzling into the top of his head and eliciting a satisfied sigh from his lips.

“We’ve got another hour to go. Sleep more if you need to.”

There it is, the voice that haunts him in his sleep and chases him in his waking hours. The voice that tells him he did a good job after every hunting gig, snickers with him when he cheats the yakuza out of a sleazy hundred yen coin, lulls him to sleep at night with the promise of bread, and butter, and honey, even some jam. The voice that he remembers all too well, and can’t seem to run from, no matter how hard his mind races.

His mind freezes, but his body betrays him as his head turns in your direction, vision meeting the full face that hid behind the cover of his knees on that winter day, when he swore he knew how it felt like to die. He once envisioned his death to be silent, frozen in his final breaths into the winter sky. Then, he thought of it as a mess of red, putrid blood flooding his orifices as he drowns in a dumpster of sliced up human remains. Now, by some miracle, he lies in the lap of a familiar stranger, staring back at their gaze that remains unchanged from the one they shot at him between his reddened, shrivelled legs, exactly one hundred and fifty four days ago.

Denji isn’t completely sure if he knows what dying feels like anymore.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

There is vomit in Denji’s mouth. There are mouthfuls of grainy, soured bile that barge through Denji’s lips as he sits on the ground of a restaurant, arms pulled into his chest. Himeno’s grip on his jaw is unshakeable, no matter how hard he thrashes and gargles, doing anything he can to separate himself from her. She pulls him closer to her as she continues spewing all the food she’s consumed throughout the day into his throat, and his eyes dart toward you, who grimace in disgust at the horrific scene that ensues before your very eyes.

Do you know what it feels like to die while still breathing?

Denji wants to die. He wants nothing more, than to really die here on the ground, somebody else’s vomit spilling from the corners of his mouth. Yet the way your eye twitches at his pathetic attempts to free himself, and the wandering of your gaze between Himeno, who just refuses to let go, and Denji, who can’t seem to force her off, sends him to the depths of hell before he’s even lost consciousness. There is no empathy in your gaze, only disgust. Denji once thought that having to touch his frostbitten, rotting body in the winter was the most shameful thing that he could put you through. He thinks this is tenfold worse. He glues his eyes shut, praying for this all to be over, and just misses the slam of your soda can into the wooden table, and the shuffling of your feet towards the combined bodies of himself and Himeno. The weight of Himeno’s suffocating grip lightens, and Denji is just able to wriggle out of her grasp, before he’s falling again and his head hits the ground.

You watch the pool of puke that spreads beneath Denji’s cheek, seeping into his hair and sticky with bile and spit. Himeno babbles on, half a jug of beer in hand, and eight empty ones in front of her. You wince, tugging at Denji’s sleeve. He is motionless, blacked out, and you can’t help but feel a pang in your chest. How did he, of all people, end up here? You look around at the people that surround the table, all of which bear lines of jagged scar tissue beneath the rolled up cuffs of their shirt sleeves, across the skin of their faces, along their huffing chests. You touch the scar on your shoulder through your shirt, scratching at it through the fabric. The itch does not fade, gradually becoming more and more intangible, yet so obviously present. This is not a place for people like Denji, or you, or anybody with half a will to live. If eighteen years of training and living under the public safety sector has taught you anything, it is that you never want to be near this place. You did not save Denji’s life last winter for him to let something as wretched as this line of work ruin it once again. You did not reminisce about him on the way home, half a red bean bun in hand, praying that he might find solace in this perverted world, only to have him return to the root of all things depraved. You did not scream for three days straight, the speech devil clawing open the skin of your esophagus at every breath you took, just to watch him jump into the stomach of another devil, giving up whatever little shred of sanity he had left.

Your hands come up to form shapes, fingers twisting and jabbing at each other in sentences of sign.

Makima, should I take him home with me to Aki’s?

“I’ll taaaaaaaake him…!”

For somebody who is clearly far gone, Himeno is quite perceptive of what others around her are planning. Makima smiles, waving you off, and you frown. Grabbing your soda, you leave the restaurant without a word. Nobody else follows.

In the eighteenth spring of Denji’s life, he wakes up in a bed for the first time. His body sinks into the soft, linen sheets that cover the plush mattress, and there’s a weight that sits comfortably above his chest. He isn’t sure what it is, yet it wraps around his sweaty body like a cloud, threatening to lull him into slumber against the midnight that settles in a blanket of blue and ribbons of silver through lidded blinds. He does not want to die here. For once, Denji decides that he will bask in the rare warmth of a quilt on his chest, and the smoothness of silky fabric beneath his arms, his body finally relaxing after eighteen years of endless running, reluctant hunting, cold slumber on planks of wood and chewed up, moulding mattresses. That is, until, a familiar body crawls onto him from where his feet lie.

“Hey… Denji.” He freezes, the bed transforming into a bed of nails and pinning him down like needles that stab through fragile, fluttering wings of butterflies on framed planks of wood.

“Wanna sleep with me?” Himeno’s hand comes up to hold Denji’s cheek, creeping impossibly close to his flushed chest.

This is what he wanted, right? Every night, as Pochita drifted to sleep on Denji’s shrivelled chest, he would tell him that getting laid would be the greatest honour of his life, wouldn't he?

But Denji wants to scream and cry, until his throat goes hoarse and his ribs crack under the pressure from the sheer exertion of his lungs. Himeno comes even closer now, and he can smell the bitter beer and putrid puke that laces her mouth. He doesn’t move. He can’t move. He can’t speak either, as her lips begin to pepper across his face, and along the shaft of his neck. Her kisses send his throat in a frenzy, panicked wheezes and groans vibrating into her mouth as she takes his Adam's apple in an open-mouthed kiss. He can’t breathe, and his legs won’t move to save him as her saliva dribbles down his neck, into his frantically heaving chest. Denji is frozen in place as Himeno peels off her sheer shirt, and he almost chuckles dryly, the concussion from before throbbing at the side of his skull. Safety? Comfort? A roof over his head, a house that won’t collapse even from the strongest of winds, a place to sleep in that won’t end up twisting his back? How audacious. Who is he kidding?

Denji thinks he should have just chosen to die when he woke up in this bed.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The day that Makima catches wind of Denji’s incident with Himeno is the day that he is moved to Aki’s residency. At the click of a key turning in a lock, you walk out of your room groggily to see a figure in the dark, who drops a half-empty duffel bag onto the ground at the doorway. Denji shrugs backwards as you flick the lights on, arms coming up to cover his eyes. The flat is warm, smells that he doesn’t know wafting into his twitching nose as he removes his hands from his vision to look around. You stare at Denji, who wanders around the kitchen counter, eyes searching every surface for something, anything.

“We have leftover curry, if you want it.”

There’s that familiar voice again, calling out to him, offering him food, and safety, and a roof over his head. He turns to you, and you nudge your head towards the fridge, hands in the pocket of your hoodie. His eyes are bloodshot, and he doesn’t make a sound, or say a word. He simply glides towards the fridge, pulling it open and rummaging the racks for a plate of leftover curry rice. The clanks and clinks of glass dishes on plastic stirs the Hayakawa residence awake, Power swinging the door to your shared room wide open as the handle slams into the wall with a thud. Aki’s room remains closed, but you hear an abrupt hiccup from the other side of the door.

“What is this thing doing here! Why is it taking my food!”

“He needs food, Power. Plus, it’s not even yours. Go back to sleep.”

“No!”

Power huffs, and you forcefully shove her into the room, shutting the door behind you and flicking the lights back off. Denji unwraps cling wrap from the dish, balling it in his fist and tossing it aside as he searches for a spoon, metal utensils clashing against each other in wooden cabinets as his impatient fingers sift through forks, and knives, and chopsticks. Upon finding one, he travels to the couch, where you are sitting with your legs manspread lazily. The black screen of the television reflects the two of you on the couch; Denji’s tired arms reeling spoonfuls of cold curry and meat into his mouth, and you watching him eat, hands clasped and elbows propped up on your thighs. He lets each bite linger on his tongue for a little longer than it has to, savouring this new sensation of proper food in his mouth. Then, he wipes his mouth on his rolled-up sleeve, and sniffles at the realisation that his stomach is no longer throbbing and growling dully.

“Do you want to sleep?”

Denji doesn’t respond. He thinks you have hidden away the last two words to that question. He would rather die than hear confirmation of it.

“You can take my bed if you want. I can take the sofa for now.”

He doesn’t get up from the couch. Instead, he drops the spoon onto the empty plate, and feels his body tip sideways. His head lands in your lap again, the same way it did in the company car, on the day that he died for the first time. Your arms shoot up to accommodate him, body tensing as his hair hits your leg. He sighs, small snores eliciting from his nose as he passes out on you, still clad in his work suit. You tug the windsor knot of his tie loose, before running your fingers through his blonde locks, and rolling your head back over the edge of the couch. You can only take a guess at what happened with Himeno the night before that rendered him so unresponsive. So unlike the brash, boisterous version of him that beamed at Himeno’s offer of a french kiss, before having puke forced into his mouth. You cringe at even the thought of it, taking note of Denji’s little hums in his slumber, limp arms hanging off the couch and feet dangling off the edge. Swiping a thumb across his lip, you collect the curry that remains around his mouth, and he jolts unconsciously in his sleep, before relaxing against you again. Wind whistles past the glass windows of the living room, and it’s almost as if Denji shivers at the sound of coldness, even if it is blocked by the four walls that surround him. Your hand on his head moves to cradle his jaw, which shifts periodically as he breathes in, and breathes out. You hope that he can stay like this forever.

Another hiccup sounds from Aki’s room, Power kicks and flails at blankets in muffled thumps.

You bring your other hand to your mouth, parting your lips against your thumb to take a first taste of the untouched plate of curry that was supposed to be your dinner.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

“She even touched my shoulder! My shoulder, guys!”

On a windy night of Denji’s eighteenth autumn, he beams at the dinner table, grains of rice spewing from his stuffed mouth as his chopsticks wave and swing in the air. He hits you in the face, a piece of limp spinach slapping onto your cheek from his utensils, and Power screeches, jagged teeth bared in her maniacal laughter. You side eye him, picking the vegetable off your face and silently shoving more rice into your mouth. You’ve noticed the skip in Denji’s step upon his return to the Hayakawa residence, the dusty blush that lines his cheeks as he grabs at the fabric of his shirt around the shoulders, and sniffs it, the bashful giggles he gives himself when he waves you off for asking him what’s got him in such a good mood. Knowing your line of work, that won’t last, no matter how hard you try to speak it into existence.

“Yeah, she touched your shoulder. We get it.”

“No no no, you don’t. I think she likes me! Like, really likes me!”

Denji slams his hands onto the coffee table now, shooting up to defend his proclamation of love on behalf of some random girl. You sigh, opting for a piece of beef from the plate in front of you. On your tongue is soft meat, savoury sauce, sour, putrid dread. Aki shoots you a glance from across the table. He watches your eyes widen for just a glimpse of a second, and nods, a mutual understanding clearly reached between you two. You take a fistful of Denji’s shirt, yanking him back down to ground level, and he pouts as you shove bundles of spinach and ladles of sauce into his bowl. He bites his thumb, gnawing and nibbling as his chopsticks pick aimlessly at his meal.

“Stop biting your finger, Denji. That’s gross.” You grab his wrist and pull his thumb out of his mouth.

“Nah, I made a promise to Makima.”

“Makima?”

Aki chews on his rice silently at your question. Denji stares at his nail, jagged and peeling from biting on it constantly.

“She’s the one for me. That’s why she told me to remember how it feels when she bites my thumb.”

At that, your palm makes contact with the back of his head, knocking it forward. Denji wheezes, the wind knocked out of his windpipe at your sudden attack. Aki shovels individual grains of rice into his mouth, clearing his bowl. Power joins in your antics, hands chopping at his body even after you’ve stopped to glare at him. She gets bored of your inaction quickly, scratching her ass as she leaves the table for the shared room. Denji’s eyes are trained onto his bowl, the food looking less and less appetising by the second.

“She did what?”

Denji stretches his palm in front of his face, inspecting it as if it was some antique object. His chest sinks, feeling your eyes burn holes into the side of his head. Makima promised him love, and sex, and everything he has ever wanted. He isn’t sure why it seems so wrong to you. You once told him you wanted him to find someplace safe, no? Where do you think he would be, if not for Makima bringing him in on that fateful spring day?

“Well, she let me cop a feel because she cares about what I want. Even said she’d grant me any wish if I got the gun devil.”

“She does not care about you, Denji!”

Denji scowls, hands waving erratically as he searches for his words. Aki leaves for the kitchen sink silently, the sound of running water serving as a backdrop to your wordless fury. You slam your hands onto his shoulders, shaking him back and forth. His eyes meet yours, and he sees something that Makima, that other girl from today, Himeno, Power, Aki, none of them have shown him before. Desperation. Fear. Worry.

“You know what? Go back to that girl you met in the phone booth. Do what you want, just don’t get me roped into your shit. And remember, I told you so.”

You shove him away, retreating into the shared room. That night, Denji sleeps on the couch instead of you. He doesn’t think about the girl from the phone booth, or Makima. He dreams about the day that you thawed his frostbitten fingers outside a convenience store, the day that had him thinking he knew what it meant to die, but really had no grasp on it.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Denji learns the taste of flowers in the eighteenth autumn of his life, when he shoves an entire bouquet of them into his mouth in a cafe. The petals turn into mush on his tongue as he chews and swallows them. He waits for some girl that tried to bite his tongue off and murder him two days ago, sitting alone on a bar seat in a bustling coffee shop. Stares and murmurs ensue behind his back, couples and friends alike glancing at his pathetic figure that waits for a fabricated promise, flowers stuffed in his mouth. He tastes the bitterness of the flowerbuds, the type of bitterness that seeped through his veins when she kissed him, and ripped his tongue from his mouth. The type of bitterness that he can’t seem to fully carry, even after she tried to blow him up. The type of bitterness that is covered by the sweetness of flora, which somehow still makes its way through to his sinuses. Like recollections of how she showed him how to swim, laughed at his awful jokes, taught him to read and write, and turned all shades of red and pink at his flirtations. Rose-tinted recollections of a military trained spy, whose very purpose was to blush on command, laugh on command, lure him into emotional investment, before biting his tongue off, slashing his wrists open, and ripping his heart out of his chest.

He doesn’t like the way these flowers taste. He throws the half-eaten bouquet onto the ground of the cafe, and pushes his way out of the shop.

When Denji returns home, you are squeezing whole bottles of throat medicine into your mouth on the living room sofa. He points at his throat, and pretends to pull a pin from his neck. You nod, clawing at the air around your throat. He shoots you a thumbs up, unsure what to say as he faces the consequences of his fortunate victory against the bomb hybrid from the night before. You wave him off, eyes never meeting him as you mouth, it’s fine, I’ll be good. From across the living room, he catches the blood that coats your entire bed of teeth, the dark, deadly shade of crimson splattered across your lips. He hears your screams again, and again, and again, as he stands in the doorway. Blood curdling commands coming one after the other, he can almost feel his throat rip open with every word, taste the blood that you cough up after finishing the bottle of throat medicine.

Walking towards the couch, he plops down beside you, his weight creating a dip in the soft fabric. You pretend to pull a pin at your throat, and point at Denji, who sighs hopelessly. You falter, brows furrowing at his disappointment. For the weeks leading up to today, Denji had not removed himself from Reze- some unknown girl he met in a telephone booth. He had beamed about his advances to you- namely regurgitating a saliva coated flower from his mouth magically, and you had listened patiently, fists gripped by your sides. He told you he wanted to run away with her, after all this mess and carnage was over, only for her to become the root of another senseless massacre. Your hands move to form shapes, sign language that Denji has picked up on throughout the past months of living and working alongside you. His skills are scarce, yet he just makes out what you are asking.

Beach, girl, run?

He shakes his head, back hunching in defeat. She didn’t care about his heart, only the Chainsaw devil’s. Even her blushes and laughs were rehearsed to perfection.

“She didn’t show up to the cafe anyways.”

You frown, hitting Denji’s chest with the back of your palm, eyes still not meeting his own. He bites his thumb, and you slap his hand away from his mouth without even looking. Signing furiously, your fingers contort into a flurry of shapes. Shapes that Denji can barely decipher, but understand just enough to feel your disdain.

No biting… unbelievable. Makima, Reze. Gross...

Denji smiles weakly, wiping his thumb on his blood-stained uniform. Your teeth are bared until the tips of your canines just peek through the opening of your lips, before you retract them and gnaw your bottom lip meekly. He takes in the corners of your worried eyes and irked brows, and he thinks that even Pochita feels a little guilty in the way that his chest seems to beat agonisingly with every pang, like a nail burying itself into his heart at each pump. You punch his shoulder, finally taking a good look at his haggard figure, before reaching for another bottle of medicine and twisting the cap open with a click. You gargle and cough at each swallow, splatters of blood spitting into a white tissue from your throat at each sound you make. Suddenly, Denji wishes he didn’t throw the flowers away at the coffee shop. Maybe a few petals could ease the pain too, because he’s sure it’s the petals he ate that are making him feel a blooming warmth in his chest right now.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Plus, you saved my life out there yesterday. So, thanks.”

You smile at him with your lips pursed, and Denji hopes that he doesn’t die before you find your voice again.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

In the beginning of Denji’s eighteenth winter, he slashes a chainsaw through Makima’s body. He watches her cut up, mutilated organs fall to the ground, throwing the chainsaw next to them. There is no pity, or rage, or overwhelming sadness. All he can do is stare, coated head to toe in her blood. He takes her skin, and bones, and organs in a plastic bag, inhales blood that smells akin to rat shit and bile. He walks into a new apartment, devoid of the Hayakawa name that was once engraved into the tin mailbox of his old home. It is empty, no one greets him on the couch as he walks in.

He throws the bag of remains onto the counter of his new kitchen, bought with the money left in Aki’s will. He’s sorry, he thinks, because he doesn’t feel anything right now. Not anger, not worry, not fear. Aki is dead. Power is dead too. He should feel something, at the very least for you, who was wheeled onto an ambulance as he picked up the remains of Makima with his bare hands.

Denji eats dinner alone at his new coffee table, also bought with the money from Aki’s will. He shuts his eyes, and pretends that Power is bickering with him. He can almost hear her frenzied shouts, feel her hands slap his back, and his head, and his chest. Aki should be sitting across the table, sipping his tea mindlessly, or lighting a cigarette and filling the room with nicotine. He shoves Makima’s flesh into his mouth, swallowing without so much as chewing on it. The idea that he is shovelling human flesh into his stomach while fully human makes his skin crawl and stomach flip. He wants to throw up. His eyes water at the grooves and fibres in the meat that etch themselves into his tongue.

He squeezes shut his eyes even harder now, instead envisioning you beside him. You, who force strings of vegetables into his meals at dinner. You, who speak only when needed, and rarely in sentences that drag on for more than you deem the need to, and showed him how to live on with half a red bean bun and a thermos. He has never known the curves of your body like the rest of his prospects, never thought to try and learn them either. He doesn’t know of your past, or your present either, really.

Despite that, you know the shrivelled figure of his past, his habit of thumb biting, his fear of sharing a bed, his disdain for spinach over any other vegetable. And when you spat at him, I told you so, you were right. Himeno wanted him to fuel some petty, one-sided feud. Reze ripped his tongue out of his mouth, only to apologise, before snapping his neck and leaving him in the dust. Makima, the one who swore to give him sex, and love, and safety, and purpose, everything he could have ever wanted, binded him in a dog’s collar so he could watch as she tore Power in half from the torso. All Power wanted was to give him a cake.

You confuse him to no end, but something sits between the two of you for certain. Something that shrouds his heart in a warm glow, one that almost calls out at him to keep it there. A glow that creeps up to his mouth when you can’t speak, threatening to spill out of his lips and into yours so he can heal you, for once. But the glow always seems to turn into poison that leaks back down his throat. He swallows his words, bites his lip, bites his own fingers. He doesn’t know how it feels to die, only because you’ve shielded him from it all along.

The remains of Makima have been consumed. Denji throws the plates and bowls into the sink carelessly, his chopsticks following suit. When he swings open his cabinet to two new boxes of throat medicine, he can’t help but stare at his purchase. He really only had you in mind when he filled the cabinets of his new apartment with the only familiar thing a grocery store could offer. Maybe he should give you a visit soon.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

In the eighteenth winter of Denji’s life, you learn that he is afraid of living. Your backs against the sheets of your hospital bed, the two of you stare at the ceiling light that blinks periodically, just as it has for the past week that you’ve been here for. Its flickers have gradually become more erratic than the days before. You stare at the familiar cracks that spread from beneath the light bracket towards the rest of the ceiling, arms behind your head.

“Does it still hurt to talk?”

“Just a bit.”

He hums in understanding, continuing his aimless staring. The hospital television whirs in static and vague sounds of people speaking behind the two of you, and you shift in place, the bed sheets wrinkling and shuffling beneath your body.

“Can I tell you something?”

You nod wordlessly.

“I’m starting to think I can’t live anymore. Like this whole devil thing has made me less…human, I guess.”

“Why?”

Denji clicks his tongue, hissing a sharp inhale through his teeth.

“I don’t really see the point in touching tits, or having sex anymore, you know? Like, all those things that I thought I wanted so badly, they didn’t make me feel how I wanted to. But then, I’m not sure how to live. Shouldn’t I live so someone can love me? Is that not what everyone lives for?”

You glance at him, the messy blonde hair that presses into the mattress, lousily tucked white shirt that creases around the waist, eyes that once were zealous turned tired, unfeeling. You pull one hand out from beneath your head, the one that doesn’t have an IV drip attached to your index finger. It travels to Denji’s crossed arms, untangling them from each other so you can grab at his hand. His fingers are unresponsive until you give him a squeeze, then another, then a third, and they finally relax against your own. He turns, meeting the eyes that peeked through his knees in his seventeenth winter. Eyes that look at him with worry, whether he is sitting at a dinner table, beaming about some girl whose flirtations have blinded his rationality, or if he is curled up against the glass door of some convenience store at midnight, breath stagnant and frozen in the winter air.

“Do you think they loved you, Denji?”

His vision travels to the mattress beneath him. He thinks they did, or maybe they didn’t, or it was somewhat in between love and indifference, or whatever that’s supposed to feel like.

“I don’t know. They all wanted chainsaw man’s heart. But nobody wanted mine, you know? Nobody ever wanted Denji’s.”

You give his hand another squeeze, and he feels another pang in his chest. This is what it feels like to die, Denji thinks. Not blood gushing from his chest, or being frozen solid as people walk past his crouched body, but knowing that his efforts to become worthy of appreciation have only amounted to being used for his power. This is what it feels like to die, a hollow boy with nothing left in his chest but a devil that pumps blood for him. Even his heart is a contract that he has to follow.

“I didn’t save you a year ago today for you to think that, Denji.”

Your weak elbows try to prop your body up to look at him from above, before they collapse back into the mattress and elicit a hiss of pain from your mouth. It’s by some miracle that you’re even alive right now, and that your throat has healed enough to make out short sentences. Short proclamations like this, that you’ve waited so long to make. Denji catches your fall, a palm cushioning your elbow. His hand is still in yours as he shifts to look at you properly.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to know?”

He opens his mouth, and his scrambled words get caught in his throat. So, he nods, the bags beneath his eyes relaxing. You let go of his hand, instead running your fingers along his chest and laying your palm flat on his heart. It beats in rhythmic thumps, steadily pulsing on the lines of your hand.

“What are you feeling right now?”

Denji’s mind is a jumbled mess, yet he can clearly tell what he is feeling. “Warm.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No.”

Your hands move to the back of his head, scratching and rubbing at his scalp with the pads of your fingers. Denji leans into your touch, eyes still trained onto your own. His heart continues to beat steadily, and he feels something building up around it. Something that has his breaths getting heavier, and his vision of you becoming even clearer than it already is.

“What does this feel like?”

“Nice.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Your hand makes its advance to his cheek, cradling it gently. Dusty pink scatters across his face, and Denji has to remember to breathe. In, out, in, out. Your thumb swipes across the dark bag beneath his eye. He thinks this is bliss, so unlike the drooling, panting mess he used to be for Makima, or the bumbling, fake persona he played up for Reze. He is more sober than ever, and his hand hovers over your body. He doesn’t want to just cop a feel. He wants to touch every inch of skin that you inhibit, trace over whatever scars you might have accumulated from the trials of time, plant kisses wherever you want him to, whenever you want him to.

“What does this feel like?”

“Can you stay like that?”

“Sure.”

He reaches for your wrist, holding onto it like a lost boy in a crowd. His fingers feel for smoothed scar tissue in your palm, around your knuckles, on your wrist. He pulls your hand away from his face to take a look at the lines that etch themselves into your skin, lips hovering just above your fingers.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nod. He starts on the scar of your palm, one that you earned during a fight in the early days of your work. He kisses the fleshy scar that slashes across your hand, peppering along its length.

“Can I keep going?”

“Yeah, keep going Denji.”

His head dips to the faint white lines that decorate your arm, from your wrist to the connection between your forearm and bicep. His hair tickles the sides of your arm as fluttering kisses plant themselves into each poisoned, torn open line of your skin. You squirm, hospital gown coming loose on one shoulder as the cool air of the room hits the scar that reaches from your shoulder to the dip between your collarbones. Denji notices, and pulls your arm away from him.

“Can I?”

You wince, the scar beginning to itch and throb.

“Please, do it.”

His fingers trace along the jagged scar, before he nuzzles his face into your shoulder, and moves along to the centre of the dip just above your chest. You roll your head back to give him space, and he kisses up your neck and onto your jaw. He’s inexperienced, nose bumping into your flesh when he comes up to look at you again. His eyes flicker to your lips, and you answer his question for him as you pull him into you. The glow in his heart rushes from his chest to his mouth, but his teeth bump into yours, and you pull away. It tastes like your blood, the blood that has saved his life more times than he can count as you rip your throat open for him. He wants to taste it again as much as you want him to.

“What does that feel like?”

Denji knows what it means to die now, but he thinks he’s starting to understand how to live too. If this day, in the eighteenth winter of his life, is what dying and being reborn feels like, he would rather die in the winter when his time comes.

“I think it feels like love.”

author's note:

guys this took SO LONG i really do not have what it takes to do a longfic in 2 days anymore after that tsukishima one... but im so proud of this tho like i had so much fun writing it and i love my baby boy denji so much omg also wishi i am so sorry it took this long to come out but i hope you like it sososoosososososos much

anyways tags!!

@wishi-selfships @staraxiaa @kuroppiii @akaakeis @iiwaijime @chuuya-brainrot @fiannee @bailey-reeds @hiraethwa @catsoupki @wyrcan

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kurosstuff · 7 months

Note

🍯

Can you do lute x female!reader, reader uses a strapon on lute and wing play is involved. 👀

Oh my~ honestly this- was fun to write- I never wrote wingplay stuff before so! Hopefully you enjoyed it~?

Warning(s): wing kink, strap on use(on lute), vanilla but not at the same time? Idk. Lutes rude at the begining(she's just nervous) overestimated(lute) couple mentions of "breeding"/"being bred"

Im- gonna jump right into it- HELP I- KINDA WENT ALMOST ALL IN ISH?

Lute x reader

It took a while to get Lute to even THINK of bottoming. Much less allow you to even use a strap on her. She's more then happy to use it on you but for her? The thought didn't exactly appeal to her. But- promising to try it once and never bring it up unless she allowed it(that and a bunch of.. kisses) then? She entertained the idea

And that's how she was. On your shared bed with a deep scowl, completely naked. If it weren't for the deep flush on her face. And how her wings puffed up, threatening to expand? You'd assume she was pissed(she was, but that's besides the point)

"The fuck is taking so long?" She growled our glaring at rhe bedroom door "God lute. Calm down, won't you, baby? I'm making sure it's all strapped on!" At that? She growled, looking away with a deep snarl.

A couple minutes passed by before the door finally opened "fucking finall-" her words cut in her throat seeing the toy. Not like the one she uses no- it was so much bigger "what the fuck is that? That's what you picked?" She growled out glaring at you flushed darkly making you smirk moving close to her

"What~? Lute, you scared?" You teased, kissing her, gently biting at her lips, ignoring her protests of 'hell nos!' Sighing "babe.. if you don't wanna do this we don't gotta. We can- like cuddle or something?" Making her stop. As if weighing jer options before shaking her head

Grumbling, she huffed. "No. Its.. fine. Just you picked a bigger one then I tho- oh fuck you don't get so fucking smug" she snarled out glaring at you flushed embarrassed of the whole thing snickering kissing her again

"Sorry baby~ now... can you bend over for me~? Wanna see those gorgeous wings of yours~" Purring out pouring liquid onto the toy watching her do exactly what you asked of her smirking at how they fluttered at the praise "you always get like this when I compliment your wings~" getting onto the bed feeling her entrance gently "excited I see~" Purring out seeing her wings fluttered pushing the tip on her entrance slowly pushing into her stopping half way

"Fuck~," Lute whimpered out, grinding back against you. Hiding her face into the pillow "more~ g-give me more~" feeling you push all the way in, smirking down at her. Moving to hold her waist pounding into her gently

"Easy now lute~," you purred, watching her under you moaning loudly clawing at the sheets. "I've got you~ gonna get faster, ok baby?" Pounding into her faster - harder. Holding her waist, squeezing her gently panting

"Would think you're trying to breed me, Dove~?" She gasped out, bending more bouncing against her, making you hum in thought, biting your lip at how much of a "switch' just occurred. How she's eager to submit to you all the sudden

"Maybe I want to breed you, Lute~." Pounding faster into her ignoring how the bed shook under the both of you barely starting to hit the wall knowing a bit of roughness? She could handle "would you blame me?" You purred out, watching her wings fluttering, flapping slowly.

Smirking at a "cruel" thought, "i wonder~" sensitive here, too?" Moving a free hand to rub at her wings, going all over her delicate wings, pushing all the tight places, hearing her sob moaning louder for you."yeah~ that sensitive, huh baby?" Purring out your pace unrelenting as you took her in your bed.

Watching her wings expand as if to show off to you. As if to signal to you about being a good mate for you. "God gorgeous baby~ yeah? Wanting to mate me, yeah?" Pounding rougher into hrr leaning to kiss where her wings met "wow~ shaking this much?" Seeing her nod so drunk off you from being overestimated. "God~ can't wait to breed you~"

Ever so gently leaning to bite at a part of her wings watching her arch her back, screaming your name out, smirking kissing the mark cooing "couldn't help myself gorgeous ~ I'm sorry" pounding faster watching as she slumped laying under you sobbing out from the pleasure "more~" hearing a broken whimper from her. Ignoring how the bed shook now, hitting the wall harshly creaking under you both from the unrelenting pace.

Panting heavily moving to tower over her kissing her neck praising her as you marked her ip moving faster in her "doing so good~ you close my love?" Purring against her neck watching her nod humming, they smirked, pounding faster in her before humming, rubbing her wings, watching her shake.

"Go ahead~"

At that? With a loud sob screaming out your name- lute came. Slumping down under your wings popping up, spreading as you cooed gently slowly pulling out, "That's my good girl~ I've got you~" whsipering, moving to clean her up gently laying next to her "liked it Lute?"

Grumbling glaring, she moved, cuddling up beside you, kissing you gently. "It was perfect~" Purring out panting wings fluttering .After I catch my breath, I'll pay you back my dove~", making you flush, smirking nodding

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin lute #lute x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lute #EVENT #lute smut

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qqueenofhades · 10 months

Note

Hello! This is kind of a weird ask, I'm sorry to bother you, but seeing as you're a very intelligent studied historian that I deeply respect, I was hoping you could offer some advice? Or like, things i could read? Lately, i feel like my critical thinking skills are emaciated and its scaring the shit out of me. I feel very slow and like I'm constantly missing important info in relation to news/history/social activism stuff. Thats so vague, sorry, but like any tips on how i can do better?

Aha, thank you. There was recently a good critical-thinking infograph on my dash, so obviously I thought I remembered who reblogged it and checked their blog, it wasn't them, thought it was someone else, checked their blog, it also wasn't them, and now I can't find it to link to. Alas. But I will try to sum up its main points and add a few of my own. I'm glad you're taking the initiative to work on this for yourself, and I will add that while it can seem difficult and overwhelming to sort through the mass of information, especially often-false, deliberately misleading, or otherwise bad information, there are a few tips to help you make some headway, and it's a skill that like any other skill, gets easier with practice. So yes.

The first and most general rule of thumb I would advise is the same thing that IT/computer people tell you about scam emails. If something is written in a way that induces urgency, panic, the feeling that you need to do something RIGHT NOW, or other guilt-tripping or anxiety-inducing language, it is -- to say the least -- questionable. This goes double if it's from anonymous unsourced accounts on social media, is topically or thematically related to a major crisis, or anything else. The intent is to create a panic response in you that overrides your critical faculties, your desire to do some basic Googling or double-checking or independent verification of its claims, and makes you think that you have to SHARE IT WITH EVERYONE NOW or you are personally and morally a bad person. Unfortunately, the world is complicated, issues and responses are complicated, and anyone insisting that there is Only One Solution and it's conveniently the one they're peddling should not be trusted. We used to laugh at parents and grandparents for naively forwarding or responding to obviously scam emails, but now young people are doing the exact same thing by blasting people with completely sourceless social media tweets, clips, and other manipulative BS that is intended to appeal to an emotional gut rather than an intellectual response. When you panic or feel negative emotions (anger, fear, grief, etc) you're more likely to act on something or share questionable information without thinking.

Likewise, you do have basic Internet literacy tools at your disposal. You can just throw a few keywords into Google or Wikipedia and see what comes up. Is any major news organization reporting on this? Is it obviously verifiable as a fake (see the disaster pictures of sharks swimming on highways that get shared after every hurricane)? Can you right-click, perform a reverse image search, and see if this is, for example, a picture from an unrelated war ten years ago instead of an up-to-date image of the current conflict? Especially with the ongoing Israel/Palestine imbroglio, we have people sharing propaganda (particularly Hamas propaganda) BY THE BUCKETLOAD and masquerading it as legitimate news organizations (tip: Quds News Network is literally the Hamas channel). This includes other scuzzy dirtbag-left websites like Grayzone and The Intercept, which often have implicit or explicit links to Russian-funded disinformation campaigns and other demoralizing or disrupting fake news that is deliberately designed to turn young left-leaning Westerners against the Democrats and other liberal political parties, which enables the electoral victory of the fascist far-right and feeds Putin's geopolitical and military aims. Likewise, half of our problems would be solved if tankies weren't so eager to gulp down and propagate anything "anti-Western" and thus amplify the Russian disinformation machine in a way even the Russians themselves sometimes struggle to do, but yeah. That relates to both Russia/Ukraine and Israel/Palestine.

Basically: TikTok, Twitter/X, Tumblr itself, and other platforms are absolutely RIFE with misinformation, and this is due partly to ownership (the Chinese government and Elon Fucking Musk have literally no goddamn reason whatsoever to build an unbiased algorithm, and have been repeatedly proven to be boosting bullshit that supports their particular worldviews) and partly due to the way in which the young Western left has paralyzed itself into hypocritical moral absolutes and pseudo-revolutionary ideology (which is only against the West itself and doesn't think that the rest of the world has agency to act or think for itself outside the West's influence, They Are Very Smart and Anti-Colonialist!) A lot of "information" in left-leaning social media spaces is therefore tainted by this perspective and often relies on flat-out, brazen, easily disprovable lies (like the popular Twitter account insisting that Biden could literally just overturn the Supreme Court if he really wanted to). Not all misinformation is that easy to spot, but with a severe lack of political, historical, civic, or social education (since it's become so polarized and school districts generally steer away from it or teach the watered-down version for fear of being attacked by Moms for Liberty or similar), it is quickly and easily passed along by people wanting trite and simplistic solutions for complex problems or who think the extent of social justice is posting the Right Opinions on social media.

As I said above, everything in the world is complicated and has multiple factors, different influences, possible solutions, involved actors, and external and internal causes. For the most part, if you're encountering anything that insists there's only one shiningly righteous answer (which conveniently is the one All Good and Moral People support!) and the other side is utterly and even demonically in the wrong, that is something that immediately needs a closer look and healthy skepticism. How was this situation created? Who has an interest in either maintaining the status quo, discouraging any change, or insisting that there's only one way to engage with/think about this issue? Who is being harmed and who is being helped by this rhetoric, including and especially when you yourself are encouraged to immediately spread it without criticism or cross-checking? Does it rely on obvious lies, ideological misinformation, or something designed to make you feel the aforementioned negative emotions? Is it independently corroborated? Where is it sourced from? When you put the author's name into Google, what comes up?

Also, I think it's important to add that as a result, it's simply not possible to distill complicated information into a few bite-sized and easily digestible social media chunks. If something is difficult to understand, that means you probably need to spend more time reading about it and encountering diverse perspectives, and that is research and work that has to take place primarily not on social media. You can ask for help and resources (such as you're doing right now, which I think is great!), but you can't use it as your chief or only source of information. You can and should obviously be aware of the limitations and biases of traditional media, but often that has turned into the conspiracy-theory "they never report on what's REALLY GOING ON, the only information you can trust is random anonymous social media accounts managed by God knows who." Traditional media, for better or worse, does have certain evidentiary standards, photographing, sourcing, and verifying requirements, and other ways to confirm that what they're writing about actually has some correspondence with reality. Yes, you need to be skeptical, but you can also trust that some of the initial legwork of verification has been done for you, and you can then move to more nuanced review, such as wording, presentation of perspective, who they're interviewing, any journalistic assumptions, any organizational shortcomings, etc.

Once again: there is a shit-ton of stuff out there, it is hard to instinctively know or understand how to engage with it, and it's okay if you don't automatically "get" everything you read. That's where the principle of actually taking the time to be informed comes in, and why you have to firmly divorce yourself from the notion that being socially aware or informed means just instantly posting or sharing on social media about the crisis of the week, especially if you didn't know anything about it beforehand and are just relying on the Leftist Groupthink to tell you how you should be reacting. Because things are complicated and dangerous, they take more effort to unpick than just instantly sharing a meme or random Twitter video or whatever. If you do in fact want to talk about these things constructively, and not just because you feel like you're peer-pressured into doing so and performing the Correct Opinions, then you will in fact need to spend non-social-media time and effort in learning about them.

If you're at a university, there are often subject catalogues, reference librarians, and other built-in tools that are there for you to use and which you SHOULD use (that's your tuition money, after all). That can help you identify trustworthy information sources and research best practices, and as you do that more often, it will help you have more of a feel for things when you encounter them in the wild. It's not easy at first, but once you get the hang of it, it becomes more so, and will make you more confident in your own judgments, beliefs, and values. That way when you encounter something that you KNOW is wrong, you won't be automatically pressured to share it just to fit in, because you will be able to tell yourself what the problems are.

Good luck!

#coffeeandcoyotes #ask #school stuff #critical thinking

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paper-mario-wiki · 8 months

Note

what's ur favorite erb?

i dont have "favorite" as much as i have "the ones i watch every now and again".

"Blackbeard vs Al Capone" i might just like the way EpicLloyd speaks as Capone, but i also cant help but be utterly entranced by a shouting match between to middle aged men who want the other one to be scared. Favorite verse: Capone 1 (of 2)

"Wonder Woman vs Stevie Wonder" although this one still has the signature simple and cheesy bar structure that ERB is known for, this is PEAK in terms of performers. nicepeter and epiclloyd (the main guys) are great, but after the first 30 videos it became very easy to detect their individual deliveries and cadences. t-pain is pretty iconic in his performance of stevie wonder. Favorite verse: Stevie 2 (of 3)

"Stephen King vs Edgar Allan Poe" watzky was unfortunately cursed by god to forever look like a little twerp, but he works with it really well and it fits very well for the real-life twerp that was Edgar Allan Poe. and zach sherwin is always a charismatic force to be reckoned with, his uniquely clever writing style and flow shining. Favorite verse: Stephen King 2 (of 2)

"Steven Spielberg vs Alfred Hitchcock" this one's just good fun. its a little battle royale among a bunch of really famous pop directors. i know that the character-appropriate cgi background is a staple of post-season-one ERB, but i really appreciate these ones specifically for some reason. Favorite verse: Alfred Hitchcock

"Kryptonite" this isnt an ERB and is in fact a completely unrelated normal rap song but i was listening to this one today. my oldest brother listened to a lot of rap when i was young and this one was one of his favorites. i remember listening to it all the time when he would drive me to blockbuster to rent gamecube games. i didnt listen to it for a few decades, but i looked it up on youtube a few weeks ago on a whim and i really liked it a lot. it's all about smoking weed which i love doing, and the chorus is really catchy, plus the instrumental is one of my favorites. Favorite verse: Big Boi 1 (verse 3)

"The Joker vs Pennwise" both rappers somehow look like different versions of matpat in heavy makeup, and joker works in a natural "we live in a society" which i like. i think that's all i got for this one. Favorite verse: Joker 3 (of 3, because this is the one with the we live in a society bar, but all of his bars were actually really solid)

"Tony Hawk vs Wayne Gretzky" another one for the "zach sherwin is one of the best thing ERB has" pile. he delivers in a quaint (if a bit cartoonish) canadian accent a scathing comparison between the actual real-life achievements and significance and skill between the two actual athletes. which i think is very spiritually fulfilling considering the name of the series. Favorite verse: Wayne Gretzky 2 (of 2)

"James Bond vs Austin Powers" might unfortunate austin only gets 1 verse because it's far and away the best part of this one. aside from a clever pussy eating joke near the end between the two feuding bonds. Favorite verse: Austin Powers

"Nice Peter vs EpicLLOYD 2" this is an actual real-life catharsis event between the main two artists behind ERB who seemingly put very real and deep-seated creative and personal frustrations they have with each other into their verses, plus a very real burnout over this series that they put all their money on being The Big One, creating a legitimately tense feeling in watching their performances. for reference, Peter rips on how Lloyd is an alcoholic and is unwilling to let the channel grow or change, and Lloyd talks about how Peter is obsessive and manipulative, referencing a real life issue involving a friend they fucked over in the separate video he appeared in. Favorite verse: Lloyd 1 (of ??? this one is almost a duet at times really)

"Babe Ruth vs Lance Armstrong" this one is specifically here because babe's second verse goes extremely hard in an almost uncharacteristic way for a series with very middling raps in general. Favorite verse: Babe Ruth 2 (of 2)

i could keep going i think but i just scrolled to the top of the list and my face flushed with embarrassment at how long its getting so im gonna end it there. you get the idea.

#anon

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ofswordsandpens · 1 year

Note

racked my brain and the only time i can remember percy worrying about physically hurting annabeth before this is when he blew up mt st helens—he says he wasn’t sure she “made it out of the volcano”, and she’s the first thing he asks hephaestus about on ogygia. it seems like regular worry to me, although i think you could read guilt between the lines, and he’s more overwhelmed when he learns how big the eruption he caused was. i don’t know if rr was particularly thinking about this at the time but it would make sense as a traumatic event that sparked this fear of not being in control of his powers/feeling guilt/self-loathing about the possibility he could hurt his friends, and then the events of hoo really making it an issue. (the thread between this + thinking he deserves to die because he lost control and tortured akhkys which scared annabeth + thinking “i will never forgive myself” because he lost control and potentially hurt annabeth… aaaagh.)

yes yes yes mt st helens is a great point and I completely agree with you, that I would almost qualify it more like a regular worry because I think the distinction between this moment and the moment in cotg for me is that Percy had specifically told Annabeth to leave and go to safety, and its not like he (or anyone) knew what he was going to accidentally do, but I felt there was an argument to be made that he knew it was going to get nasty (as both him and annabeth recognized on some level that he was likely going to die there)??? And the shocker was not just him losing control but the scale of him losing control and that scale of power is what endangered Annabeth, despite his warning for her to leave. Meanwhile, in cotg, Percy loses it and controls millions of metric tons of river water and Annabeth is just, chilling on a ledge that's close enough where he had regularly been remarking on her expressions and what she had been doing in the paragraphs prior. (Honestly, he's really lucky that nothing happened to her.) So I guess its the proximity of annabeth to Percy in these moments that makes them more distinct in my eyes, if that makes any sense at all. And as soon as Percy comes back to himself in cotg, he's immediately like "oh shit did I just kill annabeth?" and it's not even him overreacting, the scene reads like he really could have, which is absolutely WILD for RR to throw in there.

The other part in pjo that I was debating if you could qualify is the death of Michael Yew because Percy was the one inadvertently responsible for it. Despite how much the pjo wikia wants to gaslight me about Michael Yew's death, its literally a canon example of Percy accidentally killing a friend as a byproduct of his powers. But like, Percy didn't lose control or "snap" in that scene, using his powers had been very intentional, it was again, the scale and the fallout that had led to Michael's death. And then Percy never thinks about it again.

But literally yes, in a perfect world where Riordan was planning all of this out and actually connected these moments with intention, mt st helens being the traumatic event that sparked the fear of not being in control of powers make SO MUCH SENSE. And since Riordan does want to characterize percy as feeling guilty and worrying about the possibility of hurting his friends, I feel like guilt over Michael Yew's death is just, sitting right there for the taking

ugh I know im rambling but there's just so much for RR to purposefully connect but instead its as if he's treating these moments where Percy snaps/loses controls/hates himself/worries about hurting others as separate, unrelated incidents while we the readers are seeing how all these events would realistically be influenced by one another and are compounding/piling on top of Percy and getting worse. It IS all connected.

#sorry this makes NO sense at all lmao #but as usual you're so right #also please how the wikia treats Michael Yew's death is so funny its like #/he went missing in battle ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ /#but you read the bridge scene in tlo and its just like..... but DID he tho???#it makes me feel crazy #asks #pjo #percy jackson #mine

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callofdudes · 2 years

Text

✨COD as text messages✨ (incorrect quotes)

(may or may not scar you)

Soap: I need to go to the hospital.

Gaz: Why?

Soap: Everytime I close my eyes I can't see!

Gaz: Idiot.

-------

Rudy: Wanna come over? No one's home 😏

Alejandro: Be there in a few minutes 😍

Rudy: K

Alejandro: I'm here where are you?

Rudy: I told you no one is home

-------

Price: Hey do you have any condoms I could use? I really need one for tonight.

Soap: Captain?! WTF!! Do you realize who you just texted?

Price: Ya I know that I texted you son. And I also know that you have some. I need one is that ok? I don't want to make the same mistake again.

Soap: Is the mistake me?

Price: ...

-------

Gaz: Dude what is your street name?

Soap: Lil Marco

Gaz: You live on a street called Lil Marco?

Soap: Ohhhh you meant my address?

-------

Alejandro: How do you spell 'me'?

Rudy: ummm... M and E

Alejandro: You forgot the D

Rudy: There's no D in me...

Alejandro: ...I can fix that

Rudy: I'm blocking you

-------

Nikolai: How was Price's surprise party?

Soap: it was great! We scared the cum out of him!!

Nikolai: Soap that's not funny.

Soap: omg! I'm so sorry I meant cum

Soap: NOOOO! I meant we scared the *CRAP out of Price!

Nikolai: ok because the other ones my job :)

Soap: ...

-------

Alex: Dude how drunk was I last night?

Gaz: Well, at one point I convinced you to try and bite your own nose.....

Alex: Then what happened?

Gaz: You were rolling around on the floor for an hour screaming "ITS GETTING AWAY ITS GETTING AWAY!!!!!!"

Alex: I hate you more then words can express....

-------

Soap: Simon there's a moth on the outside of the bathroom door can you get rid of it?

Soap: Pls hurry because I'm going to cry

Soap: Simon

Soap: Ghost!

Ghost: Ghost is dead. You're next. Love, Moth

-------

Price: In a meeting

Laswell: Are you in a meeting?

Price: No, why?

-------

Soap: You're so beautiful.

Soap: Let me take you out. I wanna get you a table at Liv

Soap: Boy I wanna write a song about us

Soap: What u want me to call it?

Ghost: Restraining Order

-------

Alex: What does IDK, LY & TTYL mean?

Gaz: I don't know, love you, talk to you later.

Alex: OK, I will ask Farah

-------

Price: How is practice going?

Ghost: Terrible I want to stab everybody here

Price: Okay just don't get any blood on your clothes

Ghost: You're a military captain you shouldn't be codoning this

Price: Don't tell me how to live my life

-------

Soap: Dude

Soap: Buttholes are like pockets

Soap: Like you can store stuff up there

Soap: And keep it safe

Gaz: no they are not

Gaz: do not do that

-------

Soap: Hey

Ghost: Hey

Soap: How are you

Ghost: I am fine. How about you?

Soap: I've been better

Soap: I'm actually really surprised you texted me

Ghost: You texted me

-------

Price: Hi babe, what are you doing?

Nikolai: Nothing much, 'em really tired. Just going to sleep now babe. And you?

Price: In the club standing behind you

-------

Gaz: So, I hear you like bad boys

Alex: Yea

Gaz: Well, I'm not trying to impress you or anything but my bedtime is 7:00, but I go to bed a 7:02!! WHAT NOW!!

Alex: IS THAT EVEN LEGAL???

Gaz: Idk, I just like living dangerously

Alex: MARRY ME!!!!

-------

Soap: How could you?? I trusted you and you cheated on me!!!

Soap: Oh, sorry Simon That was meant for (guy)

Ghost: Oh.

Ghost: On a completely unrelated topic, have you seen my shotgun anywhere?

-------

Nikolai: You got a letter.

Price: Ok.

Nikolai: From the bank, I think.

Price: Ok.

Nikolai: Tasted important.

-------

Ghost: Come downstairs and talk to me please. I'm lonely.

Soap: Isn't Gaz there?

Ghost: Yes, but I like you more.

-------

I don't know where this idea came from. I found a few funny screenshots that made me think of these guys so I went down a rabbit hole to make these. I'm sorry for any trauma these may have caused 😂. Let me know if you want to see more!

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straw-hat-rat · 1 month

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The train heading to East Blue station blasted its whistle as it approached the small town of Logue. Some passengers disembarked as deliveries were sorted and a few people buying last minute tickets rushed to pay before the whistle signalling the train’s departure blew.

In a saloon not far from the bustling station, some plans were quietly being made amongst a rough looking gang in a corner. Muttered sentences about a train robbery sifted through the din of conversations, clinking glass and scraping chair legs. The rest of the occupants diligently ignored them, minding their own business to avoid drawing trouble as they played poker. A woman stood up and knocked back her drink before picking up her mace, signalling that it was time for the gang to leave.

As they gathered their things and shuffled out of the saloon, a man who had been listening in on their plans bit the last piece of meat off of his roast and chewed in quiet contemplation. After finishing his food, he put his straw hat on and glanced at the trusted man sitting beside him. His colleague nodded and finished his drink before turning to the woman beside him.

“Where’d you say you were goin’ again, um...Miss?” he asked her, completely forgetting her name.

“Oh, Vivi. I’m headed to East Blue. My family’s farm is there, and my fiance. We’re gonna get married in a few days,” she replied.

“Right. Well you better catch your train, it’ll be leavin’ soon.”

The other man leaned over the bar and grinned at her. “Thanks a lot for all your help earlier! I thought we were gonna die!”

“It was the least I could do after you scared off those outlaws. I don’t know what I would have done. Thank you for escorting me to the station.” The young woman got up and waved as she left the saloon, rushing to make the train in time.

A frown replaced the wide grin after the woman was out of sight and he tipped his straw hat down a bit as he leaned against the bar.

“Seems there might be some trouble afoot with Iron Mace Alvida’s gang here. Reckon they’re talkin’ about the train in the station ‘bout to leave.” The other man removed his hat to wipe some sweat off his forehead. The desert sun was unrelenting.

“Must be. They’d still be drinkin’ in the saloon if they weren't plannin’ to move now.”

“What about the others? Don’t forget we gotta meet up with ‘em.”

“They’ll be fine, this shouldn’t take long.”

“I’ll get the horses.”

After adjusting his straw hat to block the sun properly, he watched the gang mount their horses and gallop out of town, disappearing into the dusty plains in the direction the train was due.

“Here.”

“Thanks, Zoro. They headed out that way,” he said as he pointed with a tilt of his head.

“We gonna stir up some trouble?” Zoro sighed as he settled his hand on one of his three revolvers, the favoured white one.

A grin grew wide under the straw hat. “I wouldn’t be The Straw Hat Kid if we didn’t.”

Zoro huffed a brief, low laugh, “Why not, I could use a warm up.”

The pair mounted their horses when the train blew its whistle and the conductor called out “All aboard!”

As the train slowly chugged out of the station, they took off in the direction of Alvida’s gang. They weren’t too far behind them and fairly quickly caught up to their dust cloud.

The gang found a good spot to wait for their target and rest their horses while Alvida gave last orders to her gang. “And don’t ya dare mess up again ya good fer nothin’s!”

A disorganised smattering of “Yes ma'ams” followed her berating shout.

“Good. Now pay attention! Let’s make this quick. Here comes the train.”

Just within earshot of the gang’s chatter, The Straw Hat Kid and Zoro listened. “So what’s the plan boss? Try to cut ‘em off before they reach the train?”

“Yeah. Let’s stir up some trouble.” His grin grew wider. ao3 link

#My writing #western au #one piece #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #fanfiction

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lorelune · 4 months

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hey fellas and folks i have been meaning to write something up about this but haven't known where to start or where i'll end up. but i DO feel like it deserves addressing.

(having my joker moment joker moment)

i really love this niche. i found a home in it during a very difficult time in my life, and have found many friends and lasting irl connections from the writings shared and conversations had. this place is so incredibly, INCREDIBLY dear to me. despite going through many horrors (tm) while in this community, i continue to stay because there is a lot about it that i love.

however, in the last... i don't know, year or so? there has been such an abundance of discourse, gossip and drama both publicly and privately that has exhausted me to no end. these things have always existed, they always will, but in the past year they have felt so draining and despairing that it has made finding the same comfort and joy in this community is hard. a lot of times, impossible!

one of the things that genuinely makes me SO sad is the tags. i made most of my lasting friendships in this niche but seeing a writing in the tags that i enjoyed and dming the author and shouting together. i have found so many great writers in the tags, and i still crawl around them today looking for fic!! HOWEVER. i find it difficult, not just because of the abundance of vague smut-related comphet posts with a slew of character names underneath from unrelated fandoms (to each there own but it isn't a posting style i enjoy!) but moreso because of the INSANE number of posts by antis that get thrown into the tags. main tags, character tags, x reader tags. it is so deeply disheartening to be looking for fic to enjoy and get jump scared by a posts saying horrible things about those who enjoy dark content. respectfully if you're above the age of eighteen and looking for writing on tumblr dot gov, i HIIIIGHLYY recommend using your literacy to first read ANY article or study summary about human psychology and sexuality and why fantasy does not equal what someone actual desires! signed a sex-repulsed ace spec mf who writes and enjoys smut. hate to use myself as example, but i hate even more to see folks in the tags be puritanical and pro-censorship under the guise of progressive ideology.

i want to say that there are parties within this niche that are CONSISTENTLY at the center of drama and conflict. no matter what fandom, no matter the url changes and lurking, they are there and its the same mfs. this is a complete vague, as i'm sure the parties in involved in the targeted harassment and ensuing drama do not know who i am, nor know that i know. but i DO <3, and so do plenty of other writers in our niche who have politely blocked and left you alone. do us all a fucking favor and do the same, instead of instigating harassment and being hateful cunts.

in this vein, in my closer circle, i know that these events (especially in the last six months) have caused folks to become conspiratorial and assume bad faith. i understand this is a protective measure because folks have gone through the wringer. however it makes me so sad to see what is often folks who likely do not know any context or horrors of the community, be painted so poorly in casual conversations when most of the time, communication is made to create a connection, not to start a fight.

i find myself reflecting on WHY i have come to not feel comfortable in this community. why i don't enjoy writing the same way, why i don't feel the same security i once felt, why i get so damn nervous to post a silly thought or thirst on main, and i find myself coming back to these experiences and the subsequent fear that follows. perhaps i am a weak-hearted coward, but i find it hard to find joy when i feel surrounded by constant negativity and genuine cruelty. it is hard to want to share any of myself when i am so deeply aware that whether it is strangers or people i have become close to, what i enjoy and what i choose to express and share can be so easily twisted into something it is not.

i know it would be easier if i had a thicker skin, or felt secure enough that this didn't bother me, but part of the core problem is that this community has made me insecure. it's a loop. it is one that makes me genuinely sad, as this place once felt so much like home. i know it still can be, but it certainly won't be sitting here, starting at blank documents and text posts wondering to myself 'why can't i just put words on paper' while i have the cortisol levels of a prey animal.

i'm not sure if other folks have felt similarly, or find themselves in the same point. however if you do, or you find yourself resonating, here's to feeling seen 🥂

- papa salami (lore) 🌙

#lore loops #perhaps i am a sensitive little fellow entering a tough season or perhaps i am an exhausted writer who wants to create but struggles #for the aforementioned reasons #column a AND column b ya know #if you feel callout or vagued sorry pal-o this is on everyone #not just you #a community is every person within it #gonna log out now ✌️ i'll be back when i'm back and hopefully w a cathartic part 2 of o4o in hand #be well loves

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threepoint14art · 20 days

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I'm gonna word vomit about the nightmares because GOD I'm listening to great escape on loop and i feel like I'm going insane so yeah if you wanna read that im gonna put it under the cut because its probably gonna be LONG TLDR: I love them and they make my head hurt

We know the nightmares are not good people, like at all. The very first instance we see them is in the episode literally titled "BONNIES NIGHTMARE" and yeah, they sure are his nightmare.

They harass him for money as a "tradition", Bonnie doesn't have any, they try and take his guitar, until there they’re pretty standard random assholes, then meg says "they know where you live" when Bon tries to intervene and refers to them as a complete group, "the *nightmares* know where you live" and then the stakes become weirder. Because aside from just very visibly being horrible people, they already have a reputation of being actually dangerous besides just mugging, they know where people live. You can argue they know where Meg, Fox and Spring live based on past history with all of them, and they could know where Bonnie lives based on how they harass him and all of that; but for them to know where Bon lives? someone who they appear to have literally no biases against and who is, up to that point, just completely unrelated to any of what's happening? It’s weird

You could say it's because he's friends with Meg, but I sort of doubt Bon would bring anyone over with how his dad is, so we are back at "why the actual hell would they know that" If they are mindless thugs it’s a bit weird that they would keep track of specifics like that. And I like to think that that’s the point. They make it a point to know sensitive information about people so that they are less inclined to go against them, just like Meg was.

Then Fox appears and they seem really put off by it. The series tries really hard to sell that Fox is angry, violent and just a hot head. Which I don't really agree with? as in rewatches I've found myself going "yeah that's a valid reason to be angry" but whatever, going off the series alone and what they intend with each character, Fox is someone who is sort of dangerous, guy who gets into fights and all of that, they seem sort of familiar with each other too. "this is low even for you guys" and then Deuz calling Fox by his name.

So they are 1) known 2)violent 3) actively make a show out of it. They scare people by knowing their private information yet they don’t seem to do anything with it at all, they could harass Bonnie closer to his house and not at the literal school entrance full of people but they don’t. They could drag him out to somewhere more hidden to not get bothered, but they don't, it's almost as if they want people to see. It's performative, speaking loud and laughing louder, in direct contrast to Bonnie's quiet voice who tries to leave in the least showy way possible.

We don't see them go to school, hell we don't even see them in uniform until after camp, so I used to think they were older and that the entire thing with the nightmares vs spring was sort of "the adult drama" outside of school and its teenagers. Their entire group just felt heavier than the rest of the kids, probably fueled by being antagonists.

The next time we see them it's with the aforementioned Spring, they are graffiting a wall and Spring tells them to not do it and to go do it in the "legal area" the artistic zone made for that.

This is really interesting to me, mostly because even though spring grew up in a similar situation to them, he carries completely different moral values. It even seems as if he's overcompensating. Spring is a hard worker, he has jobs upon jobs and tries to live honestly, and to see other people get by in the direct opposite way he does, he wants to be as separated as possible, have nothing in common because he is a “good” person and they are “bad” people.

There is no way that his entire area isn't drowning in graffiti already, because even sub-urban areas have graffiti, both actual art and the standard weird drawings of dicks or random curse words. And while the latter are not exactly great to see, they are also inherently thoughtless. People walk around and go "yeah this would be funny" and do it without thinking twice.

With the way that Onnie and Onyx (I call oxy that) talk about it, what they were about to do wasn't thoughtless, they were literally looking for a nice wall. it seemed like they just wanted to do actual artistic graffiti which is a pastime that seems inherently way less morally evil than just harassing random kids at school. They aren't actively looking for Spring either, they are just there. Spring picks the fight, the police come

They run away from the police, there's a ruckus with the police after (as said by Fox). They didn't actually vandalize anything, hell they didn't even have any paint on them throughout that entire exchange. But they still run? They could have done something before going over there, but in that case it'd be strange that they would be so calm and giddy about it knowing full well someone could come, they don't seem to be carrying anything at all either, robbing school kids may be possible with only your fists but they were just around streets without any knife or anything at night, so i doubt they could mug someone if they tried.

So why would they run? I think it’s because they are all mostly just show, and that their lives shaped them to be that way. The police are scary not on the basis of "they can imprison me for this wrong thing I did" but on the basis of "the police hates people like us." The police hates the poor, the police hates queer people, it hates anyone who fails to fit in the box of what"an upstanding citizen" should look like. Of course they leave with their theatrics still there, telling Spring to "be grateful they saved you!!!" trying to save face. But it's clear they didn't actually do something to warrant fleeing, and this is supported by Spring also hiding.

The next episode, "the birth of evil" is where everything crumbles and by crumbles i mean comes together. Spring, Fox and Bonnie go to a talent show and they meet the nightmares there, once again the whole act starts again. An obnoxious laugh, a confident pose, an ensemble of people behind you to be able to have your back. Deuz calls them dogs and the other 2 bark, its a performance. Deuz adresses the group, Onyx talks to Spring, Onnie talks to Bonnie.

They don’t seem to acknowledge Bonnie in specific as anything important, they don’t blink and demand he gives them the money he still “owes”, they don’t tell him he’s lucky that he’s not alone. They pick a fight with the conglomerate and that's it.

The way Spring and Fox carry themselves in the exact same situation seems just fundamentally different. They insult back of course, but they are way less vitriolic with it, and they don't accompany it with an air of grandiose superiority or an encore of background laughs or barks to drive their point home. They seem honest with their comeback, they have fun with it. Onyx and Onnie GROWL.

Deux stands in front of them, he has been doing that this entire time, and the other two behind him growl, genuinely upset or threatened by a comeback that let's be honest. Was not even that good. "You smell that? envy?" and "the rats came out to eat, shame we didn't bring cheese"

But it not being good is sort of the point, it feels less practiced, less rehearsed and less of an act, a stupid comeback that reads more like a 3rd grader fight than anything, compared to the more antagonistic "look at the stray dogs. though this was a talent show not a barking one." "give me paw, have you learned to play dead yet?" Those are way stronger, and yet it seems like they just lose the exchange, immediately get defensive and growl, and look genuinely upset.

Funny thing is that their insults apply to them more than they apply to those three. Both Onnie and Onyx have been shown constantly barking and growling, to call someone a stray dog implies some level of poorness or a lack of belonging. They put down what may seem wrong with them, and apply it to other people to get a leg up.

Maggie tells them to drop it, they go and perform what they came here to perform. Deuz says "dont waste your energy, let's prove what real talent is" which can certainly just be read as another insult, as a way to call them talentless, but i chose to interpret it as masking a sore spot. We HAVE talent, even if people say we don't.

And this is the main attraction. Great escape. My love.

With all we know about them, you would imagine their music would follow through with the image they've been constantly pushing. Rough around the edges, loud, obnoxious, full of self adulation. But it's just... Not that.

Song starts, and it seems like they will follow through. It's strong, it's loud, it's overwhelming and yet awestrucking, the guitar is at the forefront and is going crazy. And then it suddenly becomes soft, not weak or pacifying by any means, but soft nonetheless.

Deuz’s voice is calm, he’s not screaming and he’s not making himself louder than necessary, the mic is there and it WILL pick what he says up. So he’s just singing, he’s not struggling to be heard. The very first line is “if i wasn’t the one who i thought I was, could you show with conviction who you really are?” It’s weirdly wordy and self introspective for someone who is supposedly just evil, who has presented himself as an unmovable wall, as someone strong, foul mouthed and completely used and comfortable with his way of life. As someone who poses a real danger.

If I wasn't who I thought I was, if I wasn't strong and if I wasn't at the forefront, could you really show who you are? If he wasn’t like this, if he seemed soft or weak, could his group live in peace? Could they be who they want to be? It’s not like they are 100% free to be who they are right now. They too, keep an appearance of being unbothered, strong, but at least they get to live, they get to present themselves how they want and not be scared of someone hurting them because of it, because they ARE the harm, and they have a leader. He’s the pillar, and he has to be who he THINKS he is. He has to be there.

“Will you be able to not fall today without your costume? your heart breaks just like a fragile glass” The idea of costumes, of keeping an appearance, making “the nightmares” a single intimidating entity that no one can mess with, could they live without it? Chances are not, life is cruel and they seem to know that. It’s a dog eat dog world, and they act as if they are on the top of that food chain.

The song is for all of them, it’s ADDRESSED to them, Deuz uses first person and second person, me and you against whatever is put in our way. And that is what makes the song so special to me, in a show were we see the protagonists in the process of becoming friends the nightmares have been together since forever. And this song is for them, to find hope in hopelessness and to simply state how important all of them are to each other. “and in the distance I can hear that your voice started to call me”.

And we see what has led them down this way of thinking. Not a justification, but an explanation.

We start with Deuz, whose first memory appears to be literally working. Working to sustain himself, working to be able to live better, “I know that I will wake up.” I know that I can get out of here somehow, people are horrible to a literal child trying to live, we see how it lasted a long while too. From the candy selling to when his hands are curled into a fist we can see that he visibly grew up, he kept living in those conditions and he never actually experienced sympathy for it, people laughed, people insulted him, people seemed to be grossed out by the mere idea of a kid who was BORN into poverty, because how dare he try and survive? “I fell into an dark abysm without an end”

With this it would make sense for him to become cynical, to assume it’s him against the world forever, and that people are inherently evil. But the lyrics are hopeful. “I escaped swiftly and I saved my life, I felt as if i were finally breathing again. Today let’s break the walls at once” Life is cruel, people are cruel, but it gives him a frame of reference of what type of people stay at the top of the chain, to be mean, to be violent, not out of enjoyment but necessity, camouflage to survive and breathe again, make sure people don’t mess with him again. The image of a little kid with scratches throughout all his body looking angrily at the camera

“In a place of the world where light goes away and doesn’t want to come back. Could you be sure that you’ll find it?” He could stay alone, he could dish out the same disdain and disgust that people showed him when he was at his lowest, but despite it all he still has empathy, and despite everything he wants to help, “evil” was born through how he lived, but his true nature is still there. And when he sees someone his age at his lowest, he doesn’t hesitate to help. He doesn’t fall in the idea of “everyone should have it as bad as me, i had it worse, it’s not my problem.” He extends the kindness that he never had, and he helps. Could you really find light when everything seems dark? find hope in what seems hopeless?see a A scared little kid being beat in a closed alleyway, amongst all the trash. Could you be fine with it? Have any hope in such a situation?

“if everything breaks slowly and with pain. Could you pick up the pieces that fall?” He stops it, he becomes the light that went away, a sense of hope and belonging, he offers a hand that was never offered to him. Onnies expression in this always gets me, he looked scared when he was alone, but once someone stands up for him he doesn’t look glad or happy. He seems shocked, in complete disbelief. Both Onyx and Maggie seem to be relieved when they are saved, but Onnie is just shocked. Why would someone just intervene or care? this was not a one time thing, he already had the bruises before any hit ever connected, he fled into a dead end and expected it to end like that. And it didn’t. Everything was already broken, why would someone pick up the pieces?

“In the distance I can hear the quake of the world and its end. Today you’ll start from zero. I have to say see you later” I’ve seen some people be confused by this part or even laugh at it. Deuz just appears, punches onyx, and they become friends. But the very first shot is Onyx sitting slumped on the ground as if he had been beat up and was barely conscious. But he wasn’t, he had no injuries at all, the lyric talks about the end of the world, he had given up. We don’t know the circumstances of this, but given how clean his clothes are and how he lacks any injuries, it’s my personal headcanon that he got kicked out. A kid alone in the streets kicked out, he should give up, because what else could he do? how else could he live? A wake up call in the form of a fist, this place is dangerous and not what you are used to. But today you’ll start from zero, you just have to say goodbye to what you had.

The chorus changes, it’s no longer a dark abyss, but a dark path. In the name of not being at the very bottom he has become something he isn’t, all of them have, their lives shaped them to be rougher, they are like the people who hurt them in the past. This is especially true to Onnie becoming a bully. And the path seems endless, because dropping the fake bravado doesn’t seem like a possibility. The world is cruel to those it perceives as weak, so they can’t show themselves to be. That's why we are shown the three of them looking angry, unbothered, the strength their life demanded but at the very least as a group; making themselves bigger, with Deuz at the forefront.

And we cut to Maggie (who I use he/him for), screaming and trying to get away from someone who is clearly bigger, an adult. From the song “closer” at the camp arc, we can see how that person was enjoying causing distress, a crooked and mocking smile on their face “there will be people who think this is pure hypocrisy” To go from being the kid suffering at the hands of someone stronger, to the one causing said pain onto another kid, all to not be weak and not be a target again.

The group doesn’t only defend Maggie, fight back against someone bigger than all of them. But Deuz goes out of his way to try and cheer him up, and gives him a sweet to calm down. “incapable of forgetting the beast that’s hungry yet again” this world, it’s difficulties that feel like sharp teeth mauling at people who have not done any sin but to exist yet, people feed on others being miserable, on feeding on those who seem weaker and their suffering, like beasts. You can’t ignore it, you have to fight back, bare your own teeth.

“Beyond the storm my hand is waiting for you. That sword pierced depression with all it’s strength” After the suffering, after the hardships and the pain, my hand will be there waiting for yours. Together we are stronger, and together we can be happy despite what everyone else can say. “Before just falling like that…” before giving up, before falling, we have each other.

And it’s the chorus again, I fell in a dark abyss, but now what saved his life is not making himself scarier, it’s not the realization of what act he should put on, it’s not his anger freeing him. It’s having his group. And once they break the walls, once they break through their self imposed image, through “the wall” , they can live without fear or grudges.

Next we see them is at camp, and it seems as if Deuz already started to try to break through said wall, they are actually going to school now, they are at a camp. And when Onyx and Onnie start with the theatrics, when they try to immediately establish themselves as stronger and crueler. He reminds them that they are not on the streets. They aren’t in that horrible environment they’ve always lived in, not everyone is bound to be outright hostile, and they try.

Later on Deuz says “If being at this camp and learning to work in a team makes my boys finally get accepted by society. Then I’ll do it.” and after that “I’ll show them that we can all change for the better.” They all became hostile because of where they grew up, but if there’s a chance to not be like that, to live in peace, then he’ll take it. He wants the best for them.

And that’s not to say Deuz has always been the pillar of morality. He participated in Bonnies harassment as much as all of them, but their thing is to change, to let go of that gut reaction of cruelty to avoid being hurt. And Deuz also changes with time. At the start, anyone who participated in the event, who went to the docks which is their territory, he would have been annoyed, he would have called them talentless, insult them and their craft and claim he and his crew were better before completely disregarding them as a whole. He would have been defensive about the only place where he can actually showcase his thoughts and feelings. But no! Later on he has respect for Fred, calls him “the king of the docks” and tries to be friendly. Of course after that Freddy is completely confused and he gets pissed, but I think it’s because he tried, he attempted to be friendly and swallow his pride and his defensiveness about the one thing they all have, and he got (in his head) made fun of. It made his instinct of “be the one on the top of the interaction always” kick in, because they WERE on the streets at that time and it’s suddenly the same it always has been.

Right after that pup kills him on a single punch and that didn’t happen ^^. no waaaay he would go down so easy to a person like pup whose most athletic skill is gymnastics. Deuz has shown he's had to fight and fight dirty/lawlessly to survive since he was little. it just doesn't make sense and it’s not real TOT Pup is built like a twig

“pia what about onnies song” also didn't happen ^^. After this point the series tries to soften Onnie to be less of a willing participant of the group’s actions, and I just really do not like it. Let him have blue hair and pronouns AND evil in his heart.

I think that’s all for all, i need to be tazed. I know i kept it very neutral till now but guys please tell me you see why i ship them all so hard. God. I need to kill them all

i hate them you need to be put down <3 like the dogs u like (the nightmares) - Loops

#πa art #fhs fanart #fnafhs fanart #fnafhs #fnafhs nightmares #Deuz fnafhs #Maggie fnafhs #fhs #fnafhs au #our au #Onnie fnafhs #Oxy fnafhs #they have matching nails and are cute and i want to kill them all ^^#paw pads prints on the hands tehee my weird dogs #onnie doesnt have that cause rabbits dont get to have any fun (they dont have paw pads)#extra thoughts for the word vomit:#why do onnie and onyx growl so much it drives me crazy. Something something stray dogs. ughgghghhg #why was maggies song sung by felix??? who invited him this isnt ABOUT YOUUUUUU YOUVE KNOWN HIM FOR 2 SECONDS WHY ARE YOU SINGING THIS #Onnies guitar has devil horns. And his name is really close to being oni. Japanese folklore creature similar to demons #“porque todo en ingles q te crees gringo” ESCRIBIR EN INGLES SE SIENTE COOL. TENGO DERECHOS #Thats all good night tri-state area

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kakuzatos · 2 years

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kobeni’s devil

!! spoilers for chainsaw man !!

so, episode 9 came out and i watched it with vigor. as expected, kobeni slayed this episode and didn’t disappoint me with her moves. damn, she was quick. you really can’t have a pure hatred for kobeni, it will always have love in the mix.

and while i was thinking about her, i got curious about her devil again. really, what is this big secret... why was she the only one who got out alive after 100 chapters while other characters like aki and power were ultimately killed off? she surely has relevance in the plot and there is a reason why her devil is concealed as a secret. a devil like that would be thought of as a dangerous one because kobeni can’t even say its name.

naturally, i go to a full-on zoning out session thinking of the many possibilities of kobeni’s devil.

i. well, first, i thought of the possibility of her being a devil that has a human-like appearance like makima, yoru and fami. that is a good theory, but her having a family and a brother denounces it a bit. i’m not saying that devils don’t have families and aren’t capable of being raised by one (makima was raised by the government, that’s why she’s like the way she is, if that ever counts as a family). i’m not particularly fond with this one, though, since kobeni is pretty much the most human person in the whole cast. i mean, look at her.

scared shitless. if she was a devil, she would’ve been happy. devils thrive on fear, they don’t live with it. that would be pretty fun, though.

ii. moving on. she could have a contract with the death devil. it’s probably the most overstated theory and for good reason. first of all, i’ve read this comment in a reddit post about a totally unrelated, regardless interesting, observation on chapter 113.

the comment reads:

Getting back to my tangent about the Four Horsemen: the Four Horsemen are unique because, unlike normal devils, who only use fear, the Horsemen are each able to use one of the four emotions unique to humans, listed by the Doll Devil in ch 63:

Conquest uses Worship (aka reverence). So long as humans revere her, they hold her in a "higher place", allowing her to control them. Put from her POV, that means that, so long as the human is "lower" than her, she can control them.

Conquest bends the "rules" around devil contracts in two ways. The first way is obvious - she can force "lesser" humans to submit to her contracts. The second way is by being able to claim ownership over other devils. This means that, unlike a normal devil, Conquest can use other devils like as though they were part of her own body. This gave her the ability to use Angel's powers as though they were her own. This also means she could offer the bodies of other devils in her contracts, as we saw with Aki and the Gun Devil.

War uses Guilt. The greater the guilt she feels, the stronger the weapon she creates. The irony here is that War is so selfish and so absent of the understanding of right and wrong that she's unable to feel much guilt over anything she does. She blames Pochita for her current weakness, but really, she's inherently pretty weak compared to the other Horsemen, just because of this anti-synergy with her own power.

War bends the "rules" by forming completely lopsided "contracts". Like Makima, Yoru removes the human's consent from the equation - if she claims ownership, so long as it's something she can touch, she can weaponize it. But the person turned into a weapon gains nothing from it, the only benefactor is Yoru. Completely one-sided "contracts".

Famine uses Adoration/Respect. We'll see what this means exactly later, but I think I kind of touched on it in my other comment. War and Famine are a yin and yang duo - Yoru is "night", while the heart of Justice "shines with light". And while Yoru is completely selfish and devoid of the understanding of good and evil, Famine seems stuck doing things for others (in other words, is "selfless"), all while being very concerned with the understanding of good and evil. Yoru's power is based on guilt, aka, being able to sense the evil in yourself. So hence, I suspect Famine's "Respect"-based powers are based on being able to sense the good in other people.

Famine bends the "rules" by also forming completely lopsided contracts. The difference is, while Yoru only takes... as Yuko pointed out, Justice only gives. My guess is that, if Famine senses that a human is "good", she can form zero-cost contracts.

Death uses Pity. Pity is the feeling you get when you watch other living things suffer. The idea that Death gets stronger from feelings of pity sends shivers down my spine...

This is especially the case if it's true that every Horseman is trying to cancel out the source of their own power. Conquest's dream is to form equal, nonhierarchical, relationships, which flies in the face of a being whose power is based on hierarchy. So if Death wants to be rid of the "source of its power", too, then wouldn't it have to get rid of all suffering?

notice something about death. death is also powered by pity. kobeni is pretty damn pitiful in almost all her screentime, manga or anime, except her fabulous show in episode 9. but she did experience a lot of torment and she is generally seen as pitiful. maybe, just maybe, that pity she gets from other people is what feeds the death devil. and having to survive all what happened in the past arcs, i wouldn’t be surprised if she ever was involved with such a mortifying devil like the death devil. she dodged death in multiple occasions, it’s like death sided with her. another thing, in hell or chapter 63-64, the darkness devil didn’t even try to kill her. maybe it’s scared?

it’s also such a fun concept to think about. this traumatized girl who is about to shit herself has a contract with the death devil. fucking metal. the thought alone deserves its own book.

iii. kobeni has a contract with the luck devil! a lot of people agree with this one! i don’t know if it’s good luck or bad luck, though. she seems to somehow have both, so i’m not sure. many people do lean into the idea of a “chance devil”, but i’m pretty certain, if that was the case, it would be the “bad luck” or “misfortune” devil. if there was a luck devil, why would anyone fear good luck? it would’ve been extremely weak because, in retrospect, no one would fear good luck.

so, bad luck. in this article, it stated that kobeni somehow feeds the bad luck devil with her own bad luck and fear, explaining why she doesn’t sacrifice her body parts.

although this is good, personally i don’t favor it too much. fujimoto is known for his chaotic direction of his manga and always being spontaneous that you can’t predict it, but it’s done so, in a way, that it’s orchestrated. hints are left, foreshadowing is present; it’s chaotic but makes sure to make sense to us too. a good story should make sense while maintaining its unpredictability. so, a death devil is already hinted. a bad luck devil is not. (yet)

well, this theory will just have to wait for a while. maybe, there will be a time when a bad luck devil will appear or get mentioned.

iv. in this post, kobeni is theorized to be contracted with a devil connected to survival. for one, if that devil were to be connected to survival, it could either mean: a fear of death or a fear of getting hurt.

a fear of death relates to the death devil.

a fear of getting hurt relates to a pain devil of some sorts. a pain devil would be cool because it will be powerful. almost all humans are scared of being hurt and will make a bit more sense in the storyline, considering that her line of work is potentially getting hurt and seeing others getting hurt because of her. pretty neat theory!

v. same post in iv, there’s a comment where she might be have a contract with the knife devil. although, there is no evidence to back this up, her main weapon of choice is a knife. in a way, it makes sense.

v. car devil. no questions. in fact, according to u/LeynaSepKim, it was even foreshadowed in chapter 5, in their post.

all are only speculation! feel free to correct me or add some other theories. the only thing we can do to form more theories and solidify existing ones is to wait. we have yet to see her full potential. she is shown to be athletic in the anime and the manga, but not her power in its entirety.

#kobeni #chainsaw man #theory #csm #csm theory #analysis #kakutxt #she's pretty sus

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