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theglassofmiddleearth · 1 month ago

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Evenfall

Imagine you wake up in Twilight as a random side character. (Part 5)

Nullification!reader Human reader! Fem reader! SideCharacter Bella! Isekai au! Edward Cullen X reader. Eventually Jacob Black x reader. (2 endings.) (All characters will be written less creepy and one dimensional than the ones in the books.)

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Edwards eyes were glinting again with the emotion that Y/N still could not place.

'What?' Y/N asked, rolling onto her stomach, head resting on her arms.

'Nothing. It's just nice to finally feel the sun again.' Edward smiled, closing his eyes and laying on his back, breathing deeply.

Was there something on her lips? Why was he touching them? Y/N lifted her hand to brush over her lips.

‘Was there something on my face?’ Y/N asked, sitting up. ‘If you say there's a bug I will scream.’

‘No, just some grass, it's gone now.’ Edward lied smoothly. He looked a mixture of frustrated and amused. Where else would he find such an oblivious girl who was adamant on not seeing how much he liked her? It was as if she couldn’t see herself at all.

He stood up, offering a hand. Y/N let herself be pulled up, grasping his marble hands. He looked rueful, dropping her hand as soon as Y/N stood up.

‘How can you not be afraid?’ He let out a growl, dashing past Y/N before her eyes could focus on his form. He was now standing ten metres away, eyes boring into her from just beyond the thicket.

Was Edward having his emo moment?

‘You can't run from us.’ He said, suddenly In front of her again, impossibly fast.

‘You can't scream or-’

‘Look, you’re not a spider, or a roach.' She rolled her eyes, interrupting.

'The only thing scary about you is the fact that you mood swing so hard.’ Y/N raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms, her tone final.

‘I get that you think you're the world's best predator, but so are humans.’ Y/N pointed at him, as if scolding. ‘You may be dangerous, but so is every human being, plant or animal. You may be a vampire Edward but you nor your family scare me.’ She jabbed at him with her finger.

‘Hell, not even ghosts scare me.’ She threw up her hands in frustration. ‘If you wanted me dead, I would have been the day that van skidded.’

‘But I-’

‘Edward, you’re a good person and I’m betting you’re also a good friend.’ She shook her head emphatically.

‘I am not scared of you more than I am scared of every other man nor do I think you’re an angel. You may be a vampire but that is you physically. Everything else about you is still human.’ Y/N rubbed her hands on temples, looking down and continuing.

‘Your emotions, your moral compass and your brain is still human Edward.’ She ended, hands on her hips looking as imposing as she could.

‘I don't think I've been scolded by anyone since….’ He trailed off. ‘I don't even think Carlisle has scolded me.’ He let out a small laugh, disbelief evident in his eyes. In the books, Y/N was pretty sure Carslie let Edward runoff during the mid 19th century so she wasn’t surprised.

‘You really are something.’ He murmured, placing a hand on her arm, willing her to drop her stance. ‘I’ll try not to be so self deprecating.’

Y/N looked at him and sighed. ‘Old habits die hard right?’ She relaxed her arms and shrugged, allowing him to coax her from her temper.

‘Eighty year old habits.’ Edward grinned, looking slightly self-conscious. It seemed as if time did little to expand a vampire's emotional maturity.

It made sense seeing as the immortal children were also stuck at a child’s mentality.

‘Yeah I don’t think you've aged mentally since, to be honest.’ She smirked, then added, ‘No offence.’

‘None taken. Although I would like to add that I do have two graduate degrees in Medicine.’ He crossed his arms, his face reminded her of a puppy, waiting for a treat. It was so unfair how Edward’s face was able to dazzle her so easily. Who in the world was Stephanie Meyer thinking of when she wrote this damn book?

‘Huh, you can study all day for twenty four hours. I guess it makes sense. One could say you had a slight advantage…’ Y/N cheeked, to which Edward playfully hummed. He jokingly took a step forward, his hands poised.

‘Why you cheeky little..’ He sneaked forward as Y/N stepped backwards with an impish smile.

‘Shouldn’t I get a headstart?’

‘I would, but if I'm being honest. I'm afraid you'll get lost or trip over something…’ With that he blurred to Y/N’s side, gently snatching her up by the waist and spinning her around.

‘So I think I'm going to just keep you right here with me.’ He flashed a grin, his teeth sparkling in the sunlight.

‘Honestly if you glittered the same way in the moonlight, I could use you as a torch.’ Y/N blinked, she poked his forehead with a finger, awkwardly dangling from his gentle hold.

‘Wow, you are exceptional.’ Edward closed his eyes, breathing in deeply with a wistful smile.

Y/n was miffed, ‘Whadd’ya mean?’ She mumbled, as Edward set her down, kneeling on the ground.

‘Get on, we’re going home.’

‘It’s like five o'clock.’ Y/N protested, nudging Edward over with her foot to which he chuckled, playing along.

‘You need dinner. We’re going home so I can drive us.’

‘Can’t I have more pasta?’ Y/N mumbled, climbing back onto Edward’s back, hands around his neck, brushing her thumbs over his cool skin. Edward hummed pleasantly as Y/N mushed her warm cheek into his back.

‘Hmm, I could have that arranged.’ He said, shifting her weight. ‘Close your eyes.’

The trip back lasted less than ten seconds. They reached the familiar window, landing on it as Y/N flitted her eyelids open. The sun was beginning to set, casting a breathtaking orange glow across the horizon.

‘They made pasta without us even asking.’ Edward gave a light chuckle, setting Y/N down smoothly.

‘I love your family. Can I marry them?’ Y/N joked, skipping through the door, next to Edward as he led them to the kitchen.

‘No one but me is single in my family.’ He smirked, looking down at her, ‘You’d be marrying me.’

‘Hm, I’d have to think about that.’ Y/N mused, putting her chin between her thumb and index finger. ‘You do have all the qualities that matter in this day and age.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Money, good looks and youth.’

‘I’m glad to know you think I’m good looking.’

‘What am I? Blind?’ Y/N laughed, reaching the kitchen, smelling the same delicious scent as this morning.

‘Welcome back!’ Alice called from the table.

The Cullen's were all sitting around the dining table, behind the kitchen island. On the marble white table was a single plate of spaghetti with a set of utensils.

‘Is that for me?’ Y/N smiled gleefully, keenly looking at the plate.

‘Of course,’ Rosalie answered, pulling out a chair. ‘Come sit.’

‘So, has Edward told you everything?’ Carlisle smiled, both his elbows on the table, his hands clasped. Y/N picked up her fork and replied,

‘Well, mainly everything but…’ Y/N brought the food to her mouth and chewed.

‘I told her everything she asked.’ Edward frowned

‘Well, one thing I want to know more about is why he says that he can’t stand to be near or away from me.’ Y/N said, after swallowing her mouthful of food.

‘Well, you’re what we would call, his blood singer.’ Carlisle began explaining. ‘Your blood entices him more than any other, your scent is the most appealing to him in any situation.’

‘So, what I’m like a drug to him?’ Y/N blinked, twirling her pasta with her fork.

‘Yes, you’re like my personal brand of cocaine.’ Edward answered, resting his elbow on the table, head resting on his closed fist.

‘That’s… interesting?’ Y/N looked disgruntled, continuing to eat her food.

The conversation took a lull, the Cullens deciding to discuss their plans for an upcoming hunting trip. Meaning that the sun would be out soon.

As soon as Y/N had finished her plate, she spoke up,

‘Just one last thing… If there are vampires, do werewolves exist? ’ Y/N raised her eyebrows quizzically, standing to put her plate in the sink.

‘I’m afraid that's something you’ll have to ask the people you’re thinking about.’ Carlisle said in a grim tone. His perfect statue face, carved in an ironic, stony expression. It seemed as if he already knew where she was going with that question.

‘Okay, thank you Dr Cullen.’ Y/N nodded, as Edward moved to take her plate to the sink, slipping it from her grip.

‘Carlisle is fine. We aren’t at the hospital. Besides, I think we’re past the point of titles don’t you think?’ He smiled, standing from the table. ‘I assume Edward will be driving you home?’

‘Yes sir!’ Y/N nodded, before correcting herself. ‘I mean, Yes Dr- I mean, yes Carlisle.’ She fumbled, wringing her hands nervously.

The Cullen family were getting too friendly. What was Y/N going to do when they met Bella? She was the main character after all. And what was she supposed to do about Jacob? He had to imprint on Bella and Edward’s daughter, that was his story line wasn’t it?

As Y/N spiraled in her head. The rest of the family chuckled, saying their goodbyes as they one by one stepped out of the room.

‘I haven’t said this in almost a century but, a penny for your thoughts?’ Edward smiled gently, leading her by the waist.

‘Just thinking about what will happen to me when you eventually get sick of me.’ Y/N word vomited, looking at Edward in a slight panic.

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Edward frowned, eyebrows furrowed, looking mildly disturbed.

‘Well, won't the novelty of you not being able to read my mind wear off at some point?’ Y/N shook her head, picking at skin on her hands.

‘I’m sorry but even if I can't hear your mind, your facial expressions speak louder than words.’ Edward’s marble hands closed over Y/N’s fidgeting ones.

‘You speak without words sometimes, I like that you're so open.’ He whispered, his golden eyes were glittering, lit up by the lamps inside the corridor.

‘So you’ll still be my friend if I'm not the only one you can't hear?’ Y/N stared at her covered hands. Edward’s skin was freezing but comforting all the same.

‘Also, do you guys need lights? Don't you guys have night vision?’ She looked up abruptly while Edward in turn, stared at her incredulously.

‘Where on earth does your mind go in between thinking I'm going to abandon you and asking me questions I’m not expecting?’

‘I think about getting a dog too sometimes.’

‘Hm, I’m not too fond of dogs myself.’ Edward grimaced, looking as if he knew something she didn’t. The family called out their goodbyes from their rooms as Y/N walked by.

‘Why? Puppies are cute and they love you so much! Y’know beside the fact that they kinda stink and you have to clean up their poop.’ Y/N hummed, pulling her shoes on and tying up the laces.

‘Well, we can get one someday if you’d like.’ Edward smiled, offering his hand again to lead her to the car.

‘Huh? What am I? Gonna marry you?’ Y/N teased. ‘Planning our future already? You haven’t even taken me on a date yet!’

‘I just took you to meet my family. What do you think that was?’ Edward gave a humoured laugh guiding Y/N into her seat.

‘Huh?’ Y/N blanched, eyes bug-wide and mouth open in complete confusion.

‘You couldn’t tell?’ He chuckled, gazing at the shell shocked girl with affection. Edward was leaning over Y/N, his arm bracing his form on the open car door.

Y/N shook her head, mouth snapping shut.

‘I can slow down if you’d like.’ Edward grinned, eyes crinkling at the edges warmly.

‘Huh?!’ Y/N was not processing this at all.

‘But I have no intention of stopping unless you explicitly tell me to.’ Edward gently closed the car door and blurred over to the opposite side, opening the door and sliding in perfectly.

Y/N stared at Edward, unable to comprehend the current conversation.

‘You like me?’ She asked for the third time, not believing her ears.

However, to Edwards credit. He took the questions all in stride as a true gentleman.

‘Why me?’ She asked the first new question in five minutes.

‘You’re kind, you’re emotionally mature and you’re not easily shaken. Not only that, you make it so that I don't hate myself.’ Edward shrugged, one hand on the wheel, his head resting on the other hand curled into a fist. He was doing very little to hide the smile on his face.

‘We’ve only known each other since Friday! ’

‘That is true.’ He hummed, shifting his gaze onto her with a tender smile. ‘But I can’t exactly help it. Once one of our kind forms an attachment to someone, it only snowballs from there really.’ His smile turned apologetic.

‘Does it have something to do with having a perfect memory?’ Y/N asked, suddenly interested in this new information.

‘Something like that.’ Edward looked back toward the road. ‘For example, this afternoon, I will remember for the rest of my life. From the way your voice blended perfectly with the forest birds. To the way your eyes were illuminated by the setting sun.’

Edward gave a content sigh before turning the car to park in front of Charlie’s driveway.

‘Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could forget that.’ He closed his eyes, breathing deeply for a second before opening his eyes again.

‘How are you single?’ Y/N gave him a dubious look to which he snorted.

‘I’m actively trying to change that status with you right now.’ He opened the drivers-sided car door and whisked over to Y/N in a flash.

‘Edward…’ Y/N sighed, as the boy opened her door and held out his hand.

‘I didn’t tell you to pressure you Y/N.’ Edward hummed, leading her toward the front door.

‘I did it so you know I’m not going to randomly abandon you as you so fear. I hate that you think I'm so fickle. That is something I'll have to work on.' He gave her a chaste kiss on her forehead, giving her ample time to pull away. Time that Y/N did not take. Edward’s lips were cold and smooth on her skin, like nothing she had ever felt before.

Before she could speak, the front door was flung open by a disgruntled Charlie.

‘Seven Thirty on the dot huh.’ Charlie's eyebrow lifted into a perfect arch.

‘Yes Chief Swan.’ Edward gave him a polite smile, squeezing Y/N’s hand gently before relinquishing her. ‘I’ll see you soon Y/N’ He gave her an implicit look, glancing at her room for a second.

Luckily for him, it was a gaze that Charlie had missed. Instead, he was checking Y/N for any signs of possible harm before ushering her back inside, almost not letting her wave goodbye to Edward.

‘How was it? Did the boy treat you well?’ Charlie spitfired questions as Y/N shrugged off her jacket.

‘He was a gentleman! His family was very gracious and we had pasta for dinner.’ Y/N laughed, amused by the fatherly instincts that were currently on display.

‘Enough about me, is Bella here?’ Y/N peered into the kitchen, spotting an empty table and chair.

‘She went upstairs, said she wanted to unpack after dinner. I could knock on her door?’ Charlie looked unsure of what to do. He wanted both the girls to get along but he wasn't sure how.

‘It’s okay, I’m sure she’ll say hello in the morning!’ Y/N gave Charlie a reassuring pat on the back before moving to go upstairs.

‘I’ll see you in the morning?’ She smiled.

‘Yeah sounds like a plan, Goodnight kiddo.’

‘G’night Uncle Charlie.’ Y/N called out, trekking her way up the stairs.

Y/N glanced at the door on the far end of the hallway before shaking her head and opening her own door.

‘What is that smell?’ a voice whispered, starling Y/N.

‘What the-’

‘I did say see you soon.’ The musical voice replied cheekily.

‘Seriously though, your house smells like rotten fruit and white chocolate. I hate white chocolate.’ Edward growled, grabbing a pillow and nuzzling his face into it. Y/N took note of how he relaxed when he seemingly inhaled into the pillow.

‘Are you sniffing my pillow…’

‘I CAN’T HELP IT! YOUR HOUSE SMELLS TERRIBLE!’ He whisper-yelled in a whiny voice.

‘I think you might be smelling Charlie's daughter, Bella Swan…’

‘Seven hells she stinks.’ Edward groaned, unhanding the pillow and pulling Y/N's arm, allowing her to fall onto his lap. He nudged his cold nose into her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

‘Just for a second, please. Need to clear my nose.’ He huffed, his nose barely grazing the nape of her neck.

‘This seems normal for teenagers.’ Y/N mumbled, her cheeks feeling hot. ‘Also are you sitting on my bed with outside clothes? Her voice took on a stern tone.

‘Mm I’ll change your sheets for you.’ Edward’s eyes fluttered open, his eyelashes ticking Y/N’s skin. ‘Are they in that closet?’ He jutted out his thumb.

‘Uh huh. I’m gonna change. If you peek I will scream and Charlie will shoot you. You won’t die but it’ll hurt.’ Y/N pointed, before grabbing some clothing from the opened closet and walking into the bathroom.

‘Feisty one aren’t ya?’ Edward snickered, pulling off her covers and starting to swap out her sheets.

It was now nine and Y/N had settled into her sheets, allowing Edward to slide in with her. He had gone home and changed his clothing in about ten seconds.

Unbeknownst to Y/N he had literally torn off his shirt in such a hurry.

She was leaning into his side, his arm resting on her bed frame.

‘You’re not going to watch me sleep are you?’ Y/N wrinkled her nose.

‘No, I would never do that without your permission.’ Edward shook his head, his tone insistent. ‘I only came up here because I wanted to wish you goodnight before tomorrow.’ He sat up straighter, looking panicked.

‘I was joking.’ Y/N laughed quietly, nudging him with her elbow. ‘Now go home so your family doesn’t think I put out on the first date.’

‘They wouldn’t think that. They adore you, Alice and Rosalie especially. Rosalie thinks you’re cute and Alice wants to take you shopping.’ Edward sighed, slipping off her bed and straightening up his clothes.

‘Huh, I knew i should’a dressed better…’ Y/N frowned, looking back at her closet.

‘You would look great in a trash bag.’

‘Why the flying fuck would I be wearing a trash bag.’

‘Good point.’ Edward smiled.

‘Until good morrow my dear kind sir.’

‘I bid thee a fine farewell fair lady.’ Edward gave a small bow, hand over his heart, eyes lowered.

‘Close the window on your way out Edward.’ Y/N rolled her eyes, sliding back into her bed.

‘Sweet dreams Y/N/N.’ He winked, sliding smoothly out of her window and shutting it quietly. With a final wave, Edward dropped with a soft almost unnoticeable whump leaving Y/N alone in her room.

‘What a day.’ Y/N mumbled, turning off her lamp.

EDIT-

OK SO IDK I kind of want to write out Bella, I think as a character she isn't quite as developed (Stephanie Meyer kind of self inserted so.... She's pretty one dimensional making it kind of hard to write unless I make her my own character.) So lmk what you think? Sorry it took so long! I'm going to the doctors today so I thought i might as well show you guys what I have for chapter five! Follow the post if you want to see the updates! (you can unfollow after I've updated! Tag lists are beyond me-) (p.s if you comment I'll probably @ you when I've updated!)

#edward cullen x reader #edward cullen #twilight saga x reader #twilight x reader #twilight x you #twilight saga #The twilight saga x reader

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pwnyta · 2 months ago

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....CONTINUING MY EVO AU (0 0)...

I was thinking about what power Maria would have (if any at all but decided YES she should)

Her EVO power is to swap powers with others. Her ability was the basis of GUNs bio augmentation project. Because she is so important to their studies with a connection to another EVO (Gerald) partner in their project she kinda gets her way a lot... which results in her befriending Shadow (and also getting him new clothes which is what he wears in the other pics).

(Minor side note I forgot to mention that EVOs can have weird hair/eye colors OR normal ones but NonEVOs have normal hair/eye colors. For instance- Ivo actually has a weird unnatural red-orange for his hair that he dyes black earlier on cuz hes a little self-conscious about it. Marias hair is also a unnatural bright yellow. Stone has a normal hair/eye situation (as does Maddie... Whos EVO power is healing touch OBVIOUSLY. Tom is NonEVO.))

AND GERALD... Honestly GUN would probably rather have killed him than keep him around but he is the main and majority of the brain behind their project so what can they do?

His EVO power is nullification allowing him to completely turn off others abilities and he keeps it on constantly. Much to Stone and the Badniks dismay. Not that anyone else would know if they were distressed. Stone still talks to them verbally even if they cant really communicate back.

By 'useful somewhere else' he means six feet under. Stones power is too dangerous for his plans (Also its probably a power he'd have liked to use in augmentation but everyone is gonna die anyways so who cares now).

#Pwny Sonic fanarts. I guess.#Stobotnik #...not really STOB in this pic but...'canon' in this AU

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assaultmystic-archive · 4 months ago

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ive shared this essay on tranmisogyny and nihilism with a few friends, and then realised u might as well all have it. circa 3k words. enjoy x

Apology

The complete and systematic account of transmisogyny is, of necessity, a hopeless exercise. Abjection is the mother of the totality after all. We are talking about the constitutive incompleteness of the world, the necessary impotence, the weeping lacuna of artifice that begets all things! If we theorised the whole world, we would not speak of transmisogyny once, because it is a condition on the possibility of theory, and so must be forever excepted

So, what little that follows is a betrayal. Partial by design (to let the light in) and necessity (I am tired. I am weak.), it is a betrayal nonetheless. Nothing could fail to be. So let's be honest. To theorise transmisogyny in full would be to draw borders around its extent and its diffusion. To theorise transmisogyny in full would be to construct and fortify its privileged subject -who is and is not transmisogynised. To theorise transmisogyny in full would be to tell "the transmisogynised" what to do about it. I don't want to do any of these things, and I will fail. There is no conversational path into discussion of what's possible that does not foreclose some options. We, the disinherited, conduct our peculiar miracle by fleeing down paths others cannot even see. So, take what you like and laugh when I give away my limits. Have fun.

Preliminaries

All of this is play, everything is. Nothing really matters. The real, in fact, is a mesh of overlapping consensuses that have been built not merely incidentally, but structurally, on our expulsion. There is no serious, real, or proper way to be a tranny. In fact, it remains integral to the notion of consensus as such, and reality by extension, that we are delusional in our self-articulation, paranoid in our recognisance of our exclusion, and dangerous at the point at which we express any of this. We are thus freed to recognise everything as play, for though those involved in playing out the real have their stakes in us (though they are loathe to admit it) we are disbarred from ever really holding stakes in the real. Because that's what real means.

The enshrinement of this exclusion as unreal is both necessary for the sustaining of the real as really important, but is also absolutely critical to facilitating the social character of transmisogynisation. All affordances granted to us allow us to play, however temporarily, at admission to reality. Those on the inside know we ought to be grateful for this mercy. It is particularly advisable for those who would like more sway over consensus (those who do not see themselves as having that sway already) to let us play inside sometimes. We get cold out here. Some of us get so cold we become frozen, we forget we are playing, we become unable to move, so keen on coming in that we harden into fixed things, like those inside are. But we will know no benefit for it. Even if they wanted to, they could offer us no rewards. Whether they know it or not, it is just a game.

Each magic circle that defines with its border the games of the real is drawn in our blood. Each empire and every banner they flew. Every flag. Every cause. All of it, all of it had its stakes in us. All had to eject us. We were understood to stand for nothing. For annihilation, for nullification, for endings. The family line ends here. The revolutionary project will see no children. In fact, there only was a "we" insofar as we were taken to stand for nothing. We are unified in that we are constituted by resistance to that which ejects us from the social, every social. We are unified in this alone. The trappings of inheritance, family, reproduction, legacy, futurity. What world that is, or was, or is being built could truly love the tranny? At best they'll have us die in the shadow so that their gleaming future would shine more brightly for contrast. No. We have each other. There never was a world for us, because wherever a future was believed in we threatened it in our nihilising impotence. This keeps us vital. Keeps us dangerous. Keeps us laughing.

Strategy, or, how to play

We have no interest in talking about identity independent of conversations about strategy. The way we constitute ourselves is conversationally liquid. To rebuke a tranny for their identificatory strategy is to reproduce transmisogyny, to think you know what living her circumstances might take better than she does. We call ourselves what we need to to survive the imposition of gender upon us. Recalling our movements through the social this becomes trivially obvious. Confronted each with your boss, your local tboy callout artisan, the police, a John, your mother, your ex, the gender clinic, who wouldn't call herself what she did only as an attempt to get what she wanted? When we meet others like us then, we cannot presume they know that we would love them whatever they called themselves. They might see a cop in front of them, might see a John, might worry this'll come back around - the local scene might shun a girl for calling herself a crossdresser, even as a joke (let alone for 'real'). So can they trust you? Do you intend to make that clear? But between us, once we know we are among friends, identification is about options, about imaginative flight, about the proliferation of lifeworlds bleeding from the critical harm done to us. Because what could we stand to gain by insisting that girls cannot be faggots? That boys cannot be trannies? Every should've-been-man of us has run, by herself, the labyrinthine complex of gender as domestication. Are you going to begrudge him calling himself a sissy now, after a lifetime of living in the word's shadow? Get over it! You are being invited to play, to walk through walls! Fool that you are, you cannot see the smile on the face of the trannies you claim to love while they call themselves the things you promised yourself it was really unacceptable to be. You have lost sight of the game, and now you come back to your sisters and you ask them to sober up, to get real. After all, we have cisgenders to convince, don't you know? Real people. Why, if they heard you talking like that we'd all befucked! But they are not here. Or at least, they were not here until you started doing their work for them.

There is after all, no real identity. Or, rather, the claim to a real identity is one move among others, and holds no special weight. It is special only in that it invokes the game of the real, the inside of the magic circle, to push others out. This can be great when you are having sex and a tranny tells you that you're not a real woman like her and that you should [do what she wants] about it. Otherwise it's quite fucking boring. If it happens that the world has fallen at your feet in such a way that you find labels more personal to you, that is, they feel like more than social tools for communicating how you would like to occur to others in the world, we're glad for you. Just don't expect us to feel the same. There is nothing we really are underneath this, in fact there is no need for an underneath. What good has the legitimate, the true, the valid done for any of us?

Transmisogynisation, or, how to draw a circle

A popular school of thought sees transfemininity as intentionally performed through a succession of discrete speech acts through which one establishes a relationship with womanhood while cAMAB. More simply - we identify as trans women, or as transfeminine, and so become subject to transmisogyny. This is a hangover from a history of "born this way" queer sloganeering. That we must always have been settled on the inside, and our targetting is a matter of some transfeminine essence. It's bullshit, which is no problem, but the trouble is that it's bullshit with extremely low explanatory power.

More to the point, transmisogynisation describes a matrix of concrete social and institutional processes, through which cAMAB people may become (forcibly) disidentified with masculinity, and become a part of the gendered abject. What the prevailing model correctly understands, is that some of these transmisogynising processes can be willingly submitted to. We might choose self identification as trans woman or other locally prevailing transfemininity, working “as a woman”, engagement with legal or medical apparatus of gender. However, none of these social affordances (that are deployed by social institutions to effect the circumscription of transfemininity) are free from the potential for coercion. If we want access to any of the processes described we experience pressure to present a legible transfeminine gender identity. If you do not call yourself by the terms of the locally prevailing models of transfemininity your access to social, legal or medical affordances is immediately threatened. There is immediately a pressure to be a certain kind of tranny - the institutionally respectable kind, and this pressure weighs on our self descriptions whether we know it or not. Identity, then, is always already under pressure. What would I have called myself, if I had never had to call myself anything for the sake of estrogen, or for a job, or for community? I will never know. Neither will you. What the position outlined fails to account for at all, is that many processes of transfeminisation are straightforwardly coercive, have no choice element because they are inductive abuse. We did not choose our subjection to social practices of violent harassment and exclusion based on perceived difference, for example. Did not choose to be called faggots, sissies, or retards because of the position we were being forced into of not-a-real-man. Did not choose the rape, the beating, the manipulation that othered us from manhood, carried out in sacred silent complicity over a whole lifetime. Every cis woman ex who forced you into a feminised position of permanent care is in cahoots with your dad who hit you is in cahoots with the tboys you gave a bad vibe are in cahoots with the boys in your high school changing room are in cahoots with your rapists. There was, in fact, a conspiracy to forcibly feminise you. It just wasn't glamorous, sexy, or conscious. It doesn't make sense to speak of our transmisogynisation, then, as a matter of our personal identity so much as it does of our being identified. Target lock, y'know? Maybe something gave you away, maybe it didn't. But identifying a boy who's never gonna make it is socially critical, and you were picked. Picked so other boys could differentiate themselves from you, so girls could have you and know you weren't like other boys - they could hurt you and get away with it. So your ejection from your family could be justified. Even if none of them ever once called you a tranny, they were making one of you.

All this to say, the representational force of specific visions of transfeminity cannot be substitute for solidarity along the lines of that we are transmisogynised. Personal identification, pronouns, these things are secondary - and are no substitute for attending to the specifics of our oppression. We can call ourselves what we want, but falling behind the banner of a fixed identity category just limits our solidarity, makes us rigid, makes us easier to kill.

Theory, or, giving the game away

Transmisogyny is itself transmisogynised. Like us, our oppression is always novel, always ready finallyfor a good welcoming into the fold, always unmapped, always a great way to sell a book. Yours could be the first real, definitive, proper text on transmisogyny! Imagine! Over the past decade alone (say nothing of techniques perfected in milennia gone), round after round of coordinated harassment campaign and social media clean up have left us with a legacy of articulating ourselves over and over, hashing out the same points for each new spawning. A neotenised theory, in a forced state of arrested development. Our place in history continues to be the damnatio memoriae.

The kinds of theorisation that tend to stick around share a basic structure - they are outreach oriented, interested in engaging with a "broader" feminist or queer or historical or marxist tradition. Of course the subsumption of transmisogyny as a mere articulation, a phenomena within this or that more important, more material, more real tendency follows.Theory looks to place transmisogyny on terms that others might recognise, fixing some points of reference in order to reach a presumed shared audience. The trouble of course is that now you are looking to share points of reference, an audience, with a cisfeminist, a twerf, a "transandrophobia" spewing tboy. You might tell yourself that this is only in order that you might convince the undecided, to win new people round, so they see the natural integration of the theorisation of transmisogyny into your school of thinking.

These institutionalising desires exact costs. Foremost amongst which is the need to identify a positive transfeminine subject. The identification of this subject (presently, the sID'd transgender woman) ensures that the framework shares identifiable points of reference with rival theories of gender that emerge within hegemony, in order to more legibly engage with them. Put more simply, it makes it easier to argue with the tmra, the cisfeminist, the twerf, if everybody arguing presumes themselves to already know what we’re talking about, but to just differ in attitude. Whether she's valid, whether she's more or less privileged, whether she's really a woman. Such fun!This is the process of theorisation as marketisation - an audience after all is just a cipher for a market. All debate is in fact spectacle, safely ensconced within its academic home. Irrecognisance is complicity.

By entering into the bloodsport of theory we can endlessly defer the practicalities of articulating relations between the transmisogynised that are aware of the endless hatred the real holds for us, and avoid responding to that weaponised reality lucidly. We can foreclose the conversation about what we do, so that we can settle, once and for all who we are. Of course, whoever finds themselves on the outside of our shining new identity (once we've settled it - won't take long) will perhaps lack our enthusiasm for whatever solidarity we seek to build without them after the fact.

I'll concede that I only speak in these terms (not my own) because you are my kin, and I want to reach you. I am a hypocrite. I made my apology already. I believe in you more than I ever believed in anything real, so I'm going to let you make a hypocrite of me.

For the road, or, from the sickbed

I am tired now, and quite sick. I caught what might be the flu, or might be covid the other day. Things occur to me through a thicker haze than usual. So I am going to be presumptive and pass on some things I have learned talking with my friends, as though you’ve any need.

Pay attention to the way that transmisogynisation picks at and worries received views of agency. When girls tell you that their transness is something they affirmed, they are of course right. The same girls are also right when they talk about how this was done to them. Histories are mobile, histories are strategic. Stories we tell about ourselves are social technologies. We never have to be one thing, never have to resolve (scorn anyone who tells you otherwise), we exist with contradictions of coercion and choice. We have to. What does this mean for the possibility of the transmisogynised historical “subject”? What might we have to say about the necessary diffusion of subjectivity experienced by many like us- what kinds of politics is it incompatible with?

Pay attention to the lines along which people draw their politics. What kind of insults do they use? They are telling you who is other to them. They are telling you who they do not feel they need to answer to, and so in whom the stakes of their real will be placed, alongside you. If they speak of lazy stoners wasting their time in queer organisation instead of joining this or that political project - in my opinion, they have told you more than enough. Anarchist or otherwise. These are the lines that need to be drawn so that a politics can be defined. Those who speak this way, our kin not least, hurt themselves. They do this for a cause.

Kindness is never, ever, called for. Will never be called for. It is not politically substantial. People will tell you that kindness is radical and they are wrong. People will tell you that kindness is no part of a coherent politics - not something you ever owe and they are right. You need never be kind. This is because kindness is an excess. Kindness is an inherently unjustified and unjustifiable gesture, an overabundance of care that no politics invested in its own reproduction could ask for. When you meet trannies, I would really appreciate it if you could be kind to them.

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nyxi-pixie · 8 months ago

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okayyyy ive been meaning to talk about this moment forever because i think the way i see it differs from a lot of general fandom opinion.

for context, this is from the dhc section of the dead apple manga. skk are talking about an executive who just died and dazai makes a joke about it, prompting chuuya to deck him in the face and say nobody could believe dazais human. (believe, very importantly. not that he Isnt, just that its unbelievable).

humanity is a key theme to all of bsd, but its Very explicitly central to the skk dynamic. chuuya is an intensely human character in the way that he acts and thinks, and yet! between his ability and ofc the history in the lab, it still gets called into question.

(its pretty solid that our chuuyas the real one, but thats not the point here. sb being an exploration of what it means to be human and whether Actually Being One is all that important to what you are and do, through a Distinctly human character- Thats the point. How you are being more important than what you are.)

then we have dazai on the other hand, where what he is doesnt come into question at all. Even his ability, despite its name, isnt dehumanising to an outside eye, compared to chuuyas corruption or atsushis tiger for example that can take away from their control of themselves. its the how he is, in contrast to chuuya, that comes into question with dazai. he very consistently holds himself outside of humanity both implicitly (through self isolation - shipping container being an extreme example) and explicitly (dead apple dazai talking about humanity as an Outside Observer. he is Not including himself as one of them).

When we are encouraged to doubt his humanity, its dazai Telling us to. he deliberately poses himself as inhuman because he FEELS it. and the dhc moment to me has always felt like chuuya seeing through it and calling his bullshit. Dazais making light of a death to be a dick, to push chuuyas buttons, but also because hes got this constant need to present the worst possible version of himself.

actually if you look at the panels of him when hes talking about the guy being dead, just before he gets dramatic ridiculous exaggerated dazai about it, he doesnt seem to think of it so lightly

(smthn smthn dazai imposter syndrome. the need to deny any of his more human qualities because he feels they dont Fit him. and the links w his questions to atsushi at the beginning and end, his bs 'do i really seem like the type of guy to do x thing'.)

chuuya says hes acting inhuman, that his humanity isnt something people will believe because of the way he ACTS. and then chuuya does an example of his own Chuuya Humanity Act, an act of service for the people he cares about in the form of going to solve the situation himself. AND. ultimately, dazai ends up planning around this later to lead chuuya straight to him so the two of them can deal with it together.

skk pretty consistently ground eo to humanity. dazai through nullification/corruption, but outside of their abilities too (its the thought of dazai - more specifically, not thinking like him - that stops chuuya from killing N in stormbringer and denying verlaines assertion that he shouldnt have been born). and on the flipside, chuuya is part of the reason dazai doesnt khs during or after fifteen. dazais protecting people thing really starts out with chuuya. and again, chuuya makes it his business to call dazai on his shit. (even right the way back in chapter 31 of the main manga, we have that interaction over Q, with dazai saying he spared them only for self serving logical reasons, and chuuya saying he doesnt buy it).

this to me has always felt like part of that. its not 'youre not human', its 'the way you act makes it unbelievable that you are'. its an invitation to prove he is by doing something Real, something worth more than sleeping there til he dies.

and dazai does.

#theres also something to be said abt the fact that chuuya only even has the chance to refute dazai calling himself human bc dazai is talking #abt both of them. im human TOO. theres no reason to have added that #dazai just quite consistently calls chuuya human even when it makes his speech kinda clunky #idk just smt ive found interesting that i will continue reading probably too much into.#but yeah!! chuuya dazai!humanity denialisms are not quite what people seem to be agreed upon? at least thats not how the scene reads to me #certainly not in the context of dead apple as a whole or just. the skk dynamic as a whole.#but yk🤷‍♀️ maybe i am reading things with my insane goggles on #soukoku #skk #analysis #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #bsd and humanity

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starlightshadowsworld · 3 months ago

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The only way I’d want a light novel from Dazai’s perspective is if it got self aware with it.

It follows a typical day in the Agency but from Dazai’s perspective. It seems normal enough well for Dazai at least but there’s something off about it.

You’re getting Dazai’s commentary on what’s going on but nothing else.

You’re not actually hearing his actual thoughts.

And somewhere along the line you realise that Dazai is very much aware of your presence. To him your someone trying to infiltrate his mind.

Probably not an ability user because his nullification has no exceptions. We’re something else, something beyond. And Dazai takes this all as a challenge.

He looks out the window and smiles, you hear hear his thoughts for one of the only times in the book.

It’s simply “hello there”

The only people who realise something is up are Atsushi and Ranpo.

The former asks Dazai if he’s okay because he’s acting weirder than usual. Dazai grins and says he’s all good, lamenting to us for a moment that Atsushi’s growing day by day.

And the latter looks Dazai in the eye for a moment before cryptically telling him to be careful. To which Dazai promises he will and almost side eyes us like well you heard him.

There’s a typical Agency mystery going on and if depending on whether you can solve it, you’re presented with 2 endings.

The first is Dazai at the end of the day surrounded by the Agency. The case was a bust but they’re all in good spirits. Lifting each other up and going out together.

Dazai gleefully tells us to not try again next time.

The second is Dazai alone in the office. Every one else has left to go celebrate a job well done, he says he’ll be down in a moment. He smiles, melancholic and a heavy look in his eyes.

He gets to his feet and just before he exists the office he says to us “I hope it was worth it.”

It connects back to the plot by having the first ending be about an ability user Fyodor had try to learn Dazai’s secrets and failing.

And the second ending being Beast Dazai successfully reading Bsd Dazai’s memories.

#idk #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd dazai #dazai osamu

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 1 year ago

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I’m just going to throw down my thoughts now real quick. Someone is obviously going to get taken over by Fyodor. This takeover seems to require blood to activate. Here are the potential options, rated lowest to highest by my own personal interest.

Random character we’ve never met - the easy and boring answer. Fyodor will body snatch one of the vampire guards he was communicating with. Fair amount of likelihood since he could easily have made the transfer of blood at any point, though I’m not sure yet if it needs to be an instantaneous thing or if his blood can lie dormant. Either way I think it’s a bit of an ass-pull with no stakes on our cast so I’m hoping this isn’t the case.

A named character outside Meursault - Probably someone he’s had a lot of contact with, so Fukuchi. This depends on the blood having a latency period and is also insanely contrived. I actually hate it more than the random guard.

The Catgirl thief - I’m assuming this is extremely unlikely since the host needs to be alive. But anyways. Women lovers here’s how we lose even worse.

Having said this now, I think it’s fairly obvious it has to be one of the other Meursault four. This is appropriately thematic and tragic, given that all of them place a lot of value on free will and self-determination, which a takeover by Fyodor would rob them of.

Chuuya - He spent a lot of time around Chuuya to be sure but there’s no blood on him. If there’s a latency period though, it is possible. I’m not feeling this one though, to be honest. I don’t see what narrative purpose it serves - Chuuya hasn’t had enough of a role in the manga for this to mean much, other than royally pissing Dazai off (which to be fair is definitely in character for Fyodor). I think it far more likely that Chuuya is going to be a witness for whatever comes next.

Sigma - High likelihood. He did get stabbed and had the memory transfer. I can’t remember whether Fyodor touched him with his wounded hand. It would be brutal for this to happen to him after he’d just broken free from his manipulation. But honestly I don’t know that Sigma getting taken over is all that interesting. For one, they’re going to need his knowledge (though that may be a reason for Fyodor to off him truthfully), and for another, I just don’t think Sigma’s… done enough as a character. I feel it would kind of render his arc in Meursault pointless to end his story here.

Nikolai - The most likely possibility to me. He is holding Fyodor’s severed hand, which he touched to his face. Fyodor’s ability probably kickstarts after his death, and Nikolai was the first to get his blood on him. Sadly, I suspect that if this is the case, this will be the end for Nikolai. If he gets taken over, I can’t see a reason or method to restore him to himself. What a horribly tragic end this would be to our favourite clown, his freedom snatched away for good by the one person he couldn’t help but get attached to.

Dazai - I dismissed this off-hand at first. Of course I did, Dazai is immune to abilities. I also want to be clear that I seriously doubt Asagiri will off his favourite boy like this. But oh man. What if Fyodor’s ability isn’t an ability, much like in the first skk manga team up? What if them both being there is a call-back to Rimbaud who snatched corpses, and Lovecraft who could hurt Dazai? What if Fyodor really has become no longer human - and this is the proof? I was kind of hoping the Meursault arc would end with Dazai (temporarily!) out of the picture, and this would be a way to do it - Atsushi and Akutagawa would have to step up, Chuuya could be more relevant. We could even have more Kyouka if what I’m starting to wonder is true - that Fyodor was involved in the death of her parents. At the same time, Dazai’s special boy plot armour nullification and mysteriousness gives us a plausible reason to bring him back. And all the while maybe they could continue their mind games, with Dazai being an annoying little pest in the back of Fyodor’s mind.

#I’m screaming asagiri please give us bad ending #also I think chuuya would rapidly lose the idgaf war if he saw dazai being taken over like that which is. just a bonus for me.#realistically though my money’s on nikolai. sorry jester man I think you might be doomed :(#bsd #storyrambles #bsd meta #bsd chapter 114 #bsd spoilers #bsd fyodor #bsd chuuya #bsd sigma #bsd nikolai #bsd dazai

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dalishthunder · 3 months ago

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魔羅と菩薩: Mara and the Bodhisattva

Chapter 1: An Auspicious Day

AO3 Link: 魔羅と菩薩: Mara and the Bodhisattva

Pairing: Sukuna/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Words: 7.2k

CW: Smut, Dubcon, mentions of cannibalism, violence

Mountain air once pure, carried the heady scent of ash, the cries and screams that rang out in the town below only barely breaking the silence of the monastery halls; Untouched by all of the mayhem. There was something almost poetic about that, wasn’t there…. Buddha’s stillness speaking louder than his compassion as though he sat above it all, untouched.

Flames licked around Sukuna’s fingers as he walked, the vines that carpeted the stone floor charring where he stepped. He would level the town from the temple’s roof, watching the fires spread throughout the countryside.

A message.

A reminder.

Neither god nor mortal stood above him.

Neither god nor mortal was safe from his wrath.

Ryomen Sukuna alone, was to be feared.

Through the windows he could see them fleeing to the woods like insects scurrying from an overturned rock. As if that would protect them. His tongue f licked over his teeth.

It was going to be a massacre.

He breathed deep, the incense they used in temples was always of such fine quality. Perhaps he would take that for himself after tearing down every last Buddha. His fingers brushed against one as he passed it, scorching its vapid, smiling face.

The hall opened up to the central prayer chamber, light filtering in from the tall windows to illuminate the massive statue on the far wall. A lone figure standing in front of it as though waiting for him.

“Don’t you know that the boughs that bear most, hang lowest?” Voice low and steady, there was a defiance there; A confidence rarely found in those who bore the full weight of his gaze.

“I can’t help but notice you hold your head quite high,” The king of curses tilted his head in answer to your call.

Eyes steely and cold, you adopted a defensive stance, “And still yet lower than yours.”

Sukuna chuckled , your robes, white and plain denoted someone of faith . Perhaps a local priest… that would make the most sense. Your cursed energy flowed with a regularity usually saved for curse users or sorcerers. Interesting, though it wasn’t uncommon for the religious to exorcise curses, it did not change the fact that you were little more than a thin piece of rice paper waiting to be turned to ash .

“ Do you even know who you’ re speak ing with, Priest?”

Your expression did not change, voice did not waver as you lifted your chin. “ Do you? ”

The incredulous laugh that fell from his lips bounced off the stone walls, echoing through the halls .

When was the last time someone had had the absolute gall to speak to him that way…?

“ I think you could stand to be cut down a notch,” With a lazy flick of the wrist, he intended to slice through your ankles. It would be fun watching you writhe around on the ground like the worm you were . Helplessly watching as he tore the temple down.

Devouring you in front of your gods before toppling the mountains themselves for your insolence .

But despite seeing the slashes clearly, you still stood before him as though it were nothing to you.

His grin widened, eyes narrowed as he aimed another at your neck.

“ Is this what your wicked deeds have amounted to? Or have I been misled on the power of the great Ryomen Sukuna . ” That self-righteous look had not left your face just has your head had not left your shoulders .

A manic cackle bubbled in his throat.

This was about to get interesting.

He circled you, eyes watching you intently as he flicked another dismantle at you followed by a cleave . And the strangest thing happened; You reached your hand for it as though you’d be able to block it… and it somehow, you did.

Damage nullification? A defensive technique for a pacifist. How boring.

He lunged, slashing at your stomach, but you redirected his force with a brief touch of your hand, spinning around so that you faced his back, adjusting your stance.

Perhaps not true damage nullification then… if it were, you probably would have taken the hit head on.

Immediately, he leapt up, closing the distance once more, grabbing onto your robes to throw you at the wall only for you to twist, redirecting the momentum and slipping through the air, kicking at his face only for him to block. The force was greater than he anticipated though nothing extraordinary. What was more interesting was the lack of cursed energy behind it .

“ You’ll need more than those pathetic little smacks to do anything to me.”

You landed on your feet, blocking the next few punches with open palms, twisting and turning. It was impossible not to notice the circular pattern to your movements, or that you mostly spent your time defending. But with each hit you didn’t seem to tire, if anything that determined expression only persevered. Though each time your palm touched him to redirect the flow of his attack, it seemed as though the energy behind it was… drawn out anyway.

Sukuna hopped back with a delighted cackle, “Can you do anything other than defend, Priest? It’s getting old rather quick, so I think I’ll just burn you with the rest of the temple. ”

Flames licked up his hands as he formed an arrow.

“■ Open.”

As the words left his lips, fingers releasing, you lunged forward, hand outstretched as it met his fire. But instead of burning you, you seemed to absorb it into your body and immediately grabb ed his hand.

Cursed energy absorption…. Far more interesting than just damage nullification or mitigation. The pulls on his cursed energy had been real then. It must have only been your socks that had been cut, though it seemed you had to have some contact in order to absorb the energy.

Was it automatic?

The world spun as he felt himself being thrown to the ground, your other open palm rushing to meet his face. Your cursed energy was far greater than it was just a second ago, not enough to end him, but certainly enough that it would hurt if it hit.

He raised an arm to shield himself, catching your blow just below his elbow.

At least you were fighting back now, and with a potentially interesting technique-

Sukuna’s mind went blank as your palm made contact with his muscle, cursed energy tearing through him, rupturing his flesh. The pain was excruciating as he watched his arm burst, bathing him in his own blood and bone.

There was a second of hesitation, something in your eyes flickering.

“Renounce your ways, walk the middle path, and I will let you leave. No one need die today.” Your cadence was smooth, pleasant to listen to.

Your screams of pain would probably just as pleasant when he killed you.

A laugh bubbled in his throat as he turned his lower right eye to survey the stump that was left of that arm. It was all gone, in puddles on his kimono, all over your white robes, all the way up to his mid bicep. The pain was exquisite .

When had someone hurt him last?

Four years ago now? An assassin from the Toh had managed to pierce his liver, but nothing like this. That a random Buddhist priest in a small temple in a remote village could have such devastating power.

His grin turned feral.

“ Priest, you wound me . You really think this is enough to stop me? ” His hand whipped up to grab your neck, smacking your head down into the stone, rolling to his feet and grabbing you in a throw. “Do you think so little of me?”

Your back collided with the wall, a cry of pain escaping your lips, but you still managed to twist out of the way as he went to finish you off, palms deflecting his punches as you spun around him, elbow digging into the hollow of his back with that same bite as before though less power. But something for sure had ruptured, the taste of iron on his tongue as he whipped around.

Blood dripped down your face, coating almost the entire right side, and you wiped your eye, smearing both his and your own across your skin and sleeve. “ My offer stands.”

Sukuna narrowed his eyes as he smirked, “ Can you do it, priest? Can you kill me? ”

He lunged forward again, feinting a left jab as you before striking from the right. It just grazed your robe as you again redirected it. Your hand made contact with his skin again as you swirled around him, his energy following the flow of your movements as your fingers brushed across his back. But he was ready for it this time, kicking back, foot hitting you square in the gut.

He had expected you to go flying from the blow, but the cursed energy you’d absorbed seemed to have reinforced the area. Immediately your fingers wrapped around his ankle, drawing cursed energy from him with intent.

It didn’t take much effort to shake you off, but the cursed energy inside of you had grown in intensity; Circulating throughout your body like blood. Sukuna renewed his onslaught with vigor. He could kill you, right then and there. You bled like any other flesh and blood creature.

But when was the last time that he’d had this much fun?

“ Do it! Kill me! ” His raucous laughter echoed through the monastery, rolling down the mountain. “ Don’t you want to save those beetles scuttling around outside? If you don’t kill me here, I’ll kill again! ”

Dismantle and Cleave tore through the air around you, nicking your clothes, scouring the stones that made up the monastery, but your skin remained unscathed. A nd he laughed again, throwing his head back, enjoying the way you fought back, the way your energy bit into him as you struck back.

You were fast. Cursed energy enhancing your movements and reinforcing you, and for each bit spent, you took more from him. But even so, you r wounds began to accumulate and compound , the fight was catching up to you.

One last punch sent you flying into the Buddha statue, cracks sprouting in the stone as you fell prone. You weren’t moving, but your cursed energy still flowed, body shaking as you struggled to breathe. You’d lasted far longer than he’d imagined, and he idly wondered how far the townspeople had gotten. Not that they were of any particular consequence to him anymore….

He almost felt sated.

Almost.

“Get up, Priest,” He drawled, each of his four eyes trained on your prone form. His lips curled lazily over his teeth in a grin as he made his way towards you. “I know you’re not dead yet.”

Your limbs were heavy, head obviously still swimming from the collision as you struggled to push yourself to your feet, swallowing down your anger, you looked up at him…. It was evident from the way your lips pursed that your stomach fell as he held out his arm, flesh bubbling and stitching itself back together again as though it were nothing to him. Hands raised, poised to strike, you took a defensive stance, “Then I am not finished with you yet.”

He barked a laugh, crimson eyes ablaze, “ Finished with me? That’s the spirit, Priest, that’s the spirit ! ”

H e wiggled his fingers as he knit them back into existence, laughing at the taste of iron on his tongue… it had been so long since anyone had drawn his blood let alone this amount .

Who knew a nobody priest in this backwater mountain town could pack such power….

Defiance still radiated off of you as you glared at him, and he would have been lying if he said it did nothing for him. There were so many ways to break you.

There was of course, the straightforward physical way… your flesh bruised and bones splintered just as they would for any other human.

Snap you in half…?

No. Boring.

Rip you apart limb from limb, slowly pulling until your tendons gave way from their sockets?

Slowly he circled you, savoring the taste of his own blood on his lips, the ache from where you’d bruised him.

Fun, but not fitting .

Sukuna couldn’t help the giddy laugh that poured from his throat as he watched you, studying him as closely as he was studying you no doubt. Waiting for an opening .

He could already feel the delicious pull of his cursed energy as you dragged it out from his pores.

Eat you alive, drinking your blood as your heart pumped it out?

Not quite… though he was sure your flesh would be delicious.

“ Tell me your name, Priest. ”

You continued to watch him, shifting to always watch him with that exquisite expression on your face. Calculating. Defiant. It was exactly twelve seconds before you answered.

Collapsing the temple on top of you, allowing the stone to crush you into paste?

No…. That would be a waste.

“Why do you need to know my name, Ryomen Sukuna?”

Your voice was measured, cad e nce slow.

Wary? …No. You’d used his full name. Your words were c arefully measured to delay his ransacking of the village; Giving more time to the maggots and whelps escape.

You loved them, didn’t you?

Disgusting .

“ I like you, Priest. I want to say your name before I kill you.”

“I am not a priest - ”

His smile faltered, “Semantics. I know you’re stalling.” It took a single bound to close the gap between the two of you, reaching for your face only to have his hand smacked away, the bite of your cursed energy working through his veins. Your other hand swooping to strike at his side. You were slowing though…. Tired.

He should probably stop that before it hit.

But the blooming, sharp pain when your cursed energy had hit the last time was near euphoric….

Only the tip of your finger grazed him as he caught your wrist, letting out a low groan as you just barely nicked him. One of his eyes glanced down to confirm the purple blush of his skin where you touched him.

Flay you alive and feed you your own skin?

No. He’d been doing a lot of that lately, you deserved something more fitting, something he didn’t do so frequently ….

Carve your heart out and eat it like an apple in front of you?

Maybe…. That one felt promising.

His grasp on your wrists tightened, two of his arms pulling them above your head until only the tips of your toes touched the ground. He squeezed your cheeks until you looked like a fish. A very angry fish, and he grinned again, leaning in until his nose was just brushing yours. “I am in a very good mood right now, Priest, so I will give you another chance; Tell me your name. ”

Puncture your liver and watch you slowly bleed out on the tiles of the now ruined temple?

You could make a magnificent corpse, but no…. That one didn’t feel right either.

You jerked your head, catching one of his fingers and biting hard enough to draw blood, and he let out a breathy chuckle as he watched his blood drip from your lips before you spat your name at hi m. Eyes so full of determination and defiance.

He savored the way your name felt in his mouth as he repeated it back to you, “You should be honored .”

The fingers of his fourth hand gripped your ch e eks again, holding your head in place as he smeared his blood on your lips, little droplets falling onto your tattered white robes as you tried to pull away. He increased the pressure until your mouth was forced open and he slid the bloody digit in, coating your tongue as you gagged and thrashed in his grasp .

His eyelids fluttered leaning in, breath tickling your ear. “ Swallow. ”

You just thrashed harder, and he shifted, holding your wrists in one hand as the one now freed wrapped around your throat. “It’s not often I bleed,” He chuckled again, low and dangerous. “So savor this taste, and swallow… or I’ll hunt down every last villager and devour them in front of you.”

The muscles flexed in your neck as you complied after a few seconds, your tongue warm and wet against his skin as it slid between his fingers. His grip tightened experimentally.

Slowly squeeze the life out of you as you struggled for breath, your small fingers scrabbling against his wrists ?

Tempting.

He pushed his fingers further into your mouth, reveling in the way you gagged. And as he pressed closer, his eyes widened, grin splitting his face, a croaking chuckle in his throat.

You may have been a Buddhist, but your throat didn’t match the title .

“You’ve been holding out on me, Priest.” Releasing your neck , you gasped around his fingers, and he trailed his hand curiously down your body, sliding it into your robe.

People could be broken without killing them.

Immediately he felt his cursed energy being pulled from him in full force as you resumed your struggle with renewed vigor, biting down on the two fingers in your mout h . And then you twisted, kick catching him in the ribs as you gripped his hand. It wasn’t anywhere near the explosive power that you’d hit him with earlier, but it was enough to elicit a deep groan as he flung you against the wall again .

“ Keep it up, Priest, you’re the most entertainment I’ve had in a while. ” He cracked his neck, grin never once faltering as he admired the deep purple bruising on his hand. The blood on his claws sang to him, and he brought it to his tongue appreciatively before closing the distance before you could get to your feet and grabbing you around the throat once more. Your eyes met his, determination and defiance still sparking within them. “ So, I think I’ll keep playing with you until I grow bored.”

Sukuna’s words trailed off as he heard footsteps echoing through the cavernous prayer room.

At least 4 different sets, maybe five….

Jujutsu Sorcerers? No, the cursed energy coming from them didn’t feel anywhere near refined enough for that.

Your eyes drifted, panic evident as you focused on the doorway behind him, voice hoarse as you hissed out, “ Get out of here you idiots ! ”

He grinned as he looked over his shoulder.

Five….

This was going to be fun.

“ Bodhisattva! We came back for y-”

With a lazy flick of the wrist, one of the monks’ flesh was shredded to ribbons before he could even finish his sentence . Sukuna’s eyes lit up at your horror, your scrambling against him as you called out the m onk’s name.

He turned to face them all.

Love.

Love was easily manipulated.

“ I don’t remember inviting onlookers, but I am in a very good mood. So if you behave,” The King of Curses cackled, “I might let you live.”

The fear radiating off of them was intoxicating.

“ Kneel. ”

They fell to their knees, as all good monks should, and he turned his attention back to you. You had stopped struggling against him, but the defiance had not left your eyes.

Bodhisattva. One walking the path of Buddha, huh?

Good.

This was going to be very fun.

“ Tell me,” He pulled you close, crossing his lower arms as he looked you up and down, “Do they really make you take vows of chastity when you join the monastery ?”

Your expression remained unchanged though it was impossible to miss the gears turning in your head as though you were considering your words carefully.

One of the monks began to stammer, but Sukuna cut him off, a single eye rolling back to pin him with his gaze. “Did I somehow give you the impression I was addressing you , wo rm , or are you purposefully testing my very limited patience ? ”

“ P- please forgive me ,” Came the man’s wavering reply.

“ Know your place. ”

He raked his nails gently over your scalp before grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling. “You haven’t answered my question, Bodhisattva .” The title rolled off his, and he could feel the way you swallowed, a nother hand going to undo the sash of your robe.

You grit your jaw before speaking, voice low and soft, “Indulgences of the flesh cannot quench the thirst of the soul , therefore we who seek enlightenment must abstain from the dangers of passion in all things .”

“The ‘dangers of passion’, huh?” He snorted, rolling his eyes though his grin didn’t falter. “How boring. Do you really believe that crap? Are you possessed by a fox, or are you a tengu masquerading as a human?1” He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip as his other hands pulled off your tattered robes. “Never? Not even in secret with one of your little monks? The one I just killed maybe?”

You bared your teeth in a snarl, cheeks flushed , anger burning brightly through you.

“Aw, did I hit a nerve?” Sukuna gave you a mocking pout, bringing his nose up against your own. “What’s with that expression, huh? I thought you said passion couldn’t quench the thirst of the soul.” His lips parted in a grin again, pulling away and sitting on the stone floor forcing you to hunch over, bowed before the statue of your old god.

He brought your face level with his, “You look good bowed before your new god, Bodhisattva .” The dull throb in his hand from where your technique had hit him still hadn’t fully subsided, and his eyelids drooped as he leaned in to murmur in your ear. “I think you deserve a reward for entertaining me… should I exorcise that cursed spirit from your body?”

He knew you could see your monks over his shoulder.

“Are you giving me a choice?” Your voice was stilted, cold.

“Of course,” Sukuna purred, “You’re fun, Bodhisattva, I’ll let you live for now… but the real question is,” A chuckle bubbled from deep in his chest. “If I’m bored, will I let them?”

He pulled back just enough to watch you out of the corner of his eye, feeling the way your neck flexed as you swallowed. “What would you have me do?”

“ I knew you’d make the right choice.”

He pulled you down into his lap as he leaned back. Your chest was still bound so he sharpened one of his claws, slicing through the fabric. B ut you just grit your teeth, thighs twitching reflexively as he guided them to either side of his stomach. With a wicked grin, he craned his head back to look at the monks, their gaze averted, bodies shiver ing .

It would be so easy to take you by force. Make it hurt.

“I’m being generous right now,” He drawled, hand coming to grope at your flesh, delighting in the way your thighs flexed around him as you squirmed. “ You should be grateful I’m t eaching you about those dangerous passions you avoid.”

But physical pain was easy to brush off.

They mumbled something in deference , and he turned his attention back to you, a wicked grin on his face. Despite the way your body trembled, that look of defiance hadn’t left your eyes, and he found himself chuckling.

That haughty self righteousness… he was pretty sure no amount of bodily pain he inflicted would wipe that damn expression off your face. You’d gotten a taste of his power already and still hadn’t submitted.

Though he supposed if you had, the thought of this wouldn’t have even come to mind.

“I’m about to find out if you’ve been lying,” He gripped your chin in his fingers, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “Do you have anything to confess to your new god? Though I will admit they,” He gestured to the monks by the door, “Probably care more than me.”

Your stared down at him imperiously from where you were perched on his belly, your palm flat on his ribs, “ From lust springs grief and fear. For one who is wholly free of it there is no grief, and thus no fear.”

He sat up a bit at that, fingers curling in your hair and pulling, exposing your throat to him as he murmured in your ear, “ Sounds like somebody’s not doing it right then. ”

Your skin tasted of salt and sweat and blood and fear as his tongue ran the length of your jaw and Sukuna let out a content sigh as you stiffened. He dug his fingers into the meat of your thighs, holding you flush to him as he circled a thumb around your nipple until it had pebbled before pinching. Your jaw clenched, no noise escaping your lips.

That wouldn’t do.

He twisted, nipping at the inside of your thigh with the mouth on his stomach, watching as your nostrils flared, eyes widening before you blinked and stared stony faced forward even as his tongue traced the teeth marks he’d left . He raked his teeth over your throat, feeling the rapid beats of your heart against his lips as he bit down. He soothed it with the flat of his tongue, large hand cupping and kneading your chest.

Releasing your hair, he slid a hand down your body, tracing your stomach as he dipped lower, claws extending to tear through the fabric of your undergarments.

Your nostrils flared again, and he grinned, pressing his nose up against yours. “Don’t tell me you’re shy, Bodhisattva, we’re only just getting started.” Slowly he pulled the remains of the fabric from between the two of you and tossing it to the side and leaving you bare save your socks and sandals. “And I meant it when I said I would keep playing with you until I grow bored.”

His grip on your legs tightened, angling your body so you were resting lower on his belly, and he opened his second mouth to lick up the inside of your thigh.

There was more than one way to make someone hurt .

“ I’m going to make you scream. ”

Your upper lip curled in a half snarl, brows creasing, a soft murmur to yourself, “Even death is not to be feared by one who has lived wisely.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean in fear,” He nipped at your ear, two hands playing with your nipples, before laying back down to take the sight of you in, enjoying the way his cock twitched.

When his tongue finally met your slit, your eyes snapped shut, screwed up in concentration. He made a second pass, enjoying the taste of your skin and the way your thighs dug into his sides, and he reached his fingers between where your body met his, parting your folds.

Your body tensed as he pressed his tongue to your flesh once more, licking a long stripe and savoring the way your fingers twitched on his abdomen, curling, nails worrying little crescents into his skin. Cursed energy pulsed through you, fluctuating in intensity, drawing on his own.

Not with intent. Not like before.

He almost wondered if that was simply your state of being.

What would happen if you were denied that?

How much could you absorb at once? You’d been able to absorb plenty from his techniques earlier, but techniques were efficient in their use of cursed energy, refined .

Sukuna slid his tongue up, reaching the bump at the top of your slit, and your eyes shot open, sweat beading on your brow; That defiant concentration warped but still present, and you let out a sharp breath when he repeated the action. You blinked, inhaling deeply as he continued to lap at you, fixing your stoic mask back back in place despite the way your body trembled with each pass.

He placed a hand over your own, pressing it harder into his abdomen as he channeled cursed energy through that area. Immediately, you attempted to wrench your hand away, but he held it steadfast in place, meeting your gaze with a wicked smile. Sure enough, you absorbed it, another shaky breath escaping your lips, and he let out a wanton moan as he felt it leave his body.

It was somehow better than he’d originally imagined.

“Hey, Bodhisattva,” Sukuna tightened his grip on your thighs, tongue finding your entrance and teasing it, “I can’t help but notice how wet you are. Could it be that you’re enjoying these so called dangerous passions?”

The way your muscles tensed and jaw clenched was answer enough.

His tongue pressed against your entrance, and you rewarded him with another shaky breath, nails digging into the skin of his stomach. It was a tight fit, only managing to get the tip of it in, but the sweat dripping from your brow, lips pursing into a thin line was worth it.

Maybe you were telling the truth about your religious self-imposed chastity.

Though he really didn’t know much about any of that if he were being honest. Such mundane human things were of little interest to him.

A single eye rolled back to watch the monks while he continued twisting his tongue. “ Bodhisattva , don’t you know it’s a sin to lie? It’s obvious you’ve been messing around with someone .” He spoke loud enough for your followers to hear, heads bowed too low to see their faces though their ears flushed. His smirk widened as your nostrils flared, calm facade dropping for a moment as you dug your nails further into his ski n, blood welling around them and dripping into his mouth, and he arched his back with a low groan .

It was going to be so much fun breaking you.

A hand came up to lightly encircle your throat, the other stopped playing with your nipples to trail down your stomach thumb finding your clit. Immediately, he felt your walls clench around his tongue, and he laughed. “Are you getting off on this? Are you really that needy?”

“ You’re a filthy liar, ” You spat back, clamping your mouth shut for a second when his thumb made a lazy circle. You regained your composure after a moment, “ Just as the earth itself stood witness for Buddha G- Gautama’s grace , it too will bear witness to y- ” You let out a shuddering breath, “Your lies.”

Sukuna laughed once more, digging his claws into the meat of your thighs, “You can invoke whatever holy shit you want with your mouth, but this,” He slid his fingers between your bodies once more, extricating his tongue so he could replace it with them, “Doesn’t lie.”

For a second it almost looked like you were going to take his bait, lips stretching into a snarl before you closed your eyes, facing giving way to that vapid equanimity of a Buddha. Oh well…. He was none too gentle as he pressed his middle finger into your slick hole.

Aside from a twitch of your mouth, and the way your walls hugged his digit, you offered no reaction. You were tight even after having worked his tongue into you, it was impossible not to notice the rigidity of your body.

He added a second finger, noting how the corners of your mouth turned down, though your walls hugged him shamelessly. Experimentally, he pumped his fingers several times, but again, you offered very little in return other than a dripping cunt and what he could only call a sneer.

And for a moment, he wondered if perhaps drawing out that passion from you would be more complicated than he’d originally anticipated. Sukuna could count on two hands the amount of times he had dabbled in lust only to find that sex really wasn’t all it was hyped up to be. It was enjoyable, sure, but not that much more enjoyable than his own hand, and with that he could at least nap afterward…. And he hadn’t particularly cared about getting his partners off; They usually broke when he played with them too roughly. He much preferred eating people, if he were honest.

With you though….

Making a Bodhisattva scream as the passions they so avidly avoided consumed them…. Corrupted them….

That would be fun.

He ground the palm of his hand against your clit, and you jolted as though struck, facade cracking once more. Grin widening, he did it again, twisting his hand, skin dragging against your bud as he pumped his fingers.

The King of Curses was nothing if not a quick study; Even when he had been small and weak, there were none who had been able to best his cunning. Just as he had read you when you fought, he could read you now, the way you twitched around him, fingers digging into the flesh of his stomach, heart rate speeding up… no matter the stoic face you tried to put on, you had tells.

Your eyes were almost as calculating as his as you tried to subtly take in the details around you, looking anywhere but him. Cheeks red, skin slicked with sweat and blood, sex practically weeping into his open mouth, you were downright sinful.

“I wonder how many of those monks wanted you like this,” Taunted Sukuna, eyes fixated on both you and the monks behind him as he sat knuckle deep within you. “Judging by how taut their bodies are, I’d say more than a few, wouldn’t you? Are they your harem, Bodhisattva? Do you bring all the good little monks to the land of Buddha Amitabha?”

With each word your ears turned redder, facade cracking more and more, but the way you clenched around his fingers was absolutely decadent. He spread his fingers in retaliation, pushing against your slick walls.

Your breaths were heavy now, tremors running through you with each stroke, each time his ground his palm against you, and he wiggled his fingers inside you. The mask of stoicism you’d worn broke around your eyes first, calm replaced by a rising panic, wide, feral. While you’d been good and taken it before, energy surged through you as you began to struggle. Body taut as a bowstring ready to fire.

Oh.

Sukuna’s eyes sharpened, lips splitting over his teeth in excitement.

This was your first one, wasn’t it?

“How precious. You really are full of surprises for me.” His laugh bounced around the walls, “Don’t you want to taste Nirvana, Bodhisattva?”

You tried to look away, but his hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his crimson gaze as he pressed the heel of his hand against your pearl, making an exaggerated circle. There was only so long you could hold out, quivering on the edge. “Stop holding onto your arrow. I want to see it pierce the heavens.”

And then he licked over his hand, and your back arched, shuddering as your fluttered around his fingers. Though you remained silent, the way your eyelids drooped, mouth falling slack as you lost yourself was deeply gratifying.

After a few seconds, he pulled out, replacing his fingers with his tongue once more to lap at your weeping entrance. Your body shook with each pass, and you began trying to pull away to his amusement. When your eyes finally met his again, there was beautiful mixture of panic and disdain swirling within, and he made a show of bringing his fingers to his upper mouth and sucking on them with an exaggerated moan.

And at that moment, it was impossible to miss the fleeting glimmer of fascination that flashed for a split second behind your eyes. Gone just as quickly as it came, you clawed at him, using your technique to push cursed energy into him the way you had before. Not controlled enough to do more than bruise him though, you were unfocused and he had learned this trick of your already, but the pain was still euphoric as he arched his own back with a shameless moan, cock uncomfortably hard in his pants.

Still he held you fast to him despite your struggle, your body already starting to show the signs of another build-up. Faster this time as Sukuna pressed his tongue into you, wedging himself deep than he had before.

“T- too much.”

“I don’t think you understand, so let me be very clear, Bodhisattva,” He drawled as his claws dug into the fat of your ass. The sounds your body made for him were obscene, lewd and wet despite your commitment not to moan for him. “I will drink my fill of you, then, and only then, I will pour myself into what remains.”

It wasn’t long before he’d pushed you over the edge again, doubling in on yourself forehead bowed as you shook.

Part of him wondered if he should go for seven to let your soul cross over, but his pants were already uncomfortably tented despite how loose they normally hung. He undid them, pushing them down, hissing as the fabric dragged over his stiffness.

Finally, his grip loosened on your hips, pulling you up enough to have you straddle his hips as you came down from your high. Your eyes bulged as you looked down, focus flitting between his shaft and his face.

“What are you waiting for, Bodhisattva?” He sneered, sarcasm dripping from your title, “Bring me to Amitabha’s pure land.”

A snort escaped his nose at your hesitation, “I don’t think he needs that arm, do you?”

Before you could react, Sukuna flicked his wrist at the monk furthest to the left, severing the appendage in a spray of blood, watching as the color drained from your face. A knowing look of horror enveloped you, and he couldn’t help the cackle that spilled from his lips, drowning out the monk’s screams of pain.

Another hand gripping your chin and wiggled it as he gave you a mock pout, “If only their great Bodhisattva cared enough to distract the capricious curse that besieged the temple.”

Anger.

Hatred.

Fear.

He devoured it all with a lazy smile as you stared at him, “Are you going to spear yourself on me, or would you like me to take his other arm? Or maybe a leg, if you’re quick, I’ll let you choose which.”

Your fingers wrapped around his member, and he gave you a heated look and a warning, “You even think of trying that delicious cursed technique of yours on that, and I will level this mountain and burn the countryside to ash as I eat every single inhabitant in front of you.”

You swallowed in response, lips curling down, eyes cold and calculating once more. However, you opted to waste no time, hand beginning to work over his shaft before lining him up with your entrance and lowering yourself onto him. He hummed in pleasure as his tip breached your entrance, putting an arm behind his head to prop it up as he watched you slowly engulf him.

“Make sure to take all of me, Bodhisattva,” Voice laced with lust, two hand snaked over your form, playing with your nipples and kneading the fat there. You slowed past the halfway point, face scrunched up as you struggled to take more.

“Don’t give up, I know you can do it,” He teased, claws lengthening as he dug the tips into your skin, “It’s only fair that you bring me to the pure lands of bliss when I was so gracious in teaching you about Nirvana.”

“Is there a single word within you that isn’t seeped in hate?” You snapped back, hands resting on his lower pecs as you adjusted yourself. “A single thought in your head untouched by malice?”

Sukuna gave you a mock pout again, hand stroking his chin as though he were thinking, before his lips split into a grin once more, “No. Can’t find one.”

“Why?”

He cackled, snapping his hips up and burying the rest of his length into you as you gasped, “Would you ask the ocean why it must crash against the shore? The thunder why it must light up the sky?” He gripped your hair, pulling it roughly, “Your question is dumb as is your premise.”

You clenched around him and he let out a content moan, and after a few seconds, you began to rock your hips. Rhythm slow, experimental, and he rolled his eyes, bucking into you to disrupt your cadence. “You can do better than that.”

Sweat slicked your skin as you increased the tempo, eyes closed though whether in concentration or trying to pretend you were somewhere else wasn’t clear, so he reached up to lay a hand on your throat. He could feel the way your muscles contracted as you swallowed. You clenched around him again, your tight heat already almost overwhelming as he let out another shameless moan. “That’s it.”

It wasn’t long before he was matching your pace, thrusting up into you eyelids fluttering shut as you squeezed him again, almost as hot as the flames that threatened to immolate him from within. He slid out his lower tongue, arching his back so he could taste the salt on your skin, snaking lower until he ran it over your clit and you jolted, pulsing around him.

A throaty chuckle bubbled from his chest, and he reached a hand down to start rubbing fast circles around that little nub. “You’re going to come undone on my cock, Bodhisattva, I haven’t had my fill just yet.”

You let out a stuttering breath, walls hugging him so tightly he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to pull out. Just as euphoric as the pain you’d subjected him to moments before. It wasn’t long before your body was pulled taut once more, hanging on the precipice and impossibly tight around him.

You remained that way for a while, his own hips stuttering in pleasure at moments as he tried to push you over. He dug his fingers into your hair again, nails scraping against your scalp as he pulled again.

Though no sound escaped your throat, the way your back arched, walls squeezing and fluttering around him, a low and visceral growl was pulled from him, and he sped up, riding the high as long as it would carry him. He continued fucking you through your orgasm, past the point where you were a spasming mess above him, chasing his own pleasure.

“H-hey, Bodhisattva, you ready to show me that pure land?”

Your nails dug into his skin and buried himself to the hilt, spilling himself in you.

Sukuna sank boneless onto the floor, only vaguely aware of the blissful, sleepy grin on his face. After a few deep breaths, he finally cracked one eye open and fixing it on you. Utterly debauched, his seed leaking out from where you were still joined. He reached down, dipping his fingers into the mixture of blood, slick, and cum.

Idly he wrote his name on your stomach with the mess on his fingers.

“What’s that look for?” He asked with a smirk.

You watched him with tired disdain.

“Kill me.”

Slowly Sukuna’s grin widened, “And here I was about to offer you a deal, Crane.”

You sighed in defeat.

What an auspicious day.

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #Mara and the Bodhisattva #thunderous applesauce #odt #x reader #look i love him #dark fic #heian sukuna #heian era

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cannibal-pentecost · 4 days ago

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100 Line Gender Headcanons

Takumi is a trans girl, just extremely an egg and dense about it, takes either years post canon or in a random forcefem route to get it.

Eito is transfem non-binary and looking into Futuran genders and history of gender because human gender is so disgusting and uncomfortable for them, recognizes Takumi is trans way before she realizes it.

Yugamu is agender / multigender / genderfluid, he is no gender but loves different performances of gender and does dubiously ethical self-surgery, including bottom surgery nullification and tentacles and more, she is the one who does the hrt for the rest of the cast.

Takemaru is a man, but he's cool about it and done a lot of self reflection to interrogate and affirm it, he's an ally, even if his gender politics are weird.

Ima is transfem, but if she ever actually transitioned, she'd be Kako's identical twin and no one knows how they're supposed to feel about that.

#100 line #the hundred line last defense academy #hundred line #takumi sumino #eito aotsuki #yugamu omokage #takemaru yakushiji #ima tsukumo #happy pride month!

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cyannidelolypop · 2 months ago

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I've seen entities on here discussing species transition goals, and I realized it's not something I've dedicated much deep though to up to this point because much of it has seemed entirely unachievable, and some of it is intrinsically tied to my transition to genderlessness. So, I'd like to reflect on steps I've already taken and consider potential future steps.

Let's start by reflecting on steps already taken:

- name change

- usage of neopronouns

- acquire prosthetic elf ears

- acquire prosthetic horns

- come out to trusted loved ones

- unmask and grow to be more comfortable acting like myself

- learn affirming makeup styles

- aquire light, bright, shiny, sparkly, and glowing clothes and accessories

- change language used for self

- improve upon vocalization

- bird watch

- grow out nails

- hang posters of space images in room

Some of these things are ongoing.

Now for potential future goals:

- build more permanent den ‼️

- aquire means to burrow without grass allergy problem

- aquire/make fox ears, tail(s), and potentially some form of paws

- maybe also for cat?

- build muscle and agility

- top surgery ‼️

- nullification surgery ‼️

- tattoos maybe (still deliberating on specifics)

- aquire/make wings/wing-adjacent accessories

That's all I can think of off the top of my head. This really is just a brainstorming exercise, though. I may think of other things later. Unfortunately, I can't think of much of anything at all for my eldrich-esque form or specter-like glitchy form short of neopronouns.

#alterhuman #otherkin #therian #theriomythic #species transition #species transition goals #otherlink #lightkin #alterkitsune #alterelf #altereldrich #aliedragon #anymic specter-like glitchy kin #catlink + cat paratype + cathearted #humanoid #shapeshifterkin #so you know what I'm transitioning towards #I also have to be considerate of my fellow party (system/collective) members

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octagava · 4 months ago

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ahhhh thanks for entertaining my yapping and adding your insights onto them. i really like your takes and explanations on them. it hits things that i never thought about. feel free to disregard this one because it feels a little less coherent. related to dazai being one of atsushi's motivators, it kind of hit me that dazai is one of the first people atsushi saved. maybe this is a misinterpretation of their first meeting, but, turning off the comedic lens, it's actually an insane scenario. a starving, societally clueless orphan musters all his strength to swim and hulk an unconscious person back to shore. the inherent and somewhat foolish compassion of such an act to still give when you basically have nothing left comically is lost on atsushi despite performing such an action because he's so embedded in his self-hatred and lack of confidence. it's honestly made even better by the fact that dazai has ability nullification powers, so he cannot passively rely on the tiger's strength (although i am unsure if he was able to do that prior). he is actively burning what remaining energy he should be using to find food or shelter to save someone he believed needed help. i think this action is what immediately takes dazai to atsushi to which dazai repays by providing him a support system to navigate his new reality and the weight of trust and faith that atsushi wants to uphold. it's a little sad though, due to atsushi's lack of confidence, that he kind of seems to believe dazai made an arbitrary decision to save him rather than him being deserving of such care, and maybe that plays into atsushi's view of dazai as a savior. it probably doesn't help that dazai both does and doesn't want to be understood. but, maybe the silver lining about it is that it plays into why he tries to understand dazai and, subsequentially, recognizes how flawed and maybe 'human' he is. like how atsushi helps validate dazai's capacity to care and be "good," dazai validates helps atsushi validate his own self-worth and belief in his own actions.

No, no, this is actually so coherent! And I'm really glad that you're sharing it. I'm always super happy to respond and talk about those two (or, to be fair, any BSD characters, since I love talking about how I and others interpret them as a whole or in relationships, whether platonic, romantic, or something totally different).

And yeah, if you actually step back from the comedic lens and look at what’s really happening in that first meeting, it’s genuinely wild. Atsushi’s just been kicked out of the orphanage, he’s on the brink of starvation, and yet he can’t let Dazai drown. Though, it’s worth pointing out that Atsushi wanted to leave him there at first, and when he does save him, his initial thoughts are about robbing him. Plus, let’s not forget that Atsushi is offended when Dazai casually admits he has no money.

I think it’s important to highlight those parts because they get overlooked a lot. People tend to remember that Atsushi saved Dazai and interpret it as this purely selfless act, but it’s more complicated than that. Sure, you could argue there’s some kindness there, but a lot of his actions in that moment come from his deep-seated self-worth issues. Atsushi’s been conditioned to believe that his value is tied to what he can do for others, that he’s less than worthless if he doesn’t contribute or help in some way. And I’ve said this before, but to me, Atsushi isn’t naturally kind as a personality trait—he’s kind by virtue. That kindness was beaten into him over time (at least, that’s how I interpret it).

Still, even at his lowest, Atsushi can’t completely suppress that unfiltered compassion. It’s just part of who he is, whether he recognizes it or not. Dazai ends up being the first person Atsushi saves, yet their first meeting is often overlooked by the fandom. But there are some key details that need to be addressed if we’re talking a bit canon-wise.

The fact is, Dazai knew from the start who Atsushi was. The meeting between the two was orchestrated. He admitted that to Hirotsu—that he recruited Atsushi specifically to complement Akutagawa's ability. He doesn’t really go into detail about their first meeting, but Kunikida does mention that Dazai suddenly jumped into the river, which, knowing him for as long as we did, it’s very easy to tell that he did it on purpose.

And that’s where the meeting actually gets even more fascinating. Dazai orchestrated the encounter, knowing full well who Atsushi was and the potential he had. This adds a layer of manipulation to the scene, but not in a malicious way. It does show how much Dazai is calculative and manipulative from the get-go. He was always playing the long game.

However, the brilliance of that scene lies in how genuine it feels on both ends, despite Dazai’s manipulation. Atsushi, barely clinging to life himself, chooses to save Dazai even though it’s the furthest thing from rational. Yes, Atsushi hesitates. Yes, his initial thoughts are about leaving or even robbing the unconscious man. But he still takes action. That act isn’t purely selfless; Atsushi has been conditioned to believe that his worth is tied to what he can do for others, making self-sacrificial choices almost second nature to him. It’s a survival mechanism born from years of abuse at the orphanage.

But despite the meeting between the two being totally orchestrated by Dazai pulling the strings, one shouldn’t just interpret it as completely devoid of sincerity. Dazai, as a character, is himself a contradiction. He’s a master manipulator, but he also deeply cares for the people he chooses to "invest" in (admit it or not). And, of course, Atsushi became one of those people.

For Atsushi, the encounter is unsettling. He doesn’t see himself as someone who deserves salvation or a second chance (he himself wanted to live out of spite in episode 1, with how he was talking about "showing them" that he can survive—of course, talking about the orphanage). When Dazai brings him into the ADA, Atsushi interprets it not as an acknowledgment of his worth but as a random act of charity. This feeds into Atsushi’s view of Dazai as a savior figure—someone who plucked him out of despair for reasons Atsushi can’t truly understand. Their dynamic is heartbreaking because Atsushi genuinely doesn’t believe he’s worthy of that care.

On Dazai’s end, there’s an interesting tension in how he interacts with Atsushi. While he’s quick to assign Atsushi missions and responsibilities, he also tends to avoid directly confronting Atsushi’s insecurities. Instead, he uses humor, teasing, and indirect guidance to nudge Atsushi toward growth. He doesn’t, however, see Atsushi as a tool to balance Akutagawa (as he does come to genuinely care for the other), but also as someone who could become a force for good. Dazai’s own issues and self-worth—his belief in his "inherent evil"—sometimes prevent him from expressing those thoughts openly, as it’s hard for him to be vulnerable (though he manages it every once in a while).

What’s fascinating is how this relationship challenges them both. Atsushi’s reverence for Dazai forces him to grapple with Dazai’s flaws and contradictions, which ultimately helps Atsushi see Dazai as a person rather than a pedestal. Meanwhile, Atsushi’s unwavering determination and raw compassion act as a quiet reminder to Dazai that goodness isn’t an abstract ideal, but something you choose again and again, no matter how messy or imperfect the process may be. (For what is kindness as a trait, if it is not practiced?)

I think I went a bit outside of what you were asking of me, but the thought kind of spiraled, haha... Also a little note that I also wanted to include but didn't know how. When it comes to Dazai and him wanting to be understood but also not. It's like Dazai walks into a room and leaves it open but before anyone can open it, he already build a brick wall between the room and the door, giving you clear message of "I don't want you" but also hoping, begging and craving for you to chip away at the wall, to break in.

#Dazatsu #dazushi #BSD ASKS #BSD ASK #asks #bsd atsushi #bungo stray dogs #atsushi nakajima #bsd dazai #osamu dazai #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs #dazai x atsushi #atsushi x dazai #hc #headcanon #headcanons

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