waah… u are attracting fuuta stans😭 (me) how about fuuta and reader playing games together maybe :0?
Hello fuuta stans! <3
I wasn't sure what kinda games (keeping things sfw. ofcourse) you meant so I just, did all I could think of. lmao
Video games / pc games ! (if they're pvp related)
This mfker is NOT letting you win
that said, he's not world's best player by any means
he tries his best though. he wants to make this fair
he then proceeds to cheat his way through when you're not looking
he makes it pretty obvious though. On purpose? On accident? We shall let god decide.
neither of you make a big deal out of it though, it's all just for fun
Video games / pc games ! (if they're sandbox-style)
he, of course, is the one to fight off monsters for you
he seems like the kinda guy who enjoys gathering materials aswell.
like my guy just disappears for a few hours and comes back with his inventory packed with all sorts of materials
he helps you build stuff in a way that he will just, stand in the background
and talk shit about your aesthetic choices
"this doesn't fit here at all. what the hell"
all said affectionately, ofcourse
if any comments genuinely upset you he stops IMMEDIATELY that man crumbles the second he sees their s/o sad
he tries to keep it cool "haha hey noww..,,,," but if smth is genuinely wrong he'll apologize
Board games :)
oh god
arguments about the games rules. are endless
to be fair, it's not his fault they're written so cryptically
"umm actually this one means I can do this move, you're wrong"
you have fun though, it's all mostly lighthearted fights
sometimes they end with pillows getting thrown around. nothing crazy in the kajiyama house
if you're playing with other people and you're winning he looks at you like he's the proudest mfker on the planet (he is)
he'll let you win sometimes just to brag about how much better than everyone you are
Some sorta sports-related games >>
he tries to stay close to you, make sure you're doing alright
if anything he Will run for water or a snack for you
if you guys are playing a team sport he always picks you so you don't play with strangers
that said, if you're with friends he likes playing against you
the rivalry is nice. "I'm going to FUCKING kill you /r" style
you get a kiss out of him after every match :) (begrudgingly) (he's just a little embarrassed about pda. which just means you'll have to get him used to it)
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Health and Hybrids (XXVI)👽👻💚
[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]
🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.
💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)
Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Diana helps mediate. Stinky Dad and the Alien Guy observe.
Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.
💚👻👽👻💚
“His control over his emotions slipped during the interview,” J’onn sighs, hovering alongside Bruce as they carry down the hall.
Bruce grunts. He isn’t quite capable of complicated speech yet. The teenage alien crying, too scared to let even the internationally-favorite, universally beloved Wonder Woman hold him without screaming…a person he already knew would take care of him…
J’onn continues, nevertheless. The thin privacy of his mind aside, Bruce has always appreciated the Martian’s understanding of Bruce’s oft-shifting moods. “His memories of his home and his family were tied up with extensive pain. I would continue under the assumption that his human family turned on him after discovering his nature—there may have even been collateral damage to others around them at the time.”
Bruce breathes in. Bruce breathes out.
“He thought himself akin enough to humans to be betrayed when he was seen as an 'other'. He knows that he is far from home, he knows that he has been targeted for his non-human traits and abilities, and he has reasons to think that he may not return again—what they are, I could not tell, but the sentiment was clear. This escape was purposeful, as was commandeering the vehicle he used to do so. He is alone. He is scared.”
“Known or unknown threat?” Bruce growls, not quite up to elongating his bite into a full sentence. J’onn is more than skilled enough to skim lightly over the words, and match them to Batman’s pointed fury.
“Our patient is familiar with the threat. I could not recognize the insignia or acronym from his memories, but they had enough resources to keep him captive and alive—without food or water. Likely, for a lengthy amount of time.”
Bruce’s near-running stride slows to a stop. J’onn, ever-patient, floats to a standstill beside him.
“No food,” Bruce confirms, just to make sure he heard correctly.
J’onn nods.
“No water.”
“There was an alternative method used to keep him alive, although the details weren’t significant to him in his flashback. The method may have been possible due to his minor healing ability, or something unique to his species.”
No food, Bruce thinks. No water. Kept alive as a function. Worried that he’s meant to be used as a weapon, kept in isolation, afraid of what humans in uniform might require of him for help.
This isn’t just torture. It is, specifically targeting a half-human entity, entirely purposeful dehumanization.
Of a child.
Of a child.
Bruce inhales. Bruce exhales.
This is not something that will be solved short-term. He has to keep an eye on the long-term goals for this teen—safety, recovery, reassurance, and reintegration.
Doable. All he has to do is break larger goals down into reasonable steps.
“Update the pediatric psychiatrist that Dr. Martin referred him to on the details.” Bruce’s demand comes out as flat as it gets. It is hard, when he’s stressed, to make his words hit with any intonation. Everything he forces out is precise. To the point.
J’onn nods. “I will.”
“This is personal medical information, to be accessed only on a need to know basis.”
J’onn floats slightly higher, something relaxed in his face. This is a significant gesture, meant to remind everyone involved that this is a child, not a resource, and not a mission to be solved. This is a patient. “Understood.”
“If you pass this on to Diana, do it in person. Minimizing documentation…” Bruce falters. There isn’t a strong, authoritarian way to phrase how he feels about being someone to store clinically cold information about a boy who had likely been imprisoned, if not actively experimented on, if not actively tortured. How he needed to minimize behaviors that would exactly model what was done to the boy by his captors.
A smile flickers over J’onn’s expression. It’s suitably fleeting, but it comes and it goes—and it’s extremely polite of him to emote so visibly for Bruce’s sake. He makes sure to project his appreciation as best he knows how—blindly, without a telepathic sense to know what J’onn will and will not see.
“Understood, Batman.”
Bruce grunts.
They split at the end of the hallway, each dedicated to their own tasks.
J’onn will inform the medical team of what triggers may affect their patient’s long-term recovery and the quality of their stay. He is a thorough and patient coworker, and Bruce is grateful to have him on his side.
Bruce, in the meantime, has a favor to ask of Alfred and Dick on their way back into Gotham; more importantly, this is a favor he has to ask of Alfred’s employment-provided Costco card.
*
There’s something new in Danny’s room.
He transfers himself into the wheelchair to look at it, scrambling down the bed the way the physical therapist taught him to—the new thing isn't at bed height, but it is pretty low, and it has a door that he could probably reach from seated height or standing.
The square thing’s door swings open.
Inside are…little water bottles. Canned juices. Those mushy fruit-filled bars, and something so obviously wrapped in a yellow Fig Einstein wrapper that even the gibberish non-English is super clear.
There’s a bunch of things. Just. So many; and all in a few different types, too. The whole thing is filled with so many choices.
…Huh.
There are disposable straws in the door. Danny has to borrow a nurse’s ID card to open the can tab in the end, and his unwrapping of a straw is more than a little shaky, but Danny takes his medication with a mango-pineapple juice blend instead of his usual cup of water, and he’s perfectly fine with that.
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